ASSOCIATION / CH. 13:FALLOUT
5PM, THURSDAY 11TH JAN.
“Everyone! They're about to interview May!” Hannah called.
“You are recording it, mum?” Ruben asked as he came down the stairs.
“I hope I am.” Hannah replied. “She's on!”
“Myra Wilcox, International News. Your name is now a legally guarded secret, how does that make you feel? And also, how should we address you?”
“Hello Myra, your second question is certainly one I've been thinking about. I'm not a police officer, or a pastor, but I think that there's a similarity. When we address a police officer we don't know, we call them `Officer', and we call a pastors 'Pastor', because what's normally important is the role, not the person. What's important, when I'm wearing my uniform — this mask — is what I am, not who I am, so I suggest that normally the right form of address is probably 'Truthsayer'. I have this mask, both to protect my identity and to show what my role is. And we do intend to make these masks entirely uniform, or at least as uniform as we can. As for my name being a secret, I'm still me. My friends and family still know who I am. Some of them even know what my weekend job is. And I expect there are people out there thinking, 'that really sounds like...' and I don't even mind my friends asking if they've just seen me with a blue face with 'let no lie pass' written on my lips. But you know, I'm sure, that the truth is not always popular. And while I'll say whether what someone says is the truth or a lie, it is not my role to reveal any personal secrets I hear which lie behind that truth, or if they were thinking at a tangent. Indeed I am sworn to preserve those secrets. So, my mask is a protection for those I examine as well as for me. No one wants to be reminded that their mind wandered during their job interview.
If I'm anonymous, faceless, then they can pass me in the street or sit next to me on the bus without realising that I was the person who heard them wishing their spouse had better dress sense in their interview, or why they really wanted to apply for the job. And of course, I can fulfil my role with less fear of reprisals.”
Someone else asked “You spoke of 'we'. How many members of the association were there before the charter?”
“Since the association didn't exist before the charter was signed, I'm afraid that's a non-question. But I can say that seven of us met earlier in the week, who fulfilled all the membership criteria, and that is not our entire roster.”
Myra asked “You spoke of this being your weekend job?”
“Yes, it seems far more interesting than working in a shop.”
“But you're still at school?”
“Yes.”
“Tony Randle, Nation-wide News, you spoke about being present at a job interview. If someone wanted to hire you for a day, what would it cost them?”
“If they wanted to arrange for a truthsayer to spend the day with them, they'd need to contact the association, who would see if there was anyone interested in the commission. I'm not doing freelance work, at least for the foreseeable future, so it almost certainly wouldn't be me. As for the amount, I'm afraid I've no idea what a reasonable amount is for our unique consultancy service. But I understand there are far more certified polygraph operators than truthsayers, perhaps their fee scale would be a good starting point for negotiation.”
“Jack Fisher, Finance Today. Have you had any communication with the polygraph operator's trade union? And if so, have they expressed any opinion of your... encroaching on their territory, as it were?”
“I haven't had any communication from them, no. We represent an additional option, I personally do not see us encroaching very far on their territory. I can easily imagine that there would be individuals who would refuse having their thoughts listened to who would be happy to undergo a polygraph test, and I expect that there will also be times when an employer will be far happier to have the hard record provided by the polygraph which could be re-examined at a later date, than a simple statement from a truthsayer that the person is lying or that they believe it was the truth.”
Another journalist chipped in “Have you yourself undergone a polygraph test?”
“Yes, as part of my evaluation for this role.”
“And the operator made no comments?”
“He made lots of comments, but not about this issue.”
“But you do not think you are going to steal some of their business?”
“From what I understand, it is still possible, though difficult, to fool a polygraph test. It might be possible to fool me too. But both at the same time? I seriously doubt it.”
A reporter identifying himself as from a technology paper said “Do you have any comment on the suggestion that in a few years a machine will put you out of your job?”
“Some day it might be possible for a machine to do what I can do in terms of hearing thoughts. But what I also do is make sure that what I hear goes no further than my mind. It would, of course, be possible for the machine to only relay into the headphones of a certified operator, in which case I'd suggest the operator pass the same process of continuous verification that we truthsayers undergo. But such a machine could be stolen and I have no doubt that it could be modified to bypass such precautions, however careful the manufacturer. So there would be, I'm sure, massive implications for privacy.”
“You're saying that you're a safer bet?”
“I'm saying that freedom of thought is highly valued. Even by me, who grew up with a grandmother with the mind-reading gift; before she died she would often tell me when was thinking rubbish. We don't expect our thought-life to be published, brought-up as a topic in an interview, or in any way made public. His Majesty has just signed a law which is intended to preserve that mental privacy. I'm sure there will be a desire amongst the would-be blackmailers of the world for a technological method of breaking that law, and of course from repressive governments. But personally, I wouldn't want to make that possible.”
Myra asked “I understand that at the moment applicants to join you have been cleared by the Institute for the Human Mind. Is that something you expect to continue?”
“Some aspects of it will continue, I imagine, but I believe we'll be bringing some parts of it in-house. There's obviously an advantage to having external certification, but I don't know how many applications we'll be having of course, and we don't want to swamp them.”
“Which aspects do you expect to bring in-house?”
“Training and aptitude testing are obvious parts.”
“Training? So this isn't an innate ability?”
“I think the analogy to hearing is a good one. Anyone can listen to a piece of classical music, but it takes a real expert to tell you that the second violin is off key. It's easy to spot some lies. Others are much harder, and our aim is to let no lie pass.”
“You consider yourself a real expert?”
“No. My grandmother was the real expert. But she trained me in a few things that many people with the power don't know about. And at least I know what a real expert can do.”
Tony asked: “Truthsayer, you said your grandmother had the gift, though. How do you know she wasn't using the gift?”
“Because she told me that I'd be able to do it with practice. Practice doesn't help you get the gift.”
“Then, can you tell us what sort of things you can do that others don't know about?” Myra asked.
“I'm not really sure I should tell you.” May said “I will share them with other truthsayers, but telling you might make life easier for people who want to deceive us. But I'll say this much: most thought hearers would find it hard to tell if another thought-hearer is lying or not. I don't usually have that problem.”
“Oooh, doesn't she sound proud?” Alice said.
“No, confident. And she should be.” Hannah corrected. “Mama taught her a lot, and if she can teach others, then that makes a real distinctive between the truthsayers and other thought-hearers. That's so much the better for her future wages.”
“Poor Sarah!” Ruben said, with a grin.
“Rich Sarah.” Corrected Alice. “I don't think she'll mind.”
“Hush, kids, I'm trying to listen.”
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QUY FAMILY HOME 5.15PM.
“Mum, in case you're wondering, yes, that's her.” Q.Q. said.
“A confident young woman.” Quentin's mother assessed.
“Very.”
“I'm not sure about her face, though. A bit unusual.” she teased.
“It's a mask, mum.”
“I know that. Is the point of the golden eyes to make people scared?”
“No, just to block iris detectors. To quote her 'It would be rather pointless to have the uniform on and then have some computerised advert machine say: Hi, May, that is May Ngbila, isn't it? Have you seen our latest range of miniskirts?'”
“Oh. And she's into miniskirts?”
“She tells me she used to be, and it thoroughly embarrasses her how often thats the only thing the advert machines say to her.”
“Oh, yes, they do that. Identify an old spending habit and try to get you to pick up on it again. She's told you she's not wearing them now?”
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
“Because she doesn't like that place: off the rails, far from God, seeking attention because it distracted her from loneliness.”
“And she associates those clothes with that part of her life, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Was it long ago?”
“I'm not really sure. I get the feeling it wasn't, though, why?”
“Well, among other things, I'm wondering how emotionally stable she is. She comes across as very stable.”
“I think she is, now. She spends a lot of time with Sarah, of course. That helps.”
“But how long for, that's the question. And what if Sarah decides to drop her?”
“Mum! Sarah wouldn't do that!”
“I've seen a lot of totally unexpected behaviour in my life, Quentin. If your May's stability is too dependant on this Sarah, then I want to know what happens if something happens to Sarah. I don't want your life falling apart because May falls apart because someone else does.”
“I'm not worried, Mum.”
“I wasn't worried about your dad, either, and look at him now!”
“I don't understand. Dad isn't a Christian.”
“I met him at Church. His best friend died in a diving accident, a few months before our wedding, and he stopped going to church. I thought he'd snap out of it eventually.”
“I didn't know. Let's pray he will.”
“I've been praying it would happen for a long time, Quentin. But you're serious about her?”
“I think so, Mum. But it's hard. May is... hard to read sometimes. I've no idea what she thinks about me. Her cousin Kara, on the other hand made it very clear what she thinks.”
“And what do you think about Kara?”
“She's lively, attractive, fun to be around...”
“Christian?”
“Yes.”
“Also has the power?”
“Yes.”
“So you need to talk to May and find out what she thinks, don't you?”
“I know what she thinks; sort of, anyway. No dating for a year or so.”
“Because her life is too complicated?”
“Well, the impact's coming closer every day.”
“And that doesn't apply for cousin Kara?”
“Kara's family are in the capital. Oh! There she is.” Quentin said, looking at the screen.
“Where?”
“Front row, green cardigan.”
“Well, it doesn't automatically follow that you're going to marry your first real girlfriend. You've got plenty of time.”
“Not for university I don't. I need to decide.”
“And it's related?”
“Well, if I stay signed up for Restoration, and it doesn't work out with May...”
“You'd rather be in the capital?”
“Assuming Kara's going to a university there.”
“You need to pray for God's leading then, don't you?”
“And a chance to talk to May more.”
His mother laughed, “That sort of opportunity seems to happen most days of the week, Quentin.”
“Not today, though. I can't even call her.” Quentin said, realising that he missed her voice, even though he could hear her being interviewed. It wasn't the same as her talking to him. Not at all.
It was pretty obvious which cousin Quentin was most interested in, his mother decided. She wondered if Quentin knew what was so obvious to her.
The cameras showed the King standing, and walking to the microphone.
“There is one further announcement that is planned for today; the declassifying of a state secret. Some people, I expect are wondering how difficult a decision it was to decide what line to take on the issue of privacy for people with the ability to hear thoughts. But I will state now something that made it quite an easy decision, and had it been public some decades ago, then history would have been different. But of course, decades ago almost everyone believed that mind-reading was a joke or a fantasy.
But, as I was growing up, I knew one thing. Joke or fantasy, I was in deep, deep trouble if I tried to lie to my father. He'd fix me with his eyes, hold my chin in his hand, turn my face left and right and ask me 'Now whatever made you think I'd believe that, Eh? What a silly thing it is to lie, it'll only make things worse, and it's no way for the future king to behave, either.' I hoped it was just parental insight or that I was really bad at telling lies, but it really seemed sometimes that he'd know how I was thinking. But no-one could hear thoughts, could they? Now we know that some people can, so we presume that my father could too.
“Some of my royal ancestors' personal diaries have contained puzzling lines like, 'I was sure the minister was deliberately blocking progress, so it was necessary to work around him.' And I've asked myself, why, if there was evidence that someone was being deceitful, were they not simply confronted and replaced. I think we have the answer. Some of them had knowledge they couldn't easily act on. We now have a legal framework where a person may, if they wish, publicise their abilities, but others may retain their privacy, absolutely. We have a law which prohibits the abuse of this ability, a mechanism to investigate abuses and a chartered association which will, we hope, make these abilities available to the courts, companies and even individuals. Joining that association necessarily means that at least someone in the association knows who you are, but the charter has been carefully written. The membership roster will never, I hope, become a list of targets for a witch-hunt against thought-hearers. Certainly not while any descendants of my father are on the throne. This ability often skips a generation or two or three, it's certainly skipped mine, but perhaps one day Eliza and Albert will have children or grandchildren who join the Chartered Association of Truthsayers, I don't know. But it's certainly in both their lineages.”
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THURSDAY 11TH JAN, 5.40PM. LOCAL TIME, ANCHORAGE
“They've done it!” Maddie said, as Robbie came in.
Robbie kissed his wife and asked “Urm, who's done what?”
“Sarah's country. Well, her king, by the look of it, has decided to make it illegal there to publish if someone's a thought-hearer without their express permission. They're calling it an obvious extension to the civil liberty of personal privacy and the press are calling it censorship, of course. And Sarah's been involved in persuading her king to set up a new Royal Association of Truthsayers, sorry, Chartered association, officially. But the papers are calling it a RAT anyway. 'Loony King gives birth to blue-faced RAT.' according to one. He's also announced that his dad could hear thoughts.”
“Handy ability for a King. But why blue-faced?”
“Apparently the truthsayers are going to wear a blue mask.”
“And he's called loony for believing the asteroid will hit?”
“Among other things. They nurses were all a-giggle about it, anyway. Both the biological side and the whole 'blue-faced-liar' angle. I really wonder what they were thinking in picking the colour. Didn't they make the connection with the expression?”
Robbie speculated “Maybe they don't have the expression over there. It's a new one since I went away.”
“It is? Surely not!” Maddie replied. “Well, anyway, round here a blue face doesn't exactly symbolise believable, does it?”
“No.”
“Anyway, it's all being put down to 'Christians' craziness', which seems to be the papers' new preferred term.”
“'Christians' craziness?' Last week it was 'crazy Christians'.” Robbie noticed “The campaign's getting worse, isn't it?”
“Yes. The editors really don't like the way their king came out in favour of Christ. Not to mention all the other high profile Christians or conversions over there.”
“The Christian press are talking about there being a revival there.”
“And are they commenting on the rise in anti-Christian language in the mainstream press over here?” Maddie asked.
“Well, yes, but that much is noticeable to anyone.”
“Anyone here, anyway.”
“But why are they laying the choice of masks at Christian's feet?” Robbie asked.
“Well Sarah's made no secret of her faith, and she's committed herself to funding the association while it gets starting, and then someone has looked up the designer, I can't remember her name, hold on, I'll look it up, I want to quote some more anyway. Susan, that's right, apparently she put some message on-line that after a difficult emotional time over Christmas she's over the moon about winning this competition and of course the two new loves in her life: Jesus Christ and her liege and suitor, king William of the fifth kingdom.”
“She wrote that?”
“It certainly looks like it to me.”
“And it wasn't for a bet?”
“Apparently she's been into dressing up in pseudo-medieval clothes and reenacting a low-tech lifestyle for the past few years.” Maddie explained, “I looked it up, and the quote was actually from a reenactor's discussion page. So of course she'd have to call her new boyfriend by his status in the reenactor's fantasy world.”
“But out of context it sounds entirely crazy, and since she's now a Christian too, the whole lot is more fuel for the anti-Christian rhetoric?”
“Exactly.” Maddie agreed.
“So what do we do?”
“Apart from keeping your story quiet?” Maddie asked. Robbie wasn't sure if she was joking or not.
“You think we should hide what God's done?” Robbie asked.
“No, Robbie. That's what the enemy wants us to do. Your story is about God using our individual stupidity. Her's is probably something about God blessing her with so much creativity she has to escape the mundane office life to express it in fancy dress.”
“What about yours?”
“That God knows what he's doing, maybe. I was really angry with you when you went away, you know.”
“You've said, yes.”
“But if we'd married then, I'd have never had this job, Sarah would have never brought you home and pulled strings to get us this flat, and we'd be far worse off.”
“Not to mention not qualifying for the teaching bursaries because we wouldn't be mature students.” Robbie said pointing to the data-crystal that held a copy of the letters that confirmed their successful applications, as well as their marriage and birth certificates, just in case both their wrist units got stolen. His mother and Maddie's parents had copies too.
“So, God knows what he's up to. Even when we don't understand. So I'm not really worried about being called a foolish Christian.”
“Nor am I. But let's hope it doesn't end up being difficult to get employed as teachers because of it.”
Maddie was quite for a little before saying: “Or getting respect from kids and parents.”
“That might be tricky, if we want to convince them to learn.”
“Well, it's in God's hands.”
“Yes. I don't want to be selfish, but if that asteroid doesn't hit, then the abuse is just going to get worse, isn't it?”
“Probably.” she agreed.
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9AM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN.
PRESS RELEASE
Following weeks of emergency repairs after the catastrophic fire at Space Guard's deep space active radar and lidar system, Space Guard is happy to announce that the ultra-precise system is back on line. We have also been able to precisely measure the distance and speed of the approaching asteroidal body and reduce the uncertainties due to these factors by 90%.
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
There is still the possibility of further naturally occurring jets altering the course, but we can now say with a high degree (98%) of confidence that at present the body is indeed on the collision course with Earth as has been indicated before now.
We therefore call upon the United Nations high council to reach the end of its deliberations on this matter and permit the use of the Space Guard Penetration-Ablation Interceptor system to divert this target during the launch-window available to us.
Technical details are available.
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10AM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN., THE PALACE
“So, Space Guard got their radar station back together on time?” Albert asked the science minister.
“I understand that they don't quite have it bolted together properly yet, but before they tried fitting it into position they wanted to test it, so they pointed it at the moon and when they found it was where everyone agreed it was, the astronomer on duty decided to point it at the asteroid since it was just rising. It's now turned off again for another few days while they put all the boxes into the right cabinets with their proper cooling systems and everything.”
“And their interceptor? I thought it was just a theoretical project?”
“It was. The theory actually dates from the beginnings of the age of chaos. Someone worked out that you could make a crater in a comet or asteroid using either a bomb or just the power from an impact, and then assuming you could let off one or more nuclear weapons in it then you've got a rather crude rocket. But, apparently someone's been looking through their museum and has discovered that they've sort of got the bits they need if someone will let them put a nuclear weapon on top of a rocket.”
“I don't like the sound of 'sort of'. What have they actually got?”
“They've got a satellite payload, about a hundred years old. It's basically a space-launching missile, which is intended to split into two. Part one makes the hole, part two delivers the bomb. They've powered it up and according to my source it performed a systems test, declared all its batteries needed replacing, that its atomic clock had taken a few seconds to start up properly because the power supply voltage was a bit low, but it was running OK now, the bomb was missing or disconnected, and could someone please load it with the orbital elements of the target in an obsolete format that someone will need to convert things to.
“They'd need a launch vehicle capable of delivering thirty metric tonnes to low Earth orbit, a nuclear warhead which will fit into it and go bang when they tell it to, and about twenty five tonnes of fuel. They'll also need UN permission to launch the museum piece into orbit with a nuke on board, or failing that, permission to launch the nuke some other way and assemble it in orbit. Since they've changed the mountings a couple of times in the last hundred years, someone would need to work out how to attach the thing to a modern launch vehicle. They've started, of course, but they need to finish all this in the space of about a week.”
“Do you think they'll do it?”
“They have be able to, assuming the U.N. agrees. The technical challenges are something they ought to have been thinking about for decades, after all. Since that museum piece is the only thing they've got, it ought to have been maintained better, and so on. Otherwise, what's the point of Space Guard?”
“Well, since I told them which object was going to hit us and when, and all they've done since is fill everyones ears with confusion, I'm afraid I'll probably vote for them not having much point regarding this particular impact. As for a rushed launch of an antiquated and untested device with a nuclear warhead on-board? Well... let's see what my father thinks.”
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11AM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN., THE PALACE
“There you have it, father. Space Guard are pressing for their ancient payload to finally be launched in anger, and would like our support in the U.N.”
“And going with it, permission, if it goes wrong, to scatter radioactive debris all over Restoration, or wherever they knock the asteroid to?”
“I guess that's implicit, yes.”
“Presumably they've got a specific warhead in mind?”
“Actually.... from what I understand, no.”
“No?”
“The original plan required a certain number of a specific warhead, all to be detonated simultaneously. But that was a century ago. Now... they'd like a total yield of above five megatons, and they're prepared to work on the details.”
“I see. And is their little toy anywhere near our territory at the moment?”
“No.”
“That's a relief.”
“Bella, your dreams did show a launch, didn't they?” the queen asked.
“One dream showed a missile launched and hitting a rock in space, one showed a missile launch that went wrong.” Bella replied, “But I'm not sure both launches were from the ground.”
“Ah, well. I happen to have a picture of the ugly interceptor here. Do you recognise this?” Albert asked.
“Urm. Maybe.” Bella said. “Eliza?”
[You want me to look?]
[Yes please.]
Eliza looked at Bella's memories of the dreams. She was right. One was very much a traditional ground-launched missile leaving a mobile launch platform. It looked like Eliza's mental image of the onset of a nuclear war, except that the man in the control centre sees it going off course and aborts it. The other was a space-launched missile, pulling slowly away from a satellite launch vehicle slowly at first, and then when it had reached a safer distance erupting in a massive show of just how quickly chemical energy could move a rocket when there wasn't much gravity to slow it down. Then just as the rockets shut down, it hit... something. It could have been a rock, or it could have been a piece of space debris. The result in any case was dramatic, with the missile tumbling away in a cloud of debris.
“Bella's right. Two very different missiles. A ground-based one went off course, and the someone hits self-destruct, and Space-Guard's one hits something just as its main engines turn off after launch. It might have been a rock, but I don't know.”
“Interesting. What sort of ground-based missile?” the queen asked.
“It was on some kind of vehicle, but it was an enormous missile. It triggered thoughts of a nuclear war for me.”
“I certainly hope there won't be another one.” Albert responded.
“Did you see how Space-Guard's missile was launched?”
“I'm not much of a space geek, but it was what I imagine is a normal satellite launcher. I saw it gently going away from doors on the back of a space-plane for a while, and then lots of chemical rockets lighting up the darkness.”
“And the it was destroyed too?” Albert asked.
“I'm not entirely sure. It hit something, it ended up tumbling, and there was debris, but... I don't know. If you told me that the missile was armour plated and the debris must have come from whatever it hit, then I'd probably believe you.”
“Thank you, Eliza.” the King replied “That's actually quite reassuring. For one thing, it says that Space Guard's missile is going to get to space safely.”
“Should Eliza, and I guess Bella too, look at a database of mobile launchers?” Albert asked.
“If you've time, yes please.” The Queen agreed, “It would be good to know what kind of missile Bella dreamed about getting aborted. For all we know, it could have been years ago and be only slightly related to the impact at all.”
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Bella and Eliza discovered that, thanks the globalisation of the world arms trade, there were only two self-propelled gantry systems in current use. It didn't take them very long to spot which model of launcher they were looking at. The variety of missiles however was significantly greater.
“What do you think, Eliza? This one?” Bella asked.
“Maybe. There's nothing at least a fifth taller but about the same diameter? I'm pretty sure it was only slightly shorter than that lightning rod.”
“You're right, it was.”
Warren, the expert in their photo fit sucked in his breath. “We have tall and thin, short and fat, you're sure about tall and fat?”
“Fairly.” Bella replied “Why?”
“We need to start looking at something historic then, or it was this one.” he brought up what looked more like an artist's impression than a photograph.
“Would that one be a problem?”
“Yes. You surely couldn't have seen one of those where you were.”
“Warren?” Bella asked, “What exactly were you briefed for this meeting?”
“That somehow Eliza had seen a missile in ready to launch position, and their majesties would like to identify it. I'm assuming that was during your captivity, maam? This one shouldn't have been anywhere near there.”
“Ah, I get it. If you would prefer, Warren, you could suppose that I saw a photo or video during that time. It's not actually the entire truth either, but its closer. Would that help? Tell me about this tall fat one.”
“It's a scary one. It's a genuine hit-anywhere on the planet intercontinental ballistic missile with a stealth scram-jet phase. You've heard of MIRVs? Multiple Independent Re-entry Vehicles?”
“Yes. This one has those?”
“Not quite. A MIRV system is vulnerable to interception if you can get it while it's on its way up, and there isn't that much separation you can select. This one has a multiple second stage system, the scram-jet phase I spoke about. The first stage gives the initial boost, then there are seven independently guided second stage rockets under this housing, each one hosting a cluster of MIRV warheads. This was designed as the ultimate in retaliation weapons — a single launch and you can pick between a multi-parabola approach towards a single nation target or you can pick seven entirely separate continents.”
“I didn't think there were seven continents.” Bella said, trying to lighten the load.
“Well, no, but you get what I mean.” Warren said.
“So, I presume it was developed by a small country who thought they might have a lot of enemies?”
“Yes, urm, I'd rather not say who. But as far as we know it's not been built yet, so if you really saw it, that's scary.”
“How historic would the historic options you were thinking about be?”
“Out of service for thirty years. Might it have been a historic film?”
“No. Sorry.”
“Maam, my role in this... I think I need to tell you I'm the point person for any information on enemy weapon systems. I'm not saying I'm the expert on an individual system, but any intelligence should come to me.”
“I presume you've heard of the dreams about the impact?” Bella asked. “This is one of them.”
“You had the dreams, Maam?” he asked Eliza in surprise.
“Me? No, it was Bella here. I just know what she saw, possibly better than she does herself.”
Bella nodded and added “But this is the point where you ask yourself if you need to know more, Warren, and come up with the answer `no, and I don't want to speculate.' Keep that firmly in mind. But what you can be told is that in my dream, this missile was launched, went off course, and the range-safety guy hit the big red abort button. Well, I presume it was big and red. Otherwise, we presume that the launching of the missile is something to do with the impact, we guess that it's not anything to do with the rock getting sent in this direction, so it's more likely to be related to this end of things. The initial hypothesis was that it was being launched to intercept the asteroid, but I'm not sure that makes much sense if it's an ICBM.”
“It's entirely sub-orbital unless there's been a redesign no-one's heard of. But you dreamed it going off course?”
“Yes. There were some lines drawn on the screen and when the missile didn't stay inside them, a guy watching in uniform pressed a button.” Bella said.
“So you'd say that you had a premonition of range-safety abort of a test firing?”
“No.” Bella said.
“No?” Warren asked.
“I'd say I had a premonition of an aborted firing, and I remember feeling relief that it wouldn't be landing on anyone. You said earlier it was an enemy system?” Bella asked.
“It isn't one of our allies, certainly.” Warren agreed.
“But surely such a launch would be detected? What would they hope to gain? Except retaliatory strikes?” Eliza asked.
“I've no idea, but I assure you, we'll be taking a lot of interest in their plans.”
“Launch detection is satellite-based, isn't it?” Eliza asked.
“Yes, why?”
“How many satellites? I'm just thinking that there's going to be rocks and debris coming, not to mention the launch of the Space Guard missile, if that goes ahead. I wonder if they're hoping to get a strike in under the cover of something like that.”
“That... that might be possible, if they knew exactly where the observation satellites would be and everything lined up beautifully for them. But that's not very likely. Not at all.”
“I presume you'll pass on the thought though?” Eliza said.
“Absolutely.”
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1.30PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN. RESTORATION.
The note to her teacher that the school secretary had delivered said simply, “When convenient and without disrupting lessons, I'd like a word with May Ngbila.” and bore the illegible signature of the headmaster. May's teacher had decided that that meant May could do most of the maths exercises at home and sent her along half way through the scheduled lesson: “You're to see the head; take your things, Ms Ngbila, I've no idea how long a word he wants.”
Like most students, May always felt that being called to the head's office was a bad thing, so she was more than a little nervous when she went to the school office.
“Young lady, do you know why you're here?”
“No, sir.”
“Hmm. Well, either someone has decided that the press should know which school the world-famous truthsayer is at, or the reporters are ringing every school in the city. I've had a number of reporters ringing up saying they have good information that the truthsayer studies here, and would like to interview staff and students for their reactions to you.”
May was aghast. “Can they do that?”
“Not on school property without permission. How many people at the school have you actually told?”
“Here in the school? Other than staff, I've told five people, no six. And I can't imagine any of them talking to the press.”
“So, you've made no public announcement to your class, or anything like that?”
“No, sir. I'm not interested in being hounded by the press my whole life. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“And the staff who know would be myself, your form teacher and the school secretary. Anyone else?”
“Mr Watson.”
“Oh? You got some careers advice? That's sensible.”
“I can't think who might have leaked it.”
“It's entirely possible the reporters are just engaging in a little bit of social engineering; pretending they know something they don't in order to find out more.”
“I hope that's all it is, sir.” May said,
“Don't we all. Very well, you've told me what I need to know. I'll talk to other schools and find out what I can. You may return to your lessons.”
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2.30PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN. RESTORATION.
“Tony? Have you been calling round schools phishing for the truth-sayer?” Albert asked “I've had a complaint.”
“Me? No! Why would I do that?” Tony replied.
“It seems that someone has been, a little bit of social engineering to try and find out what school she goes to.”
“And they used my name? That's terrible!”
“I told the school it didn't sound like your voice, but I just wanted to check.”
“Albert, I not only wouldn't do that, but I don't need to either. I know her.”
“Hmm. All those lovely stories you won't tell! Work on this one, will you? Turn it into a story about underhand journalistic techniques and dragging your good name in the mud. If you do find out who, then I'm sure your lovely wife might like to venture an opinion.”
Tony grinned at the thought of what Teresa's opinion might be. Probably it would involve someone squirming to avoid legal fees. “With pleasure.”
“I suggest you start with the schools not on this list, see if you can forewarn them.”
“Sting operation?”
“Assuming that you let the police know what you're up to.”
“Certainly!”
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3.10PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN. RESTORATION.
“Good afternoon, Fleetwood Academy.”
“Hello, I'm Tony Randle from Nation-wide News, I understand someone's been seeking interviews at numerous schools in and around Restoration using my name. Have they contacted your school yet?”
“Urm, not me personally, but I'm just covering for the receptionist, so I can't be sure.”
“O.K. Well just so your colleague is forewarned, there are several people working their way through a list of schools saying they've heard the truthsayer is a pupil there and can they interview staff and students about their feelings about being in the same school as her. We think they're working together, at least they're both asking schools in the same order.”
“Oh, and one is claiming to be you?”
“Yes.”
“Is that legal?”
“No. Technically it's fraud. I'd really like to film them being exposed for unethical reporting, but that's probably a bit too much to ask.”
“Oh, I don't know. It might be an interesting exercise for our drama and media-studies students. You say they claim they've heard the truthsayer is a pupil at the school?”
“Yes, it's almost certainly a type of social engineering to find out which school she goes to. Fortunately, the school she's really at always reply to press enquiries that they don't talk to the press about pupils.”
“You sound like you know which school that is.”
“I do; her parents are friends of mine.”
“Oh! OK, urm, so, if they call, I can contact you at N.W.N's offices?”
“Yes, please. The police are aware, by the way. The person to contact is detective St.Clair of the fraud unit.”
“Well, once the receptionist is back I'll fill him in. I think I can see a lot of educational opportunities here.”
“Well, thank you for your vote of confidence, maam. I hope the head agrees with you.”
“Oh, I make it a policy to always agree with myself.”
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5PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN. WATER-POLO TRAINING.
The coach was droning on and on about what went wrong in the last match. How they'd given up. Q.Q had heard it before and had his own thoughts about it. His mind drifted to other problems he faced, like deciding what to do about his university choices.
“Wake up Q.Q!” the coach yelled, and then asked “Or should we call you Romeo? Explain something to me, Romeo, that was May Ngbila who helped nurse you back to health at the match, wasn't it?”
“Yes, sir”
“I don't know, fraternising with the enemy. So just which part of the rules did she want you to explain to her?”
“Urm, none of them, sir.” Q.Q. replied, red-faced.
“So, will you please stop day-dreaming about her long enough to pay attention to what we're doing here?”
“I wasn't thinking about her, sir, I was thinking about university.”
“Well get your thoughts back to the match, lad. I asked you what you thought went wrong.”
“They were better than us, sir.”
“In what way?”
Q.Q. thought back. “Passing accuracy, mainly, sir. And they fouled when the ref. wasn't watching. But we lost too many passes and they hardly missed any.”
“Interesting observation. Why did you miss passes?”
“We were getting tired, I guess.”
“You got tired, you went through the motions, but you'd given up. What you could have done was get closer together. That's what they did. Shorter throws, accuracy goes up. And if you guys remember, I was telling you you needed to do that. If you hadn't given up, then you might have listened, and might have won. And that's called letting the side down. So, what you're going to do this evening is show me how accurately you can throw immediately after warm-up and then you're going to do a few sprint lengths and see how accuracy goes down, get closer until it goes back up and then repeat until the end of the evening.”
The coach grinned at the groans greeted that this educational experience.
----------------------------------------
5.30PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN. RESTORATION.
“Hi, May. You told me you needed to talk?”
“Urm, yes, I did. I do. Isn't there work to do, though?”
“Oh, probably. But lets do this first.”
“You're the boss.”
“Yes, and you've been busy this week, so I'm not planning to work you very hard tonight.”
“And tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, you're going to have some time to do some homework or study, since I'm going to be at Eliza's wedding. But what do you want to talk about?”
“I'm not sure it's working out with Q.Q.”
“Oh. And you want to talk about it?”
“I need to, Sarah. I know you said no dating, but with Kara fluttering her eye-lashes at him every chance she gets, I don't think I can stay cool calm and aloof. I don't want to lose him.”
“Oh! That sort of not working. I though you meant you'd decided there wasn't any hope of romance.”
“I think he's a good one, Sarah. I don't want to disobey, but I want to at least let him know I've got feelings for him.”
“You haven't yet?”
“I said we could be friends. And I'm trying to keep it like that. Otherwise...”
“But you'd like to be able to give him some encouragement?”
“Yes. And I don't really know how, without flirting, and I'm not going back there.”
“Well, now, he's always inviting himself over to your house isn't he?”
“Yes.”
“And his parents have invited you to visit, haven't they?”
“Yes. You're suggesting I could go?”
“Well... a girl visiting a boy at his home feels a bit different to the other way round, but as long as his parents are there, not to mention Rhianna... It's not like you're going out on a date, is it? So, you have my OK on this, but ask your parents. Also... just because you're not giving each other an opportunity for temptation to strike, don't feel you need to keep him in the dark about what you feel, May.”
“But... how do I do that without it being flirting?”
“Oh, that's easy May. Flirting is doing things to get him excited. Don't do that, just talk to him.”
“But how does that equate to not getting involved romantically?”
“You tell me, May.”
“I get jealous when Kara flutters her eye lids at him. I get annoyed when he's always here and miss him when he's not around...”
“You day-dream about him in lessons?”
“No. Well, not really day-dreaming...”
“When you think about your future, is he in it?”
“Well, he's in the association, isn't he?”
“So's John, May.”
“Urm. That was a lame excuse, wasn't it?”
“It was, rather. So, would you like to go to a different university than him? Have some time apart, meet lots of other boys, see if any of them take your fancy?”
“I don't want to go chasing boys, Sarah.”
“But this one has chased you rather successfully?”
“He wants to know the clan, Sarah, that's special.”
“And so he's got past a lot of your defenses.”
“I guess so. If I had any.”
“So, I see two options, May. You keep him in the dark and I tell Kara to keep away from him, or you tell him that you don't want him paying attention to Kara's eye-lashes, even if you're not really dating yet. And I don't think I would have a problem with you telling him that when she does your emotions are getting involved despite your best efforts to keep things just at friendship level.”
“Even when she doesn't.” May admitted.
“So, I should tell you not to see him for a while, shouldn't I?”
May felt panic grip her “Not before I've talked with him, please! It might push him towards Kara. Or someone else.”
Sarah smiled. “Don't worry, May. I'm not planning on making either of you miserable. So, you tell him what you're starting to feel, and decide between the two of you how you can keep hormones under control and not date. Unless you decide to try and convince your parents that the only way of doing that is John's solution, but I think that's too drastic.”
“Dare I ask what John's solution is?”
“Get married. To quote my beloved husband, 'There's nothing like regular guilt-free sex to keep hormones under control.' I don't recommend it, myself, though you're too young.”
“Not legally after my next birthday, but yeah. Quentin is so not ready for marriage. Nor am I, for that matter. I mean, you've banned us both from dating.”
“I've banned you and Q.Q. from dating, yes, like you told me, neither of you need that temptation.”
“How long is that in force for?”
“Give it some months. Try not to get too emotional about each other.”
“So no kissing either?”
“You tell me what you think. Is that giving in to hormones, or is it going to help him separate his lust from his sexuality?”
“Can you unpack what you mean about sexuality there?” May asked, “I've heard about separating lust from love, but isn't his sexuality about him finding women attractive?”
“Partly. It's also about him being male. Male and female human sexuality comes into all sorts of things: typically males liking to compete, females tend towards nurturing and caring; males tend to look for someone they can protect and provide for, females tend to long for someone to protect them; and so on. But of course, females compete with each other over good males, as you know. All those sorts of things, biases that are wired into our brains. I'm not saying that there's no fuzzy edges, there's lots, but it's more than just gender stereotyping and social norms. I don't know anyone who got told they had to wear pink as a little girl. It's just something that little girls like to do, for some reason. Male and female brains are wired differently and of course, testosterone makes people competitive, builds muscles, and so on, which is why when they discovered that they gave it to athletes.”
“Stupid thing to do, mucking with that sort of thing is really dangerous.” May said.
“Oh, I know. But that's one way people found out. By people worshipping success, and suffering for it. But that's another issue. The main issue, (realising there's a difference between sexuality and gender-related temptation) is one of those things that it really helps to do. God doesn't want us to force ourselves to be neuter, so maybe a kiss and cuddle is appropriate as long as it stays chaste, you'll have to decide that between you. Q.Q. needs to find ways of rejecting his lust without rejecting the way that God has made him. Similarly, you and Kara need to find ways of rejecting flirting without wearing a sack over your heads, deciding that all men are rapists, or any other extremes people have taken it to. Or take gossipping — it is related to an interest in people and what's important to them, which is good, but gossip is taking it too far and getting the motivation wrong.”
“Wow. Did you, like, take courses on this stuff?”
“Me? No. I've just been picking John's brains.”
“So... applying some of it. If Mum and Dad say so, I go and visit Q.Q. for lunch tomorrow, and I don't dress up in a sack, but nor do I wear the sort of lust-fueling stuff I used to.”
“Exactly, and you don't flutter your eyelids, or lean towards him with a loose top, or press yourself against him or anything like that, because firstly, he's your brother in Christ and you don't want to lead him into temptation, and secondly, you want him over those sorts of thoughts quickly so that you can start going out with him without his mind being like a cesspit.”
“Will he be over them?”
“Probably not. But there's a big difference between the thought coming to his mind and him stamping on it, or immediately turning to prayer and him savoring it. And May, it goes both ways. If you find certain clothes, words or actions of his don't help you keep your heart pure, then they need excluding from your relationship too.”
“There's a question I've not asked yet.”
“Oh yes?”
“Yes. Am I losing it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Am I straying from God? I've not been back with God long, and I don't want to go back to that place, but I'm already thinking that maybe I shouldn't have dumped all my party clothes...”
“Because you'd like to wear some of them for him?”
“Urm... yes.”
“And while his reaction might feed your ego, would it help his walk with God?”
May felt tears coming to her eyes, and shook her head.
“And would it help yours?”
“No.”
“So, like you agreed earlier, you're not ready to be going out yet, are you?”
“No.”
“It's going to be a temptation, May. It's a path to sin you've followed before and it's always easier to follow familiar paths than walk new ones.
You're facing a new situation with Q.Q.; lots of prayer is entirely appropriate. Now, answer your own question. Are you straying?”
“I hope not. It was just a temptation, wasn't it?”
“It depends if you took the thought on board. If you did, you'll need to reject it all over again. And pray about it of course.”
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5.40PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN.
“Hello, Tony Randle? Fleetwood Academy here. I've just been talking to the nice helpful detective St-Claire. The fake Tony Randle called. He says he won't actually be able to come on Monday, so it'll be a colleague.”
“Well, that makes sense. It avoids him needing to explain why he doesn't look like me or have my I.D. You're going ahead?”
“Yes. I've made various excuses about why it couldn't be during school time, so it'll be at five on Monday. We've sent a letter home to the media studies and drama classes, explaining that some reporters might arrange an interview under false pretenses and would they like their kids to take part in this educational police operation. If you'd like to step out behind the door or something, along with the policemen, that'd be wonderful. The media studies students will be filming them filming it, and the drama students will be giving some reactions.”
“You sound like you're very well organised.”
“Thank you, we try.”
“But you were able to convince them she goes to your school?”
“Well, I'd been pre-warned by the police not to say that she did, or I would be entrapping them. So when they said they'd heard rumours, I said something like it seemed there were no secrets safe in the world. Then they asked about her getting the day off to visit the palace, I said that our students often had invitations for acting jobs, so someone having a day off wasn't that unusual, and of course the children didn't always let on to others where they were going.”
“Oh very well done. So you'd like me to turn up at about quarter to five?”
“Actually, I was wondering if you'd be able to give a half-hour presentation on ethical journalism, starting at four?”
“Oh! Well, urm, it's not something I'm used to doing, but OK, I can put something together.”
“Wonderful. I'm sure they'll be fascinated.”
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6.30PM, FRIDAY 12TH JAN.
Q.Q. checked his wrist unit out of habit as he put it on. No missed calls, one message. His heart sped as he saw it was from May. It was short, but... exhilarating: “Dear Q.Q., hope you're not too shattered. I'm busy with S. this evening, so avoid wasted trip and go straight home. But I've been talking to S. And Rhi. S. says I don't need to hide what I feel for you, Rhi says I have a lunch invitation at your place tomorrow. Hope you can make it, or it'll be very awkward. With what's probably love, May.”
“Hey, Q.Q., what's all this about you fraternising with the enemy?” someone who almost counted as a friend asked.
“I guess he's saying I'm a traitor to the school for making friends with the infamous May Ngbila.”
“She's the beauty who's lap you were lying on? I saw you, you lucky guy.”
“Hey, I was genuinely stuck! She was helping me get my arm out without wrecking it.”
“Oh yeah, we saw that all right. You were really getting stuck on her, weren't you?”
“Hey, look, she's a friend of my sister, all right? I tripped over and got stuck and she helped rescue me. We're not going out.”
“Hey, guys? Q.Q.'s not even asked her out yet!”
“I didn't say that.” Q.Q. replied.
“I'm confused, man. You're making friends with a pretty girl her but not going out?”
“Exactly. Plenty of time for that later.”
“Plenty of time? What are you playing at? I don't get it.”
“I mean we decided we wouldn't yet. I mean she's beautiful and smart and pretty much my ideal woman, and I'm serious enough about her that I can wait.”
“Until what, she dumps her current boyfriend of something?”
“Nahh, I'm pretty sure I'm the only serious contender, but her family's pretty traditional, you know?”
“No. What does that mean? Big brother's going to beat you into a pulp if he catches you with her?”
“Not really, he's all right, but... you know, it'd disappoint people if we went out behind their backs.”
“Nope, can't say I understand that at all. What are you doing?”
“I'm visiting her at home, meeting her family. And we're talking lots, getting to know each other.”
“You are so weird, Q.Q. Why do you want to involve her folks? Where does that get you?”
“Into her good books, and their good books too.”
“Ohh. So it's all a cunning plan, is it? Buttering up everyone before you sneak away into a dark corner?”
“Not really. We're just taking things slowly. There's plenty of time.”
“You said that before. Before what?”
“Look, Nick, I think I want to marry her, eventually. I know I want to stay friends with her and her family, because they're good people with all sorts of connections. I don't want to ruin everything.”
“Oh wow. You're serious aren't you? First girl to look at you and she's got you thinking marriage already!”
“What's wrong with that?”
“What's wrong with playing the field a bit first, eh? Gaining a bit of experience?”
“If you mean what I think you mean, then that'd be against my faith.”
“Q.Q., when did you get religion?”
“I've been a Christian all the time you've known me, Nick. I guess I woke up a bit over Christmas, got back into studying my Bible, that's all.”
“And I thought you were a regular guy, not some nutter. Well, bye loser, been nice almost knowing you.”
Nick turned away, grabbed his stuff and walked out of the changing rooms.
Q.Q.'s surprise was doubled by what he'd heard Nick decide just before he'd said that: 'A bible-bashing nutter! I've really wasted my time talking to him.'