Chapter 1

       “Congratulations, James; it’s about time your talents were recognised.” Straker shook hands with the grey-haired officer who had been his superior for over ten years but a valued mentor for even longer.

“I think they just wanted to keep a closer eye on me, Ed. I’ve been pestering the JCS for months about their inadequate defence systems, and this is one way they can shut me up, or so they think.” James Henderson grinned at the SHADO Commander. “What do they say; if you can’t beat them, join them? I intend pestering them even more once I get inside their group.” 

“I’m sorry you’ll be leaving the IAC, but if anyone deserves the promotion it’s you. Any idea who’s taking over?”

Henderson gave a brief shrug. “I didn’t have much say in the matter; the chief of staff had the casting vote and ended up overriding everyone else. He wanted General Peter Fitzpatrick, USAF. Have you met him? Very experienced, worked with the IAC on several projects, good man if a little – ” Another shrug, one with the slightest hint of disapproval or perhaps caution. “Keen on the job, if you know what I mean. The chief of staff was adamant whoever got the post had to be another American, and he put Fitzpatrick’s name forward as the only viable candidate. To be honest he wouldn’t be my choice; I don’t particularly like the man, but the obvious candidate isn’t available yet.” He looked askance at Straker.

“Obvious candidate? You mean me? Straker leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. “I’d rather resign than…” He shook his head. “You know what what I mean.”

“End up behind this desk? Don’t blame you, Ed. It’s not the career move I was looking for. Always thought I’d be the one running SHADO but now, looking back, I think the best man got the job. Let’s be realistic, I couldn’t have done what you did, setting everything up from scratch. It needed a younger man at the helm, someone with the vision and energy to see it through to the end. And you did. To tell you the truth, I’m looking forward to a few easy years before my retirement. Or does that sound selfish?”

Straker shook his head. “No, General. You’ve given a lot to SHADO, much more than anyone expected. And you’ve done a good job, a damned good job, and I wish you every success in the future. So, what can you tell me about Fitzpatrick?”

***

This late in the evening the IAC offices were closed, minimal staff on duty, the car park virtually empty. For one moment Straker thought he’d been given the wrong time, but Miss Ealand was too efficient to make such an error. The building looked empty and forlorn, the dim lighting in the reception area giving it an eerie feel. Two security guards were on duty in the reception area – a miserable job at the best of times – but the rest of the space was dark. 

He shook his head at foolish thoughts, opened the car door, grabbed his briefcase and stepped out into the night. At least the rain had stopped, the sky clear for once. A good night for spotting UFO’s though with any luck the clear skies would deter the invaders for a few nights. Anything for a break. The past two months had been horrendous with UFO incursions increasing week by week until they were at an all time high and, as a result, SHADO was struggling to maintain any superiority over the enemy forces. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d finished work on time, or had a day off. And he was not the only one. The attacks were never-ending, the casualties mounting and it was only a matter of time before someone made an error of judgement and things ended in disaster. He shook his head. This was neither the time nor place for such thoughts.

As he approached the entrance one of the security men took a step back, fingers twitching close to the handle of the pistol at his hip. The other walked across the open space, a slow nonchalant walk,  a look of distrust or maybe disdain on the unfamiliar face. “Name?”

“Straker.” He held out his ID. “I have a meeting with General Fitzpatrick.”

A cursory glance at the card, a more careful look at his face. “This way.”

He made no comment. The lift was small and oppressive with metal walls and a mirror on one side to give the illusion of spaciousness, but it made the narrowness even worse. On other visits, he’d avoided the tiny box, citing the queue as a convenient excuse but now, in an empty building, he had no option but to follow the security guard. Fourth floor. It could have been worse, but even so he kept his eyes half-closed to blur the narrow confines of the steel prison. 

A brief but uncomfortable journey. Barely ten seconds later the lift came to a halt and the door slid open. He stepped out into the familiar corridor, lights brightening every surface, the sense of freedom and cool air. “Thank you. I can manage from here.” 

The guard nodded, stepped back, and the lift doors closed, leaving Straker alone. For once, the wide passage was empty: no assistants bustling around, no background noise of computers and operating systems, even the air condition little more than a low hum. Henderson’s office was at the end of the corridor, the door open as if waiting for him to enter. Had it been James inside, he would have walked straight in, but the man sitting behind the desk and fiddling with a pile of papers was an unknown, so he tapped on the door. “General Fitzpatrick? Ed Straker.”

Fitzpatrick looked up. Straker’s first impression was of gauntness, a sparse figure, pale skin, long fingers, uniform hanging loose on his frame. Illness perhaps or just his natural physique. A grimace flickered over the thin face, or perhaps it was weariness, then the general raised himself up and leaned forward, stretching out one arm. “Good to see you, Straker. We haven’t met before, have we? Sorry to drag you out here so late at night, but I’ve been busy getting up to date on all Henderson’s projects.” A brisk shake of hands before he sank back into his chair. “Take a seat. Now, I’ve been going through your recent accounts and it seems we’ve been seriously underfunding SHADO. You must have had a hell of a struggle trying to keep things running considering your budget hasn’t changed much for the last five years other than allowing for inflation. I intend doing something about that as soon as possible. But first…” Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Tell me about FarSight. How long will it take to build, how much money will it take, and, the most important point, is it really necessary?”

“Let me show you.” Straker opened his briefcase, pulled out the plans and spread them on the desk.

It was close to midnight when he took the stairs down to Reception and was let out of the building by the same two men, but the lateness didn’t matter. He’d won the battle for FarSight, even if the cost was more than he’d expected. He just hoped Alec Freeman agreed.

••••

Straker added yet another annotation to one of the blueprints spread across the conference table. SHADO HQ was quiet for once, no incursions reported overnight, nothing in Moonbase’s sensor, the Deep Space satellites silent. A rare chance to catch up on work. He straightened up, rolling his shoulders to ease stiffness from too little sleep, desperate to get the plans finalised while he had time. 

“You look busy.” Freeman was leaning against the door frame.

“Aren’t I always? Close the door; I need a word.”

“Sounds serious; something wrong? And why are you here so early – I thought you were on the late rota for the next few days? Jackson said something about sleep patterns and so on.”

“Jackson fusses too much. Take a look at this.” Straker slid the blueprint across. “What do you think?”

“FarSight?” Freeman looked at the paper. “Don’t tell me. Our esteemed President told you to cut the budget by fifty percent.”

Straker tossed a ruler onto the table. “No. He agreed to fund it. Completely.” He grinned at his second-in-command. 

“Fitzpatrick approved FarSight?” Freeman shook his head. “What did you do, Ed? Blackmail him?”

“That’s the thing, Alec; I didn’t do anything. He had the authorisation signed and waiting when I got there. I didn’t even get chance to show him the revised budget. He agreed to the original expenditure and even allocated an additional fifty-seven billion for contingencies.” Straker looked puzzled. “I expected a fight on my hands this time, but it was almost too easy.”

“So what now? When does construction start?”

“Ah, well. About that. That why I wanted to talk to you.” Straker pressed both hands flat on the table. “There’s a catch. You’re not going to like it, but it’s the only way we can get the money.”

“Sod it. I knew there’d be a fly in the ointment somewhere. What does Fitzpatrick want? Day trips to the Moon? Skydiver running pleasure cruises?”

Straker gave a quick grimace. “No, nothing as simple as that, I’m sorry to say. He wants a senior staff member to oversee the complete development of the base.”

“Nothing wrong with that, surely. We do that with every new project.”

“This is different – he insists on a senior member being in charge, not just the usual construction managers. His actual words were: ‘I want Alec Freeman on-site there until the base is ready for operation.’ which means you going out there and running things. You’ll be responsible for site managing the project until it’s completed, and you’ll be expected to report back to him on a regular basis so he can justify his actions in approving the funding. It means we’ll be short handed in HQ for the next six months – maybe even longer – but it’s a price I’m willing to pay to get the tracking system. As long as you feel able to commit to the work.” He looked across at the man he considered not only his second-in-command but also his closest friend. “It’s a big responsibility, and we both know it won’t be easy, but we need FarSight in operation as soon as possible.”

Freeman was silent. “Six months on the other side? Maybe longer?”

“It isn’t something either of us imagined, but we both know how important this complex is, if SHADO is to stand any chance of winning this war against the aliens. But.” Straker looked at him. “I’m not going to order you to go, Alec. You can turn it down if it’s too much.” 

“Turn it down? Don’t be stupid, Ed – how long have we worked on those plans? Without FarSight there’s no way we can expand our scope.”

“I did my best to persuade Fitzpatrick to change his mind, or have the job on a rotation basis – you, Paul, Virginia – six weeks at a time, but he was adamant. You, and you alone, or no FarSight.” Straker perched himself on the edge of the conference table. “Take a couple of weeks to think about it – I don’t need your answer right now.”

“No need. I’ll do it. Without it we’ll be fighting a losing battle in a couple of years, especially if things carry on like they have been recently.” Freeman’s lips twisted in a wry grimace. “Do me good anyway, six months away from the studio, all those actresses who fling themselves at me every day, the fame, the fortune, and, oh yes…” He winced. “Six months without a single drop of alcohol.” He looked at his friend. “You couldn’t change the rules on that could you? How about putting a small bar in the Launch Bay?” He leaned over the blueprints: six domes around the main Control Sphere, corridors radiating like spokes from the centre, another corridor linking the domes to each other like a wheel, an inner circular corridor providing additional access. It was similar to Moonbase, but more than double the size. “There’s room here, next to the Moonmobile refuelling area.”

“You can live without it for six months.” Without Alec Freeman to help run SHADO, Straker wasn’t sure he could manage for six months, but there was no way in hell he would admit to his concerns. “We’ll talk about the logistics later, right now I have to get these plans finalised and I need your help.”

A massive project, FarSight was the first base to be built on the far side of the Moon. Some people referred to it as the ‘dark side’ though that was a misnomer,  but in many respects it deserved the name: out of direct radio contact to SHADO, cut off from everyday communications with its parent planet, and – worst of all – unable to see Earth. There would be no comforting blue and white marble rising in the darkness of space. There would be stars and so on, but Earth would be hidden, and until the extensive array of FarSight communications satellites had been placed in their protective orbit around the Moon, anyone working there would have with minimal contact with Earth or SHADO, restricted to the occasional comm bounced off small satellites or reliant on messages delivered via the next transport bringing supplies. 

But the inconvenience would be worth the sacrifice. Straker and Freeman both knew FarSight station was only the start. The ‘next stage’ for the base included a telescope that would be built close by the monitoring station, a telescope that would enable SHADO to look far beyond the current reach of Hubble and Webb. A chance to see out into the depths of space and to watch and learn, and maybe find out where their alien enemy was based.

Freeman pushed himself to his feet. “Then let’s stop wasting time and get the detailed plans finalised before another alert comes in. Any idea how long it will be before Fitzgerald gives the go-ahead to start construction?” 

Straker breathe out. “He already has – just the ground work so far, but it’s going to take a month to get the regolith cleared and the first domes in place.” He held up a hand. “Yes, I know. It’s going to be one hell of a rush to get everything done, but the basic ground work is the same as we used for Moonbase, and we didn’t have as many vehicles back then, or access to so many experts used to working in space.”

“We lost some good men out there.” 

“We did. John Bosanquet, for one.” Straker pinched the bridge of his nose. The damned headache had started this morning and didn’t appear to be easing up. Too much coffee and not enough sleep. 

“Bosanquet? Ah, yes; got lost on the surface. Had a daughter, Sarah – wasn’t she…?”

“Under alien influence? Yes. Jackson brought her in and wiped her memory. Last report said she’s doing all right, but security keep an eye on her, just in case.” He still remembered Professor John Bosanquet, a brilliant geologist who helped choose the final site for Moonbase and disappeared without trace while investigating unusual radiation readings in a nearby crater. “But that was when we were just starting out. A lot’s changed in the decade since – there’s the infrastructure now and the training to build bases on the Moon, and Fitzpatrick is providing an experienced construction team, which means we don’t have to worry about using our own workforce. There’s no way we could spare the manpower to run Moonbase and build FarSight at the same time.”

“So a month or so before I start packing?”

“No. That’s the problem. Fitzpatrick wants you there by the start of next week, when the first teams start work. There’ll be basic living accommodation in emergency modules until the first dome goes up, but it’s not going to be a comfortable few weeks. Seriously, Alec. You can change your mind at any time. If I have to, I’ll go out there myself and take over, but I don’t know that running SHADO would be any easier.”

“No. We both know you’re needed here, Ed. I’ll go. Just give me a few days to get things organised.”

“You’re sure?”

Freeman shrugged. “As much as I loathe the idea, it has to be done. No point in making a song and dance about it.”

“Then I’ll book you on the Friday shuttle. Moonbase is going to be the launch pad for all initial flights to FarSight until the new complex has its own shuttle pad in action. You’ll have fifty K luggage allowance but that’s for everything you might need for the first month, so be careful.There’ll be a fully equipped Medical Centre and basic facilities, but other than that, you’ll be reliant on yourself.”  He looked at his second-in-command. “I wouldn’t send you, Alec, if it wasn’t so bloody important.”

“I’ll be fine, Ed, don’t mind roughing it for a few weeks. Just hope things ease up here, while I’m away.”

Straker picked up a pencil, rolling it in his fingers before dropping it again. “What worries me is how we’ll manage if the attacks continue at their present rate. At the moment we need all senior staff available here. I can run HQ for a short time with just Paul and Virginia as back up, but it’ll be a different matter with you out of the running for six months. I’m placing all my bets on the attacks decreasing soon.”

“I think you’re right. They’ll not be able to sustain this level of assault, for long, surely?” 

Straker had no answer, if indeed there was an answer. Who knew why the aliens acted as they did, or when they might stop coming to Earth in search of humans. He shivered, though his office was warm enough. Too many deaths recently, too many close calls and near misses. The last few months had nearly brought him to the point of exhaustion with the struggle to keep the organisation running at peak efficiency despite serious underfunding for the last few years. 

Not that Henderson had been at fault – any blame lay squarely at the feet of the IAC board with their refusal to see beyond the next year. SHADO’s success was also its greatest enemy, every UFO shot down or blown up seen as a victory instead of the latest battle in an unending line of battles. And while one battle might be won, there might be a far greater one approaching, and one for which SHADO was not equipped. He had nightmares about UFOs attacking in great swathes from space, of motherships disgorging thousands of them straight into Earth’s atmosphere, of aliens building underwater bases and attacking from the sea.

But if Fitzpatrick’s willingness to fund FarSight meant Straker managing without Alec Freeman for a few months, then so be it. It would be hard though; not only was Alec an excellent second-in-command, friend and confidant, he was also a voice of reason amongst the grim details of attacks and incursions, bodies left mutilated, persons taken, homes destroyed. The one person Straker relied on to keep him sane and human. 

Over the years the two of them had perfected a routine; after a difficult day Alec would come into the office and pour himself a whisky – the smallest amount, barely enough for a mouthful – ask Ed if he wanted a drink, and the banter would begin. There would be innocuous remarks about dependency on alcohol, about self-control, about the need to relax, and then Alec would firmly remind Ed that the SHADO Commander did not have to work all the hours God gave him, and after a reasonable amount of arguing, would succeed in sending Straker home. 

It never failed to astound him that the simple act of Alec Freeman pouring himself a drink in Straker’s office, made the commander pause and breathe and smile to himself, however bad things might have been. And on those days when Alec Freeman did not go into the office in search of a small whisky, then Straker would end up staying in his office, catching up on paperwork until the early hours of the morning, because there was no one telling him to stop work and go home.

He was going to miss Alec Freeman, but he would cope. He would leave HQ at a reasonable time each day, and he would call Alec as often as possible to check on the progress of FarSight, but really to keep in touch with the one person in SHADO who understood what it was like to sit behind the desk.

Chapter 2 

Straker closed his office door and sat, silently fighting back the tears threatening his outward composure. He would not break down, not here where anyone might witness his grief. As SHADO commander, he needed to be resolute and unemotional, setting an example to everyone else. But it had been a grim night; one of the worst since Alec had gone to FarSight. 

They’d lost a mobile and interceptor, but worse than the loss of the machines was the loss of a pilot and serious injuries to all three mobile operatives while he stood there, useless, as hell rained down on Earth. And now all he could do was write an initial report to Fitzpatrick, send a request for replacement vehicles and then sit there, head in hands, wondering what the hell was going to happen next. 

Footsteps paused outside his office door as if someone was standing there and about knock, but whoever it was knew better and walked away. He’d trained them well, too well in fact. Had Alec Freeman been in HQ he’d have come in and sat down, waited for Straker to say something or maybe he’d have poured two glasses of whisky and put one down on the desk. No need for words. But Straker didn’t drink, at least not alone, and there was no one else in the Control Room who might have the courage to ignore his closed door.  

On a whim, or perhaps because the thought of his friend had reminded him, he went over to the safe hidden behind his desk.  It took just a press of his thumb on the pad to open the  heavy door and he reached inside the small space, pulling out folders and small boxes, stacking them in an untidy heap on his desk before lifting a bottle out from the back of the small compartment. Dark glass,  the label faded with age, a fine layer of dust covering the lead seal. 

Single malt. A rare bottle, found after much searching. It had cost him more than he would like to admit, but some things are beyond price and he’d paid without quibbling. He was already anticipating the expression on Alec’s face when he handed over the bottle, and even more when his friend took the first sip. But that would not be anytime soon. He put the bottle back in the safe, trying not to think about the recent deaths and the ever-increasing attacks from space. 

He’d survived without Alec’s support for three of the worst months in SHADO’s history – another three months and Freeman would be back on Earth and Straker could relax. Until then he would have to keep going. He’d done it before, but that was ten years ago and he was older now, battle-weary and worn thin by too many losses, too many deaths.

His desk comm buzzed and he pressed the button  connecting his office to Lt Ford’s console. “What is it, Ford?”

“Commander, I’m getting reports Colonel Lake’s been in an accident. No details yet, but Dr Schroeder’s been notified.”

“Is she…” He paused, not wanting to ask the question but needing to know the answer. “How bad is it?”

“They’re taking her to Mayland right now, Commander. That’s all the information I have so far. No other news.” 

“Tell Schroeder I’m on my way.” He was heading out of his office even before Ford had had chance to reply.

SHADO’s Mayland trauma unit was unknown outside the organisation but, for all its secrecy and relatively small size, it was as well-equipped as any major hospital emergency department. But unlike general A&E departments, Mayland was also capable of dealing with any extra-terrestrial being, alive or dead. Straker hurried through the rigmarole of Voice ID and fingerprints, cursing the delay. Ahead of him lay the main Emergency Department with signs to various units: Resuscitation, Major Incident, Major Trauma, Critical Care, Operating Theatres 1- 4, Mortuary, Pathology. The darker side of Emergency work, each sign a silent accusation, reminding him of those who had died here or in space or under the sea. Not the aliens – he had no consideration for them – but those who had given their lives to protect Earth. 

The area was deserted, no one around to tell him where they had taken her, or even if she was alive. So he paced the corridor, minutes ticking by, each sound bringing him to a standstill, hope and fear rising equally in his mind.  

Then Schroeder appeared, stripping off surgical gown and gloves and mask. “Commander.” A quick nod followed by the briefest of smiles. Nothing more, but it was sufficient.

“She’s alive.” Straker leaned against the rough concrete buttress, relief sweeping though him.

“Yes, alive and surprisingly well, considering she was hit by a car travelling at speed. A glancing blow luckily, and even more so that it happened in the Studio grounds so our medical team were close at hand. She’s suffered a comminuted fracture to her right femur as well as other injuries, most of which require no major intervention other than rest. The leg, however is a different matter. We’ll be taking her to theatre in a couple of hours once she’s stable enough to deal with the surgery.”

“Surgery?” 

“The fracture is severe enough to require intramedullary nailing in order to keep the bone stable while it heals.” He looked at Straker. “Sorry, Commander, I’m still in what you might call ‘surgeon mode’. I’m going to insert a titanium rod down into the canal of Colonel Lake’s femur to hold the broken bones in place, then fix screws above and below the break to keep everything stable. I’m familiar with the technique so there’s no need to call in a specialist which means we can get it done later today. It’s somewhat old-fashioned and cumbersome but it has the best outcome when dealing with a fracture such as this one. Once she’s over the operation and more mobile there’s no reason why she can’t recuperate at home, though she’ll be on crutches for a minimum of three months.”

Three months or more. Another senior member out of action.  He pushed aside the thought. “Will she regain full mobility?”

“Oh yes. Given time and the right physiotherapy she’ll be back at work. But it’s going to be at least six months, if not longer before she’ll be fully mobile. To be honest, she’s fortunate not to have lost the leg. If you want, you can go in and see her, but she is in some pain and I would ask you not to stay longer than a couple of minutes.” 

It was a shock to see Virginia Lake looking so fragile, so damaged: her face lined and grey with shock, eyes sunken and bruised, face and hands scuffed purple with deep scrapes. Even her hair, always pristine and perfect, was bloodied and matted and tangled.

“What happened, Colonel? How did you manage to get hit by a car in the studio grounds of all places?” Straker shook his head at the tinge of anger in his voice. “I’m sorry – ” A reaction to the shock of the news and the sheer relief that she was alive, more than anything else. The thought that she might have been killed. “Thank god you’re not badly injured.” Though the broken leg was bad enough. He crushed down the thought of a fractured skull or brain damage.

“Relax, Ed. Just one of those things.” Virginia was growing drowsy as the drugs began to take effect. “Stupid driver, not looking where he was going, just didn’t see me. Too interested in the other girl. She wasn’t even pretty. I was on the pavement as well. Stupid driver.” Her eyes closed, her features relaxed as she slept. 

Straker waited until her breathing was regular then went to find one of the security team who had called for help. “Sgt Harrison, what happened to Colonel Lake?” 

A former Army sergeant recruited when SHADO was in its infancy, Harrison was one of the longest serving guards, disciplined and excellent at his work. A brisk, factual report.“There was an urgent call from the Gate to say Colonel Lake had been hit by a vehicle just inside the studio grounds. I was the closest on duty and it was clear the Colonel was badly injured. I called for back-up, notified the medical unit we had a seriously injured member of the senior staff, then stayed with her until the ambulance arrived a few minutes later.”

“And the driver?”

 Harrison frowned. “He was questioned by security, but it appears to be an accident. It seems he was distracted and lost control of his vehicle which mounted the pavement and hit the Colonel. CCTV confirms what he said and there are no indications of alcohol or drugs in his bloodstream. The local police have taken him in for further questioning and they’ll get back to me tomorrow.”

“I’d like a full G6 check on the driver, just in case.”

“Already under way, sir. Colonel Lake is fortunate she didn’t sustain more serious injuries, however. Had she not noticed the car and tried to avoid it, she might well have been killed.”

“Excellent work, Harrison. Thank you for acting so promptly.” The walk back to HQ gave him time to ponder the vagaries of fate. Alec, the one man he relied on to help him keep sane in this mad world of invading aliens, was stuck in FarSight for the next three months, and now Virginia was in hospital. He hoped that he would be able to manage to run HQ with some degree of efficiency with just himself and Colonel Foster. It would mean long hours and hard work, but with two of them, as long as the aliens didn’t increase their attacks, it would be possible. Just.

Damn, he missed Alec; missed the bluff Londoner’s physical presence, missed his support, missed hearing his voice in the background arguing over some unimportant decision. The bottle of whisky would be another talking point. He would make rude comments about Alec’s expensive tastes and Alec would make some sharp comment back and they would sit in silence and sip whisky and relax and the world would be back to normal.

 But the way things were going, any semblance of normality was a long way off.

***

The charts were devastating, even to an outsider’s view. In the eight weeks since Lake’s accident, the aliens rate of attack had increased fourfold; craft coming in day and night on erratic and unpredictable courses, sometimes veering off before entering lunar space, sometimes taunting the Interceptors before heading back to where they came from. If they entered Earth orbit then, more often than not, they simply turned round and left. And sometimes they didn’t. Over the last seventy-two hours two UFO’s had managed to get through Earth’s defences and land on Earth. Mobiles and search aircraft had been on constant alert since then, searching with out success.

After another twenty-four hours of non-stop incursions, Straker – even with his uncanny ability to work out alien strategies – was struggling to understand the latest attacks. Nothing made sense: the flightpaths, the way they retreated, the lack of any serious purpose. Those rare nights in his own bed were spent lying awake, his mind running through every possible scenario, every permutation, until exhaustion overcame him.  No one could help with the task – Foster still learning the ropes in the organisation and currently doing his second Moonbase rotation, Alec still stuck on the far side of the Moon dealing with the intricacies of electronics and air supplies, and Colonel Lake hobbling around her apartment on crutches and as tetchy as a hungry lioness. 

One several occasions he’d made plans to drop in and see her – Chinese, a bottle of wine, a chat about work and so on – but he was either too exhausted at the end of the day, or he’d been embroiled in yet another Red Alert. Besides, there was nothing she could do to help in HQ.  Indeed, if she actually managed to get down there, she’d be more of a liability than an asset. And the last thing he needed right now was more distraction.

“Red Alert, Red Alert. Moonbase reports multiple sightings. Speed SOL 4, trajectory 142.95. Interceptors immediate launch.”

Another assault, less than six hours after the previous incursion. He’d hoped for a least a few hours sleep, but it was not to be. “Lt Barry? How many?” Straker leaned closer to the comm, eyes fixed on the radar scanner. “They seem to be coming in from an unusual angle.”

“I agree, Commander. It’s making it difficult to count how many there are – at least four, but my guess is six. The asteroid field is messing with our radar screens. We should be able to confirm the number when they come into range of our outlying stations in three minutes.”

“Three minutes is a long time. Launch secondary interceptors but tell the pilots to hang back out of range until we know more. And get the rocket launchers ready in case they decide to target Moonbase.” He shook his head in frustration. Anything could happen – the UFOs could be playing an interstellar game of hide and seek, or they might be loaded with enough explosives to destroy half the Moon, or they might veer off and attack Earth. He’d given up trying to predict their next move by now. “Where’s the hell’s Colonel Foster?” 

“Here.” Foster looked as if he’d been in the shower, his uniform hastily fastened and his hair damp and tousled. “We’re ready, Commander. Interceptors moving into position now.”

“Keep me informed. With any luck they’ll do a flypast and retreat, but they could be planning a full-on attack, so be ready for anything.”

They waited in a tense silence, eyes focussed on sensors and radar, listening to updates from SID and Deep Space Stations and Skydiver. Then it happened. A total of six craft, one of them breaking off from the other five to slip through the Moonbase defences and land somewhere in northern Europe. Four others fled, skirting Moonbase before disappearing into the dark reaches of space, beyond range of the interceptors. The fifth UFO skimmed over the surface of the Moon, firing a single blast of its weapons at a nearby crater, but making no attempt to attack Moonbase before it fled after its companions.

“Moonbase to SHADO Control. Five UFO’s now heading out of range, Commander, but not leaving the system.We’ve got SID on alert and watching them. However, we’ve lost contact with the sixth one. It must have sneaked under our radar frequencies and we missed it. Estimated landing position, somewhere in Europe. Last reference had it approaching Switzerland, but it could have veered off in any direction.”

“How the hell did that happen, Paul? Were you all asleep or something.”

“We’re looking into it, Commander. We can only assume there’s been a failure in the radar coverage. I’ve got the technicians working on it right now.”

“Get it fixed. I want a full report first thing in the morning. And keep an eye on those five UFOs. I don’t want them sneaking under the radar as well. In fact send the interceptors out there to keep watch, just in case.” He toggled the comms button. “This is  Straker to all aircraft and ground units in Sector E 40. I don’t give a damn who you have to wake, or how many mobiles we have to deploy. I need that missing UFO found, before it goes to cover. No excuses.”

Three hours later he was still there, arms folded, his frustration beyond words as staff struggled to pinpoint the exact location of the missing UFO that had evaded everything thrown at it so far: Skydivers, mobiles, ground support crew, the works.

All unsuccessful. All now returning to base with their tails firmly between their legs. The third rogue UFO in seventy-two hours to get through the defences. No one knew where they were hiding, or how they managed to avoid systems which could even detect Stealth bombers and low-flying jets, let alone huge alien craft. It was as if something was alerting the aliens to the sequential changes in the radar frequencies even before they got within range of Moonbase. There was no other way UFOs could get through the defences. They had to be getting the radar information from somewhere. 

The only thing he could do was order a complete overhaul on all sensor equipment –  everything. It would take at least twelve hours and, with the radar systems coming off line, even more UFOs would get through, but he could see no other option. They’d have to manage as best they could for now. His fists clenched as he thought about the victims who would suffer the most appalling deaths at the hands of the raiders, but there was nothing he could do. And the sheer helplessness of his situation was the worst thing to deal with.

“Moonbase, you can stand down from Red Alert, but keep your eyes open. I’ve no idea what the hell they’re playing at but at least only one got through. Tell your crews to get some rest.” Straker shook his head in an effort to concentrate. “And Colonel Foster? Your team are doing good work.” He closed the connection and looked around the Control Room. “And that goes for everyone here. I know it’s late, but we’ve still got three UFO’s somewhere out there. We don’t know what they’re planning, but sooner or later they’re going to have to emerge from wherever they’re hiding. Maybe they’re trying to lull us into a false sense of security, so we need to maintain our readiness. I know everyone’s tired, but next time it might be the real thing.”  

“Commander, there’s a call coming in from Colonel Lake.”

“Tell her I’ll call back when I have time.” Which might not be for a while. He’d been running on short sleep for too long as it was, cat-napping in one of the spare rooms in the lower levels, but it wasn’t just the three missing UFO’s that concerned him, it was also Fitzpatrick.

Chapter 3

Freeman stood in the centre of the main dome and looked around the space with a sense of satisfaction. After five months of intense back-breaking work, they just needed the final fitting-out to get FarSight base ready for use, and they’d done it within the allocated time which was a miracle for such a huge build: one central dome with six others clustered round, corridors radiating outwards, a ring of corridors around the perimeter. It looked damned impressive, as it should after the billions of dollars spent on the project. All they had to do now was complete the installation of the electronics systems, a final test of all life-support, and then work their way through the comprehensive list of minor snags waiting to be fixed. But no one had died during construction or gone missing and the only injuries had been minor. 

It was a triumph of engineering, hard work and damned good luck, not to mention Fitzpatrick’s obsessive reliance on antiquated safety protocols which had been outdated years ago. But, looking back, Freeman had to admit they had worked. Even after Straker’s obsessive attention to detail in the blueprints, Fitzpatrick had made even more alterations to the plans, insisting the FarSight complex have the most rigid protection systems throughout the whole base. His changes had required the complete redesign of some of the interlocking network of passages, ensuring all corridors were sealed and air locks closed at all times. 

To any SHADO operative used to the relative open access throughout Moonbase, such alterations were both unnecessary and a waste of funds as well as making movement from one dome to another laborious, but Fitzpatrick had insisted on the modifications and Freeman’s objections had been overruled. So far the changes hadn’t created too many problems but once the base was occupied with a full crew, the restrictions would lead to delays at some of the busiest intersections. And delays, especially when dealing with the enemy, could result in failure.

Then the buzzer sounded the end of another shift and he headed off to his sleep unit, grumbling under his breath at the constraints.

On Moonbase it would be a simple matter of walking down corridors and stepping through the automated airlocks kept open for ease of access unless the base was under Red Alert. But now the simplest of journeys – such as from the main dome to the accommodation one at the end of Corridor B – involved opening each airlock by hand, stepping through and then closing the airlock behind him. By the time he reached the relative comfort of his small cubicle, he was weary. A stupid rule, and a waste of time and effort. All airlocks were designed so they could be opened or closed automatically from the main computer in the event of an emergency, so the restrictions were unnecessary and more than a little irritating. But that was Fitzpatrick – a man without real experience of living on the Moon for longer than a week. Seasoned astronauts learned how to be careful, and all the airlocks in FarSight wouldn’t save someone who didn’t follow the safety rules. 

He closed the door to his room and breathed out – his sanctuary, the one space where he could relax and forget about airlocks and quotas and penalties for running late. And though he might not say it aloud, he wanted a drink. After five months of this bleak existence, without even the Earth to look at through the thick plexiglass viewports in the domes, he would have done anything to collapse on his narrow bunk with a glass of something to soothe his soul – and not alcohol. 

It was coffee he craved most: a decent brew, dark roast, no milk. And a proper mug, not the pre-formed, recycled ones with instant coffee already added, just ready to be filled with hot water. Not that the water here in FarSight ever reached the proper temperature. They’d tried to fix it, but in the end he’d just become inured to drinking warm liquid that bore no resemblance to proper coffee. No one else seemed to mind, or if they did, they kept their complaints to themselves, much like they did their conversations.

There was a photograph stuck on the wall above his desk – one of the very few personal items he’d been permitted to bring with him – and he pulled it off and smiled. She was waiting for him back on Earth, another reminder of home and friends and the things he had left behind like a decent bed and good coffee, clouds in the sky and the sun setting over the horizon. It had taken him a couple of weeks to feel comfortable in the base but now, although he would never get used to the isolation and loneliness here, there were some good points. The food was what you expected on a lunar construction site – pre-packed and without much taste – but it was hot, nutritious and plentiful. There were rigidly applied restrictions on the amount of time anyone was allowed to work in each twenty-four hours. Five minutes over the allotted time, and you were sent for a mandatory rest period. It worked, though. There had been no accidents on the site since construction started.  

He sat down at the workstation in the minuscule cubicle that was his personal refuge, and wondered how Ed was coping in HQ. It was so damned difficult getting in touch with Earth from here, and his daily allocation for the FarSight main satellite was taken up with recitals to Peter Fitzpatrick about the number of panels fitted so far, the number of operational computers, the status of the satellite relay stations and so on. In fact there had been no chance to chat to Straker for nearly six weeks now and, from the sounds of things, precious little chance anytime soon with the damned communications system on the fritz again. The permanent satellites to enable FarSight to communicate with SHADO and Moonbase had been in place for nearly two months now, but there were still some major teething problems and the construction workers seemed unable to get to grips with the cause. It was like being a prisoner in solitary confinement. Totally alone, despite being surrounded by at least thirty eager, enthusiastic, extremely well-paid construction workers, all of whom were on a ten day rota, whereas he had another six weeks still to go. He put the photograph back in its rightful place, opened his diary and started writing.

***

Straker pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to stave off the next headache. He’d been on duty for seventeen hours, with little chance of getting home for the foreseeable future. Despite it being well past midnight, General Peter Fitzpatrick had been on the phone yet again, demanding another detailed report on the failure to deal with the latest UFO attack. In the end, Straker had been forced to take time out from the latest alert to speak to the general from his office.

In the months since Alec’s secondment to FarSight, Fitzpatrick had gradually increased his requests for information, requesting daily reports on all aspects of the organisation’s departments and threatening severe cuts to any future funding if the reports were not forthcoming. Each day bought a new demand until Straker was drowning in a sea of paperwork. Without Alec or Virginia to support him, and with Paul Foster learning the skills needed to organise a fleet of Skydivers, he was running the Control Room as well as the administration side of SHADO by himself. Not forgetting the studio business, though Miss Ealand was doing most of that work for him. Fitzpatrick, however, had refused Straker’s request to have the reports reduced to every week, or even once a month, stating in a firm voice that he needed to familiarise himself with every aspect of the organisation. He had even rejected out of hand, Straker’s offer for him to come and spend time in HQ in order to judge its efficiency for himself, and the situation had come to a head just the day before.

Sitting in silence behind his desk, he relived the painful conversation. The call had been brief but brutal, Fitzpatrick’s voice dripping with scorn. “Are you telling me that you do not have the information? That you, as SHADO Commander, are unable to explain why the last five UFO attacks have ended in failure? May I remind you that the responsibility for the success of SHADO’s defences lies solely with you. If you’re unable to fulfil your duties, then it may be necessary to request your resignation.” Fitzpatrick had put the phone down without further comment. 

Even Henderson on his worst days – and there had been plenty of those – had never spoken with such contempt. And now, even though he was in the middle of an alert, the IAC President was again hounding him. He was tired and cold and beyond mere exhaustion. It was hard to think straight or to make reasoned decisions, his head pounding as if it was about to explode from too many hours running operations without any relief. 

He’d done it before when he worked for military intelligence, and he was used to hard work, but the strain of command was make itself known. He’d been on permanent duty for weeks now without any time off, and on those rare nights when he was fortunate enough to be able to go home, he did nothing else other than shower, sleep and, after a few hours restless tossing and turning, get up to start another day. That was, if he wasn’t dragged out of bed to deal with an emergency at the SHADO centre. He couldn’t remember when he had last had a proper meal at a table, instead of living on sandwiches eaten at his desk. He felt old and drained and worn out, with no prospect of any let-up.

Even more of a concern was Peter Fitzpatrick’s alarming change of attitude since their first meeting. It seemed impossible that a man who just a few months before had been so supportive of the need to improve SHADO defences could now be so hidebound and entrenched in the need for minutely detailed reports. Straker pushed himself to his feet, leaning on his desk for a moment as if to gain strength from the contact, and then, shaking his head to dispel the dizziness, headed back out to the Control Room to supervise the latest hunt. Hands behind his back to hide them, he flexed his numb fingers to try to bring some warmth, some feeling back into them. 

There was a half-empty cup of cold coffee that he had not had chance to finish before, and in sheer need of caffeine he picked it up and gulped a couple of quick mouthfuls before replacing it on the chart table in the centre of the large control room. The acid taste of sharp coffee still in his throat, he leaned over the radar screens to check on the latest progress.

Christ, where the hell was the bloody thing? If it managed to get any innocent victims he’d…

The pain slammed into him like a hammer in his chest. A vice-like, crushing agony that reached into him and squeezed until he could no longer breathe. Desperate for air, he gasped, clutching his chest to try to ease the pain. It was no use. He reached out with his free hand in a futile attempt to steady himself, but only managed to knock the cup off the edge. With a view half-detached from reality he watched it fall, almost in slow-motion, tumbling over and over, cold coffee spraying out to stain the floor with splashes that – for one brief moment of sudden clarity – made him think of Jackson Pollock. And as the cup fell to the floor and smashed, he closed his eyes to welcome the wave of unconsciousness flooding through him, thankful for the sudden release from pain and, in a quiet way, relieved that it was now all over and he could at last let go. 

Straker crumpled down beside the broken cup, one white clenched hand pulling the charts off the table with him to let them cover him like a shroud. And he lay there, still and silent and ashen. There was one moment of absolute silence, before the Straker-trained and super-efficient SHADO control room operatives acted.

***

She threw the file down on the desk. “How the hell did he manage to get away with this and why did no one pick up on it before?”

“Quite simply, we weren’t expecting it, ma’am.”

“It has to be stopped.  You know that.” 

“It’s underway, ma’am.”

“Then I’ll leave it up to you. Get the evidence any way you feel appropriate, but we have to have firm proof. I can’t do anything until then, understood? I won’t have the safety of this country, indeed the world, compromised by one man, however good he might have been in the past.”
The other stood. A nod of acquiescence. “Understood, ma’am.”

“Good. Oh, and Colonel…” The president paused, spoke softly, “You have my authorisation to do whatever it takes, and I do mean whatever, to protect him. You know who I mean. Keep him safe.”

***

The taxi dropped him off at the entrance, and he handed the fare over without a word. It should have been good to get home, to be able to open his front door and step inside the quiet familiarity of the house, but there was a sharp realisation that today was the end. 

Fitzpatrick would arrive this afternoon to accept his formal resignation, shake his hand, thank him for the work he had done, then leave. And that would be it – the end. No more calls to get to HQ for an emergency, no more late nights, or trips to Moonbase, or meetings with senior staff, no more reports, accounts, audits. Nothing. He was finished, washed up, retired. An old warhorse put out to pasture. And everyone knew what happened to old warhorses. They lasted a few months, if they were lucky. 

Dammit, he wasn’t even forty-three. A life-time ahead of him and a lifetime behind him, and all for what? To be cast aside like some worn-out machine, forgotten in a corner and left to rot. He shook his head at the maudlin thoughts, but it was the truth. He’d given over twelve years to SHADO, to the detriment of his personal life. And now he was left with… It was too late for regrets. He would find something to do with his life, though he had no idea where to begin.

The house had a musty smell, unused and stale. He put his bag down in the hall and looked around. There was a neat stack of assorted envelopes on the hall table, and he picked them up and leafed through, half-hoping he’d find something from Miss Ealand or Virginia. But it was the usual: bills, requests, junk. At least someone had been in the house while he had been in hospital though he had no idea who – most likely the same anonymous person who had brought the clothes he was wearing. He hadn’t had any visitors after being transferred from Mayland to a small private clinic miles from anywhere with heavy security and no hope of contacting anyone. As if there had been anyone to contact. He still didn’t know why they had moved him. In fact, he couldn’t really remember being moved. He’d just woken up somewhere else. They wouldn’t even tell him where he was until he was being discharged this morning. But he had a pretty good idea who had arranged the move, and why. 

Fitzpatrick wouldn’t want anyone interfering with his plans to retire the SHADO commander by force if necessary. The general expected Ed Straker to go quietly, with the minimum of fuss. No ‘goodbye’, no ‘thank you’; just walk out and don’t come back. 

And Straker hadn’t – gone back, that was. Although he hadn’t exactly walked out, had he? Being stretchered out after collapsing a fortnight ago wasn’t the same, but it had the identical result. He was out for good, allowing Fitzpatrick to step into his shoes with neat efficiency. Peter Fitzpatrick, temporary SHADO Commander. The post to be discussed, considered, and endorsed by the IAC once Ed Straker proffered his formal resignation today, the resignation Fitzpatrick had demanded just hours after Straker was admitted to Mayland.

He thought back to that defining moment. Waking up, still exhausted, still struggling to breathe, the pain in his chest a crushing weight. Not a heart attack though, merely exhaustion – as if that made any difference. The monotonous bleeps of monitors and alarms filling the silence. And Fitzpatrick there at the end of the bed, watching. And then his words, cutting through the regularity of the background sounds like acid. 

Resignation. Medical grounds. Unable to perform his duties to the required level specified by the Committee. Straker had hardly heard his words after the initial shock. But he remembered the satisfied look on Fitzpatrick’s face, the smile of achievement, the way he moved with silky grace out of the room once he had delivered his message.

Straker walked through to his neat kitchen. Perfectly tidy, nothing out of place as if no one actually lived here or used the coffee machine or made a sandwich. The fridge was empty, not that he kept much in it anyway, and not much in the way of anything in the cupboards: soup, tomatoes, desperation purchases mostly. But there was a jar of instant coffee in one corner, kept for emergencies. It was better than nothing. He switched the kettle on, made a coffee, no milk, no sugar. Took it through to the lounge and sat, sipping the bitter brew and thinking bitter thoughts.

Later, resting as per the doctor’s orders on the sofa, unable to sleep, unable to settle, watching the patterns of shadows play across the ceiling, he came to a decision. He would go away. Not for long, maybe a couple of weeks. Away from this miserable country, away from everything he had once cherished and lived and worked for. Greece perhaps, or Italy. Or maybe Egypt. Give himself a chance to recover, to come to terms with what had happened.

Italy. He’d been to Rome several times, and was familiar with the city, but he’d always wanted to visit Herculaneum since studying Latin at school. Being SHADO C-in-C hadn’t left much scope for sightseeing and, even if he had managed to get away for a break, security would never have let him roam the ruins of the small town. But as from this morning he was free to do what he wanted and go where he pleased. And with that sudden thought came the dreadful realisation that he was, indeed, free. There was no reason to get up in the morning. No job, no responsibility. No purpose in life. The knock at the door startled him and for a brief moment he thought it might be Alec, home from FarSight, but he knew the truth. It was an effort to stand and walk to the front door, his strength gone, his body weak as a kitten’s. 

He unlocked the door and pulled it open. “General. Come in.” But he was not going to allow the man to go any further than the small entrance area. “You’ve brought a letter for me to sign?” Fitzpatrick handed it over in silence and he read it in one glance. A terse few lines, nothing of his years of service or his sacrifice or his work. There was a pen on the hall table along with a notebook for emergencies, and now he laid the paper flat, smoothed it out with one hand and signed his name. Done. “General.” He handed the paper back, opened the door and ushered the man out aware that Fitzpatrick had not said one word during their brief meeting. 

He watched the man drive off, his last link with SHADO disappearing into the distance. He hadn’t heard from Alec Freeman at all during the last two weeks. He’d not expected Paul Foster to contact him – the colonel was currently in command of Skydiver 4, and patrolling the Pacific Ocean in stealth mode, silent, undetected and ready to strike at any time. As for Colonel Lake, she had gone to the SHADO rehabilitation facility three weeks ago and could do nothing even if he managed to contact her, but Alec? The news must have got to FarSight, surely. Alec had been his best man, for heaven’s sake, had always been there for him. But not now, it seemed.

It would only take a short time for the IAC to ratify Fitzpatrick as the new SHADO Commander. A look of disgust crossed Straker’s face as he imagined Fitzpatrick taking his place in SHADO HQ.  But it was nothing to do him now and he went inside, locking the door behind him. There would be no more visitors. He switched on his personal computer and began searching.

***

This early in the morning the terminal was quiet, but that was okay. He didn’t like crowds, and he certainly didn’t want to be recognised by the airport press pack. It was awkward when they tried to take photos of the Harlington-Straker executive producer and now with him going abroad at such short notice, questions would be asked. He was on a commercial flight, as well, instead of the usual discreet Shadair jet. It had been a long time since he’d flown with an airline instead of using company transport. 

It was something else he would have to accept, and to flying economy, as well. No job meant no income and his role as Executive Producer in the studios had ended alongside his other, less lucrative, but infinitely more satisfying, career. Ed Straker was about to become another addition to the increasing numbers of unemployed. It wasn’t going to be a problem for long – he had enough contacts in the military to get work as a defence consultant for one thing –  but the prospect of touting for a new job filled him with horror. Selling himself as if he were a film star auditioning for a part. Being in the limelight had been the worst part of working in the film industry, even though it was all false: the constant attention from agents, the attendance at studio gatherings and film premiers, giving interviews about the studio’s latest production.

But the plane was half-empty and the flight attendants left him in peace so he closed his eyes and dozed quietly until it was time to land. And then there was the hustle of finding his case and getting a taxi to the hotel which gave him little chance to do any serious worrying other than whether he’d been an utter idiot to leave England on such a whim.

The hotel in the centre of Sorrento was large, impersonal and anonymous. Perfect. He would be able to do what he wanted – read, sleep, sightsee – without tour guides or inquisitive fellow travellers pestering him. A pleasant enough room: twin beds, balcony, a view over the sea. He stripped off for a shower before unpacking the clothes he had brought and dressing in a pair of linen trousers and a plain shirt. He’d brought two books with him, throwing them into the case at the last minute on the chance he might get chance to read them – ‘White Sheet’, Mark Herdwick’s history of American Air Force operations in the last fifty years and ‘Merlin’s Rules of the Universe’, an in-depth analysis of future space exploration, both books tossed on the bed before he headed out for a short walk to stretch his legs. 

He was locking the door when he saw a tall, elegant woman outside a room further down the corridor. A shock of white hair in a neat thick bob. It was the first thing he noticed about her. She was watching him, her gaze unobtrusive, but still watching, then she smiled and nodded. He looked away, not wanting to make any contact. Perhaps she recognised him from the studio. It happened on occasion, but he made a note of her room number nonetheless as he passed.

When he returned, the books were not in the same place – only a very slight change in position – no one else would have noticed, but his security protocols were well-practised and over the years he’d cultivated a tendency to be ultra-cautious, even now when there was no need, and it was enough to alert him. He checked the rest of his belongings with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

Nothing had been taken, but there were signs someone had been in the room and gone through his things. Even the small wall safe had been opened, in a discreet and professional manner. Nothing was missing, though. His passport – in his name but with some details that were not entirely accurate – was still there, and he knew that it would pass the most stringent checks. It was, after all, a standard piece of SHADO equipment.

There was nothing he could do about it. If they hadn’t taken anything, perhaps they were just checking up on him; a solitary middle-aged man, travelling alone with the minimum of luggage. In their place, he’d have doubtless done the same. He sighed, shook his head in frustration and went out for something to eat. 

A nearby restaurant, small and serving local food, was busy, and busy with locals. Loud, vocal Italians, no tourists. Ideal. His Italian was still reasonable enough to let him feel comfortable, and he certainly wasn’t dressed in shorts and t-shirt as some tourists. Even his casual clothes – acquired in his status as Executive Producer – were hand-made, expensive, and stylish. One more thing that would have to go. So he sat there and watched the world go by, young men on their scooters showing off to giggling teenage girls who strolled with feigned nonchalance along the wide pathways. 

He didn’t notice the glances that were cast in his direction by older women who noticed first of all, his tailored expensive clothes, then the hair and the perfect features, and finally realised that he was not a gigolo or a playboy, but a man who was that rare thing indeed; someone totally unaware of his own attraction. 

The food was excellent. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed a meal so much and then, as he sat there enjoying the taste of chilled soda, he saw her again. He couldn’t be mistaken. The hair was utterly distinctive. 

It was his turn to watch, with eyes that gave the merest glances, as she passed by the restaurant and paused, looking around as if trying to come to a decision. He lowered his head as she turned in his direction. The last thing he wanted right now was some strident Londoner asking for his autograph. When he looked up again she was walking away, but she looked back, as if she knew she was being observed, and stared at him for a couple of seconds before turning back and walking away from him. He walked back to the hotel, his thought pensive. He didn’t want to worry about being stalked while he was here. Perhaps he should think about changing hotels. 

No. No-one was going to chase him away this time. 

Chapter 4

He kept away from the hotel dining room and the poolside and the bars for the next couple of days, breakfasting out in the small pavement cafes and returning to the restaurant in the evening. The white-haired woman remained out of sight after that first day, which was a relief. During the day he sat on his balcony reading, or drowsing in the heat, or sunbathing in the late afternoon warmth: quiet hours spent recuperating and building up his strength as ordered by the doctors. Sunlight gave his pale skin a hint of bronze, his hair lightened beyond its normal ash-blond and after the first night he began to sleep for hours, undisturbed by nightmares and the terror that he had forgotten something important. He went for long walks in the cool of early morning before the tourists were awake, sat on his balcony in the evenings and thought about what he was going to do on his return to England, although he didn’t know why he was bothering sometimes. It just seemed wrong to let himself drift into idleness. He had never been someone to just waste life’s opportunities. He needed to get a purpose in life, and for that he needed to be fit.

It was the fourth day before he gave serious thought to the real reason for his trip out here. Herculaneum. It had surprised him just how much he had needed to simply rest, to do nothing except sleep and read and let the hot sun warm his body and ease the ache within. The hotel ran regular escorted trips out to the local attractions, but he refused to even contemplate that option. The train was as convenient as any method, and he headed out early the next morning, picking up a freshly baked pastry for breakfast on his way and licking his fingers of the last sticky crumbs just as he arrived at the station. 

It was a short wait until the train arrived, and he spent the time observing the others on the platform. A mixture of young men, harassed older women and the odd tourist, looking somewhat perplexed and loaded up with camera bags and rucksacks. He noticed, at the other end of the platform a familiar looking figure with white hair, and for one moment he had a flash of concern. But, no, there were others from the hotel here on the platform doing the same thing. After all, the train was cheap and reliable, even if it did have its disadvantages. 

The white hair caught his eye again as he sat down. The carriage was scruffy and riddled with graffiti. She had obviously got on after him, and was standing further up the carriage, looking for a seat. He lowered his head as she came up and sat next to him, her hands clasped around a large shoulder bag. He could see the tension, the uncertainty, as she looked around the compartment now beginning to fill up. The train moved off, jostling the passengers together like skittles and she lurched against him, shoulders bumping. 

“Sorry.” She glanced across at him, and straightened up and moved away so that she was perched on the edge of the seat. She had an American accent, not Boston, but he couldn’t quite place it. Cultured and educated, though.

“No problem,” He gave a quick smile before turning away to look out at the countryside, ignoring her, putting her presence out of his immediate concern.

A group of buskers arrived, noisy and brash and colourful. He paid no heed – they would not bother him, a man dressed in smart clothes and not an obvious tourist. They worked their way down the compartment, singing, pestering, cajoling, demanding money until they reached the white-haired woman next to him. 

He continued to snub them, but the woman was a different matter. He watched the blurred reflection in the dirty glass as they crowded around her, jolting her arm and leaning over her in an attempt to frighten her into giving them money, or even better, loosening her hold on her bag, so that they could snatch it and run. Straker sighed, and turned to face them. “Basta! Vada via!” he growled to them, his tone quiet but with a soft hint of anger. There was a moment’s hesitation as they looked at him, as if they were unsure what to do. He sighed again and stood up, leaning over the woman as if to protect her, then reached out and with a gentle, almost tender, grip, clasped the hand that was trying to loosen the woman’s hold on her bag, and squeezed, his fingers tightening as he stared. The busker paled and tried to pull away. 

Straker gave one more sharp squeeze, felt something in the youth’s hand give way, and then let go, pushing the sweating youth away and back into the aisle. The group hurried off, chastened and he sat down again.

“Thank you.” She was pale and shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. I thought they wanted my bag.”

“They probably did.” He turned to her. “You’d have been safer on one of the hotel tours.” He turned back to the window, trying to ignore her. 

“I thought you were a tourist, as well. Haven’t I seen you at the hotel?” 

She was persistent, he had to admit. It was no use. He would have to answer her, if only to shut her up. “Yes, I’m staying there as well.” He turned away again, hoping that she would take his abruptness as an indication that he didn’t want to talk. No chance. 

“Are you going to Herculaneum?” 

God, she was worse than Fitzpatrick with his constant questions, constant prying. Any minute now, she’d be asking his name. He nodded, still looking out of the window at the dirty, unkempt countryside and she took the hint. The rest of the journey was silent. He avoided her as they alighted from the train at their destination, and once he saw that she was in front, and he could steer clear of her if necessary, he headed down the hill towards the site of the ruins.

Herculaneum was, like many of the small impoverished towns, grubby, smelly, and noisy. The noise of chaotic traffic, horns, and shouts from street sellers. But once inside the relative calm of the historic site, the clamour faded into the background, and he was able to forget the world outside and concentrate on the buildings. 

Free from the constraints of the tours that wove in and out of the buildings, he roamed the quieter, less popular areas. He only ventured to the ruins of what once was the shoreline after the morning tour guides, with their flags and following caterpillars of hot, sweaty holiday makers, had left. There was an ominous feel to the small cramped caves where the inhabitants had gathered in a vain attempt to save themselves from the boiling clouds of gas and ash.

He sat and contemplated those last moments. The suffocating heat, people huddled together, trying to protect themselves from what was certain agonising death. He shuddered with the thought of what they must have suffered. Gasping for breath as poisonous gases filled the caverns, the heat, the sudden rush of the pyroclastic flow. It was no way for innocent people to die. Not like that. Choking on the last scraps of air and then lying there, forgotten, unmourned. He shook his head to dismiss the dark thoughts and realised that it was later than he had reckoned and he was getting thirsty.

The small inn in the middle of the ruins catered for tourists, but was quiet in the mid-afternoon heat. The later crowds of tour groups were still slavishly following their guides, not being able to stop and look, or reflect on the last moments of the people who had once lived and died here. 

He purchased a bottle of chilled water and some fresh fruit. The peach soft and juicy and larger than he had seen for quite some time, the orange firm under his fingers as he rolled it to loosen the skin. He pulled out his small penknife and began to peel the delicate suede-like skin from the peach, before slicing it and biting into the bright flesh.

The world moved around him as he sat there in the shade of the canopy that overhung the outside tables, watching people wander around the dry, dusty ruins. He felt relaxed and at ease, and for the first time in quite a few weeks, he realised with no small measure of surprise, that he was enjoying himself. Then a darker shadow fell over the table, and he looked up and sighed with weary recognition. 

“Do you mind if I join you for a few minutes? I don’t feel very comfortable here by myself.”

“Please, sit down. May I get you a drink?” His ingrained politeness came to the rescue. He really didn’t want to be bothered, but she looked flustered and hot and worried, and he felt more than a little sympathy for her, alone here in a strange country where solitary middle-aged women were sometimes seen as fair game. He ordered chilled water and fruit for her, and they sat in silence while she seemed to calm a little and regain her confidence. She carried her heavy shoulder bag clutched close by her side, as if it contained her entire life. He grinned to himself. He had his wallet in his inside pocket and his small penknife. That was about it. No camera. No phone. It was not as if he needed a phone anyway. There was no-one he had to contact, and no-one who would want to contact him anyway now. 

It made a pleasant change to travel light. No high level Security clearance either, no authorisation documents, but also, regretfully, no weapon. That was about the only thing he missed.But he could take care of himself. He would have to, in the future.

She finished her drink and leaned back, her breathing easier and slower. “Thank you for that. It was very kind of you. I get the distinct feeling that you don’t want to be bothered by other people, so I am particularly grateful that you helped me.” 

He thought for a moment. “I’m recovering from a breakdown.” There. He said it. He’d finally admitted it. It might be enough to dissuade her from following him anymore.

“I’m sorry.” There was genuine regret and concern in her quiet voice. “And here I am pestering you. I would imagine I’m the last thing you need right now, a single woman asking for protection. Although you seem perfectly able to look after yourself, and anyone else, I might add.” She tilted her head to one side carefully examining him. “Was it a mental breakdown?”

The blunt question shocked him. He nearly stood up and walked away, but the gentle look of sympathy and understanding in her eyes made him stop. “No. Overwork, mostly. I ended up in hospital for a couple of weeks, but I’m fine now. Just get tired easily.” 

It was hard to guess her age with any degree of accuracy, but she was doubtless older than him with the look of someone who had witnessed serious adversity in her past, and that somehow made it easy to talk to her. Easier than he had imagined it would be, especially as she was a stranger. Someone with no preconceptions and no ideas of his previous life. He hadn’t spoken to anyone else about it. There hadn’t been anyone else to discuss it with anyway, not after he was moved out of the SHADO unit at Mayland. 

Oh, the doctors at the private clinic had wanted him to talk about what had happened, but what could he tell them? Yes, I’ve been working all the hours God sent, protecting the world from alien invasion? They’d have sent him somewhere far more secure – in a straightjacket no doubt – and there had been no-one at home to talk to for many years now. Alec had always been there until recently, but not any longer. He wondered how he was coping, how FarSight was progressing, then put the thought to the back of his mind. Out of the way. Where it could not hurt him any more.

“Must be some high powered job you have. I trust you are going to take it easy when you go back.” She was relaxed and comfortable now, chatting as if she had known him for years. 

“I…” and he paused, unsure what to say. To admit he was now unemployed? Admit he didn’t have any idea what he would do when he returned to England? “I’ll be taking it very easy; no more late nights at the office or early meetings. I intend spending more time on my interests than I have managed to do in the past.” Well, it wasn’t a lie – bending the truth, yes, but not a real lie.

“Interests? Don’t tell me – watercolours? No, I don’t think you’re the sort to do that. I would guess that your interests lie more in growing orchids or perhaps writing poetry.” She glinted at him, her eyes amused but also inquisitive, her mouth twisted in a wry grin.

He laughed at the expression on her face. “Nothing so glamorous, I’m afraid. I play the piano, although I’ve got rusty in the last few months, and I enjoy astronomy. Looking at the stars and planets. Watching the Moon, that sort of thing.” His eyes had a far-away look as he recalled his trips to Moonbase. 

Never again to go out past Earth’s atmosphere and feel that wonder as zero-gravity hit you. The thrill of that first moment of freedom. And the sight of the Earth growing larger and larger as one approached it on the home journey. Never again. He shook his head in desperate regret, and then smiled at her and stood up. “Well, it’s been good meeting you, but I want to be heading back now. I might see you in the hotel later.” It seemed very rude to walk away, but he was genuinely getting tired, and the thought of her chatting to him any longer and dredging up the memories of his past was too much to cope with. 

He walked up the hill to the station, waiting with quiet patience for the train. She didn’t follow him. But later that evening, after his solitary meal at the same small restaurant, when he returned to the hotel he went down to the bar for the first time and got a fresh lemonade and took it outside to sit on the wide patio overlooking the bay. She was there, sitting under the lemon trees. He could see the pale reflection of her hair, a soft pink glow now in the reddening sunlight as dusk approached. She seemed to be writing in a book, her whole attention devoted to her task and he watched her for a while, intrigued, before he finished his drink and went upstairs to read his book on the balcony in the cool of the evening. 

He would return to Herculaneum later in the week. When he was sure she would not follow him.

The excursion had tired him more than he had thought. He woke late in the morning after a restless night dreaming of caves and suffocating heat. He turned on the shower before he realised from the clatter of trolleys outside in the corridor that he would be disturbed by the staff servicing the rooms. He padded across to open the door and tell them that he didn’t want the room making up, and it was while he was chatting companionably to the matronly chambermaid that the woman with the snow-white hair walked past and looked at him, one eyebrow raised. 

He closed the door and showered thoughtfully. Today he would sit on the balcony and read. And find somewhere else to eat in the evening. A trattoria, perhaps. He would keep himself to himself and avoid any further contact with inquisitive strangers, however friendly and companionable they might appear. 

But somehow he seemed unable to concentrate on his book. It was as if he was waiting for a flash of white among the poolside sunbathers. His eyes kept straying from Herdwick’s scholarly account with its well-researched details, to sweep over the railings and down to the sparkling water of the pool. Her kindness had touched him more than he had thought, and it had been a long time since anyone had shown any concern for him.

He would go back to Herculaneum the following morning. To eat peaches and oranges in the inn, to sit once again on the pavement at the shoreline that was, imagining how it must have looked all those years ago, before the pyroclastic flow, before death came in a thunderous tornado of boiling ash. To practise his schoolboy Latin on some of the old inscriptions and maybe dispel the nightmares that had haunted him. Those visions of death that had filled his mind and his dreams. And then he would come back to the hotel, pack his bags, and go home the following day. To England. To face whatever future he had.

***

It was as if he had rewound the earlier visit. He got on the train, she got on after him, saw him and came and sat next to him without a word, but nodding an acknowledgement. The same landscape, rough farmland, the same disturbance and feel of unease that permeated the carriage as the buskers entered. Straker stared at them and they slunk away, leaving him vindicated and the woman smiling. 

They got off together at Herculaneum and walked in companionable silence down to the site and through the arched entrance. She still carried the large shoulder bag, and he wondered at that, having never seen her use a camera, or take a purse out of the deep, canvas pocket. They parted company once inside the main entrance as if by prior arrangement. But she thanked him and gave him a small, hesitant wave and he watched her walk away towards the arena, an elegant woman, slender, of that indefinable age where women, unless they were wealthy or famous became almost invisible, unimportant in the greater scheme of things. Supplanted by younger, more eye-catching females. But there was something about her that he could not quite place. As if she was playing a part here, not really interested in the history of the area, of seeing how these long dead citizens lived and died. He shook his head at his own foolish thoughts and walked away.

Later that morning, sitting in sunlight, tracing with his fingers some worn-thin stone carved lettering, he looked up to see her sitting across the pathway, sketching with quick confident strokes of a pencil. “Don’t move. Please. Just a few more minutes, that’s all I need. Do you mind?” she pleaded, her pencil moving across the page in rapid deft strokes. He waited, beads of sweat forming on his brow in the fierce heat.

“There. Done. No. You can’t see.” She closed the book and thrust it into her bag before he had a chance to see what she had drawn. She smiled up at him. “I might show you, one day.” She slipped the book into her bag and fastened it and then it seemed quite natural for them to walk together around the ruins.

By early afternoon, they were both hot and tired and headed for the inn after the lunch-time crowds of tourists had finally gone. The waiters, jaded and weary after the hectic influx of loud sightseers, were lurking in the cool of the interior, reluctant to come out into the glare of the sun. 

“Water? Juice? Or would you prefer something stronger?” Straker asked.

“Oh, water is fine, but I’d love some fruit, please, if you don’t mind.” 

They sat and discussed the buildings and the history and the lives of the long-dead inhabitants, drinking cold water, eating peaches and oranges, and watching other tourists. It was late in the afternoon when they left the site and strolled up the hill. There was a small stall selling chilled bottles of water, and he bought a couple, knowing that she was probably as tired and thirsty as he was himself. 

“Thank you. I’ve enjoyed today, but I’ve just realised I don’t know your name.” And she looked at him, a little shocked by her continued ignorance.

“Edward, but just Ed will do.” He didn’t know why he said that. 

And she looked at him for a moment, slightly askance, but then she held out her hand. “Nice to meet you, Ed. I’m Helen. Just Helen will do.” The name suited her, elegant and timeless. “Now we’ve been introduced, perhaps you’d have dinner with me tonight? I don’t like eating alone.” And her eyes seemed to smile as she stared at him.

***

The latest team of construction workers aroused Alec Freeman’s curiosity. None of the previous teams employed to help build the FarSight base seemed to any idea of what they were helping to build. On paper it was described as an internationally funded centre, set up to develop a telescope system here on the far side of the Moon, with the additional prospect of mining for Helium-3. With the imminent decommissioning of Webb 2 there was a need for an updated deep space telescope, and where better to site it than here looking out to space beyond the Earth? It was a plan that had been discussed for a while and only now did it look like coming to fruition.

Every construction group so far had been chosen to work on designated areas of the site: electronics experts, habitat and environmental experts, experienced construction men. All the groups had come, had gone through rigid safety procedures, and been allocated specific tasks, handed precise details of what needed to be done and how. Every task broken down into precise steps with outcomes and targets and completion dates. 

But this latest group concerned Alec Freeman. There were none of the usual questions, none of the camaraderie that Alec Freeman had come to expect from a group of tough construction men, albeit experienced Lunar workers. These men were quiet, reticent to the point of being mute and they knew what they were doing without even being told. They rarely looked at the blueprints or the schedule of work. They simply started work with quick efficiency as if they had been trained in their tasks for months. Not that should have been much to do – the base was close to being finished: electronics up and running, all life support systems tested, sufficient supplies in hand for the first few months. 

But the plans had changed again. He’d been kept informed of all the changes over the last months – even the minor things such as the position of conduits and signs, specifications for the accommodation units, the lounge areas and so on – but this was different. These changes involved alterations to the air-recycling set-up and the water purification system, including the complete rebuilding of parts of the internal structure of the accommodation block so that each unit was self-contained and could be locked from outside. 

When he questioned the changes he was told it was in case of emergency, or decompression, latest safety protocols. And whenever he tried contacting Straker, he was unable to get through to Earth. The satellite link, tenuous at best, was down. Each and every time. It worked fine for everyone else, transmissions were being sent on a regular basis, but contact with SHADO was impossible. There was nothing he could do except try to keep track of what was happening and report back to Ed as soon as possible. And there was only one way to do that.

Back inside his tiny room Freeman reached into the back of a drawer and pulled out the personal notebook kept hidden from prying eyes. He thought about the new cohort of workers and the things that worried him, then picked up his pen and started to write. He current entry was detailed and took a long time, but as he always said, “If it’s not written down, it didn’t happen.” So there it was, everything recorded in black and white; his thoughts and concerns. Though what good it would do was anyone’s guess. 

That night he dreamed of aliens landing on Earth, thousands of them, marching through the streets of London and New York and Moscow, while above the buildings, UFO’s fired on SHADO aircraft and interceptors and the skies were dark with smoke. He woke with a shudder and lay there, sweat-soaked and shivering with fear until it was time to get up again. A quick shower did little to ease his sense of dread and he dressed in the obligatory overalls, hating the feel of the material and the way it clung to his skin. It was a necessary evil though – in the event of an incident the overalls were fire and flame retardant as well as protecting against electrical discharges. He fastened the tabs and headed out for his solitary breakfast.

One of the construction workers, queuing for breakfast, called over to him “Freeman? Call for you. Take it in the comms room.  Sounded urgent so you’d best hurry.”

He forgot about coffee and instead made his way to the comms area, trying not to run. A couple of workers were inside, fiddling with dials; even after two weeks of working together, they still treated him as an outsider.  “There’s a call for me. Freeman.”

“Hold on.” The comms unit crackled. “It’s a recording. Got it a few minutes ago.” One of them flicked a switch. “Ready?”

‘Freeman, this is General Peter Fitzpatrick, calling from SHADO HQ.  You are recalled to base as a matter of urgency. The shuttle leaves FarSight for Earth at zero seven hours. Be on board. Any refusal or delay will result in your immediate dismissal. Leave your things where they are – all being well you should be back in the base by tomorrow.’  The message ended with a click.

He stood up, unsure what to do next, where to go. “I don’t…”

“You’d better hurry, hadn’t you? You’ve got about three minutes. Pilot’s waiting to go as soon as you get there, engines warmed up, everything ready.”

No time to pack his belongings, even less to get back to his tiny compartment. He would just have to hope no one decided to take a closer look. 

It was not until two hours later, when the Shuttle exited the communications blackspot on the far side and he could get a satellite link on his mobile, that Keith Ford informed him that Ed Straker was no longer the SHADO Commander and the covert organisation was now under the control of General Peter Anthony Fitzpatrick. 

“For God’s sake, Keith, what happened? Where’s Straker now?”

“I don’t have that information, Colonel. Perhaps you should go home first before coming to the Studio. I’m sure you want to check up on things there?”

Freeman’s mind was still razor-sharp, despite months spent away from SHADO. “Good idea, Keith. Please tell the General I’ll be in as soon I’ve showered and changed clothes.”

Keith was waiting for him outside Freeman’s flat when he arrived four hours later. “It’s bad, Colonel. Straker was forced to resign on medical grounds, and Fitzpatrick stepped in and took over. He’s being ratified as SHADO Commander today, and rumour is he has a hidden agenda”

“Where’s Straker now?’ Alec was appalled to hear the news. Ed would never resign, never leave SHADO. It was his life, his whole reason for existence. 

“We don’t know. No-one’s seen him since he was moved from Mayland after a couple of days and I’ve no idea who organised that or where he went. I know he’s been home, but he’s not there now. I could find out, but if he wanted anyone to know his location, he’d have informed them and I don’t have the right to access his personal details. It’s not good, Colonel.” Ford would not say more.

“Why the hell did no-one tell me?” Alec was tight-lipped with anger.

“We were prohibited from having any contact with FarSight, Colonel. Fitzpatrick himself set up the satellite links and he had control over all communications to and from FarSight during the last four months. Even Commander Straker couldn’t get through to you, despite all attempts. If you’d been here, he probably wouldn’t have fallen ill; it was overwork more than anything. Fitzpatrick simply would not leave him alone.” Keith Ford detailed the events of the last few weeks to his senior officer before hurrying back to the underground headquarters.

***

“Freeman.” A subdued voice, no humour or hint of pleasure at being back on Earth. It seemed to take longer than usual for the room to descend, but he put that down to his anxiety rather than a flaw in the machinery. The room came to a halt, and he closed his eyes for a moment, as if remembering other times he had been here, then straightened his shoulders and made his way through into the Control area.

All was quiet. It was ironic. He’d read through the brief reports Keith Ford had brought with him when they met, none of which made any sense. Within hours of  Straker’s collapse, the UFOs had stopped their constant assaults and since then – nothing: no attacks, no threats, not a sign of anything coming Earth’s way from the outer reaches of the galaxy. 

And as for Straker? Freeman had called at Ed’s house on the way to HQ hoping against hope he might be at home, but there had been no signs of life and no reply when he tried Ed’s personal phone. The house was empty. There was little he could do now except hope his friend was safe and well, and then worry about what was going to happen next.

Chapter 5

“Miss Ealand.” Peter Fitzpatrick gave a cursory nod as he passed through the outer office and took his seat behind the desk. A moment to savour. After months of preparation and planning, he was here at last and no-one would get rid of him. He opened the cigarette box, cleared his throat. “Fitzpatrick.”

“Voice print Identification Positive. Commander Fitzpatrick.” 

And that was all he needed to hear. He leaned back with a sigh of relief. Straker was gone, and Freeman would be next. Then he – General Peter Anthony Fitzpatrick, SHADO Commander – would finally be able to get SHADO running the way he needed. For one brief moment he thought about Straker, wondered where he was and how things were going. He’d asked Ford to find out Straker’s current whereabouts but for some inexplicable reason, the communications officer hadn’t been able to come up with a location. It was the one thing that annoyed him about the whole sequence of events. The fact that Straker had managed to get out of the country without anyone finding out was irksome but in the long run it wouldn’t matter; there was no way he’d allow Ed Straker to simply disappear like that. 

The corridors leading from his office to the Control Room were quiet, and he took his time, enjoying the silence and the sense of power. Had Straker felt like this? The absolute authority that came with such responsibility? He turned the corner, stood there for a moment, watching, then stepped inside. “Freeman? I’m pleased you made it back in time, Colonel.”

Alec Freeman was standing next to Lt Harper on the sensors. “You asked to see me as a matter of urgency, General, so I’m here, as ordered.”

“I can see that. I’m about to hold a meeting for all available command staff to discuss SHADO’s future plans and attendance is mandatory, hence your recall from FarSight. My office in five minutes.” 

Freeman turned on his heel and stalked away. Fitzpatrick shrugged. It was only a matter of time now. He looked around the Control Room, the operatives uncomfortable at the uneasy exchange between the two most senior officers. “Back to work, everyone. Ford, I require a full update on all current mobile positions and crews across the globe. Harper, the same but for all airborne units. Johnson, get me a rundown of Skydiver activity for the last year. You have two hours, everyone.” An impossible task. But it would keep them busy while he held his meeting.

***

Fitzpatrick gestured to the conference table.  “Colonel Foster. Just in time. Take a seat.”

“Alec?” Foster raised an eyebrow at the sight of the older man. “What are you doing back here? I was under the impression that you were needed at FarSight.” 

Freeman shrugged. “I was just told to get back here on the first flight so I came straight here. Didn’t even have time to pack.”

“Enough chatter, gentlemen. This is a serious meeting not a playtime. If you wish to behave like children then you can leave now.” Fitzpatrick handed out folders. “We’re here to discuss how SHADO can be made more effective.”

“I thought we doing a good job? I know there was a rough patch recently, but things have settled down now. Statistically we had a success level of seventy-three per cent over last year, which is an eight percent increase from the year before.” Freeman rifled through the papers. “None of this is relevant to our current situation. You can’t compare one month with another – the parameters are too disparate. Like here – ” He pointed to a chart. “Skydiver One’s success rate over one month in mid-Atlantic during hurricane season, compared with Four’s rate with the following month in the Indian Ocean. It’s like comparing apples with cheese.” He tossed the folder aside. “And I know Colonel Lake would say the same if she was here.”

“That’s your opinion, Colonel. The reality is that SHADO has been ineffective for far too long. The last five months have shown a marked decrease in the organisation’s ability to apprehend any alien craft or destroy them compared to the number of craft entering our system. It’s not good enough. Therefore, in my role as Commander of this organisation, I have decided that from this moment on, there needs to be rigid and transparent accountability for all active operations.”

“Which means what, General?” Foster’s hands were clenched together. 

“I will be introducing several new initiatives to start within the next twenty-four hours. Firstly; all Interceptor and Skydiver activity will require my authorisation, including practise flights. There have been far too many unnecessary launches in the last few months and SHADO needs to tighten up its efficiency. Secondly; all work on the FarSight Installation is, as of this minute, on hold. As is the development of the two new Skydivers. And finally; as from tomorrow manned flights to Moonbase will be restricted to one return trip each week.” Fitzpatrick leaned back in his chair, waiting for the explosion that he anticipated. And he was not disappointed.

“What the– ”

“General, you can’t – ”

“Be silent, both of you, or each of you will hand in your resignation and leave now.” He glared at them. “There has been far too slack a hand at SHADO’s helm for the past few years. I intend getting this base to operate with maximum efficiency and minimum cost. Straker wasted billions of dollars in unnecessary research and development, not to mention hundreds of hours on fruitless patrols and searches. It’s obvious to anyone who looks at recent charts that the alien incursions are decreasing, in fact may even be ending in the near future. There’ve been no attacks in the last three weeks, and I see no reason to believe they’ll start up again. You have your orders. I’ll be speaking to all staff later today.”

“So what happens now?” 

“As of this moment, Colonel Freeman, you are reassigned back here. Colonel Foster, you report to Skydiver 1 tomorrow morning at oh six hundred hours to take over command for the next month, while Captain Waterman is on furlough. That’s all gentlemen. You are excused.” He nodded a brusque dismissal to them, opened one of the folders and began making notes.

***

“What the hell happened back there, Alec?” Foster leaned against one of the buttresses. “Was he serious?”

“Don’t say anything, just come with me.” Freeman led the way through the Control Room, pausing once to touch Keith Ford on the shoulder before heading to the Staff Lounge. 

“Colonel?” Ford shook his head. “Follow me.” He led them out of the base to Sound Stage 4. “In here. It’s unused at the moment so we won’t be disturbed.”

“Good thinking, Keith.” It was soundproof, secure and – like all the sound stages – regularly tested for listening devices in an attempt to thwart industrial espionage by the studio’s competitors. Freeman locked the door. “We’ve got problems.”

Ford grimaced. “I know, I was listening in to the meeting.” He held up a hand. “Yes, I know I could be court-martialled and end up in military prison, but I have my orders.”

“Orders, Keith? From whom?”

Ford shook his head. “I’m not at liberty to say, Colonel. Those orders supersede any order you or Colonel Foster might give me, but other than that I’m not allowed to say more.  However, I can tell you that General Fitzpatrick has given me a direct order to find the whereabouts of Commander Straker. I’m holding off on giving him the information for as long as I can, but sooner or later I’ll have to tell him.”

“What else have you been doing, Keith.” Freeman lowered his voice. “And how far can we trust you?” 

“You do what you think is right, Colonel, same as I’m doing. But I have recordings of phone calls I wasn’t supposed to hear, and copies of messages I shouldn’t have seen, and you’re right to be worried. Things are happening that I can’t explain right now and I’m keeping my head down. I suggest you both do the same if you want to protect SHADO and Ed Straker.”

***

SHADO HQ was a proverbial grave: computer chatter minimal, operative chatter non-existent, everyone too scared to say anything that might incur the wrath of the new Commander. Five hours after his meeting with Freeman and Foster, the general had held a full staff meeting, complete with video-conferencing to all other SHADO bases, where he announced his plans to curtail SHADO’s defences. There had been an uproar. He had waited in silence, arms folded, until they were quiet, and then, lips tight with rage, repeated his instructions regarding FarSight and the Skydiver submarine fleet. 

Now it was time for his next move. Enough of the delay and the prevaricating. He flicked the comm switch. “Lieutenant Ford?”

“Commander?”

“You have one final chance, Lieutenant. Either get me Straker’s location in the next  five minutes, or I will have you charged with failure to obey a direct order.”

Ford grimaced. “I was in the process of confirming the details, Commander, before bringing you the information. Mr Straker is in Italy at the moment – Sorrento. Do you want the address?”

“GPS co-ordinates and the frequency for his transponder. Now.”

The communications officer adjusted his headphones, and then, unseen by any other operatives, listened in to the transmission that Commander Peter Fitzpatrick was broadcasting on a specific, tight wave band. And afterwards, Ford left his post and went up-top to Sound Stage 4, where he made a very short phone call on his own personal mobile.

***

Straker sat on his balcony watching the stars and naming them like the old friends that they were, whispering to them softly as one might say the name of a lover. The moon was full. It hung there gleaming and silvered, moving across the dark sky as if to remind him of the implacable passage of time. He could make out Mare Imbrium and Plato at the north of the shape. There was Copernicus, seen as a brighter smudge at the bottom of the darker sea. Mare Imbrium. Moonbase. 

The Lunar shuttle would be just about… he calculated for a moment and put his finger up to mark the point. Just there on its regular supply run. He imagined seeing the white domes of Moonbase from Earth, but that was ridiculous – a fantasy from his breakdown – but in his mind’s eye he could see them and the thought was comforting, and he allowed himself to think about Alec and wonder how he was coping, out of sight of Earth, and out of touch  of anyone back home. 

It would have been good to see the complex completed, to see it track oncoming UFOs and to visit the new telescope once completed, but it was not to be. Fitzpatrick would have that pleasure now. Still, if Earth was safe, it didn’t matter who was in charge of SHADO, did it?   

He sipped chilled soda from a glass held in tight fingers, a little too tight, and thought back over the evening. It had been something of a surprise. He hadn’t had a meal with a woman who wasn’t involved in SHADO for more years than he could remember, and she had been a perfect companion. Chatty, interesting, knowledgeable and, above all, made it clear that she did not view him in any other way than a companion who enjoyed the history of Italy as much as she did herself. 

It was a relief to spend time with a woman who had no designs on him, who did not see him as someone to be conquered, a trophy male. He had no desire for any relationship with a woman right now. That might happen one day in the future, he had to admit, but at the moment, he just wanted the chance to get his life back on track. Helen had been easy company, someone to talk to, and that was sufficient: no uncomfortable questions to answer, no request for explanations, no need for him to lie about his work. But then, he hadn’t been exactly prying into her life either. 

If this had been SHADO – if he had still been its commander – he would have had a G6 trace done on her and would have known everything by now and a lot that maybe he didn’t need – or want – to know. So they had enjoyed the meal, talked about Herculaneum and her interest in drawing and ended the evening with a couple of drinks in the hotel bar. 

But it was late now, and he really should be asleep. After all, he had agreed to take her to Pompeii tomorrow so that she could sketch the amphitheatre. And maybe Etna later in the week. He didn’t have anything important waiting for him in England, did he? Not any longer, anyway.

Straker woke from his deep dreamless sleep to the sound of thunder. The storm was overhead from the sound of it and he pushed aside the thin cotton sheet, opened the shutters and stood on the balcony, revelling in cool air on suntanned skin, but sheltered from the torrential rain that drenched the landscape and cratered the swimming pool with huge splashes. And then the noise was interrupted by a familiar sound; one he had heard many times before. He froze with horror, then stepped to the edge of the balcony, eyes searching the dark sky, heedless of the rain soaking him. 

Here. They were here. He could see them in the dark sky, brilliantly lit as they spun and descended towards the town and with a sudden heart-stopping rush of understanding, he knew why they had come to this place, now. They had come for him. He had to get out, to get away from the hotel – not to be safe; nowhere would be safe now – but to protect everyone here. 

If the UFOs he had just seen had managed to evade SHADO’s airborne defences, then there was not a chance in a million any mobile would be able to get here on time. Not here, not to the middle of a busy tourist town. The UFOs would search him out, destroying everything in their path in an effort to capture the SHADO Commander. Even if that was no longer who he was. Obviously, he thought to himself with a somewhat hopeless grin, no one in SHADO had bothered to notify the aliens about the change of command. He dressed quickly, dark clothes, not wanting to make it any easier for them although he had no intention at all of making it anything but very difficult. He slipped his penknife, useless though it would be, into his pocket  opened the door, and stopped. 

She was standing there. Almost as if she had been waiting for him. He tried to brush past her, but she put out her hand and stopped him.

“Helen. Let me go.” He hissed at her, furious at her attempt to delay him. “I have to get out. It’s too dangerous to be here. Innocent people are going to get hurt if I don’t get away.” 

“Here, Commander. You’ll need this.” She held out a gun. 

He stared at her, perplexed for a moment, but then shrugged. He didn’t even bother asking her how she knew his name. Nothing could surprise him anymore, after what he had seen up there in the dark sky. 

“They’re here for you, aren’t they?” She looked at him. “The aliens? You’re the prize they’ve always wanted to capture. This way.” She hurried over to the fire exit, pushing open the door and running down the metal steps to the rain drenched patio area, Straker close behind, gun in hand.

He was faster than she was, but she clearly knew where she was heading and, despite her earlier deception, he sensed she was trustworthy. So he followed, hoping his instincts were right, that she was not going to lead him straight to them. 

The roads were empty now, everyone indoors and sheltering from the rain that continued to fall, the cracking and tearing sound of overhead lightning ripping with deafening cracks through the silence at random intervals and illuminating everywhere with strobes of cold blue light. It was hard to maintain his night vision with the lightning breaking up the darkness, but he could see the unlit road ahead, as he followed her out of the town and into the wooded hinterland.

Eventually she left the road, heading into the darker shadows of the trees. It would be harder for the aliens to track them in here he knew, and he followed her, moving more cautiously now. The last thing he needed was to twist an ankle on the rutted ground. She slowed down to walk beside him, a small flashlight now in her hand, casting a thin beam of light ahead.

“Time to talk.” His footsteps were as soft and cautious as his voice. “Who are you, and how the hell do you know my name?” 

“Colonel Helen Peters. Military Intelligence. I’m under orders to protect you, sir. We’ve had you under constant protective watch for the last fortnight. That’s why you were moved from Mayland. Direct orders from my boss.”

And your boss is…?” He tilted his head to stare at her, her face flushed with exertion, her hair plastered to her skull by the rain.

She gave him a quick smile, though there was nothing much to smile about. “The President of the United States. I’m one of the president’s senior advisers.”

“So is this all Fitzpatrick’s doing? Did he set this up?” He’d been wrong about her. The sense of betrayal was painful like a sharp blow to his chest, but he put the thought of her treachery aside until later – if there was a later. 

She snorted with disgust. “Him? No. He’s the reason I’m here; my boss thinks Fitzpatrick has an ulterior motive. We’re pretty sure he arranged things so Colonel Lake would have an accident, and then he got Alec Freeman out of the way in FarSight – ” 

“How the hell do you know about FarSight?”

“I know a lot more than you think, Commander. I know all about SHADO, about aliens and UFOs and General Peter Fitzpatrick. I know that you were deliberately put under impossible demands which resulted in your collapse and that Fitzpatrick forced you to resign. And I know that there are serious doubts as to Peter Fitzpatrick’s loyalty to SHADO and to Earth.” She paused for a moment, taking deep breaths and letting the rain that worked its way down through the heavy tree canopy pour over her and cool her flushed skin.

The ache of treachery was fading as he listened to her words, and realised the truth. She hadn’t betrayed him. It was the only good thing about what what he was about to face. “You know what’s going to happen, don’t you? The aliens? They want me, most likely. They’ll do anything to get hold of me. To get the Command codes. I won’t go easily, though, even if they kill me, which I doubt. The codes are too important to them.” He grimaced as he thought of what they would do once they caught up with him. “It would be better if you left now, before they get here.”

“I can’t do that, sir, My orders are to protect you. And I intend doing just that. I can look after myself.” 

He grunted with disgust. “I suppose you thought it amusing to make a fool of me. Well, fair enough, you’ve made your point. But please, leave. Before they get here. Because they will get here. I have no doubts about that. I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

“Ed.” She put her hand on his shoulder, but he brushed it away and turned his back on her to stand motionless in the rain, his navy blue shirt a darker shade in the heavy rain, pale hair gleaming in the occasional flashes of lightning. 

“Go. Please. There’s nothing you can do here. Even with a gun, I couldn’t stop them, not three UFO’s and as many as nine aliens.” He flinched, eyes closed tight with pain, as if anticipating what was going to happen when they traced him, when they caught up with him. 

“You can’t mean that. You know what they will do to you?”

He turned to face her. “Yes, but all they really want are my authorisation codes so they can access the SHADO defence systems through the computers and shut them down. It doesn’t matter now. My codes will have been purged from the systems and Fitzpatrick will have set up his own protocols. If they manage to take me alive, eventually I’ll end up telling them what they want to know. It won’t do them a scrap of good though, and then when they kill me…” His voice was bitter with suppressed emotion. “Well, I didn’t have much of a life ahead of me anyway, now.”

“Commander?” She turned to him, her eyes wide with sudden understanding. She put one trembling hand on his arm. “Ed. Keith Ford passed a message to the president a short time ago and she passed the information on to me. We didn’t understand all of it, but now it makes sense. He said…” She paused, unsure how to tell him. “He told her that Fitzpatrick knows where you are and he’s sent a message to them. He hasn’t cancelled the codes and yours are still active.”She shivered. “Commander, Fitzpatrick set this all up. He wants you to be taken, so you’ll be the one who gives the aliens access to SHADO. He plans to let SHADO fall. And he will blame it all on you.”

He stared at her, the horror of the situation becoming clear to him. He would be responsible for Earth’s invasion. He would be the one who would enable the aliens to get through the defences and wreak havoc on an unsuspecting population. His name would be reviled for eternity. Or for as long as the human race survived. He heard a slurring sound behind. Footsteps in the dark, footsteps on wet fallen leaves, a glimpse of red and silver. “This way, hurry!” He moved with quick, quiet steps into a denser part of the wood. 

It was her turn to follow as he ducked and swerved between tree trunks, heading away from the horror tracking them. Then he realised his transponder was still active but it was too late to get rid of it, and he knew then it was hopeless, that they would be able to find him wherever he went. He stood still, trying to work out how to save her. “Helen, take cover over there. Wait until they’ve gone past before shooting. I’ll try to draw them out this way. We stand a better chance if we separate.” 

She nodded, moved to position herself behind the smooth water-blackened trunk of a thick beech tree. There was silence. 

Straker, his breaths shallow and even, watched and listened for the slightest sound, the slightest glint of light reflected from a helmet or chain or weapon. Nothing. Just the rain, the lightning, the creak of stressed wood moving in the storm. And then…

There they were. Three of them, just visible in the distance as the last dying flashes of the storm lit the world around them. Straker fired and ,with grim satisfaction watched as one stumbled and fell. One down. How many still to go?

He fired more shots from his sanctuary behind the ancient tree, the aliens’ weapons unable to pierce the ancient tree. But he knew it was hopeless, there would be others already waiting here. With a flash of insight, he spun around as the three aliens who had been tracking him from the other direction raised their weapons and fired. A beam of emerald light wrapped around him and he froze for one instant before they fired again.

Helen stepped out unseen and aimed at the group, but it was too late. Straker jerked backwards, crashing into the tree, sliding down to lie in a crumpled heap at the base. “Damn you!” She managed to fire once before light surrounded her and she too fell, unable to move, unable to scream even though she felt as if she was being consumed by flames. She was beaten, they had won and with her last conscious thoughts, she hoped that Straker was dead and she prayed for death to take her as well.

***

SHADO Command could only watch as the three missing UFO’s hidden for nearly a month in the Mediterranean Sea, reappeared on the radar screens on a trajectory that took them straight up, through the atmosphere, before accelerating to speeds that were impossible to match. The Skydiver jet sent to intercept had no hope of catching them. 

Keith Ford turned to Lt. Johnson. “Commander Straker was in that area. I’ve been monitoring his transponder for the last few hours and it’s no longer being picked up by Earth trackers. They’ve got him, Ayshea, and now they’ll get the authorisation codes, one way or another.” He paused for a moment as if the enormity of what he had said had just hit him. “SHADO is finished.”

Chapter 6

Heat. 

That was Helen’s first thought. A stifling heat, pressing down on her like a smothering blanket. She felt as though she would suffocate in the intense depth of the heat, as if it had a physical presence, compressing her body.  It was not the dry midday-sun heat of Sorrento that she had enjoyed, but a chest tightening, unbearable humidity, drenching her in sweat that stung and prickled and tormented her eyes and lips.

It was getting hard to breath and she tore at her t-shirt in a futile attempt to loosen the tightness round her neck. But it made no difference. She was suffocating, drowning in the weight of thick moist air, gasping and struggling to drag oxygen into her lungs as she leaned back against the spongy wall, mouth open, chest heaving. Her fingers tore again at her throat as she began to lose consciousness. 

With a wry flicker of amused humour, even as she prepared herself for death, she berated herself for having got into this mess, for having followed him, partly because she was concerned for him and it was her task to ensure his safety, but also out of curiosity to find out exactly what his enemies were like. So now she was here and now she knew. 

She had herself to blame. If only the whole damned place would keep still for a moment, if only she could breathe, if only…

*** 

Straker regained consciousness as he was being dragged over a smooth surface, but exactly where he had no idea. There had been an earlier waking, to appalling heat and humidity, his hands and feet tied, and he’d tried escaping until something or someone hit him, a casual and nonchalant blow across the head but hard enough to stun him again. Now he was aware of thick material over his head, a hood, blinding him to his surroundings. His struggles were rewarded with yet another blow stunning him into insensibility.

The third time he was somewhere else, somewhere cool and quiet and motionless, and he was being held down by vice-like grips on his arms. Hands tore his shirt open, hot fingers feeling, pressing, over his body for the small tell-tale ridge beneath his skin, then the probing hands ripped the material up the length of his sleeve. He knew what they were going to do and he gritted his teeth, determined not to make a sound, not to give them even that small satisfaction. But it was impossible to stay silent as the knife cut, and cut again, and the sharp point probed into the flesh until it encountered the small metal implant. With callous indifference they deepened the incision and, heedless of any discomfort caused, dug the transponder out as one would shuck an oyster from its shell. Then they crushed it beneath the bloodied blade of the knife, tugged the tattered remnants of his shirt back over his shoulders and dragged him away.

***

Helen swore under her breath; judging by the cramp in her limbs she had been unconscious for some time and the lack of movement had left her stiff and sore. Her head ached – and her spine and her neck and pretty much everything else – but at least it was easy to breathe, the previously thick atmosphere replaced by fresh clean air. She could have wept with the relief. And with each life-giving breath she drew deep into her lungs she began to relax, to become more aware of her surroundings, of the silence enclosing her, of the fact that she was a prisoner.

Damn. But at least there was no longer that terrible sense of movement, of hurtling in an uncontrolled rush down a rollercoaster. The floor on which she was lying remained still, the wall behind her back rigid and smooth. There was no vibration and no sound apart from a faint thrumming in the background and she no longer felt sick. Her earlier nausea had vanished. She swallowed with care, knowing that even that simple action could reawaken the awful queasiness and with a sense of dread she realised that she needed to open her eyes, to see just where she was. 

The merest sliver was enough to see she was lying on the floor in a small room. Dim lighting spread soft glows across the floor. She dared to open her eyes a little more. Modern minimalistic at best. A room – six foot wide and nine long and that was a generous estimate.

A narrow cabin-style bed, cupboards, and a tiny space to stand in. Or lie in as she was now doing. Walls, floor, ceiling, all coloured that peculiar shade of pale blue that only seemed to exist in government paint charts. ‘Utility Sky Blue’ it would probably be called. It reminded her of the cabin she had used once on a nuclear submarine, only that cabin had been slightly bigger. Some wardrobes were bigger than this. So, was she on a sub? But would a submarine have a door like that. A secure airlock? She swore again. 

 Where the hell was she? And, more to the point, what was she missing?

It was beginning to hit home now. Aliens. She’d known about the aliens and SHADO for a few months now, ever since concerns were mooted regarding Peter Fitzpatrick, but to actually meet one of them was something entirely different. Though technically she hadn’t met one yet. She’d been captured by them, yes, and brought here – wherever ‘here’ was – but she hadn’t had more than a glimpse of them. And at that moment she remembered Straker. A whirlwind of fear swept through her. Where the hell was he? Was he still alive? Without him, she stood no chance of getting out of here.   

A brisk rub of her face and eyes cleared away the sweat and tears, then her training came to the fore and she pushed herself up until she was sitting with her back against the wall and ready to make a rapid assessment of her remaining resources. Her gun was gone as was her shoulder bag along with her camera, purse, and all those little essentials that every woman carries around in her bag; secure phone, knife, spare ammunition clips. All gone. But she still had her clothes, which was a bonus; trying to make an escape whilst in a state of undress was never a favourite pastime of hers. Her watch was on her wrist but no longer working, and her necklace still round her neck. So whoever had taken her had made at least one error. There was a sound outside and she narrowed her eyes to a tiny slit then slumped down, as if she was still unconscious. The door swung open and she saw them in the light for the first time. Red suited, green skinned, pulling something into the room and she held her breath, waiting. 

***

Straker had abandoned the idea of trying to fight his captors – he could never beat them anyway, there were simply too many of them. But even though he was still hooded, he could still hear their voices, had listened to them laughing as the knife pierced his skin and sliced into muscles. And they were human voices, not the high-pitched sounds emitted by aliens. He shivered. Humans working with Earth’s greatest enemies.

 In a way it didn’t surprise him; he had known that humans were collaborating with the aliens either by choice or coercion or through mind-control techniques. After all, how else were the aliens to communicate with their captives? No one in SHADO had ever heard an alien speak, or even make any attempt to communicate verbally. 

So he let them drag him back along the corridor, blood tracking down his arm to leave scarlet smears on the floor. He heard them spin the handle on the airlock door and closed his eyes as he waited for whatever was going to come next. But they just manhandled him inside the room, tugged of the hood with a quick jerk, dropped him face down onto the floor and left. He heard the door close, the clunk of the heavy airtight seals settling into place. Then silence. 

He rolled over onto his back, holding his arm in a tight grip. Careful fingers explored the stickiness of cooling blood, the sharp pain of open flesh. “Damn and blast.” The wound was still bleeding and more serious than he expected, which would hamper any attempt to escape.   

“Mind your language, Ed Straker.” 

He pushed himself up and turned round, a wave of relief flooding through him at the sound of her voice. “Helen? I didn’t think you’d…”

“What? Still be alive? Neither did I. I woke up somewhere stiflingly hot, and couldn’t breathe and convinced myself I was dying so it was a pleasant surprise to find myself here. Wherever here is. And I’m even more pleased to find you still alive. I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

He was holding his left arm, blood trickling between his knuckles, spreading down his fingers to drip on the floor. A hiss of pain. She shuffled across the floor to sit next to him. “What did they do to you?” 

He grimaced. “Cut out my transponder. SHADO won’t be able to trace my position now. That is, if they were ever going to track me. They probably don’t even know I’ve been taken.” He moved his fingers slowly to reveal the vicious slash beneath, then leaning forward started to slide his arm out of the shirt.  

“Let me do that.” She eased the blood soaked shirt away from his shoulders and pulled it off. “Well, that’s had it.” She held it up for inspection. “Pity. It looked like quite a decent shirt as well.”

He attempted a casual shrug then thought better of it. “I like the colour. Dark shades are better when trying to evade aliens at night.” 

His eyes glinted at hers in a conspiracy of amusement. There was no point in trying to be serious. Not now. The aliens had them, and, if humour could alleviate the last hours they had, then why not? The future was already bleak enough. He knew the aliens would use every means possible to get the codes from him and, with regard to the colonel – she was alive and healthy and however unwilling she might be she would end up donating her organs. 

“Well, it may be a favourite but I’m going to tear it up and bandage that arm. Any objections?” It was her turn to glint. 

“I don’t have much choice do I?” He grinned at her, a small, almost shy grin, but she could see the pain behind the mask.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle with you. Now, hold still, this may hurt. A lot.” She tore the shirt into neat strips and started. “This really needs stitching. I’m afraid you’ll have a nasty scar there.” 

He looked at her askance, eyes amused. “One more isn’t going to make much difference.” He was joking but his lips were tight with pain and she realised, with a sudden flash of clarity, that here was a man who had been hurt before, badly hurt, and his scars were a constant reminder to him of painful incidents that he would rather forget. By the time she had finished he was pale and clammy and sweating, but the wound was covered and she helped him lean back against the wall, her hands on his bare shoulders. 

Someone had left a thin thermal blanket on the narrow bed and she pulled it off and wrapped him in it, tucking it around him. He was shivering in the cool air. “Sorry.”

“Lean back against me, you’re too cold.” He would have protested but she pulled him back against her, enfolding him in her arms, her warmth spreading through shaking muscles, until at last he began to relax.

“So, plans for this evening? Drinks, followed by a walk along the cliff top? What do you fancy?” Anything to keep the conversation away from the inevitable images of aliens coming to harvest their organs. 

Straker shifted position, wrapping his arms around his body. “I mean to keep my promise and take you to Pompeii if possible. But first I need you to look round this room and tell me everything you can see. I have my suspicions as to where we are but I might be wrong.” He shuffled away from her to sit against the wall and she could see the effort that it had cost him to move even that small amount. Standing up, a little shaky at first after being on the floor for what seemed an age, she too leaned against the wall as her legs regained their feeling and the pins and needles faded away. 

“Well, it seems to be your average accommodation cubicle, though with some additional extras. Cabin bed with built in storage including a pull-out desk, though how anyone could be expected to write at a desk that small I don’t know. Airtight door like they have on submarines, though I don’t think we’re in one of those. I’m guessing they won’t have forgotten to lock it, will they. Closet…” She pushed herself away from the wall and stepped across to open the closet door. “Oh. It looks as if someone’s used this room before. Whoever it was, they’ve left some clothes. There’s a sweater here that might fit you.”

A fine cashmere sweater, cream coloured and with a roll-neck, lay on the top of the pile and she lifted it out and put it aside on the narrow bed, before turning back to the desk. “And one more thing, a photograph. What a peculiar picture.” She pulled it off the wall, looked at it for a moment with a quizzical expression, and handed it to Straker.

He took it, stared at it and started to laugh.

“So. Are you going to tell me what’s funny, or do I have to guess?” 

His companion was annoyed, he could tell, but he couldn’t stop laughing. Perhaps it was light-headedness, or loss of blood, or perhaps it was sheer relief. He held out the photograph. “Do you know what this is?”

“It’s a light aircraft, a Cessna I think, from the fifties? A high winged monoplane, possibly four-seater, British registration. Looks like a museum piece from what I can see, but it’s in good condition. Though why anyone would have a photograph of an old aircraft in here, I don’t know. So, Commander, enlighten me. Please.” She was beginning to sound more than a little annoyed. 

“It’s not just an aircraft. That’s Celine, Alec Freeman’s personal aircraft, his Cessna 195, rebuilt by him and kept at the SHADAIR terminal. He spends every spare moment flying her or doing maintenance.” Despite the pain in his arm, he managed a brief smile. “Which means this is FarSight and we’re in Alec’s room. That’s why it was so hot and humid before, why there was that sense of uncontrolled motion. We were being transported in an alien craft, a UFO, heading for the moon. If we can find a way to open that door, or overpower anyone who comes in, we might be able to get away, or at least get a message to SHADO through the satellite links. That is, if the aliens don’t take us back to their homeworld first.” He refused to mention the other possibility; that they might find it simpler to just kill her now, rather than go to the trouble of keeping her alive for longer than necessary. 

“How can we escape let alone get back to Earth?”

He grasped her wrist, his voice serious but with a ring of truth. “It’s just a case of finding a way out. We now have a chance – a very slight one, but a chance nonetheless. We just have to wait for the opportunity.”

She leaned against the wall. “So we just wait?” 

“First I need to work out why we’ve been brought here.” He paused. “FarSight isn’t due to be come into operation for another month or so and there should be construction workers about. How a group of aliens can be here is anyone’s guess.” He wrapped his arms around his knees, concern creasing his forehead, the blanket slipping. 

She reached behind his back and pulled it up, tucking it round his shoulders. “If Fitzpatrick’s behind all this then maybe he’s got something to do with it. Maybe he’s handed FarSight over to the aliens as a staging post. A base camp in preparation for an attack on Earth?” She had meant the comment to be almost in jest, a throwaway remark, but he swore under his breath and stared at her.

“That’s it. That’s what he’s done. It explains everything – why I could never get through to FarSight, why Alec never contacted me. I thought Alec couldn’t be bothered getting in touch with me, thought he had – ” He held his breath. “Is he still alive? I don’t know.”

“We had no reports from Keith Ford to say anything happened to Alec Freeman. He’s probably back on Earth now, being watched by Fitzpatrick.” Helen tried to reassure him but it was difficult. She was aware of the close friendship between the two men, and had read the background details in Alec Freeman’s file file. If Freeman was dead, Ed Straker might lose any hope and she wanted him to be alert and angry and ready to fight. She needed him to work out a way to escape this hell-hole, because she was not going to die in some god-forsaken sterile dome, thousands of miles from home. “I hope you know how to get us out of here, Commander.”

“Alec kept a diary whenever he went to Moonbase.” Straker frowned. “If his clothes are still here, his diary might also be here. It could give us an insight into what’s been going on here. You’ll need to search for it. Knowing Alec, he’ll have hidden it out of sight.”

“First, you put on that sweater and get warm. In fact, you should lie down for a while; even get some sleep if possible. You look dreadful.” She folded her arms.

“I’ll be fine. Just see if you can find Alec’s diary.” He fixed her with a stare of disapproval. “Well?”

But she was determined to win.“No. You need to get some rest.” She turned her back on him, moving away. She could hear his muttered complaints as he eased himself, unaided, off the floor, the blanket falling off his shoulders once more, before he sat down on the edge of the cabin bed. He picked Alec’s cashmere sweater and looked at it, a grim look tinged with concern. 

“Let me give you a hand.” And before he could object she had slipped it over his head. It was too large, but that was no bad thing; it would make it easier to get it over the makeshift bandage. He gritted his teeth and she felt his muscles tense when she helped him lift his arm, but, once he had it on, he relaxed and lay back on the pillows, watching her as she started inspecting the small cubicle. 

“What’s this button? Oh.” The door on the other wall slid open, startling her. The opening  revealed a tiny bathroom serving the room on the other side as well. “Do you think we might be able to get out through the other room?” 

“I doubt it. They’ll have locked that door as well. There must be other ways to escape.” He shivered as if recalling an unpleasant memory. “I think they might be back for me soon. They’re going to need to access the defence systems so that they can close SHADO down. And I’m the only person who can give them the command codes.”

“But why couldn’t Fitzpatrick just give them the information himself? He could have sent it to them without involving you, without needing you to give your access codes. Surely that would be much easier for him?”

“He wouldn’t be able to send them from SHADO, or use any SHADO communications link. Our systems are programmed to prevent that happening. The ultimate command codes are tuned to one person and only that person can use them, by voice activation. If Fitzpatrick tried to use mine, the system would simply freeze. He could have taken over the command framework himself, but he wants me out of the way and it’s the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Straker and the command codes. Just what the aliens have always wanted, and all packaged together in one neat parcel.” He lay back, eyes closing of their own accord as his body responded to the welcome sensations of warmth and rest.

She continued her search, opening drawers and rummaging through the contents, moving quietly so as not to disturb him. A couple of shirts, undergarments, socks. Another sweater, a pair of trousers. Pyjamas. And then her fingers felt the hard leather cover of a book. She pulled it out, opened it and turned to him in triumph. He was asleep, restless but eyes closed, fingers twitching on top of the blanket, the cashmere sweater with a spreading crimson stain where blood seeped from the gash on his arm.

She sighed, and bent to tuck the thin thermal blanket around him, remembering his comment about her fussing. She settled down on the floor in the corner where she could keep an eye on the man dozing in the cabin bed, then began flicking through Alec Freeman’s personal account.

Chapter 7

Alec Freeman hesitated before stepping into the communal lift. By rights he should have been at home and catching up on sleep after twelve hours supervising the night watch. But something felt wrong, as if he’d been given the post just to keep him out of the way. SHADO had a perfectly competent night staff with their own Watch Officer and, with the continued dearth of any UFO activity, Freeman had spent the entire duty metaphorically twiddling his thumbs. The whole set-up stank and, once the shift ended, his first thought was to do a little quiet investigation to find out what was going on. But first he needed to ensure Peter Fitzpatrick didn’t catch sight of him. That would cause even more problems. Hence the communal lift with its coded entry system, instead of Ed Straker’s office and Miss Ealand with her welcoming smile. 

He’d checked the duty roster for the next twenty-four hours and, according to the list, a cohort of new recruits were scheduled to arrive first thing for a meeting with Fitzpatrick. A quick search had revealed no other details and there was nothing in the main system – no names or ID, no background history, just a brief sentence. So before he’d finished his shift he’d done a little tweaking to several security cameras and a certain fire escape exit, then he’d made a fuss about going home, said goodnight to everyone else and gone ‘up top’ where he’d made sure the cameras in Miss Ealand’s office watched him leave. It was easy enough to drive out, find somewhere nearby to park and then walk back. 

The early morning rush of studio employees made it easy enough for him to slip unnoticed inside the fire escape, make his way down to the lower levels of HQ and hide out until the new recruits came past on their way to Fitzpatrick’s office in less than an hour. He ended up taking refuge in one of the secondary breaker rooms situated on the main corridor. Anyone going to Straker’s office would have to walk along that corridor and it was far enough away from the Control Room that he might be able to make a quick exit once he’d seen the recruits. 

His chosen hiding place was more of a small cubicle rather than a room, its walls covered in breaker switches, the loud hum of power circuits in action, a sense of dry heat and static charges surrounding him. An uncomfortable time, but there was nowhere else suitable. At least no one would be likely to enter the tiny space, not unless there was a power failure. He eased the door open a fraction and leaned against the inner wall, patient and silent. Then just as he was beginning to wonder if he had been wasting his time, he saw one of SHADO’s security team leading a group of men out of the Control Room, heading for Fitzpatrick’s office. 

Freeman held his breath and stepped back, watching as SHADO’s commanding officer escorted the new recruits into the office. The door closed, shutting out any sounds and he slipped out and made his way into the Control Room. A quick tap on Keith Ford’s shoulder, a quiet murmur. “Trouble.” Then he hurried away, not wanting to be seen by Fitzpatrick, or indeed by any of the new SHADO operatives. 

Sound Stage 4 was still deserted, though he could see preparations underway for the next production. Ford arrived soon after, locking the door and stepping close to his senior officer so that they could converse without being overheard. “Colonel?”

Despite the emptiness of the vast space, Alec leaned closer, his voice little more than a murmur. “The new staff, Keith. What do you know about them? Where have they come from?”

Ford gave a hesitant shrug. “I don’t have that much information, Colonel. Fitzpatrick told me there would be eight staff arriving today, and I was to set up their security authorisations and arrange for accommodation in the base. Is there a problem?” 

Freeman thought for a moment. Perhaps he had been mistaken, perhaps he had over-reacted; but then the memories of what had occurred in FarSight returned and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that these were some of the same workers who had been on the FarSight complex. The same workers who had been busy redesigning the main systems, for some unknown reason. And with a sense of dread, Freeman realised he was no longer safe here in SHADO. They would kill him without a moment’s hesitation and, not only kill him, but anyone working with him. “Keith. You mustn’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. Whatever you do, don’t say you saw me. Your life depends on that.” He placed one hand on Ford’s shoulder. “That’s an order, understand?”

“If you say so, Colonel, but why?”

“Don’t ask. It’s best if you don’t know any more. Just do one last thing for me, please. Keep checking Commander Straker’s transponder, however unlikely it is that it’ll be active. If you get any signal, any message, anything at all from him, let me know. I’ll be on this number. It’s secure. You have my word on that.” And he handed Ford a slip of paper with a number scrawled on it. 

Ford looked at it once, nodded and tore it into tiny shreds. “Got it. I’ll contact the Secret Service and arrange for someone to meet Mr Harlington at Dulles. Should make things easier.”

Alec stared. “How the hell did you know I was going to Washington, Keith?”

“Why do you think I’m Chief Communications Officer?” Ford shrugged but his eyes held more than a touch of sadness. “Don’t worry Colonel, I’m no fool; I know what’s happening. I want Straker back here as much as you or anyone else does, but let’s be honest; it’s never going to happen. The aliens have him and it’s only a matter of time before he breaks and gives them the codes and they eliminate him. And then? Well, then all hell breaks loose, and there’ll be nothing you or I or anyone here can do to stop Fitzpatrick. Those new recruits? They’ll be looking out for him, their new boss, protecting him. Go to the White House, Colonel, tell the president what’s happening. But she’s not going to be able to help either. And you know it as well as I do. Don’t forget: Mr Harlington.” And Keith Ford turned and walked away.

*** 

The SHADO Hypersonic jet was on its regular run across the Atlantic, ferrying staff, supplies and hard copies of information too important to risk sending electronically. Hidden away in the back was Alec Freeman – unofficial, unlisted, not mentioned on any manifest. No luggage, no passport, no identification. But he didn’t need any. It had been easy enough to sneak onboard the jet dressed in nondescript uniform overalls and keeping his head down to avoid the cameras. Too easy in fact. If SHADO survived the forthcoming disaster – though at that moment  he could foresee nothing but total disaster ahead for the organisation – he was going to implement serious changes across all the security protocols, but for now he was content to relax, safe in the knowledge that Fitzpatrick would not miss him until midnight tonight and by then he hoped to have a plan of attack in place.

The plane landed at Dulles – a touchdown as good as any he might have done himself –before taxiing to the secure hanger used by all SHADO aircraft. He stayed where he was until the crew were disembarking and then followed them out without a word. From there it was a simple matter of walking into the main concourse and searching out the nearest Secret Service agent. At eight in the morning the airport was busy, and he stood there, tired and worried and jet-lagged, scanning the crowds for anyone who might be Secret Service. 

They spotted him first, or perhaps Ford had sent them a photo of him. The first agent was tall, nondescript and unshaven, dressed in casual jeans and a unzipped sweatshirt with stains on the front but there was a wire in his ear and a suspicious bulge under his left arm and a look of alertness in his eyes. A second man accompanied him, smaller, stocky, looking half-asleep but with one hand tucked in a deep pocket of his loose jacket. The first man nodded in acknowledgement. “Mr Harlington? Your designation, please.”

“Shadow Catcher Two Seven.” 

The response was gratifying. “Very good, sir. We have a car waiting once we’ve done the formal security checks.”

He could see two more agents in the distance and he wondered just how many were waiting in the concourse to meet him. And he thought back to Ford and his ability to smooth the way and shook his head at his own stupidity. SHADO didn’t need its security protocols updating and he hadn’t got into the fire escape or the breaker room or even onto the SHADO jet by means of just his own skills. Keith Ford had been tracking him since his return to Earth and his success in evading discovery had been down to Keith Ford working tirelessly to keep him safe: diverting internal cameras, altering records and enabling him to access all areas freely. A welcome yet sobering reminder of the Communications Officer’s efficiency. 

Within minutes he had been checked for weapons, retina-scanned, voice-printed and bundled into a long sedan escorted by two official vehicles heading at speed to the White House. No one spoke, but he could see the inquisitive looks he was getting; a middle-aged man, dishevelled and unshaven, dressed in crumpled overalls and with nothing to prove his identity other than a codename and a VPI.

Despite the luxurious vehicle it was not a pleasant journey, the tall man sitting opposite watching Freeman’s every move as if expecting him to pull out a gun. Freeman forced back a yawn, aware of his thirst and a growing hunger. It had been – he thought for a moment – far too many hours since his last meal, and it didn’t look as if he was going to get anything in the next hour or so. So he did the only sensible thing, which was to fold his arms, close his eyes and sleep. A brief catnap would help refresh his mind if not his body. 

He woke when the convoy pulled to a halt in the underground car park by the lifts, his door opened by an armed officer in full combat uniform. The obligatory check for concealed weapons, though he wondered where the hell he might have managed to acquire one since being checked at the airport. Then a nod. 

“This way, sir.” 

He followed, stumbling a little from tiredness. His last full night’s sleep had been over thirty-six hours ago and since then he’d travelled from FarSight to Earth, discovered that Fitzpatrick seemed to be hell-bent on reducing SHADO to the effectiveness of a mewling kitten and then done a full night shift before risking his life on what might be a fool’s errand to Washington in the hope that POTUS might have some advice.

The lift was spacious, well-lit and a security officer’s dream. Cameras in every nook and cranny, mirrors to make any movement visible, an armed officer waiting inside to pat him down – again. He tolerated the intrusion, but by the time the lift doors closed he was ready to thump the next person who laid their hands on him.

The lift stopped, the door opened. Another corridor. More guards. 

He held up a hand. “Enough. Inform your president that Colonel Alec Freeman is here about a matter of global security. You have five minutes to get me into her office or I’m going back to London.” 

Hushed whispers. A murmured conversation on comms. Then someone wearing a dark suit stepped forward. “Colonel Freeman? I apologise for the delay. The president will see you now. This way, please.”

No more delays, no more raised eyebrows at his dishevelled appearance and the heavy stubble on his jaw. He was tired and jaded, but this meeting was far more important than taking the time to make sure he was presentable.

The president was waiting for him, a small slender figure standing next to the Resolute Desk – white oak and mahogany from what he recalled. “Colonel Freeman? In the circumstances, I can’t say I’m pleased to see you. You know what I mean.” She turned to the single agent on guard at the side of the room. “Thank you, Michael. You can go; I’ll call you when the colonel is ready to leave.” She gestured to the sofas in the middle of the room. “Take a seat, Alec; do you mind if I call you that? The mere fact you’re here is enough to tell me things are not going well so sit down and give me the bad news.”

He sat and told her about Fitzpatrick and his plans for the organisation, and then about FarSight and the changes to the station and finally about Straker’s disappearance. It was hard to say the words, to admit that SHADO was facing disaster  and the president listened, her face intent and serious, trying to find a way around the almost impossible dilemma they were both facing.

“To be honest we’ve suspected for some time that Fitzpatrick might have a hidden agenda. He’s been pushing for promotion for a while, making friends in high places, greasing the wheels as you might say. We looked into his background, but it just seemed that he was an ambitious guy. You know the sort – long family history of successful career soldiers. My Chief-of-Staff insisted that Fitzpatrick had all the right qualifications for the post of IAC President, and there were no valid objections, especially as the only other person suitable qualified for the post was Commander Straker himself. But we both know he would have hated the promotion, don’t you agree?”

“So.” Freeman leaned forward. “You’re telling me there’s no evidence against Fitzpatrick, nothing that ties him to the aliens? Despite Keith Ford’s statements?”

“Correct. Ford has no absolute proof that Fitzpatrick was contacting the enemy. He just has a record of a rather suspicious transmission which could be anything. And if I step in now, without any definite proof of his treachery, the other superpowers will not support me.” She held up one hand to forestall his response. “SHADO is of vital importance to the safety of this world, and I cannot be seen to do anything that would jeopardise its future. It would be seen by the others as if I wanted to take over control of SHADO myself and the ensuing arguments could tear the world apart.”

“And leave Earth open to invasion.” He winced at the thought.

“Exactly. Which means we have to wait, see if we can find anything that ties him into the aliens. Proof, Alec, I need irrefutable proof. Anything at all. Only then can we act.” 

“You know you might be risking everything? I don’t know what Fitzpatrick’s got planned but, whatever it is, it has to happen soon, before it becomes obvious what he’s doing.” 

“Believe me, Alec, I understand. I know the danger. We simply have to hope that Ed Straker; who is undoubtedly in the hands of the aliens even as we speak, that he can hold off long enough to give us chance to find that evidence.”

“If Ed gives them the codes, we’re finished. You know that, don’t you. He won’t know that they haven’t been disabled. He’ll think he can tell them. And he will. Dear God, I know I would, if I was in that situation.” Freeman clenched his fist. “You know what they’ll do to him, don’t you?”

The president leaned forward. “Right now we still have some hope. There is every reason to believe Commander Straker knows about the codes. Helen Peters – one of my senior agents – was staying in the same hotel as Straker, and the other agents stationed there tell me that she disappeared at the same time as he did. If, as I suspect, she has been taken along with him, then she knows about the codes and will have told him.’ She looked at Alec Freeman and held his gaze with her own dark brown eyes for a long moment. “Colonel Freeman. Ed Straker is one of the most courageous men I have ever met. He will not break. At least, not straight away. We have some time; hopefully enough time to get the evidence against Fitzpatrick, and then we can act.”

Freeman lowered his head inconsolably, his hands clenched tightly together. “But the aliens have Ed. And he won’t survive, will he? 

She reached out and held Freeman’s hands gently in her own. “No, he probably won’t. But he’ll do his best to make sure Earth survives. That’s the one thing that we can be absolutely sure of. Ed Straker won’t willingly betray his world.” She stood up, aware that the man sitting there was close to tears. “The only advice I can give now is that you should go to Moonbase; get to your friends there. Start looking for anything that will help us prove Fitzpatrick’s involvement with the aliens. Go back to FarSight if you can get there unseen, but get off Earth. Get somewhere safe. Because if they break Ed Straker, Moonbase may well be our last hope.”

Chapter 8

Helen had dozed off at last, propped up in the corner. It was a trick she had learned in her years of employment in the Secret Service – to sleep whenever she had the opportunity. Working for the President of the United States didn’t give a person a regular set bedtime, and she took inordinate pride in the fact that she could get a few minutes rest virtually anywhere. And a few minutes was sometimes all she needed; power napping, they called it. She preferred the term sheer exhaustion. But whatever it was, she could do it. It was just that she was, quite frankly, a little too old for this sort of thing now. At her age, to be abducted by aliens and stranded on the moon. It was more like a fantasy story out of a children’s comic. 

She stirred gradually, knowing that if she moved without care, she was likely to rick her neck. Stretching each set of muscles, she loosened her body, ready to get up.  He was just waking as well. The stain on the sweater was larger, but looked darker as if it was drying. Good. With any luck it had stopped bleeding.

He opened his eyes and looked at her, regret in his eyes. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.” 

“Rubbish, you needed to rest, we both did. And it’s not as if there’s much else to do around here is there? But I read through some of Alec Freeman’s diary.” Her eyes glinted with amusement, as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Interesting to say the least.”

“Is there anything useful in it?” He stood up and was about to move across the room to where she was still sitting on the floor, when he saw the airlock wheel on the door spin round. Frantic with worry, he turned to her and she could hear the desperation – and terror – in his voice. “Hide it. Don’t let them find it.” The diary might be their one chance to find out what had been happening here, and he had to keep it safe, whatever occurred now. He stepped in front of the woman, determined that they would not take her first. It was a futile gesture. They had come for him and they moved into the small space, determined and ready. 

She pushed the diary behind her, but they were not interested in trifles such as that. They wanted him – the commander – and with overwhelming force they grabbed him, pulling him away from her, across the room and towards the lip of the oval doorway. He fought them, lashing out with fists and feet in a vain attempt to escape their vice-like hold. Their strength was overwhelming but he fought nonetheless, his eyes wide with the horror of what was going to happen. And he spoke once more to her before they dragged him over the edge of the door, out of sight, away to his fate, “I’m sorry. Whatever happens, I’m sorry.” Then the hood dropped over his head and he was silent.

She remained frozen with fear, watching in terror as yet another red suited alien approached the doorway, looked with undisguised contempt at her as if she was a tawdry item for sale in a cheap auction, before he pushed the door closed and locked it. Then she pulled Alec’s diary out from where she had hidden it behind her back and held it, tightly. She would not cry. She had seen too much over the years to cry now.

***

At least Straker knew where he was. FarSight. Even though he could no longer see. The thick hood deprived him of light and making him even more sensitive to movement, but as his captors dragged him along the corridors, and over the raised lips of airlocks he recalled the blueprint of FarSight. They were taking him to sickbay. And that knowledge made him resist even more. Hitting out with clenched hands at anything, everything, he felt his fingers grabbed, held by hands more powerful than his. The sharp pain as his fingers were pulled and wrenched until he heard the snap as the bones broke. It was sufficient to make him arch his back in agony and stop his struggles.

It was hopeless. Hands clasped with steel strength around his arms and legs, and he was strapped onto one of the stretchers in the small unit. He felt hands tug shoes and socks off, then cut through material, stripping him to the skin. As they pulled the hood away the lights blinded him although he could see indistinct shapes clustered around. 

His sight cleared and he saw them – men, not aliens. Humans holding him down and then tipping water over him, over his face, his neck, his whole body. It poured down and he heard it splash onto the floor. And as they moved closer and he saw the bare metal protruding from the wire held in thickly gloved hands he knew what they were going to do to him. Even the heavy airlock doors were not thick enough to stop the hoarse screams that filtered out into the corridor.

***

There was no way of telling how much time had passed, her watch was useless and in the end she took it off and tossed it aside. She had vomited once, out of sheer revulsion and fear, washing her mouth out afterwards with tasteless water from the small sink in the bathroom. She could only hope he was still alive but, wherever he was, it was unlikely he would have withstood their interrogation. Perhaps the aliens were, even now, invading Earth. Perhaps SHADO had fallen. Perhaps he was dead. 

Perhaps they would come for her next. The uncertainty was horrendous so she just sat there, waiting for whatever was going to happen next, arms wrapped round herself like a small child trying to stay safe. There’d been no Secret Service manuals or training exercises in what to do when kidnapped by aliens, or how to escape from a secret base on the far side of the Moon. If he died – and even now she wondered if he was still alive – they would return for her. 

The door opened. He stood there, held up between two of them, drenched with water, hair plastered to his skull, bare feet scraping on the floor, the make-shift stained bandage still strapped around his left arm. Unseeing eyes glazed with distress and incomprehensible fear seemed to stare at her. Stepping inside, they dragged his feet over the raised threshold to stand him there in the small room, before they let go of their prisoner. 

He simply folded up, in silence. A slow collapse down to the floor as if he was a puppet and someone had cut the strings one by one. He made no sound, not a murmur or even a groan. Just lay there unmoving. Still. They didn’t even look down at him, just walked out and moved down the corridor. Then to her horror another figure appeared in the doorway. A man dressed in the sort of clothes you might see in the streets of any major city: slacks, shirt, trainers. 

He stood there, observing her much as the alien had done earlier with a look of contempt, then spoke. His accent was British she thought, neat and precise. “Five hours. He has five hours to give us everything we need. Or we might start on you next. Him, or you. Whoever. Makes no difference to us, or them.” He gestured down the corridor after the departing aliens. “Five hours. Think about it.” The door closed, the wheel spun and still she sat there unable to move, unable to think. Paralysed by the thought of what they had done, what they would do.  

Then he cried out and she hurried across the room, turning him over to lift him up and hold him, his hand on her arm, distorted fingers against hers, eyes half-open but unseeing. She held his hand taking care not to hurt the broken digits. “It’s all right, I’m here. They’ve gone now.” Meaningless words, she knew, but what else could she possibly say. ‘They’ll be back soon?’

She lowered him to the floor and ran her hands gently over his torso and limbs, reluctant to cause more pain. Tiny burns covered his skin, bruises on his face, red marks on his chest, thighs. Evidence of their brutality everywhere she looked. She as no doctor, but even she knew the basics, so she pulled one of Alec Freeman’s shirts from a drawer and tore it into long strips before soaking them in cold water. Then she knelt beside him, her hands as gentle as if she was comforting a small child, wiping the blood away from his mouth where he had bitten his lips, cooling the blisters and burns. Fixing broken fingers was impossible without causing him more pain, but it had to be done and done quickly. So she set to work, wincing as he cried out.

“Don’t. Please. Don’t.” His desperate plea was almost inaudible. She wanted to stop, but it had to be done, so she steeled herself to ignore his faint entreaties and continued, finding the courage to tug each fractured digit back into line. The grate of bone against bone, the courage needed to pull bruised and distorted fingers back into alignment before strapping them together with the strips of cloth. It was all she could do. 

She paused several times, taking deep breaths and preparing herself for the next distorted finger. Then once had finished, she wrapped the blanket around him like she would with a child, her arms holding him while he lay there, still and resigned now to whatever she did.

At one point he started to retch, blood and bile and water, and she held him in a firm embrace until the worst was over. He opened his eyes enough to look at her, this time with recognition, but then seemed to switch off, to shut down in an attempt to escape from the reality of his situation. 

He needed to be off the floor and onto something softer. But as soon as the thought came into her head she realised how foolish it was. She would never be able to lift him and, with a practicality that surprised her, she stood up and dragged the narrow mattress off the bed before easing him onto the soft surface. He cried out again as she covered him with the blanket, and then, mercifully settled. She smoothed his damp hair into place, then sat beside him, to keep watch, and be near if he needed her. As long as they didn’t come back for him. Yet.

Then, at a loss for what to do next, she opened Alec Freeman’s diary at a random page and started reading aloud, hoping that the sound of her voice would reassure the man lying there next to her. “Another day over. This group of workers leave tomorrow and there’s another new batch on their way. Yet more strange faces and names to learn. Honestly, why couldn’t Fitzpatrick have sent Paul here instead of me? But the good news is that the work is on schedule, in fact, ahead of time if anything. So I might get back earlier than planned. I’ve tried to get in touch with Control several times this week, but it’s ‘Sod’s Law’. Every time I try to get a satellite link it seems to be down. I can get through to Fitzpatrick without any problems, but other than that everything seems to be silent. The food here’s edible enough and the accommodation is all right but the coffee…” 

She read on, her voice soft and soothing, her words filling the empty space and filtering through to his mind, so that eventually, comforted by the sound of a friendly voice, his body relaxed a little and for brief moments he dozed, forgetting the pain and the horror of what he still had to face. For he was under no illusions. They would break him, one way or another.

She had nearly finished Alec’s diary. The personal, somewhat amusing anecdotes in his account had stopped a few days previously and now she was reading the events from the latter days. As she read, her voice changed; no longer light and soothing, it took on a darker tone, reflecting the content of the written passages, although she was not consciously aware of the fact. She was now engrossed in reading the report of a man afraid and worried, a man who could not see the reasoning behind the decisions that had been made, a man who had been gradually isolated, separated from his friends, and unable to speak to anyone of his fears.

So her voice changed, and the broken and exhausted man lying there, on the thin mattress next to where she was sitting, became aware of the alteration, and he concentrated, focussing his mind on her words, not just the sound of her voice, soothing though it had been, but the actual words, and as he did so he pushed the pain to the back of his mind, where it would not interfere with what he knew was more important.

“…the blueprints, because I can’t understand these changes, why they’re making such alterations. And this group of workers worry me, Ed. They’re nothing like the usual newcomers, all bluster and silly pranks until the foreman slaps them into place. They’re reserved, efficient and far too confident with the jobs they’re expected to do. As if they’ve been studying these new plans for weeks. To tell you the truth, Ed, I’ll be happy when they’ve finished their rota. And some of the things they have been instructed to do by Fitzpatrick are worrying me – changes to the water recycling and air purification systems. Some designer spotted a flaw in the original designs, but I can’t see any problems. There’s a cargo load of additional equipment, none of which I’ve ever seen before. I’ve stashed my copy of the new blueprint away so I can bring it back when this place is finally completed. There are some tasks that they don’t seem to have thought about, like sealing off vital areas, making the vaults above the domes air-tight. They seem to be concentrating on their new instructions rather than completing scheduled tasks. We’d better check it over together, before we sign…”  She stopped reading as fingers touched her arm. 

“The blueprint.” He looked up at her, his voice faint and hoarse. “Find it. Alec will have hidden it somewhere.” He closed his eyes as if the sheer effort of talking had been too much.

She closed the diary, placed it on the mattress next to him and stood, looking around for a place to begin the search. It was not a tidy search, with a gentle rummage through drawers. She had to find the blueprints. He had said so, and yet she had already gone through every place previously, so it must be hidden with more cunning than the diary, which meant emptying drawers, pulling then out, turning them over, checking the dead spaces behind them. Going through all Freeman’s personal belongings, checking in random, obtuse places such as the sleeves of his jackets, inside the linings of his bags, even the few spaces in the small tidy bathroom where an item might have been cached. Everywhere. 

Nothing. She sat down beside Straker, looking around, trying to find some small niche some place that she had not searched. Nowhere. His eyes were still closed, the blanket still tucked around him and she realised where Alec Freeman had hidden the precious blueprint. Such a predictable place she had not even considered it.

“Ed? The blueprint. It must be in the mattress.” She hated herself, but she slipped her arm under his shoulder and lifted him up, and to her surprise he responded, helping her by sitting up, his movements slow and painful, then he edged himself off the thin mattress to prop himself, shivering, against the wall, the blanket wrapped around him. She lifted the mattress, inspected every seam, every corner, and there; an unevenness in the otherwise smooth surface. The thin fabric cover over the mattress had been slit along one side and she reached in to feel a crinkle of thin paper. 

It wasn’t blue, not a blue print as she had expected, but a large sheet of fine white paper folded in half several times and pushed into the mattress near the end, where it was less likely to get crumpled by the weight of a heavy body sleeping on it. The paper was covered in detailed outlines, notations, technical diagrams and, over it – in red pen and in the same handwriting as in the diary – comments, additions, queries.

It made little sense to a mind inexperienced in the world of lunar habitats, designs and plans. She pondered it for a moment then sighed. This was Straker’s métier, not hers and, with a pang of remorse, she moved to sit next to him on the floor. “How are you feeling?” She was aware of him leaning against her for support. “Is there anything I can do?” 

There wasn’t and they both knew it. The only thing that might help was find some way to escape their current situation. She wanted to know if he had given them any information at all, but was too afraid to ask in case he admitted to betraying his world, or even in a way, worse, that he had not given in and then she would know that they might be coming for her next.

He turned, looked at her, eyes half-closed with the struggle to compose himself and she knew that he was aware of her concerns. “I didn’t tell them anything.” His voice was subdued and distorted. “Not this time. They weren’t really that insistent. They just wanted to soften me up, before they start. But they’ll get the codes out of me soon enough. They’re good, Helen; they’re very, very good. And I won’t be able to hold out for ever. I’m not that strong. I’ll talk, sooner or later.” He was shuddering with fear or pain or both, leaning back, eyes closed as if remembering what had happened.

Time to change the subject. “Look, the blueprint. What does all this mean?” She spread it out in front of him.

He had to lift it up to read the annotations, but she had the feeling that he was becoming more alert, as if beginning to realise that his future held more than the promise of pain and more pain, as if there was some hope. She sat in silence while he read, squinting at the neat and meticulous writing, tracked lines with stiff and splinted fingers, muttered to himself. 

Then he leaned back, and heaved a sigh of relief. “I think I can get us out of here. At least I can try. It won’t be easy, but anything is better than staying here, knowing what we might be facing. Do you want to try?” 

She was on her feet even before he had finished speaking. “Of course. What do you need me to do?”

He gave a slight, painful smile at her enthusiasm. “I need something to wear. Can you see if there’s a flight suit in Alec’s wardrobe? A blue overall. That would be best.” Pushing himself onto his feet, he leaned against the wall, panting with the effort that even that small action had required.

The flight suit was there, too big for him really, but she helped him into it. He belted it at the waist, flinching as the material, soft though it was, rubbed against his skin. “Right, let’s try to get out of here.” He opened the door into the shared bathroom and she followed him, puzzled, as he clambered on the seat of the toilet and reached up, grunting with the effort. One of the ceiling panels, when he pushed it on one side, dropped down on hinges like a trapdoor, leaving a dark space above. 

He stepped down again nodding in approval. “Access to the void between the dome’s outer shell and the ceilings of the accommodation block. It was never intended to be used for anything other than access to the gap during construction. These open panels should have been sealed and made air-tight during the last couple of weeks, when the accommodation block was completed. But the new workers probably didn’t realise the roof spaces were still open and accessible. Thank God for Alec’s blueprint.” He looked at her. “It’s up to you now. If you can get up there and crawl across to the next panel but one, in that direction and then drop down, you’ll end up in the corridor that runs through this dome. Then all you have to do is get back here and open the door. I won’t be able to get up there, I’m simply not capable right now. Are you up for it? It may be a tight squeeze.”

She stepped up onto the seat and, with an effort, he boosted her up into the blackness. The curved roof of the dome arched up and away from her. She looked down at him, at his concerned face upturned towards her and, though she was tempted to say something, she just nodded and crawled away, across the toughened sealed panels towards the point where the dome roof curved back down to meet the access corridor.

The upper surfaces of the heavy panels were unfinished, and her linen trousers were shredded and her knees sore by the time she reached her goal. The panel dropped down and she lowered herself into the corridor and hurried to open the door. He was waiting just inside, diary and blueprint in hand and she smiled at him with the sheer relief of having got out, of having taken the first step towards escaping, getting away. “What now?” Her whisper sounded loud in the silence of the empty corridor. 

He pulled her into the end of corridor airlock and started to spin the handle with difficulty, his splinted fingers unable to grip, so she stepped forward and took over, without a word. He followed her through the doorway. “Now we need to get to the launch bay where they keep the lunar mobiles. And then we have to find a couple of space suits. That’s the easy part. Come on.” And he set off, down the corridor, pausing to listen for any footsteps, any sign that the enemy were nearby.

The central dome of FarSight had been planned as the Control Centre, and they hoped the majority of the aliens and indeed humans would be in there, as they would be able to bypass it by using the outer ring of corridors. They moved in an anticlockwise direction, Straker checking the blueprint regularly to confirm the areas they had covered. 

It was strange, walking through the empty corridors with their new, unmarked floors and bleak walls devoid of any ornamentation. They passed a couple of recessed doors, with bright fluorescent orange paint marks splattered across them as if to warn passers-by of dangers within. And then the wheel on the airlock door ahead started spinning, and she turned to him with panic in her eyes. 

Straker grabbed her and dragged her back to the nearest recessed door, with its numbered keypad. “Two, nine, five, eight.” He stepped back, waving her forward. For one moment she wondered why he wasn’t doing it himself, then remembered his fingers. She keyed in the code – quick desperate taps on the pad – and the door slid open revealing a small room just big enough for five or six people at a pinch, with oxygen cylinders and masks fastened to the walls. He pushed her inside, stepped in behind her, and slapped his outstretched palm on a red button just inside the room. The door slid shut with a squeak of airtight seals. A green light came on, and she heard the hiss of air as pumps started. She looked at him. “What…?”

“Emergency compartments in the event of decompression.” He leaned against the inner wall, looking tired. “Every corridor throughout the complex has them. We should be safe in here for a while. They’re soundproof as well.” He eased himself down to the floor, leaning his head against the walls, eyes closing unbidden. 

There was a rack at the back of the compartment holding what appeared to be orange space suits with a row of helmets on a shelf above. 

“Partial pressure suits.” His voice was pale and thin, as if all his energy had been washed away. “Keep you alive for long enough to get to the emergency shelters underground. No good for longer than a few minutes though. We need to get E.M.U. suits.” 

Helen had no idea what he was talking about but they were safe for now and that was enough. She slid down beside him and let him lean against her. “Are you all right?”

He nodded and they sat, comforted by each other’s presence, in the dimly-lit life capsule. Waiting, staring at the small monitor in the corner of the capsule that displayed images from outside.  They watched as three aliens passed by and then stood together near the recessed door, gesticulating. The inhuman body language was strange and unfamiliar and somehow repugnant. Or perhaps that was because she knew how evil they could be.

Straker reached up and pulled down a couple of the masks attached to oxygen cylinders. “We might need these if we’re in here for a while. The air pumps only work for a limited time. I only hope they haven’t realised we’ve escaped.” 

“Can they get in here?”

He turned to reassure her. “No. Once occupied, these compartments can only be opened from inside unless you have the keycode. We’re safe here. As safe as anywhere that is.”

“What are we going to do?”

“What do you mean?” He tilted his head to stare at her. 

“Well, we’re in here, they’re out there. Even if they leave this area, we’ll never be able to kill them all. And we’re trapped here on the other side of the moon.”

He considered for a moment. “We’re out of Alec’s room for a start. That’s one good thing. And we’re still free. That’s a bonus. All we need to do now is get rid of the aliens and get a message through to SHADO. Simple.” 

And he meant it. “Huh. How do you propose to do that?” 

“You haven’t given up have you? I’m disappointed, Helen. Somehow I expected better of one of the president’s senior officers.” He turned to her. “Tell me, how did you get involved with SHADO? How did your boss find out about Peter Fitzpatrick? And Italy? Whose idea was that, following me there?”

She leaned back against the wall, marshalling her thoughts. “It was General Henderson who started things.  He contacted the president about his concerns but there’d already been rumours Fitzpatrick had been trying to garner support from some members of the IAC for his proposal to cut back on spending in SHADO. We were also worried about his sudden demands on you and his absolute control over the FarSight construction. Henderson was concerned for your well-being, especially when it became clear you’d been cut off from Alec Freeman, and he was even more concerned after Colonel Lake’s accident. Unfortunately we were unable to prove any involvement by Fitzpatrick, so we were reduced to keeping a close watch on you. In one way, your collapse was a good thing.”

“Really?” He hunched his shoulders as if trying to hide from the memory. “I don’t recall much there being much I’d call good.”

“No, perhaps not, but it gave us a chance to move you somewhere safe and away from Fitzpatrick. I arranged for your transfer to the private clinic and we were guarding you from then on. The fear was that Fitzpatrick – having pushed for your resignation – might go one step further and make damned sure you couldn’t make a return. We couldn’t prove anything though, despite having Keith Ford reporting all suspicious communications directly to the President.”

“Keith Ford? Our Communications Chief?” Straker could hardly believe her. “I wouldn’t have thought he’d have the daring to do something like that.” 

“You underestimated him then. He’s our link to SHADO and he’s been in touch with the president since you were taken ill. Then, once you were home I had agents on twenty-four hour watch protecting you.” She grinned sheepishly. “I’m afraid we tapped your phone, which is how we were able to get to Italy when you did. Good choice of hotel by the way.” 

“I should have spotted the agents trailing me. I just didn’t imagine anyone would be watching me once I had resigned. I suppose it was you who went through my things in the hotel room?”

“I did. How did you know?”

He looked at her. “You didn’t put the books back on the bed in quite the same place. People always make that mistake. I put them down, and they look random, but they are always positioned very precisely. Habit really. Once I realised someone had been in the room, I checked everything else.” 

“I’ll be more careful in future.” She looked up at the monitor. “They’re still out there. What do we do now?”

“Now?” He shrugged. “You can tell me about your work. Senior adviser to the president? That’s how you know about SHADO is it? There aren’t many agents who are privy to that sort of information. And of those that do know, most of them end up working for us. We get some of our best security people that way. Once we’ve finished training them properly, that is.” He looked at her. “Interested?”

“No. Quite definitely, no. I like my job. I get to travel to exotic far away places and see new things. Like this for example.” She waved one hand at the close confines of the emergency compartment. “Of course, there are some disadvantages, but on the whole I enjoy working for the president. She doesn’t tend to run off in the middle of the night unlike some people. And to be honest, I’m getting too old to start afresh now. I’ll be looking at retiring in a couple of years.”

“And what then?”

She stared into the distance. “I want a chance to catch up on those things I have never managed to do so far. Like sketching the ruins at Pompeii. If we get out of this alive of course.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed with me. I tried to warn you.’ But his look was anxious, as if he thought she might blame him for their predicament. “I really am sorry, Helen, I never thought this might happen.” He lowered his head in contrition, and she put her hand on top of his for a brief moment.

They sat in silence, each comforted by the presence of the other. Straker waited for the claustrophobia to kick in, to make this imprisonment even more difficult than it already was, but for some reason he was unaffected by the closeness of the tiny cubicle. Perhaps his morbid fear of confined spaces – as Alec used to call it – had vanished, or more likely it was the calming influence of the woman sitting next to him. 

Time passed. The little cohort of aliens finished whatever they were doing, chatting about the weather, or swapping recipes or even discussing transplant operations, she didn’t know or care. But eventually they moved on, opening the airlock and going through. She watched the wheel spin around. All clear. 

She was not sure if he had fallen asleep, he was so still, so quiet, but then he opened his eyes and nodded. She eased herself away from him and stood up, before helping him to get to his feet. He had stiffened up, she realised, and was dismayed to see how hard it was for him to move. 

He grimaced. “Give me a moment.” It took longer than a moment and at one point she wondered if he might not be able to continue, but then he straightened his spine  and breathed out. “Let’s go. Whatever you do, keep watch. I don’t think there can be more than about ten of them altogether in the base, humans and aliens; at least I only saw that many earlier.” Another shrug. “It’s a large complex so with any luck we should be able to avoid them.” He smiled in an attempt to encourage her and pressed the red button again. The door hissed open and he peered out. “All clear. Come on.” 

She followed, watching out for the emergency chambers and noting the position of each as she passed them. She knew what to do now if they heard the enemy approaching, or saw an airlock opening. Two nine five eight. The mantra ran through her mind and she concentrated her thoughts on remembering it. So it was a surprise when he stopped so suddenly that she almost bumped into him.

“This is the airlock to the launch bay. On the other side of that doorway is a secondary control room leading directly into the dome where the mobiles and space suits are kept. It also leads to the Shuttle Launch access, although there doesn’t appear to be a shuttle there now. We need to get into the dome, and get suited up, but it’s possible there might be aliens in there. If so, they probably won’t dare fire any weapons inside a dome. Are you up to going in there?” He looked at her, his head tilted to one side as if appraising her. She knew what he meant. There was no way he could fight in the condition he was in. 

“I’m prepared to kill if necessary.” That was all she could promise, but he stepped aside and watched as she turned to spin the door mechanism and push open the heavy airtight seal. Reaching up, she then unfastened her necklace and held it, one end tight in each hand. She took a deep breath, walked ahead of him, and cautiously peered round. Nothing. She was standing in a large control room with thick windows overlooking a huge open area that took up most of the interior of the dome. There were several bulky and ungainly vehicles with tank-like tractor treads and huge wheels and in one corner, away from the rest, one solitary vehicle that resembled nothing more than a gigantic white insect. There was an ordered rack of space suits on one side, if a room that was circular in shape could be described as having sides. 

She tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the insect. “What’s that?”

He leaned close, keeping his voice quiet. “Moonmobile. We can use it to escape.” 

The launch bay control had yet another airlock to access the bay itself and she could see, in the main area, near the huge bay doors that were vivid with yellow and black chevrons, someone dressed in red standing beside one of the vehicles. A red space suit. An alien. She stepped back not wanting to be seen. Straker was behind her, also pressing himself against the walls to try to avoid being noticed by his enemy. 

She looked at the SHADO Commander, for that was what he was. Despite his resignation, she knew that he was still prepared to give his life to ensure that SHADO was successful. And that made him better than Fitzpatrick, better than any of them. “Commander? Can you distract it?” She held out her necklace.

He nodded and looked at her. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure. I know what to do and I’m strong enough. Trust me.” She swung the wheel on the heavy door and pulled it open a fraction, thankful that all the doors were designed to open on silent and smooth hinges. Squeezing through the narrow gap, she edged around the curved wall, trying to keep the bulky vehicles between her and the thing she was preparing to eliminate. For one horrible moment she wondered if perhaps the aliens were invincible and she would not be able to kill it, but then common sense took over. If Straker had not thought she could deal with it, he would never have let her come in here. Once in position she looked back at the windows, nodding. Her training took over now. Those years of intensive lessons; all preparation for this one moment. It was up to him now. 

All she could do was to watch as Straker stepped into the launch bay and walked towards the alien, still engrossed in studying the engine specifications. “It looks like it could do with an oil change and a new filter. Have you checked the fuel levels?” His voice was casual and amused, but Helen could hear the strain behind the words. 

The alien spun to face Straker, and she moved, leaping forward to smash its head down against the tractor treads of the utility vehicle then knelt on its back, grabbed its hair to pull the head back and looped her specially strengthened necklace over and down, across its neck. Her mind was filled with fear as much as with hatred, and she remembered Straker lying there, blistered and burned after they had finished with him. She put all her anger, all her training into that one rapid, tireless yank of the garrotte around its throat. 

Green tinged hands clawed in vain at its neck just as, earlier, she had clawed at her own throat in the stifling heat of the alien craft. But she was too strong and angry and determined, and she held it there, until the fingers ceased their desperate struggle and the head fell forward. 

She let go of the chain, a surge of revulsion at the sight of emerald skin and dead eyes, and she scrabbled away from the body, to stand, shaking and sweating with disgust, close to vomiting. She had taken a life. With her own hands. Straker put his arms around her, and gave her one quick comforting hug, as if to reassure her. “Thank you. That was incredibly courageous.” He touched her face. “Now we stand a chance of getting out of here.”

“What next?” She could feel the nausea fading but her heart was still pounding and her mouth was dry.

“We get suited up. And then. Well, then we eliminate everyone in FarSight. Everyone.” He looked grim and she knew that he was planning something unpleasant and lethal and she wondered if she would still be alive at the end of the day. If day it was, here on the far side, out of sight of everyone who mattered, who existed, who knew her. But it didn’t really matter, did it? She’d always known her job was dangerous, that she was likely to get in harm’s way. And there was nothing more important than saving Earth. It just seemed such a travesty of justice, that Ed Straker would never receive the recognition he deserved, that they would both die here out on the moon and would probably never be found. At least she would not die alone, he would be with her. 

And right now, she could think of no-one else she would rather have with her, here at the end. She put her hand on his arm and squeezed. “So, Commander, let’s do it.”

Chapter 9

She’d never worn a proper space suit before – never even got close enough to touch one, come to that. They were stiffer than she’d anticipated, and heavier as well. Straker made her strip and put on a blue flight suit first; a surprisingly comfortable garment, warm and smooth against her skin like good quality underwear. She zipped it up and pulled on the pair of fine felted socks he gave her. Then it was time to put on the outer suit.

He was unable to do much to help her get into the suit, but she managed, and he talked her through the process of connecting the air-lines to the Life Support Unit, adjusting the fit and linking to the suit’s air supply. He held out each glove in turn while she slid her hands inside and twisted them. They locked with a firm snap and click, and he checked them both before nodding with approval. Then it was his turn.

She watched, unable to do little more than lift the weight of the EMU suit as he struggled into it, hampered by the bandages strapping his fingers together. It took time for him to fasten the seals, and she did not dare help, well aware that her ignorance might cause an fatal error if she did not close the suit correctly. But it was done at last. Then it was time for his gloves. 

He’d explained what he was going to do and why, but in the end it was Helen who unfastened the strapping from his fingers and tried to ignore the way he flinched as each bandage was removed. It seemed a brutal thing to do, but even she knew he would be unable to wear the gloves with his fingers as they were. He was working on the premise that the stiff gloves would act as temporary splints and enable him to complete the vital tasks ahead.

Then it was time to put on her helmet. He held it out, let her see how simple it was to wear. “Okay, Helen, you’ll have to help me when it comes to fastening my gloves. You know what to do?” She reassured him that, yes, she could do that. He had already explained the controls inside, the radio, the voice activated temperature controls, the drinking tube. 

Before he lowered it, he looked at her, eyes staring into hers. “Listen, I don’t know how long we’ll need to be sealed in these. If there are problems, if it gets unbearable, we can go into one of the emergency compartments and let you take off your helmet, but I’d rather not. Remember, the radio controls are voice activated; and don’t panic – I’ll be here with you.” With that final reassurance he put the helmet over her head and fastened it, locking it into place like a gasket and then the visor slid down, trapping her inside. 

For one awful moment she nearly lost control. It was silent and suffocating and utterly terrifying, and she had a momentary sense of what claustrophobia could be like, but she took a deep breath, felt the cool air blowing into the helmet from her air supply, coughed, and heard his voice, calm and soothing as if he was inside the helmet with her. “Helen? Radio test. I need you to count to ten, slowly.”

She swallowed. “One, two, three, four – ”

 “Good. That’s working fine. The radio’s set so all you have to do is start speaking and I’ll hear you. You’re doing great. Now I need you to help with my gloves.”

All she had to do was hold the first one out while he pushed his hand into the shape, then she twisted the wrist section and it locked. Then the other. And then they were done.

He touched her arm. A strange sensation, seeing a hand reach out and make contact and yet feeling nothing through the suit. “Good work. Take it slow and don’t be afraid to stop me if something feels wrong. Small steps, remember.”

“I remember.” With the station still under artificial gravity, wearing the suit was akin to wearing full body armour with all its bulk and weight, but she took one step and then the next and so on, until she got into the rhythm. Straker led the way back into the atrium with its control console for the launch bay doors. He had picked up a thin stylus from one of the tool boxes in the launch bay and tucked it into one pocket on the thigh of his suit, and Helen watched as he pulled it out and used the point to type on the console’s keyboard, his visor still open and unlocked, in preparation for the last task.

She knew what he was going to do. He had explained it all to her and the thought was terrifying. He was going to use his codes – the passwords that only the verified SHADO commander should be able to use – to access the main computer in the Control Room at the centre of FarSight. Then he would use his authorisation to take control of all the computer systems and change the four-digit code on the emergency compartments – a relatively simple task. But then he would use the same authorisation; the one Fitzpatrick had deliberately not deactivated, to open all the FarSight airlocks automatically, and simultaneously. 

All the airlocks. Not just the ones between the domes and at the end of the corridors. All of them. The small emergency access airlocks, the Lunar Shuttle airlock, all of them. Including the huge launch bay doors. They too, would unlock, would slide open, and everything – absolutely everything not fastened down – would be sucked out into the Moon’s airless landscape. Loose equipment, papers, blankets, mugs, liquids. Humans and aliens. All would be dragged out in the rush of escaping air as the entire atmosphere of FarSight was ripped out through the Launch Bay doors.

Hence the need to be suited up, and after that, once the base had been evacuated, they would head for the control centre. Her radio clicked. His voice, as calm as if he was telling her he’d put the kettle on. “Ready.” 

She nodded, blushing as she realised he could not see her move her head inside the helmet with its thick visor. “Ready.” Her voice sounded strange to her ears, thick and distorted and echoing, trapped in her helmet. She wedged herself behind the console, as instructed, holding on with fingers gripping the edge. 

Straker stepped up to the control console, his visor still open. “Command Interface. Voice Print verification. Straker. Edward. Commander–in-Chief. Activate.”

“Voice print confirmed. Command Interface activated.”

Even Helen knew what that meant – he was still authorised. She could only listen as he worked. “Computer, this is Commander Edward Straker. Code: Lima Echo Oscar Two One Zero Nine. Transfer control of all systems to this station.” He waited. 

“Transfer complete.”

“Straker. Delete all emergency compartment codes. Reset to; zero, zero, zero, zero.”

“Codes reset. New code is – zero, zero, zero, zero.”

“Straker. Activate command access to emergency airlock protocols through this terminal. Inputting personal command code for emergency control of all airlock systems. Open all airlocks on final command.”

“Confirmed. All airlocks to open on completion of command protocols.” 

Straker closed his visor, and began inputting a set of digits and letters, tapping on the keyboard with the thin stylus. To Helen, kneeling in one corner of the control room, it seemed to take forever. And she was terrified of speaking in case she distracted him at a vital moment. Then he paused, turned to look at her and raised one thumb. A good sign, surely.

She watched him typing, taking his time, making sure of each letter, each digit. At one stage he paused and seemed to falter, but then he shook his head and carried on. One final command and he stepped back. Then he put the stylus in the open pocket on the front of his thigh, next to Alec’s diary and the carefully folded blueprint, and moved to stand over her, squashing her into the corner, pressing her down until she felt that she was going to be crushed by the weight, not only of her suit, but his suit, his body, as well. And then she felt the vibrations through her thick boots, through the heavy fabric of her suit as she leaned against the wall. The clunks and thumps as, throughout the complex, airtight doors obeyed their new orders. 

Wheels spun, doors swung wide, and there was a vast exhalation of air, as if a giant had suddenly puffed out an enormous candle, and the huge launch bay doors slid majestically back, revealing the blackness of space.

It was beyond her worst nightmare. The air filled with a hurricane of papers, liquids, equipment, small consoles torn from their mountings, chairs, a human body with its mouth wide open; all rushed past her as she was crushed down there, beneath him. And the aliens, red suited, green-skinned, silent as they were dragged out, as their blood boiled, and their bodies ruptured in the vacuum of space. 

She clutched onto the console, knowing that, if she had not been protected by the space suit, if she had been left gasping for the last remnants of oxygen, she too, would have been unable to hang on. It was a horrific way to die. But she could not – would not – regret the manner of their death. They deserved it. She clung on, his weight still on her, his visor touching hers, and she could see that he was watching, not the exodus of his sworn enemies, but her face, concern in his eyes. She looked up at him, as the tornado began to ease and the vibrations subsided. 

There was one moment of sheer horror, as a red suited figure without a helmet, cartwheeled into the room, one suited arm snagging on the edge of the console. Its blackened eyes, bulging and blood-filled, seemed to stare sightlessly into her face and the open mouth screamed silent obscenities for a nightmare eternity before Straker managed to unhook the offending arm and push the body away. A final flash of red as it was pulled into the launch bay and out onto the lunar surface by the desperate last gasps of escaping air. Then, all was still, the klaxon shrieks of the decompression alarms fading into silence.

He leaned over her again, not to press her down into the corner, but to help her stand. The heavy suit made it difficult and she was flushed and hot by the time she finally stood upright  and she activated the voice operated controls in her suit, grateful that he did not ask her how she was feeling, for she might very well have started crying with either the sheer relief or the sheer awfulness of the whole experience. “What now?” 

“We head for Control. From there I should be able to send a message to Moonbase via the satellites. I just hope the aliens haven’t already infiltrated Earth’s defences.”

There was no answer to that. If Earth had been attacked then there was nowhere safe for them now and she cursed Peter Fitzpatrick to the very depths of hell for his treachery.

It took a long time to get to the dome at the centre of the FarSight complex and, despite all her attempts to regulate her temperature and breathing, she was sweating again and breathless with exertion when they finally entered the space. The artificial gravity was still operating and she felt tired and drained. She wondered how he felt. Exhausted no doubt. At any other time she might have wanted to explore the complex but not after seeing humans and aliens dragged outside, and anyway, with the entire base decompressed, there was no way that she could remove her helmet though she longed for the touch of cool air on her cheek, and the smell of fresh-cut grass and sunshine and the sound of waves rolling in from the ocean. Earth. Would they see it again or were they both doomed to die here in this bleak outpost, unseen by anyone? 

Her radio clicked. “Helen, come and see this.” Straker had pulled the blueprint out of the suit pocket on the front of his thigh and spread it out on the chart table, following faint lines on the paper with his gloved fingers and he was calling her over from where she had been staring out of the small viewport at the grey emptiness outside. 

She hurried – as much as one could hurry in an EMU suit – to join him. “What have you found?” 

He was tracing lines over the paper. “Here. The purification and recycling have been linked directly to this new system. I think this was redesigned to alter the air and water configuration so that the aliens would be able to exist here. If FarSight was going to be a staging post, they’d need an environment as close to their home world habitat as possible. That could be the reason for the insistence on all the airlocks – to contain their atmosphere in the domes and corridors. And the locks on the rooms. I wonder if they planned to use FarSight as a holding pen for people they were going to transport back to their homeworld?” He looked sickened by the thought, knowing that anyone taken from Earth to the alien’s world faced a grim and hideous death. “We have to get the SHADO scientists out here to take this place apart. It could give us vital information. But first we have to make sure that Earth is safe.” 

She watched as he pulled out the thin stylus and started to access the communications system, his hands moving with confidence across the controls as he replayed the last messages from SHADO Command to the FarSight station. “Listen.” She heard the urgency in his voice and moved next to him as they listened to the recorded voice of Peter Fitzpatrick’s last message as he relayed final instructions to the FarSight station.

“This is Fitzpatrick. Listen up. The initial force is due to arrive eight hours from now which gives you just seven hours to get the codes from Straker. Use the woman if you have to, but you need him alive to activate the command codes. Once he’s handed them over, use them to disable all SHADO defence systems ten minutes after the fleet arrives in the Solar System. I will be personally monitoring all transmissions from FarSight from this point on. Do not use the satellite link for any other messages. The home fleet is using the sub-satellite frequency to subvert the SHADO radar systems as they approach. You are to remain in FarSight until after the invasion. Do not acknowledge this message. Fitzpatrick out.”

Straker stared at her. “You know what that means – we can’t contact Earth and we can’t warn them. If I use the satellites, Fitzpatrick will know we have taken FarSight and god only knows what he’d do then. There’s nothing else for it but to leave here and try to make for the near side so we can try using the link to SID before Fitzpatrick realises FarSight has fallen. We might be able to contact Moonbase, but even if they do hear us it’s unlikely they’d be able to get a rescue craft out to us before our air runs out. I estimate we’d have to travel nearly three hundred miles before we come into range of the Moonbase satellite array that transmits to SID.”

“How would we get there?” 

“We’d have to use the Moonmobile. It has a limited range so we might end up making some of the journey on foot, but it’s Earth’s only chance and from the timing of this message we have no more than four hours before the invasion force arrives in the Solar System.” And he looked at her in concern, aware that they were unlikely to survive, even if they managed to warn Earth. “I’m sorry, Helen. It’s not looking good.”

She knew enough to work out the probabilities –  that their chance of survival was, to all intents and purposes, non-existent. “Commander?” She needed to reassure him. “It’s alright. I understand. Earth is far more important than our lives. Billions of people or us? No contest. So don’t feel guilty; I’d do the same in your place.” She wanted to hold him, to hug him, to put her hands on either side of his face and to tell him that, yes, it was alright, that she understood, but the space suits made that impossible. So she touched her visor to his and looked at him, her eyes staring into his, accepting that what must be, must be.

And then she smiled at him.

***

Straker finished inputting the last of the commands that would reduce the FarSight computer systems, including the links to the satellite systems, to little more than word processors and adding machines. Helen was already in the ungainly Moonmobile and he hurried to join her, climbing into the small cabin with difficulty. The cabin pressurised and she unfastened her helmet with a sigh of relief, pulling off her gloves and rubbing her numb hands. Straker took off his own helmet and straightened his fingers one by one. He would manage. He would have to. He started the engine and edged the Moonmobile out between the launch bay doors, dust blowing around it as it hovered for moment in the shadow of the FarSight domes. 

He looked at the woman in the seat next him. In the light gravity her white hair formed a pale halo around her face. “Ready?”

“Ready.” She put one hand on top of his. “Let’s go.”

Ed Straker turned the mobile in a wide swinging curve, away from FarSight, heading towards Moonbase on the near side of the Moon, in a desperate race to save their planet.

Chapter 10

There were a number of people all on the move on the blue and white planet circling a small yellow star near the Orion Arm of the Milky Way. Some of those were important, some of no consequence at all and one or two of them were people on whose future movements the fate of the world hung – somewhat like the sword of Damocles – on a single thin strand of hope.

One of the most influential of these random characters was the President of the United States, heading for an emergency meeting late at night with her Defence Chief. Another, a quiet and unobtrusive man named Keith Ford, was not technically on the move, having been caught up in the early morning rush hour on the main road to the Harlington-Straker Studios, and worrying about how he would tell his new boss that Alec Freeman had disappeared. Meanwhile, Ford’s new boss –  Commander Peter Fitzpatrick – was making his way along the corridors of SHADO HQ, talking in furtive tones to the cohort of new staff members who had joined the elite organisation just the previous day.

Some three hundred and eighty-five thousand kilometres away from where Keith Ford was sitting in his idling car, impatient fingers tapping against the steering wheel while he waited for the traffic to move, Lt Gay Ellis – by no means a minor character – was also on the move, doing her regular walk-through inspection of all the departments in Moonbase while waiting for the arrival of the next Lunar Module. 

Her mind was not focussed on the routine task. She was more concerned about the recent events that had fractured the SHADO organisation, and even more worried about circulating rumours that not only had Alec Freeman deserted the organisation but that Ed Straker had been taken by aliens. 

Meanwhile a Lunar Module pilot – unnamed and a minor player in this action – was travelling at over eighty thousand kilometres an hour across the void separating the blue and white planet from its smaller, less attractive companion, the black ball of cratered rock which currently orbited its larger, more attractive companion. 

Inside the cargo hold of the Lunar Module heading for Moonbase huddled a space-suited stowaway, dirty and sweating and tired, thinking dark thoughts as he wondered what had happened to his friend, Ed Straker.

And Ed Straker? 

Well, he was on the move as well.

***

On the far side of the moon, unseen by any of the other important people going about their business this morning, a lone Moonmobile was making its way across the cratered landscape, its powerful down-thrusters raising clouds of ancient dust as it passed over the fine regolith that – up till the arrival of the strange vehicle – had lain undisturbed for aeons. 

The pilot was a man: early middle age, short blonde hair, tired eyes, exposed skin blistered and bruised. At first glance he might have seemed unprepossessing but there was a certain charm to his features though that might have been the look of intense concentration as he guided the awkward machine around the rough outcrops of rock protruding from the surface beneath.  

In the seat beside him a woman was drowsing, older than her companion, her head lolling against the padded headrest, hair framing her face in a halo of white that shone like silver under the sharp lighting inside the Moonmobile’s cockpit. The vehicle shuddered as it banked around yet another obstruction and she jerked awake, eyes blinking open as she realised she had been dozing despite her efforts to stay alert. She stretched to loosen muscles that had stiffened and cramped. “How far now?” 

The man glanced at her. “Looks like we’ll reach the limits of the mobile in an hour or so – it’s difficult to be more precise. I’m surprised it’s got us this far to be honest.  You never know, we might just get within range before the fuel runs out; a lot depends on the satellite position and the links to SID. I’ll start trying to make contact in another thirty minutes, but…” His voice trailed away as if he thought the whole thing was hopeless. And perhaps it was. But they had agreed. They would carry on until their air ran out, until they could go no further. 

Then they would put their helmets back on and go outside and they would use every last gasp of oxygen in their tanks, even the last foul remnants of stale air in their suits, to keep walking, to keep heading for that one point on the moon’s surface where their radios might just be picked up by the satellites linked to SID. 

***

The unnamed Lunar Module pilot positioned his craft with pinpoint accuracy for descent onto the holding cradle. Even though he was one of Moonbase’s most experienced pilots and the vessel was landing under computer control, he watched the controls with an eagle eye, ready to take over and make a manual landing if something went wrong. 

Not that anything was likely to go wrong, but there had been something a little bit untoward about this flight, something not quite right, although he could not put his finger on it – just that the Module seemed to be a touch ‘unbalanced’ at times. Only by a microscopic amount and nothing serious enough to abort the flight but he was a damned good pilot and he could sense something was wrong. A fractional delay in her response to his controls, a slight list to one side as if the cargo had not been loaded properly, or there was an unsecured item in the cargo hold. But the loading crew who’d put the cargo on board the Lunar Module were SHADO staff. And therefore they were the best. They would not make mistakes like that.

Still it was a relief to get her down safely and in one piece. He sent a comm to the maintenance guys asking them to do a complete overhaul before her next flight and explaining his unease. Perhaps it was a minor fault in the thrusters, maybe a slight blockage or a fragment of dust in the air jets. That was one possibility. But it was not his problem now. He powered down all the computers, checked off all the systems, heaved a sigh of relief and unstrapped. 

Alec Freeman, secure in the cargo hold, also gave a sigh of relief and began unfastening the cargo straps holding him in one corner of the confined cargo space behind a stack of crates. It had been fortunate that the Module wasn’t due to take up much in the way of necessities for Moonbase, mainly additional supplies of fresh apples which they seemed unable to grow with any great success in the hydroponic units. Oranges, peaches, plums, tomatoes; those grew in plentiful supply, but apples? No. So every couple of months several crates full of apples: sweet, crisp, tart, – every variety available – made the journey to Moonbase. 

Buy the time Freeman arrived at Moonbase he was sick of the smell of apples but travelling with a cargo of perishable foodstuffs had at least ensured the cargo hold was pressurised and heated. Okay, he’d had to wear a space suit, but at least he’d been warm and safe and he’d been able to keep his helmet open once the journey was underway. He could have risked travelling in the cabin with the pilot and co-pilot, but Alec was no fool. Earth’s safety relied on his ability to get to FarSight and until he knew how far Fitzpatrick’s reach extended, he was not prepared to trust anyone, other than a select few who he’d known from the beginning. People like Straker, Keith Ford, Miss Ealand, Gay Ellis. It was safer that way. Better that way.

But Straker was gone, taken by the aliens and, with any luck, dead by now. At least Alec hoped he was dead. He’d seen what the aliens were capable of doing, knew that they would be trying to get the command protocols from Straker, and therefore Alec Freeman prayed that his friend, the man he had supported for the last ten years, was no longer alive.

Now he waited for the crew to disembark, waited for the Moonbase computers to unlock the cargo bay hold so he could sneak out, and hoped Gay Ellis would listen to him, help him and – if necessary – hide him.  Because what he planned to do could be considered treason.

***

Alec unfastened his helmet and dropped it on the nearest crate. “You’ve no idea how good it feels to get out of that.” He stretched his arms wide. “Sorry Gay. I must stink to high heaven; I can’t remember when I last had a shower, but first we need to talk. I have to tell you what’s been happening back on Earth.” 

Lt Ellis had heard his private comm and come straight to the storage area used for stowing crates waiting to be returned to Earth. The perfect place to conceal a stowaway. “I’d heard about Straker being taken, but no one seems to be able to come up with anything definite. SHADO HQ has gone abnormally quiet as if they’re cutting Moonbase out of the loop. I was getting some reports from Keith Ford – unofficial stuff about Straker and Fitzpatrick – but I haven’t received anything for the last six hours or so.” She handed him a bottle of water. “The last I heard you were back on Earth, so what I want to know is what you’re doing here.”

He downed the water in one long drink, wiping his mouth with a hand smelling of sweat and apples and exhaustion. “It’s a long story, you might as well sit down.” He told her about the changes to FarSight, about Fitzpatrick’s new crew, about the codes and his fears for Straker and SHADO and his conversations with the US President “…so I’m here as a fugitive.” He looked at her, a steady gaze of trust. “You can report my presence here to Fitz if you want to Gay, I won’t stop you, but I’m hoping that you’ll help me to find out what the hell’s going on. Ed is missing, presumed taken and killed by the aliens and SHADO’s in the hands of a man who seems hell-bent on shutting the whole organisation down. And nothing can help us that actually happens.”

“What can I do?” 

 He shrugged. “I need to get to FarSight. I need to find out what those construction workers were actually doing there, and what happened to the place after I left. Are you willing to risk everything and help me?” He stared at her, his eyes haunted by the fear that she might, just might, betray him.

“I’ve been following events as much as I can, but Fitzpatrick hasn’t involved me in any of his decisions, even though I’m Moonbase Commander for this rotation. And Paul Foster’s been in contact as well, with his own concerns. But there’s nothing he can do from where he is. Not until they’ve finished their patrol, unless he wants to be court-martialled for failure to follow orders.”

“So you’ll help me? You know what might happen if Fitzpatrick catches us?”

She raised one elegant eyebrow. “If you’re right, Colonel, and we don’t do anything, then it’s quite possible there’ll no longer be a SHADO to bring charges against us. We might not even be alive. So yes, I’ll help you.” 

“Thank you. I need to get to FarSight as soon as possible. Is there any way you can arrange that without alerting Fitzpatrick?”

“I think so. You need to replenish your oxygen supply before we can do anything but I’ll keep everyone away from this area for the next twenty minutes which gives you more than enough time. Gives you chance to use the decon showers as well.” She gave him a quick smile. “Even I can smell apples. Have a shower, grab something to eat from the emergency rations and I’ll be back in twenty minutes when I’ve arranged to take the Orbital Transporter out to check the satellite systems. We can fly round to FarSight in about forty minutes, land nearby and you can have a quick look. No-one will question me; I’ve been holding random tests and practice drills since Fitzpatrick took over; just to be on the safe side.” She gave a slight shrug. “The man gives me the creeps to be honest. I don’t trust him as far as I can spit.” 

She placed her hand on Freeman’s arm in a quick gesture of sympathy and understanding and then left, locking the outer door to the Flight Preparation room behind her as she headed back to Control, a lithe figure in a cat-suit and wearing a purple wig. Gay Ellis might have the outward appearance of a delicate butterfly, but to Alec Freeman the current Moonbase Commander was as determined and dedicated as Straker himself.

Weary from stress and lack of sleep he sat for a moment, rubbing his face with a hand grimy from too many hours encased in a space suit. Then he made his way to the decon showers provided for all arriving passengers, and stripped with a sigh of relief. Maybe it was all a misunderstanding and Fitzpatrick was working with the IAC to rescue Straker and get FarSight up and running, but he knew it was a forlorn hope. All he could do know was trust in Gay Ellis and hoped FarSight would provide the answers he needed.

***

The Moonmobile crested the edge of the crater and floated down the other side in the shadow of the steep walls. Straker monitored the controls, flicking switches, turning dials with re-bandaged fingers, and steering the clumsy looking vehicle with a skill that made the task look so easy. In a bid to give him a chance to rest, Helen had attempted to pilot the craft, but without success. It was like trying to operate a hovercraft fitted with wings and a jet engine – fine if you had the opportunity to practise, to take things one step at a time, but time was the one thing they didn’t have to spare right now. Although to be more accurate they were running short of time, fuel and air. 

Straker had explained that Moonmobiles were only intended for relatively short trips and as such had a limited fuel supply. It wasn’t as if they could use the mobiles for trips to other bases as they did at Moonbase. FarSight was the only complex on the other side of the Moon, and as such was about as isolated as it was possible to be. Indeed they had been fortunate to find a mobile available for use. The vehicles were used mainly to travel to the nearby water and air installation plant and to Straker’s relief this one had been refuelled.

He’d been driving for a long time now and was close to exhaustion. It was hard to keep awake, especially when she dozed off next to him and silence filled the cabin. His eyes kept closing, drawing him deeper into the tempting drowsiness creeping over him, trying to embrace him with its treacherous promise of sleep and rest, an easing of the pain, a chance to forget what they had done to him. 

He turned to her. “I’m sorry; I need you to talk to me. I’m struggling to stay awake and if I fall asleep, even for a moment, chances are this machine will hit an outcrop, and then we’re finished.” 

She was silent for a moment and he wondered if she was offended or embarrassed, then she looked at him. “About SHADO.” Her voice was clear and bright and not in the least soporific. “I know quite a lot about it – about why it was set up, and why it is so secret, but how did you get to be in charge? What did you do to get stuck with the job?” 

He concentrated on getting the Moonmobile away from an outcrop of rock while he marshalled his thoughts.

“Ed?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking about SHADO, about the early years. I never wanted to become Commander, it was just random circumstances.” He thought back to Henderson, and the car accident, that first meeting with the IAC and the news that they had appointed him, Colonel Ed Straker as the first commander. Now they had appointed Peter Fitzpatrick as his replacement. He looked out at the lunar landscape, thinking about those early days. And then in a quiet, diffident voice he began talk. “I suppose it all started when I was assigned to work with General Henderson.” He told her about the car crash and the formation of SHADO and how he had become its first, and up till recent events, only Commander-in-Chief. “It wasn’t a job I ever intended doing though, but when it came down to it, I didn’t really have much choice in the matter. Henderson wasn’t in any fit state and I was the only person available. The only other person who had all the facts, all the knowledge. So I agreed to step in. The pressures were intense, and we spent the first ten years fighting an enemy that we knew nothing about. I married my wife, Mary, early in SHADO’s inception and…” His voice died away as he remembered the arguments, her anger, her mistrust and the eventual end of the marriage. 

“Ed?” Her voice pushed into his thoughts.

“Sorry, just thinking about Mary. My wife. My ex-wife. We divorced several years ago. She thought I was having an affair but I was involved in setting up SHADO and all my time, every hour of the day, was spent on that. Sometimes I didn’t get home until after midnight and I would be up and out again by five in the morning. It was no way to keep a marriage alive. Sometimes I wonder how we managed to stay together as long as we did. Anyway, Mary was pregnant – ”

“You have a child? I didn’t know that.”

There was silence. A tense uncomfortable silence as he concentrated on steering the vehicle across the unforgiving landscape, as if it needed his sole attention. “I don’t, now. We had a son. John. He… he died a few years ago. A car accident. He would have been eleven this year.”

Her voice was a whisper. “I’m so very sorry, Ed. I didn’t know.”

He focussed on driving, focussed on the point in the far distance he was aiming for, focussed on the pain in his shoulders and arms and body, anything rather than talk about John. But he felt his eyes start to close, felt his mind slowly slide into the forgetful embrace of sleep, of warmth, of relaxation and he shook his head fiercely before his body could betray him further. “John. Not many people know about him. It’s not something I talk about. He’s there, still, always. There in my mind, but with every day it gets harder to recall the sound of his voice, to remember the way he moved, and laughed and the way he used to look at me out of the corner of his eye to see if I was watching him to make sure he wasn’t doing something he shouldn’t be doing.”  He turned to her, gave a bleak smile. “They say it gets easier after the first year. I think it gets harder. Sometimes I wish I could talk about him, share my memories of him with other people, but there is no one to talk to, and there hasn’t been for a long time.”

“So you don’t have a partner?” 

He looked at her. “No. SHADO takes all my time and effort and energy. There’s the security aspect of it to consider as well. Not many women would cope with a relationship where the man can’t tell her where he is going, or when he will be back or even what job he does. And it’s not just SHADO, it’s the fact that I have to run the studio as well. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to base a highly secret military set-up beneath a publicity hungry film studio and have the same person run both organisations should have been fired long ago. Actually I think it was James Henderson who came up with the original suggestion. The IAC thought there would be some benefits to it at the time. You know; whenever we needed new equipment, or had to bring in some alien artefact, the neighbours would just nod and say ‘Ah yes, those film makers, and their latest venture, their next expensive blockbuster.’ And we can hide a lot of staff in the studios as well.”

“So how successful is the studio?”

“It makes a very tidy profit each year. It would cause too many questions if we allowed it to run at a loss, even though it is awkward to explain to the military mind how a government organisation can end up at the end of the fiscal year in the black. I try to make sure that we produce reasonably competent films so we don’t attract too much attention from the wrong sources. But SHADO and the studio take up all my time now. Even when John was alive I didn’t get to see enough of him. I was always far too busy with my responsibilities.” His voice faded away as he steered the mobile. 

“Commander?” Her voice was soft and hesitant. 

“Hmm?” He concentrated on driving, anything rather than let those last images fill his mind again. John, ashen and broken, blond hair on green grass, bright blood on pale skin. He stared at the dark craters, greying dust, black sky. The sharp and alien horizon. Anything.

“John. Tell me about him. I’d like to know more about what he was like. What did he enjoy doing, what was he good at, that sort of thing. You said there was no one to talk to about John, but I’m here. I’d like to hear about him. Really.”

There was a long pause. She wondered if she had maybe pushed too hard, but they both knew the reality of this journey, that they might not survive, and it might give Ed Straker some measure of comfort, some inner peace to tell her about his son, the son he had loved and lost, to share his memories of the one good thing that had come out of his failed marriage, before death took them both.

So in a quiet and – at first – hesitant voice, he talked to her about John and the way he loved to play football, and baseball, and any sports, about the way he enjoyed making things, model aeroplanes and boats, about the times they spent together, brief times but so important, so memorable. She listened, encouraged him to talk when he faltered and seemed to close his eyes for too long. 

It was almost surreal, the journey through the emptiness. The hypnotic hiss of the mobile’s hover jets as it moved at speed above the surface, the alternating darkness of the shadows and the brightness of the sunlight as they dropped into the craters and rose out of them, the quiet conversation between the only two living beings here on this silent hemisphere. 

At one stage he lowered the mobile to the surface and idling the engine, tried the radio. There was nothing, except the hiss of static. In silence he started the engines again and they floated up and continued on their way, despondent and hushed.

Chapter 11

Peter Fitzpatrick gave a brief nod to the security men standing guard outside his office then looked around the control room: no alien attacks, no noise, no staff chatting, no need to worry. Excellent. All he was waiting for now was the streamed message from the satellites in the FarSight system – a tightly coded, compressed squirt of data – final confirmation that the fleet was in place and ready to move. Then he could walk away from SHADO, leave it all behind and watch from a distance as the once-mighty organisation faltered and disintegrated. 

The plan was simple; following the shut-down of all SHADO defence systems they would sweep across the Earth, obliterating any remaining opposition, and then they would demand the complete and total surrender of all the governments. And then the harvesting would begin. Quietly at first and out of sight, the prisoners and undesirables first. Those who would not be missed. Apart from Ed Straker. His death would be… 

Messy would be the best way to describe it. Messy and public. 

The second wave of UFOs would attack Moonbase at the same time as the main force was assaulting Earth and then the victorious Lunar fleet would retire to FarSight where the environmental conditions were more comfortable. FarSight would become the staging post for all further incursions, and also as a base for the detaining of some of the more ‘important’ people. Presidents and so on. Hostages. And Fitzpatrick would be on Earth, waiting to greet his own people as they disembarked from their crafts. 

It had been a long time in the planning, this coup, this take-over. Ever since his first encounter with the aliens he had worked for this moment. He remembered that meeting, the fear, the terror, and then the sudden appalling realisation that they were going to win and he was going to help them.

The headaches had started about then, and the nightmares. But it would soon be over. At least he hoped so. The voice whispering in his mind, controlling his thoughts, his actions; that voice would finally stop and then he might be able to sleep without the night terrors that plagued him constantly. 

The last remnants of Peter Fitzpatrick’s free mind recoiled in revulsion as he recalled what the aliens had done to him. But, try as he could, he was unable to break through the controls they had placed on him at that meeting. They had held him down, screaming, as the needle slid past his eye and into his brain before injecting him with the organic compound that controlled his mind, making it possible for the aliens to communicate with him and take over his thoughts, his feelings, his very soul. He had long ago given up the struggle to break free from the alien consciousness that overlaid his and punished him with pain and terror when he tried to thwart them. 

In the depths of his brain, the shattered remains of Peter Fitzpatrick’s mind wept for his treachery and prayed he would find the strength and the courage to end his tormented existence before he was forced into the final act of betrayal against his world. 

The alien entity shook its head to clear the unpleasant, human thoughts. It was bad enough having to inhabit this brain, without having self-pitying ideals constantly pushing themselves to the surface. Still, in a few days it wouldn’t matter. Earth would be theirs and he would be able to exit this physical form and return to his own self.

Fitzpatrick shivered for a moment, one hand pressing against the rough concrete of the corridor wall, then his eyes cleared and he headed for the lift and his meeting with the IAC.

***

Peter Fitzpatrick – at least the human form identified as Peter Fitzpatrick – entered the conference room and strode up to the head of the table. “Gentlemen.” He nodded a curt acknowledgement to the group of senior officers arranged around the table. “Thank you for coming. I have asked you here today to discuss the future of SHADO and in particular, whether the organisation should start to be downsized to a more appropriate level.”

The members of the IAC were, as he had predicted, stunned. Although it had become clear over the last couple of weeks that the aliens’ incursions had ceased, and hopefully ceased for good, there was still the unspoken fear that the UFOs were simply marshalling their forces, possibly in preparation for a much bigger assault. Their objections surged out in a flood but Fitzpatrick remained silent and unruffled. 

The room quietened. Fitzpatrick stood up as if the last few minutes of noisy discord had been no more than a friendly discussion about the weather. “I have here copies of all the SHADO installations that are currently overstaffed and over budget. I propose that the Council closes these bases with immediate effect and begin the process of transferring surplus staff to other military departments. This would enable us to consolidate our resources into those areas that would prove more cost effective, and therefore more efficient.”

With the current level of UFO attacks at an all-time minimum, the evidence was overwhelming, and there was little the council could do to forestall Fitzpatrick’s plans for reducing SHADO’s capabilities, and so it was agreed. SHADO would curtail several areas of operation, and retrench. In the unlikely event of the aliens returning there would be sufficient defence systems left, but Fitzpatrick was a persuasive talker and too many IAC members were swayed by his arguments. And – as he reminded them –they had appointed him to the post of SHADO Commander on his merit as an efficient leader. 

A pleasing result, Fitzpatrick thought to himself as the meeting concluded and the delegates filed out of the room. SHADO was grinding to a halt, and very soon, once his compatriots on the Moon got Ed Straker to activate his codes, the defences would fall. It was so fitting, so apt, so delightfully appropriate that Ed Straker be the one to betray the organisation and bring it to ruination. The bloody-minded Commander had been the main reason SHADO had been so successful in preventing the aliens from invading Earth and Straker would now pay for that bloody-mindedness. 

Fitzpatrick imagined how Straker would feel, knowing that he was responsible for handing his world over to his mortal enemies. A just and fitting punishment for the man who had frustrated their efforts so far. But it would not be long now.

***

The Moonmobile landed at a slight angle on the uneven floor of the crater. 

“Well, that’s it I’m afraid.” Straker looked pensively at Helen. “It’s got us further than I thought possible, but I reckon there’s still another thirty miles to go before we can be sure of making contact. I think it may well be hopeless.” He lowered his head, unwilling to let her see the despair in his eyes. The only good thing was that they would probably not be alive to watch as the aliens invaded Earth. But it was little consolation.

“We can’t give up, Ed, not now; we’ve come too far. You told me we’d have to walk, so let’s walk. You never know, we might be lucky and anything’s better than just sitting here, isn’t it?’ She put out a hand to him.

He unstrapped in silence, ashamed of his weakness in seeming to give up with such ease. “You’re right. Anyway, you’ve never had the chance to walk on the Moon have you? First time for everything.” 

He made her eat a nutrient bar and drink some water while they had the chance and he sipped some water himself, remembering the chilled drink he had bought so long ago it seemed, in Herculaneum. He thought back to that quiet afternoon in the little inn and the sweet juiciness of the peach he had eaten, but hungry though he was, he couldn’t face eating anything now. 

He didn’t want to scare her, but he knew that he wouldn’t last much longer; he was simply too tired. But he needed to get her started, to be sure that she would be able to cope out there on the surface, first.

It would be a miracle if he could manage to travel much more than a couple of miles. He would have to persuade her to go on without him, to try to reach that magical point where her radio transmissions would be picked up and then she would undoubtedly die, alone out there on the rough, ungentle surface of this unfamiliar world. He regretted that more than anything. That he would not be with her at the end. She did not deserve this, an unknown, unseen death on a bleak rocky moon, with no-one there to be with her. She had been so brave, so fearless and he knew that without her courage, without her help, he would never have managed to escape from FarSight. 

He shook his head, finished his water and turned to help her prepare to leave the Moonmobile. He stopped, looking at her face at her eyes, tear-filled as she stared at him unwilling to speak. “Helen?” 

“I’m sorry Ed; it’s silly, but I’m scared.”

“I know, but, as you said, we have to try, we simply have to. Even if…” He could not go on. Instead he leaned forward and held her face in her hands. His fingers, bruised and swollen though they were, brushed her cheek with a caress as light as the touch of a butterfly’s wing as he wiped away her tears that had begun to fall. “We have to try.” 

She nodded, her eyes sad and hopeless, but there was a smile on her face now, a sad smile as she kissed his cheek in a gentle farewell before pulling on her gloves and twisting them so that they locked. He did the same, and then they each picked up their helmets, lowered them in place and locked them into position. Each of them confined to a single tiny environment, cut off from any physical contact. Even if they were together at the end they would die alone. Too late for regrets; he opened the airlock and they climbed down into brilliant sunlight, the gritty, powdery surface of the Moon beneath their boots.

Straker’s smile was hidden behind his visor as he watched Helen take her first hesitant steps on the toast-crumbed, dusty surface, like a toddler wearing new shoes for the first time. Over the radio he could hear her gasps of delight and wonder as she tried a small bounce in the light gravity and he remembered his own reaction the first time he too, walked on this hostile, unforgiving terrain. The delight, the thrill, the incredible sensation of lightness. But he could not spare her the time to indulge. 

“Time to go. Be careful, and mind where you put your feet. Remember, you weigh much less, but your mass is the same. It can make you off-balance until you’re used to it. Follow me and let me know if there’s a problem.” He gave her a final thirty seconds to re-orientate herself before he set off, heading for a distant outcrop of rock that protruded clearly like a lion’s head on the horizon. He would check the satellite reception when they got there. 

***

Helen settled into the rhythm of her stride, a long, slow, gentle push off from the ground, arms out at the side; followed by the smooth floating step across the surface and then down again, one foot in front of the other, to land surefooted and balanced before pushing off once more. It was easier than she had supposed, and she revelled in the fact that she was good at this. In fact, she was more than good. She was damned good. It was so, so easy. 

It reminded her of the ballet lessons she had endured when she was as child. This was infinitely better than ballet, though. This was… incredible. There was a childish desire to try a pirouette, but she could imagine how stupid she would look, doing that whilst wearing a space suit. But, hot damn, it would be fun to try. And the surprising thing was that she had hated ballet lessons; couldn’t wait to give them up for more satisfying activities. 

Perhaps this was why. Ballet should only be done in one-sixth gravity. The ease of the movements, the simplicity of doing a pirouette on the moon made ballet choreography on Earth seem clumsy and uncouth. She looked at the tall rock formation ahead. It was getting nearer, she was sure, even though Straker had told her that distances on the moon were deceptive. Further away due to the lack of atmosphere that usually distorted the view, or closer due to the shorter distance to the horizon. It made it difficult to assess distances with any real degree of accuracy. And the height of the rock formation was another factor. It could be a few feet tall, or a hundred. It was so hard to tell. They’d been walking for nearly an hour now, but she had no idea how far they’d travelled. Straker had paused several times to check behind them, though she had no idea what he was looking for. 

The only thing she did know was that once they reached the formation, they would stop and try to contact the satellite again. It was good to have a point to focus on. She realised how very easy it would be to lose one’s way, to go off course. Her radio crackled. 

“Helen. Wait there. Don’t go any further.” 

She’d been so caught up in the delights of leaping across the landscape that she hadn’t thought to check where he was. He was a good fifty yards behind her, moving sluggishly, stumbling and unbalanced. He sounded tired and breathless. But of course he would, she thought. It was easy to forget what they had done to him. Inside a space suit you couldn’t see the blisters, couldn’t tell how painful it was for him to move, and he hadn’t had the chance to rest on the journey out here either. She stood and waited for him to catch up to her, aware he was not moving with the same fluidity and gracefulness that she found so natural. 

“Helen…” He paused and she could hear the strain, the effort it took him to speak. “You have to go on without me. I’m holding you back. You can get there quicker by yourself.” She tried to argue, but he was implacable. “No. Please. Do this one thing. Keep going. You stand a chance of making it, but if you slow down for me, you certainly won’t.”

She could hear him struggle to catch his breath. “No. We can – ” 

“No. There isn’t time. You go on ahead; I’ll follow your tracks and catch up with you when you’ve got through. Head for that outcrop, line it up with the tracks behind you then look for another point to focus on and then just keep on the same heading. Follow the line. You know what to do, what to say when you get through, don’t you? Tell Moonbase to go on Red Alert and warn all units. You’ve got a copy of the disc with the proof of Fitzpatrick’s treason. Tell Alec Freeman he has to take over and prepare for a full-scale assault. Tell him we eliminated the aliens in FarSight and disabled the computers. Go on now.” He paused and looked at her. “Good luck. I’ll see you later.” And he stepped up to her and touched his visor to hers and this time it was Straker who smiled, with a tired look of resignation and acceptance. 

There was nothing to be said. And how could she say anything, even if there had been time. She knew without a doubt he was not going to follow her, that he was preparing to lower himself down to lean against the rock and watch her as she walked on. He would never have the strength to catch up to her even if she did manage to contact Moonbase. It would be the last she would see of him.  She was well aware that the suits had a limited air supply. Another hour maybe.

She saluted him, a clumsy movement, the bulky suit making a smart salute almost impossible, and then turned, stared with blurry and tear-filled eyes at the lion’s head and pushed off, a long floating stride that took her away from him, forever.

***

Straker sat there, his suit bright against the grey dust and granules, watching her as she moved with confidence and grace away from him. Sweat trickled down his forehead and stung in his eyes and his cut and swollen lips. He would not move from here, not now. He was simply too tired and exhausted and beaten. Once he had lost sight of her there would be nothing more he could do and, however much he wanted to stay awake, he knew that was impossible; he would fall asleep despite all his efforts. But, with any luck his air supply would run out slowly as he was sleeping, and he would not wake to the terror and the horror of his world, his precious Earth he had spent so long protecting, being torn apart. 

At least he had not given them the codes, he had stayed true. And SHADO might, just might be able to defend Earth against the coming onslaught. He wished he could be there to help plan the strategies, but he had faith in Alec Freeman. Alec would do his best, Alec would think things through. He hoped. 

It seemed a coward’s way to die, here, alone, abandoning her to a final solitary death, and he grieved over that fact so very very much, but at least they would both die free. He watched as she disappeared from sight until, despite all his efforts, his eyes closed and exhaustion finally overpowered him.

Chapter 12

They were all on the move again: Alec Freeman and Gay Ellis in the Orbital Transporter, the president heading for bed late at night, Keith Ford keeping a low profile and walking with quiet steps through the corridors of SHADO HQ hoping not to be noticed by anyone – least of all Fitzpatrick. 

Ford had completed the morning run-through of scheduled tasks, had done the systems check, had done, in fact, everything necessary. There was nothing else to do now, apart from wait and see if today the aliens would reappear. The continued uneasy peace was unsettling, the staff on edge and worried, waiting for the big assault that Straker had always seemed to think was on the cards. The calm before the storm, he’d called it. But the new Commander had dismissed their fears, and was in the process of resizing SHADO, making it tighter, leaner, more efficient. Or so Fitzpatrick said that was what he was doing. Ford had other thoughts, and so he headed out to Sound Stage 4 and tried to contact Alec Freeman. There was no signal, which meant Alec was either dead or somewhere out of reach of even SHADP’s superlative communications links. 

“Shit.” Ford swore under his breath. From the look of things, he was now on his own. For one wild moment he gave serious consideration to trying to cadge a ride on the next Module up to Moonbase. At least there he might be safe from the alien attack when it came. For Keith Ford was convinced that it was going to come. He knew the hiatus was temporary, that Fitzpatrick had somehow, in some devious, treacherous way, planned all this. But with Alec Freeman out of contact, Keith was on his own. Moonbase would provide a safe haven, but only for a short time. He might as well stay here on Earth and do his best to help when the inevitable mass invasion came. 

He rubbed his eyes, not weary from tiredness but weary from the anguish he felt. And he too, like Alec Freeman, prayed that Ed Straker was dead. 

The President of the United States was not sleeping. She was far too worried for that. The recent problems in SHADO had been on her mind for the last two weeks and she had ordered her senior staff to work out defence strategies in the event of a mass invasion from an unknown foreign power. Very, very few of her staff knew about SHADO, and she wanted to keep it like that. She punched her pillow in an attempt to get comfortable. It remained defiantly hot and lumpy and uneven. Enough. She made the decision. It was time to end all this. She would deal with the repercussions later. If they were fortunate enough to have that chance.

She flung back the covers and wrapped herself in her dressing gown before striding out of the room and down the corridors, her surprised aide hurrying to keep up with her brisk pace. She entered the Situation Room, her tousled hair and slightly shabby, but comfortable, robe contrasting with the military precision of the uniforms around the table. “Get General Henderson on the line now and then everyone leave the room.”

“But ma’am – ”

“No questions. I need this room empty. Now.” She knew they were questioning her authority, and perhaps they were right, but she needed to tell Henderson what she wanted him to do and she couldn’t do that without informing all the staff present about SHADO, about aliens, about the threat to the world. The link opened. 

“Madam President. What can I do to help?”

“It’s SHADO, James. It’s gone beyond serious now. I understand Fitzpatrick has set in motion his plans to close SHADO bases and transfer staff senior to less vital roles. Earth faces the threat of invasion and he’s opening the door to the aliens and inviting them in. We have to stop him.” She took a deep breath, aware that she was about to break every rule in the book. “I’m going to authorise my forces to take him out. That will have major repercussions among the other powers, but I can see no other option. And then we’ll have to hope that SHADO can become fully operational as soon as possible, although with Straker dead and Alec Freeman absent I have no idea who might be ready to take command.

Henderson was silent for a few seconds. Then he spoke “Madam President, I was the man who appointed Peter to the post of IAC President. It is my responsibility, my guilt. If Fitzpatrick had not hounded Ed Straker, made impossible demands of the man, then none of this would have happened. I would ask that you give me a few hours to see if I can persuade Peter to change his mind, to see how how potentially catastrophic his actions might be. Please, Madam President. Just a few hours.”

“Very well. You have three hours. But after that I am going to act. Keep me informed.” Three hours, she thought to herself as she waited alone, in the darkened Situation Room. Three hours. A lot could happen in those hours. The aliens might already have the codes, might already be inserting viruses into SHADO’s defence computer systems, might even now be moving on Earth. And she hoped Ed Straker was dead. Because if he was alive and had given them the means to invade, he would suffer more torment than anyone could ever imagine. And she poured herself a coffee and sat to wait and hope.

***

Alec Freeman forced himself to relax as the Orbital Transporter lifted off from Moonbase and headed towards the dark horizon. At least it would be a short journey to FarSight. One thing that SHADO specialised in was speed – five hours to Earth, forty minutes to FarSight – and it would have been even quicker to the isolated complex, if it had not been necessary to reduce their speed in gradual amounts as they approached the site. The Transporter could cope with sudden deceleration and the changes in gravity, but unfortunately, humans could not. So nearly a third of the journey time was taken up with the laborious task of slowing the craft to a survivable speed. Even then the landing was guaranteed to be uncomfortable, akin to being in a lift in free-fall, with the accompanying vicious jolt at the end as the transporter landed. 

So far, his companion had been quiet on the short journey, and he wondered if she was already regretting her offer to help him get to FarSight. Or she was focussing all her attention on piloting the bulky vehicle which seemed far more logical. After all, she hadn’t had a chance to visit the lunar base on the far side of the Moon and so this would all be new terrain for her to navigate, so he kept quiet and concentrated on watching the pitted surface below him, wondering if the aliens were down there already, just waiting to make their move.

The journey wasn’t helped by going into radio blackout as they rounded the curve and headed into the ‘dead’ area not serviced by any Moonbase satellite. And now that the FarSight satellites were down again they were out of touch with Moonbase Control – and indeed, anyone – until they came into range of one of the main satellites or exited the blackout zone of the Lunar shadow.

The silence was oppressive, the comms an echoing emptiness with none of the usual background hiss and clicks and pulse of an active system. If they crashed here, there would be no quick rescue, no Moonmobile coming to pick them up and carry them to safety. It was a desolate, uninhabitable world and, deep down Alec wondered if maybe Fitzpatrick had been right all along. Had the aliens given up? Had their last desperate attempts persuaded them that Earth was just too difficult to conquer and they had finally retreated back to their own world? 

Maybe Ed had been mistaken in his firm conviction that the aliens were going to launch a mass attack at some stage in the future; if all the money and resources that SHADO had spent, all the millions of millions of dollars, had been unnecessary. 

Shame flooded through him at even the idea that Straker, the man who he had worked with for so many years, might have been wrong in his assessment of the aliens. They would be back. With a vengeance. He scowled out of the window, glad that Gay could not see the blush of shame that filled his face, and he thought back over the last years spent fighting the enemy. And Alec Freeman knew that without Ed Straker’s firm guiding hand at the helm, SHADO would have failed, would never have made the advances that it had. It was all down to one man, and now SHADO, without its Commander there at the controls, was failing. How the hell had it been allowed to happen? 

It was no good regretting the past. The past was over. Done. And the future beckoned with all the attendant horror of a skeletal and cloaked corpse crooking its bony digits at him and every person on Earth. A vision flashed into his mind of SHADO HQ, its walls blackened by fire and explosives, operatives dead and dying, huddled on the floor, slumped in corners. And the aliens, gloating and triumphant in their victory, dragging their victims away to bloody deaths.

He shook his head to banish the images then realised the craft was descending. FarSight was ahead of them and Gay Ellis was preparing to put the hulking transporter down onto the launch pad ahead. The craft slowed, lurched and lowered itself down to the surface in a rapid drop and then they were down, a brutally hard landing on the smooth level surface of the landing pad. FarSight was there in front of him, looking as it had when he last saw it, just days before…

“Colonel? Look at it.” The lieutenant was first to speak.

“What the hell’s happened?” Alec could not hold back his horror as he saw the debris that had been dragged out of FarSight when Straker opened the air-locks. But the base was still active; they could see lights shining through the thick plexiglass viewports, the Launch Bay open to space and still operational, but no movement. Then they saw the red and silver suits of aliens, the corpses showing the signs of rapid and uncontrolled decompression. And humans. There were human remains out there as well. With frantic haste Alec struggled to get out of his seat, his desperation making his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. 

“Colonel, wait. There’s no point going out there. They’re dead, all of them. You know that.” She had one hand on his arm.

He turned to her, eyes wide with fear, with dreaded anticipation. “They had Straker and he might be there. I have to find out, Gay. Let me go, please.” 

She put one hand on top of his, and he clenched his fist in anguish. The thought of Ed dying here, like this, in this empty, desolate place, was almost too much for him to bear. He blinked back tears, forced himself to calm, to concentrate on the simple task of unfastening his seat restraints, putting on his gloves and helmet.

Together they went down the ramp to the surface. The debris was scattered over a huge area, but the bodies, heavier and with their greater mass, had settled somewhat closer to the launch bay doors once they had been pulled back down in the low gravity. Alec headed straight for the first corpse, knowing what it would be like, dreading the fact that he would have to look closely at the ravaged face. He wondered for a moment if he would be able to recognise Ed if his friend was here. But then he realised that it would be easy. His facial features, those vivid blue eyes might have been distorted or even obliterated by the decompression, but the hair would be unmistakable.

But Ed was not there. Alec checked every body, even the red suited aliens with their once green tinged skin now blackened and hideous with the effects of the vacuum of space. He thought he recognised a couple of the workmen from the last team. But his friend was not there. Not lying distorted and deformed and dead on the bleak and broken landscape. If Ed was not here, where was he? There were no UFOs in the area, no sign of living aliens. So had they taken him back to their homeworld? Perhaps his body was still inside FarSight. He would have to go and look. 

And even as the thought entered his head Alec realised that it was impossible; FarSight was simply too big a complex to search for one man, for one body, at least with the limited amount of time he had to spare. If Earth and Alec Freeman survived the coming annihilation of mankind, then he would come back here to continue the search. If Earth survived. 

For Colonel Alec Freeman had no doubts now that the aliens would be coming back – in force and with one objective. If only he had been in H.Q over the last months, instead of FarSight, none of this would have happened. Ed would have had the support he needed, Fitzpatrick would have never insinuated himself into the role of SHADO Commander, and Straker would not have been taken by aliens.

He headed up the Launch Bay ramp aiming for the Control Room in order to access computer records. There would be some stored information there, something that might point the finger of guilt at Peter Fitzpatrick, and give the IAC a reason to remove him from post, but an examination of  all the computer systems in the Control Room revealed the truth. All of them wiped clean, all useless. Even the internal comms were inoperative and the satellite system was just as worthless. Completely defunct. 

Someone had erased all data on the systems, rendering them worthless. No information available, no records, nothing. It had been a lost cause coming out here; they had no proof, no evidence, nothing. Nobody would believe him if he said Fitzpatrick had been colluding with aliens.

He kicked the nearest console with vicious hate, although in a space suit, even in FarSight’s artificial gravity, it was as effective as a slap on an elephant’s hide. And it didn’t make him feel any better. Just more inadequate, more alone. Forlorn and depressed, he led that way back to the Transporter, and climbed aboard, strapping himself in without looking at Gay Ellis. It would have been too much to bear, to see the look of pity in her eyes. 

She raised the transporter off the launch pad in one smooth move and steered it homewards while Alec stared out of the window. Homeward. It was all the home he would know now for as long as Earth lasted. And that might not be for long.

*** 

Helen Peters bounded across the landscape, great strides eating up the distance, her whole mind concentrating on her objective. As she approached the outcrop shaped like a lion’s head, the rocky outcrop morphed into into a random collection of lumps and protruding shapes that looked nothing like a large cat. But she had reached it and so she stopped, took her bearings, and planned her route ahead. And then, almost fearful, she activated the radio beacon, her heart pounding. 

She dreaded the inevitable silence that would answer her message. The certainty that she would have to continue on her solitary pilgrimage, away from him, away from the one person who cared and who knew she was here. “This is Straker to Moonbase. Do you read me? Straker to Moonbase, come in please.” Over and over until her voice was hoarse and she had to stop for one of the  few remaining mouthfuls of water in her reservoir.

She wanted to stay here, to rest for a few minutes, to watch the stars above and think about what had happened to her, but it would have been a betrayal of his belief in her, and although she knew that he would probably never know what happened to her, she would not betray his trust. She would go on. Although every fibre of her being screamed within her to return to where he waited, to sit beside him at the end. To be with someone who would hold her hand, even through the heavy spacesuit gloves, someone to look into her eyes as the air became stale and foul, someone to share the last moments of her life. Someone who knew she existed. Here, on the moon. 

One last time. “This is Straker to Moonbase, come in please, Moonbase…”

***

Alec Freeman stared out of the viewscreen at the unfamiliar terrain beneath him. The far side of the moon was not like its other half, it was cratered and pitted with the impacts of millions of asteroids that had ploughed into its unprotected surface since it was formed.

There were no ‘mare’ – or ‘seas’ as they had once been named – on the far side, just huge overlapping craters. Unseen by Earth, out of contact with any living thing. A truly desolate place. A place of death and darkness. Despair and destruction.

He turned to Lt Ellis. “Gay…” The crackle of static, overlaid by fractured words, interrupted his question.

“…to Moon… come… ease… Straker… in plea…” Before Alec Freeman could say anything, Gay Ellis, with the lightning sharp reflexes that had earned her the position of Moonbase Commander, had turned the Transporter to face the faint signal and boosted the vehicles receiver. “Moonbase Orbital Transport to Straker. Receiving you strength 2. Repeat. Moonbase Transport to Straker, repeat…”

They headed back along the line of strongest reception, Alec monitoring the frequency and tweaking dials with a finesse that might have surprised anyone watching. His whole attention was focussed on the radio, listening for any sound, any indication of life. He did not even consider why the voice that he had heard was female. It was enough thatwhoever was calling, had used Ed’s name. So it was with a sense of shock that he became aware of the Transporter descending, not with haste as it had at FarSight, but with delicate precision like a damsel fly alighting on a leaf. He turned to Gay. 

She was watching the terrain, eyes concentrating, hands on the controls, landing the huge craft in one of the few level spaces that could be found here. 

Touchdown, balanced precariously, but down and safely down. Gay silenced the engines and turned to Alec Freeman as she lowered her helmet over her head. She switched on the radio as he, too, prepared to leave the cabin and find the source of the enigmatic message. “That came from somewhere in this area. Let’s find out what the hell’s going on.”

***

“General Henderson to see you, Commander.”

“Send him straight down.” Fitzpatrick cut the intercom and sat back in his chair, tapping his fingers together as he pondered the arrival of Henderson. Was he going to demand that Fitzpatrick abandon the plans to downsize SHADO? If so, the old man was going to be disappointed.

The general arrived, escorted by one of Fitz’s security guards. He looked older, and worn thin, the sharpness in his eyes dimmed as if he had aged a decade during the last few weeks. He stood in the doorway, looking around the office as if trying to orientate himself. The office was bleak and austere now. Very few signs remained of the previous occupant.Nothing on the huge Perspex desk other than a single folder and the video call system, no glowing mural behind the chair, just a blank grey screen.

“Come in, Henderson.” Fitzpatrick closed the folder he’d been studying.“I hope this won’t take long. I’m busy right now.”

“Peter, I’m here to talk to you as your friend. We need to discuss your plans for SHADO and what you’re doing.”

“Why?”

“Why? For god’s sake, Peter, surely you can see what is happening. SHADO is grinding to a halt, and Earth is going to be defenceless unless you do something.”

“Defenceless, General? Defenceless? Don’t be ridiculous.” Fitzpatrick shook his head in disgust. “I can see nothing against which we need to defend Earth. The aliens have ceased their attacks and there have been no incursions or sightings for over two weeks now. SHADO is an expensive and over-staffed organisation. The trillions of dollars that the world’s governments contribute each year to SHADO would be far better spent upgrading our space exploration programmes. We should be going out into space to meet people from other worlds, not waiting for them to come to us. Don’t you agree, General?” Fitzpatrick glared at Henderson. “The IAC members certainly agree with me.” He leaned back in the chair, steepling his fingers in an unconscious imitation of the man who used to occupy this room in better times.

“Peter, please – ” But Henderson’s entreaties were useless.

“No, General, I have made my decision. As SHADO Commander I have the authority to transfer staff to other bases and allocate funds where appropriate. Unless of course you wish me to resign?” He raised one eyebrow at James Henderson. “I thought not. After all, who would you find to replace me? Alec Freeman? Paul Foster? I don’t think so.” Fitzpatrick opened the folder on his desk. “We’re finished here, General. My men will escort you out.”

Henderson didn’t move. “Peter…” 

“Commander – if you don’t mind. General.” There was a world of scorn in the last word.

“Very well, Commander. You obviously won’t listen to reason. You seem determined to reduce SHADO to an ineffectual puppet, with you pulling the strings. Toothless and clawless. The aliens will be coming, Commander. They will wait until SHADO is no longer able to respond with any reasonable degree of force, and they will strike. You know that. Why, Peter, why are you doing this? For the love of God, tell me why?” Henderson was pleading now, pressing his hands on the cold surface of the desk of the desk. There was absolute silence. “Peter? Why?”

His old friend looked up and seemed to shiver. “James.” The merest whisper full of fear and desperation. “Help me.”

“Peter? What’s wrong?” Henderson leaned closer. “What do you mean – help you?”

For too long Peter Fitzpatrick had fought against the malevolence deep inside his mind. For the past weeks he had tried to overpower the alien entity, but he had failed. The only thing he had learned was that the alien had become more complacent with each successful stage of the operation. And there lay Peter’s only chance. To grab his opportunity while the vile being was revelling in the glow of gratification. 

The loyal soldier who would have given his life for his country without a moment’s hesitation, who was held captive inside his own thoughts – that man knew what was likely to happen, and took the one chance to end his torment.

“James. The aliens. They’re in my mind. Please, kill…” His voice ground to a halt, his eyes became blank, his alien-controlled hands twitched as he reached for his weapon, but James Henderson, for all his years was still a soldier and, as he had often announced, still had excellent reflexes. 

Peter Fitzpatrick – the real Peter Fitzpatrick – summoned every ounce of determination and willpower he possessed in an effort to hold fast against the alien’s influence for the couple of seconds that was all Henderson required to get his gun out and fire it. Not with the accuracy that he would once have achieved, but at a distance of a couple of feet, precision was not a concern. Fitzpatrick jerked backwards, crashing over the chair to lie still, his chest dark with blood.

Henderson hurried round the desk to kneel beside his friend. “God forgive me, Peter. I’m here, just hold on.”

“James. Thank you.” One last small smile, one last acknowledgement. “Tell Straker they’re coming. Forgive…” And he was gone, eyes glazing over with a silvery tinge that eclipsed the once bright blueness. And the alarms that were now reverberating throughout SHADO HQ in response to the gunfire were a warning of things to come.

***

James Henderson knelt by the body of his friend, gently closing Peter’s eyelids to conceal the grey metallic orbs. Whatever had been controlling his friend, it had failed in its attempt to stop Fitzpatrick revealing the truth. He stood up, stiff and weary as the office door opened and the first armed guards entered, weapons ready. SHADO guards as well. “Don’t touch anything. Commander Fitzpatrick was under alien control and a post mortem will confirm that. I need him taking to the Medical Centre for examination, but be careful, I don’t know if there might be any alien substance still in his body.” He lifted the folder from the desk and opened it. A single sheet of paper fell out and he read the few words before crumpling it into a tight ball, his face a mask of fear and worry. Dropping it onto the desk he headed out of the room in silence. One of the guards, curious, smoothed out the sheet and looked at it, then looked at his watch and swore.

“What does it say?” 

“It’s today’s date and the time reference three hours and seven minutes from now.”

***

Out there, beyond the furthest reaches, past the range of any telescope, more light years away than anyone could imagine, the invasion force prepared for imminent action commencing in just over four hours Earth time, confident SHADO would be in a state of total disarray and confusion. After all, as far as they were aware SHADO was a spent force, disorganised, leaderless and powerless. 

Earth was theirs for the taking.

Chapter 13

“Straker to Moonbase, come in please, Moonbase.” Nothing. Helen Peters hadn’t really expected any response, but it was still a bitter disappointment to hear nothing but static. She had harboured a secret, childish fantasy that this time there would be an answer. Well, maybe the next time, although she knew that there would be just the same response… the hiss and crackle of broken connections. But, once more wouldn’t hurt, would it? “Straker to Moonbase, come in plea – ”

Her call was interrupted. She froze, almost in fear as the words echoed through her radio, almost deafening her with their clarity and strength.

“This is Moonbase Orbital Transporter to Straker, Receiving you strength 2. Repeat. Moonbase Transporter to Straker, repeat – ”

“Moonbase? Can you hear me?” The carefully rehearsed phrases were forgotten in the sudden thrill of contact and she spun around as if expecting to see another space-suited astronaut approaching her from another direction. What she saw instead was a huge, box-like craft, several hundred yards behind her and slowly descending to the surface of the moon. 

The voice sounded again. “Moonbase Transporter to unknown contact. Please identify yourself. Repeat – ” 

Helen broke into the communication. “You must help me. I need to get an urgent message to Moonbase and to Alec Freeman. It’s vital that I contact Alec Freeman. Commander Straker wants all SHADO units to go to Red Alert and prepare for a mass invasion. I have proof of Fitzpatrick’s treachery. You must – ” 

“Ed? Ed’s alive. Where? Where is he? Is he with you?” 

A man’s voice, dark and with a London accent. Alec Freeman. Helen sighed with relief, watching as the huge craft settle onto the dusty surface raising clouds of the fine black powdery dust. “He isn’t with me, he stayed behind. I can take you to him, but first we must warn Moonbase, and Earth. The aliens are going to attack. Fitzpatrick has been working with them. We must warn Earth.” She was getting desperate now. Too many different emotions fought within her; relief, regret, terror. But the worst emotion was fear. Fear that they would not believe her, that they would have been working with the aliens, that they would leave her here to die alone, and then she realised that if they had been working with the aliens they would simply have ignored her and left her to die anyway. One last chance. “There isn’t much time. You have to get a message to SHADO. Please.”

“This is Alec Freeman speaking. Where’s Straker?” 

Helen could see someone heading down the ramp from the Transporter, towards the distant figure that was visible there in the distance, the silver suit clear against the dull rock. Alec Freeman, Ed Straker’s second-in-command. She would have set off to meet him half-way but she could do nothing more than stand and watch, gasping for air as he bounded across the terrain. He moved with an elegance and grace that surprised her, faster and smoother than Ed had moved and covering the ground with huge leaps. She was still panting breathlessly when he reached her and landed close to her.

“I’m Freeman. Who are you and where’s – ” He stopped, looked closer at her. “Stand still.”

She found herself obeying without a second thought. His voice had a tone of authority she could not ignore, and she realised just why he was Second-in-Command at SHADO. Alec Freeman was nobody’s fool, despite the reputation of being nothing more than a big, noisy counterpoint to Ed Straker’s calm control. She saw him fiddle with the controls on her LSU, felt him twist and pull, yank at something and then he hit her on the shoulder, not hard, but firmly. There was a sudden influx of cold, fresh air in her helmet, and she breathed deeply.

“Not too deep. You don’t want to hyperventilate,” he warned her. “You were on your last few breaths of oxygen. Didn’t you hear the alarm? I’ve connected you to the emergency supply, it’ll keep you going for another twenty minutes. Now then, tell me…” His voice became harsher, more concerned. “Just who are you, and where is Ed. Please tell me he’s alive.” She could hear desperation in his voice.

“Colonel Freeman.” Helen’s breathing was more measured, the dizziness fading away with each new breath. “You have to contact Moonbase now. The aliens are massing to attack Earth sometime in the next few hours and SHADO will fall if Fitzpatrick has his way. Even if it doesn’t, the invading fleet could still be strong enough to overpower your defences. Please.” She gripped his arm. “Ed needs you to warn SHADO, to get the defences ready. I have proof that Fitzpatrick was working for the aliens. Please. Contact Moonbase. Contact Earth.”

“I will, but first of all, where’s Ed? Is he alive?” 

“Yes.” She heard the huge sigh of relief from Alec Freeman. “Yes, he’s alive, at least he was when I left him about twenty minutes ago. He wasn’t able to move fast enough not after…” She thought of the aliens in FarSight and the humans and what they had done. 

“Alive? You’re sure about that? Where?”

“Back there somewhere. I don’t know where, but you just have to follow my tracks.” She listened as Freeman tried to contact Straker via the radio link, but it was useless. Suit to suit radios had a limited range. It had been a miracle that she had managed to contact the Transporter just as it passed overhead. 

“Gay, I’m going to look for the Commander. Take…” Freeman turned to her. “Who the hell are you?”

“Colonel Helen Peters. US Military Intelligence.”

Freeman wasted no time. “Gay. Give me ten minutes. Straker will be out of air shortly but if I can find him in time I might be able to save him. Follow my radio signal. If I haven’t got him in ten minutes, head back for Moonbase with the Colonel until you manage to contact them, then put everyone on Maximum Security Alert: all Lunar defences, all SHADO land and sea units, Deep Space. Everything. Every last scrap of defence we can muster. But don’t speak to Fitzpatrick – get Keith Ford to warn everyone. He’s the best person to contact. Tell him to contact the heads of government if he can and once you’ve done that, come back for me on this heading. I’ll keep my radio open. Ten minutes.” And he was off, without a backward glance, without a farewell, simply moving away from her at a speed she would have found impossible to achieve, towards the point in the distance where he hoped to find his friend. 

Helen watched him set off, her mind filled with hope, then she headed for the Transporter and Gay Ellis, waiting there for her.

Gay was too busy getting the Transporter off the ground and following Alec Freeman’s radio beacon, to say much to Helen, but that didn’t matter. Once inside the craft, she unfastened her helmet, and relaxed slightly. They might just do it. They might be in time. They could save the Commander and the world. Two for the price of one. And she gave a wry smile.

•••

Time was running out for Ed Straker; despite his exhaustion he had woken as soon as the alarm sounded on his suit – the warning his oxygen supply was close to depletion. He had about five minutes left before things got really nasty. And then he thought about Helen. She would be running low and she would die, as surely as if he had killed her himself. His head dropped forward, sweat trickling down, itching and stinging, the struggle to breathe. His mind flashed back to those hours alone in the stricken Skydiver, to when he faced death then. 

But here he was not confined in a cramped submarine, not trying to cope with claustrophobia. He had kept the faith, he had done his best. Although there would be no-one to record the fact, he knew that he had not betrayed his world and that was all that mattered really, now, here at the end. And in his fevered mind, as he gasped for air, he saw his friends coming to meet him. 

Craig Collins, smiling now and no longer haunting him, and behind Craig the others, Roper, Beaver James and more; those who had died in the service of SHADO, protecting Earth. He welcomed them all, knowing that he would join them soon enough. But his heart wrenched as he saw Alec Freeman coming towards him.  Alec couldn’t be dead.

Then he heard the familiar voice in his radio and, as he felt the fresh oxygen flood into his suit and he saw the huge transporter coming into view, he realised that Earth might, just might, be saved.

***

SHADO HQ was on Red Alert status. Henderson was in the SHADO hypersonic jet on a flight to the States to plead for military assistance in the face of the oncoming assault by the aliens. Fitzpatrick’s body was in the Medical Unit undergoing examination for any alien devices and his eight henchmen were in the morgue having collapsed lifelessly at the precise moment Peter Fitzpatrick died at the hands of General Henderson. With no-one from the command staff available in Control, the base was close to spiralling into chaos. 

And then Keith Ford stepped forward to take control of operations. A few minutes later he finished reading the latest report, signed it and turned to Lt Johnson. “Get me the US President now.”

Before Ayshea could even turn round on her seat the alarm sounded. “SHADO Control this is Moonbase. Maximum Security Alert. All units, all units. I repeat. Maximum security alert. Prepare for full scale attack. All units, prepare for full scale attack.” Gay Ellis’s voice was clear, strong and determined.

Ford leaned over the console. “Lt Ellis, this is Lt Ford in temporary command of SHADO HQ. Please confirm. Full scale attack? From where?”

“Ford, thank goodness it’s you. Where’s Fitzpatrick?”

“Fitzpatrick is dead. What the hell’s going on, Gay?”

“Listen, Keith. We have irrefutable proof Fitzpatrick was working with the aliens, and they’re planning a major assault on Earth shortly. Get all your forces on readiness alert and await instructions.”

“Instructions? From who? I’m doing my best, Gay, but there are limits to what I can do. There’s no-one left able to think like those bastards. Straker’s gone and I have no idea where Alec Freeman is right now.”

Then a familiar voice cut into the transmission. “So I think like those bastards do I, Ford? You’d better hope I can out-think them now. Listen carefully – I need you to send all logs and data streams from the last seventy-two hours to Moonbase then stand by for further instructions in thirty minutes.” And the transmission ended.

“Bloody hell. Was that Straker?” Ford looked down at Lt Johnson, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

****

By the time the transporter reached Moonbase the rumour was spreading – Straker was back and all SHADO’s forces were at Red Alert and waiting for final instructions. And then he was there, wearing a crumpled and blood-stained flight suit, stumbling a little as he made his way through the airlock entrance into the main control sphere. He gazed around the room, taking it all in. There was no time for niceties or pleasant welcomes. “Nina? Status report.”

“No reports of any incursions as yet, Commander. SID is tracking out to Sector 7 and all Deep Space Probes are at maximum sensor range. All stations at ready alert, all Lunar defences at REDCON 1, Earth SHADO defences at stand by.” Her reply was as crisp and precise as he expected.

“Very good. Put me through to SHADO Control.” Straker moved to sit at the central console, dropping into the seat with a hiss of discomfort. 

There was a moment’s pause as contact was made. “Moonbase, this is SHADO Control. Receiving you strength 5.”

“Control, this is Straker.” 

“Lt. Ford here. Good to hear you, Commander. All stations ready and waiting for your orders.”

“Ford? What happened to Fitzpatrick? And who’s in charge of H.Q?” 

There was a moment’s silence before Ford answered. “Well, I suppose I am at the moment, Commander. There was no one else available so I took charge. As for Fitzpatrick – our suspicions were correct. He was under the aliens’ control as were several of the new staff that he had brought in. He managed to warn General Henderson who killed him.” 

“Where’s Henderson right now?” 

“In a meeting with POTUS. He’s organising extra support from their military in the event we can’t hold back the alien force. But we’re as ready as we can be, just awaiting your orders, sir.” 

“Good work, Lieutenant Ford. Let’s get things underway. Open communications to all SHADO units.” 

“Communications open. All units on line.”

Straker took a breath. “This is Straker. All units, listen up. Skydiver captains – from this moment on, you are ordered to run silent, no transmissions or active sensors until I give the word. It’s imperative you remain hidden. Straker to all ground force units – remain at full alert but keep all communications to a minimum until you hear from me. Do not contact HQ or Moonbase under any circumstances. All pilots and aircraft crews – I need everything that can fly, on the runway in the next five minutes and ready for an immediate take-off with thirty seconds notice. SHADO Control – all units,go silent with immediate effect.” He shut the connection and looked round the dome. “The same goes for Moonbase. Shut down all unnecessary Life Support Systems and anything that might be picked up by a UFO. We need to go passive and silent.”

“On it, Commander.” Nina Barry was already busy, dimming lighting, turning off water recycling units, lowering heating elements, even switching off power to the galley. 

Straker turned to Gay Ellis. “Lieutenant, I need the Moonbase satellites moved into a higher orbit. Get them another fifty thousand miles out. It means we won’t have as good a signal, but it’ll increase our angle of reception and enable us to contact FarSight. Do it now.”

“FarSight, Ed? FarSight’s dead. Abandoned.”

“We know that, Alec, but the aliens think they still control it. They won’t be watching or monitoring it. And that’s where the Interceptors come into play.” He leaned forward and activated the internal communications. “All Interceptors – immediate launch. Head for FarSight Base and take up positions above the complex at an altitude of one hundred miles. Make sure you are within radio communication range of the Moonbase satellites, then await further instructions. Once in position, do not – I repeat – do not communicate with Moonbase until I give you authorisation.”

Freeman raised an eyebrow. “I like it. Very cunning.” Straker turned and gave him a tight smile as Alec continued. “But we’ll need to boost the signal to the satellites to be sure of contacting the Interceptors at the precise moment.”

“Yes, and that’s your job. Get the Deep Space Probes turned round and re-positioned so we can use them to bounce our signals back to the Interceptors at FarSight. If things had worked the way Fitzpatrick anticipated, the probes would be in their control as well, so we can use that to our advantage. You’ll need to start now. Get Nina to help.”

He carried on, issuing orders, mobilising the ground forces on Earth, moving Skydivers into attack positions and all the while monitoring transmissions from SID. The tension in the control room mounted as SID remained silent: no radar alert, no fleet, no invasion. Endless minutes ticked away, counting down to the moment when the radar screens would flare with the warning signals of the approaching fleet. Alec finished re-positioning the probes and paced the dome. 

Straker caught his eye. “Alec? You’re making me nervous; go and get yourself a coffee. And bring me one while you’re at it.” 

It was as if the comment had been the pivotal moment that the aliens had been waiting for, the one thing that they had needed to hear before finally launching their assault.

A distinctive voice interrupted the quietude of the Moonbase Control sphere. “This is SID. I have Positive Track. Fifty plus UFOs entering Solar System. Heading Green 194.43. SOL 8. ETA Earth orbit four minutes 31 seconds.’’ 

Straker flicked the comms switch. “Straker to all units. Here we go, everyone. Listen out for instructions. Lt Ellis, mobilise all lunar defences. Rocket launchers to stations. Put me through to the Interceptors. Maximum strength.” Straker sounded as if he had been planning for this for years. Which, Alec thought, was quite possible, considering the man’s intellect.

“Interceptors, prepare to engage at my command.” He waited until the invading fleet’s course allowed them no leeway to manoeuvre and defend themselves against the Interceptors that had appeared, seemingly from nowhere. “Interceptors. Attack formation. Computer references as follows…”

***

Hours later, looking back at the reports and details of the conflict, Alec Freeman was amazed at how easily the entire engagement had gone. At least from SHADO’s viewpoint. 

The aliens had not been so fortunate. From the moment the Interceptors appeared out of the radio blackness of the far side to mercilessly cut a swathe through the alien fleet, to the sudden appearance of the supposedly defenceless and disorganised Skydivers – led by Paul Foster – from out of the silent seas, the UFOs had no chance. 

Straker had watched with grim satisfaction as the alien fleet’s attempt to overpower Earth’s defences failed, as the SHADO craft obliterated the invaders, as the UFOs fell, streaming smoke and debris and bodies into the sea, and the ever vigilant mobiles and ground forces mopped up any few remaining remnants. And then without warning, it was over. Nothing left to do. Nothing left to fight. All finished.

Straker sighed with relief, and leaned back in his seat closing his eyes for a few brief moments as if he was about to fall asleep. “SHADO Control, this is Moonbase. Well done Keith. Can your teams cope with the clear up operation?” 

“Sure thing, Commander. Good to have you back with us.”

“Don’t get too enthusiastic Keith. I resigned from SHADO and as far as the IAC is concerned, nothing’s changed. I’ll probably be called to explain my actions to the new President later. But, whatever happens, you did a good job, an excellent job. I hope the next SHADO Commander appreciates your worth.”

“Ed? You are coming back aren’t you? You can’t really be serious about resigning?” Alec Freeman stepped forward.

Straker looked at him. “Alec, I resigned. It doesn’t matter what happened afterwards, or the reasons for my actions. I was no longer in the chain of command. And there are people who will use that fact as an excuse to get rid of me once and for all.” He stood up and looked around, taking in all the operatives there. “Thank you everyone. A very successful result. Now, if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll go and lie down before I fall asleep right here. Goodnight.” He stepped out from behind the console to a quiet chorus of ‘goodnight, sir.’ 

“Commander?” Helen’s voice was hesitant, as if unsure how he would respond to her.

“Colonel Peters?” He turned around and smiled. “My apologies; you must be even more tired than I am. Lieutenant Ellis will find you a room.”

“I’m fine, but look at your sleeve.”

The arm of his flight suit was crimson with fresh blood. He had no other option than to allow Alec to escort him down to the small sick bay where he sat on the edge of the bed in one of the small examination rooms and let the medic do his work.

It took longer than expected, stripping off the suit, having the makeshift bandages removed and several neat stitches inserted, and he was exhausted and only too glad to lie down by the time his fingers had been stabilised and his other injuries treated. It had been a hellish few days, though he had no real idea how long it had been since Helen and he had been abducted in Sorrento. But the room was warm and his fingers no longer ached and – more vital than anything else – Earth was safe. At least until the aliens tried again. 

He was aware of Helen coming into the room as the medic finished tidying up the litter of needles and bandages and so on. He was going to talk to her, but the bed was comfortable and he suspected the medic had given him something to make him drowsy and he closed his eyes and let sleep embrace him.

***

Alec Freeman looked down at the sleeping man, the tousled hair, face lined with worry, eyes still puffy with exhaustion. Straker had been asleep for less than three hours. He reached out and touched the man’s shoulder. “Sorry Ed, there’s a message for you. It’s important, otherwise I wouldn’t have disturbed you.”

Straker rolled over onto his back and stared up at him, trying to focus bleary eyes and mind in an effort to reorganise his thoughts. “A message? From?” He couldn’t imagine who would want to be calling him here, now. There was nothing more that needed to be said, nothing more that needed to be done. Earth was safe. The threat had been overcome and now that he was no longer SHADO Commander he had no responsibilities, no duties to perform. 

“The president’s office. Insisted on speaking to you now. Personally.” Freeman’s tone made it clear what he thought of the order.

”Tell the president to get stuffed.” Straker turned back onto his side and closed his eyes. “I don’t work for the IAC any more.” 

“Ed?”

“What.” The tone was definitely getting more belligerent.

“It’s the US President.”

There was silence. Straker lay still, eyes closed, hands relaxed on the pillow.

“Ed?”

“Ask Helen to speak to her.”

“Colonel Peters was recalled to Earth on the first available flight. She left about thirty minutes ago.”

A longer silence. Straker held his breath for a long moment before releasing it in a deep sigh of regret, or relief. It was hard to tell. “Tell the president I’ll speak to her later.”

“You can’t do that. She’s… She’s the president.”

“So what, Alec? I’m tired, my fingers hurt like hell, I ache all over and I don’t work for her. I don’t work for anyone now. So go away and leave me alone. Please?” The voice was no longer belligerent, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness there, behind the fatigue and pain.

Alec hesitated for a moment, then came to a decision. He reached out as if he would shake the man awake, but instead pulled the covers up and tucked them around Straker’s shoulders. “I’ll make sure you aren’t disturbed again.” There was silence. Alec opened the door and looked back at his friend, once more asleep.

***

There was someone outside the room when Straker woke much later. He could hear muffled voices outside – too quiet for him to catch their words so he stretched his stiff limbs, reluctant to sit up after being asleep for so long. It didn’t help much; he was still bone-tired and sore and old. But, much as he wanted to hide away from everything, it was pointless. They wouldn’t let him stay in here for long; he had to get out there, face the world, face the staff in Moonbase. He had no place here now – he was retired, and it was unlikely he would be welcomed by the president, not after ignoring her like that.

Sod it. He didn’t need their pity. He’d done his job, more than his job, and now he was finished. Now he just had to get back to Earth and plan the rest of his life. And for a heart-wrenching moment he wondered who would end up sitting in his chair, behind the desk in his office, dictating messages to Miss Ealand. 

The door opened and Alec looked in, his movements quiet so as not to disturb anyone sleeping. “Good, you’re awake at last. How are you feeling?”

Straker considered the idea. It would be easy to curl up, close his eyes and stay there. To let everything flow on around him, and ignore it all. To let someone else deal with the problems and the stress. But he owed Alec more than that. “Better, thanks. How long have I been asleep?”

“Nearly eight hours. I’ll bring you some breakfast if you feel up to eating anything.” 

“Just coffee.” The thought of food made his stomach churn even though he was hungry. “Thanks, Alec. I suppose I’d better get up and call the president.” 

Alec shrugged. “She wasn’t that bothered by the fact you refused to get out of bed. It was her chief of staff who made the biggest fuss. Says you deliberately insulted the president and is demanding your head on a platter from all accounts. Complaining to anyone who will listen to him, including General Henderson. But I think it would be diplomatic to put a call through as soon as you are ready.”

Straker sat up , stiff muscles aching, his mind still dizzy. “I’d better do as I’m told. Just let me have a coffee and then a shower. Alright?” He raised an eyebrow at Freeman who twitched his lips as if to protest, then thought better of it. 

“Right, I’ll get that drink for you. The doc will be in shortly to look at those stitches and redress them, so stay there until he’s been.” Freeman closed the door behind him, but not before Straker had seen a security guard posted outside the entrance to the room. 

So that was it. They had him under guard now. Probably didn’t want him escaping or running off. Most likely orders from the IAC. Or Martin. Although where the hell he could run to, he had no idea. FarSight maybe?

He lay still while the medic checked him over, and another wait until Alec brought his coffee. He took it without speaking and sipped it, grateful for the caffeine then, once alone, with no-one to see his hesitant movements, headed for the bathroom, to shower away the sweat and fear and memories as best he could.

Water use on Moonbase was restricted – a shower of any longer than forty seconds was considered wasteful – but the tiny cubicle was warm and he soaped himself down and then rinsed clean with the last thirty seconds of fiercely hot water, his skin tingling from the heat. Then he stepped out into the steamy warmth of the small room. Someone, probably Alec, had been in and left clean clothes on the bed. Standard issue underwear and one of his spare outfits for when he stayed overnight in the base. Alec’s overlarge flight suit, ruined beyond repair, was nowhere to be seen. He dressed slowly. There was nothing to hurry for now. The president could damn well wait. He opened the door, expecting to be blocked by the guard, and escorted to the Control Room.

“Good to see you up, Commander.” A respectful nod, almost a salute, and a step back as if Straker was still a person of importance, before the guard walked away. Straker stared after him, perplexed. It made no sense to have him under guard and then not follow him, but he was only a civilian now. He shook his head at the vagaries of command and made his way to the Control Room to make his long-delayed call. Control was busy with staff, including Alec when Straker arrived and for a moment he thought about turning round and going back to the small sick bay, but there was no way to avoid the forthcoming confrontation, so he stepped through the airlock doors, bending his head to avoid bumping it on the low clearance. The last thing he needed was a concussion on top of everything else.

“Commander Straker. Come in, sir, and have a seat.” Gay Ellis beamed at him, and he paused. 

“Lt Ellis, I’d like to request a – ” 

His reply was interrupted by Colonel Freeman. “Sure thing. The president? Gay, get her on the line will you? Sit down. Do you want us to give you some privacy while you talk?”

“What the hell’s going on, Alec?” Straker shook his head as if trying to clear his mind. “I wake up to find there’s a guard outside the room, then I come in here to be greeted as if I’m still in charge. I don’t understand.”

Freeman raised one eyebrow. “You thought we had you under guard?”

“What was I supposed to think? Demands from the chief of staff, security while I sleep, it all adds up you know.” He stood there, defying Freeman to say more.

“You can be a bloody idiot at times.” Alec grinned to take the sting from his words. “A guard, yes. But only to stop anyone coming into sick bay and disturbing you, as well as keeping an eye out for when you woke up. And how did you expect us to greet you? Just because you resigned doesn’t mean you aren’t Straker. You were the one who took control here and got SHADO operating again, who worked out the strategies to send the aliens running scared. Commander.” And there was definite and unmistakable approval in the last word. 

He sat down, embarrassed and somewhat ashamed of his outburst.“What else was I to think?” A quick glance up at his friend. “I should have trusted you; put it down to still being tired and not thinking straight.”

“Forget it. We all make mistakes.” Alec flushed as he recalled his treacherous thoughts on the journey to FarSight. “Gay, would you and everyone else leave us alone for a few minutes?” 

Control emptied quickly and Freeman turned to face his friend. “Stop worrying. So the president wants to talk to you. Big deal. She probably wants to give you a medal. Call her now while Control is empty. I’ll wait outside.” He walked out, locking the door behind him.

Straker moved to the centre seat, flicking switches on the communications console with the ease of years of practice. It seemed to take only moments before he was put through to her private line. “Madam President.”

“Straker.” She nodded.

So that was how it was going to be, he thought. Not even the courtesy of his military rank, all proper and correct considering his resignation. “You wanted to speak to me?”

“I need to see you as a matter of some urgency. How soon can you get to Washington?”

He ran over the schedules in his mind: logistics, flight times, practicalities. “I can be back in London on the next Lunar Module flight; say five hours to Earth and then Washington three hours after that.”

“Eight hours. I’ll be expecting you.” The call ended.

It would be a rush to get back to Earth. There would be no time to go home before he had to head out to the White House, and there would be no chance for a last look around Moonbase, no chance to walk on the surface again. And he had so much wanted the chance to say a personal farewell to this world, this barren place that had so enthralled him over the years. But it was not to be, and he went to tell Alec what had transpired.

***

It was Alec who piloted the Lunar Module back, but he might have been a complete stranger sitting there in the command seat. Straker remained silent during the flight, outwardly dozing most of the way, still trying to catch up on lost sleep or so he tried to convince himself, but in reality for much of the time he lay there in the deeply padded co-pilot’s seat, hoping that Alec would not try to engage him in futile conversation about his plans, or lack of them. He just wanted to get this meeting over and done with, and then he could get home. And then…

Well, then he would see.

Chapter 14

Any hopes that Freeman would be the one to fly him to Washington, were swiftly dashed on his arrival back in England. Henderson had left orders for the colonel to get back to HQ with immediate effect and take control until a decision had been made regarding a replacement commander. So they parted company inside the private executive terminal that served the SHADO aircraft and then Straker made his way to where the SHADAIR hypersonic jet was idling. 

The only passenger. The crew were polite and wary, and he was left alone to read, or look out of the window at the ocean far below, or think. He surprised himself by drifting into sleep once more, lulled by the soporific vibrations of the engines as the jet powered through the higher levels of the stratosphere, only waking the plane landed and the engines shut down. No luggage to collect, no one meeting him, just the formalities of passport control to face and then the more onerous task of finding a taxi to take him to his destination. 

It was mid-morning in Dulles. He’d lost track of time and wasn’t even sure which day it was, and the airport was heaving with passengers arriving or leaving. He walked through the concourse, unnoticed by other travellers, only to be intercepted with professional speed by two agents, both of them armed and wary.

“Mr Straker?” 

He nodded, fumbling in the inner pocket of his jacket for his I.D. before handing it over for inspection. 

“This way, if you don’t mind, sir.”

He had no choice but to follow; a slow pace, still aching and tired and stiff, as if all his energy had drained away leaving him an empty husk with no life or spirit. They slowed down to match his pace as two more agents stepped moved in on either side of him in a well-rehearsed manoeuvre. He was now pretty nearly boxed in by security, and the small detail surrounding him attracted unnecessary attention but he was past caring one way or another. The president wanted to see him, and these men would take him there. What happened after that was no longer anything to do with him.

The drive to the White House surprised him though with its motorcade and outriders. Not what he expected, not after he had refused to speak to the president, as well as his more serious offence of ignoring military protocol and taking over command of SHADO without authorisation.

But it was when the car pulled up outside the portico, that he had yet another surprise. Colonel Peters was waiting there to greet him. No guards, no agents, no-one else. Oh they would be there in the background, hidden out of sight, but it was curious that she was here, and to all intents and purposes here alone. The car door opened and he stepped out.

“Commander.” Helen’s voice was cool and distant, as if this was the first time she had met him, none of the warmth of their conversations in Herculaneum, or the trust in each other as they made their escape from FarSight. He might have been a total stranger, and the change in her manner was a painful reminder of her status. “I’m sorry I had to leave before I had the chance to say goodbye to you. Please, come with me. The president is waiting to see you.” 

He walked beside her through corridors busy with armed guards and official staff, feeling awkward in this perfect ordered environment with its echoes of power and influence. Colonel Peters made small conversation: a few gestures and comments about the rooms that they passed, about the weather. Nothing about why he was here, or what was going to happen. His sense of apprehension, of wrongness, grew until he felt compelled to stop. To stand there and look at her with a sense of disquiet. As if he was waiting for something to happen. 

“Commander? This way please.” She reached out a hand to take his arm but he stepped back, just a pace, enough to distance himself from her. 

“What’s all this about, Colonel? Why am I here?” It was hard to keep the bitterness from his voice after the memory of all he had suffered and had lost. 

“Edward?”

He turned, stopped, as he noticed who was there now, speaking to him. “Madam President?”

“Edward Straker, here at last. Colonel Peters?” The president spoke to her adviser.

“Ma’am?” 

“Please join us. I’m sure Mr Straker won’t object.” She gestured to Straker to precede her through a wide doorway.

He stepped through the doorway to find himself inside the Oval Office. He’d been expecting a terse interview with some high-ranking official before a curt and official reprimand from the president’s chief of staff but this was far outside his understanding, and he had no idea how to respond.

“Please, both of you; take a seat.” It was not the voice of a president, she was now nothing more than a woman welcoming a visitor into her own home. Straker, even more confused and ill at ease, sat on one of the two elegant sofas facing each other. There was a low table in between the sofas, and a tray with fine china and a coffee service. He clenched his hands together and waited, head down, eyes staring at the haze rising from the spout of the coffee pot. 

A fleeting memory came to him of sitting and watching heat haze in the long extinct world of Herculaneum, the recollection taunting him with its mirror image of his dead future. He knew with utter certainty that – wherever he tried to hide – there would be no shelter from the boiling anger heading his way. A presidential anger that would strip away any remaining shreds of self-respect, just as a cloud had stripped the flesh from the terrified inhabitants of a small town so long ago. They had been forgotten, as he no doubt would be forgotten and cast aside soon enough. But he had tried, had done his best and that was all that could be asked of anyone.

Resolved, he lifted his head to stare at her, at his homeland’s leader. He would not hide from her displeasure, he would try to face her with calm composure, though his mind flinched from more pain. He just wanted it all to be over so he could go back to England and try to start his life again in the grey and empty future that loomed there, just one more discarded and unremembered individual.

She sat. There was nowhere for him to run to, no escape, even if he had wanted to leave. Colonel Peters moved to sit opposite him, head tilted as if to watch his reaction as she sided with her boss. He straightened his shoulders, determined not to show the ache of distress at her apparent betrayal of him, here in this room.

His fingers ached in their strappings, his muscles tense in anticipation of what was to come. He stared at the two women opposite, forced himself to sit upright, arms folded, the merest touch of defiance in his posture. After all, they couldn’t do any more to him now.

The uncomfortable silence seemed to last an eternity, although it was only a few seconds, then the president reached forward, holding out her hands in an oddly subservient gesture of apology. “Edward? You seem upset – ”

His mirthless laugh shattered the peace and tranquillity of the room. “Upset. That’s an understatement. I’ve done as you asked. You wanted to see me and I’m here so you can stop the pretence now and just get on with it.” 

An intake of breath, a gasp as if he had punched her in the gut. Helen leaned across to him. “No. Please, Ed. You don’t understand.”

He turned to face her, angered that – despite everything – he was expected to comply with their demands and submit without protest to their censure and condemnation. “Oh, I think I do, Colonel. So what is it going to be, Madam President? An official reprimand on my record? It’s a little late don’t you agree? As far as I recall resignation means just that. The end of a career. My career in fact. So go ahead, do your worst. Do you actually think I care now?” 

He held himself under rigid control as he waited for her wrath. But it was true. He no longer cared what she did. He had helped to save his world. That was all that mattered, and whatever she did now, whatever she said, nothing could take that away from him. Nothing. And with that acceptance came the peace that had so far eluded him. He leaned back, and let himself relax, let the tension flow out of his body, and then he waited. 

The uncomfortable silence was broken by a cautious tap on the door. Straker didn’t care who else had entered. Just one more person wanting to berate him for overstepping the line and resuming command without authorisation. The chain of command; so important and yet so insignificant, so irrelevant in the wider scheme of things. He would do it again without question. Even if it cost him his life he would do it all again. 

“Straker.” Henderson sounded amused, and yet there was an undertone of concern behind the greeting.

He stood up, years of entrenched military training making his response automatic. A stiff acknowledgment to the older man standing there in full uniform. “General.” 

“Causing trouble again, Ed?” Henderson grinned. “Sit down, please; there’s no need to stand for me. We’ve been friends for too many years for me to demand that from you. And really, I’m the one who should be saluting you. We all should be.”

“I don’t – ” Straker began, but a hand on his shoulder made him pause.

“Edward. Please, just listen. Whatever you might think, whatever anyone has told you, you are not here to be accused of anything. As if I would dare to do that anyway.” The president, one hand still on his shoulder in a comforting grasp, turned him to face her. “I asked you here for one reason only. Please. Sit down. Let me pour you a coffee.” She looked at Henderson and gestured to him. “James? Take a seat as well.”

Straker sat down again, confused and more than a little unsettled by the turn of events. The arrival of James Henderson had unnerved him, had pulled him out of the thin composure he’d managed to achieve, and now it seemed that perhaps his understanding of why he was here was erroneous. And he wondered, with the faintest spark of hope, what exactly they wanted from him. 

“Now. Let’s start again.” The president sat back on the sofa and smiled across at the two men. “First things first. James; I asked you a question earlier today. I’d like your answer now.”

Henderson took a sip of his coffee. “My answer? Yes, I will.”

“Excellent. That will make my next question so much easier.” She turned to Straker, her eyes watching him. “Edward Straker, if I asked you to return to SHADO and to take up the post of commander again, would you be willing to do that?”

There were armed guards patrolling outside the room, passing to and fro beyond the glazed doors that led to the private garden walkway. The windows were thick, with the faint green tinge of bullet-proof glass, and the figures that walked on the other side were somewhat distorted and nebulous. Straker could not make them out with clarity. They seemed distant, removed from reality, just as his mind felt blurred and unable to comprehend what he had been asked. As if the question had come from a great distance, and been twisted by time and space and his own uncertainties. He put his cup back on the table, noting with uncaring impassiveness that his hand was trembling and the cup rattling just the tiniest amount on its delicate saucer. 

“Ed?” Henderson sounded concerned.

Straker shook his head, not in denial, but to try to straighten out the thoughts filling his mind. It was too much to take in. They were watching him and he stared once more at the guards outside. Silent men doing their duty and prepared to pay the ultimate price to protect their leader. Unrecognised, unknown. And suddenly his decision was easy. “Yes. I will.” He breathed out a deep sigh, as if blowing away all his previous doubts, then paused. “But what about the IAC? The new president will no doubt want to have a say in the appointment. They may well not approve of my return.” 

Henderson gave him a nod. “No need to worry about that, Commander. I approve. And as I have just agreed to take up my post of President of the IAC again, you can be sure that your re-instatement is a mere formality.” 

“I didn’t expect this. I thought…” He let his voice fade away.

The president frowned. “You thought you were here to see my chief of staff? He was furious when you refused to speak to him, you know. He thought you were deliberately insulting him. But he won’t cause any further trouble now. I’ve asked for his resignation.”  She tilted her head and stared at him. “Which means I have to find a new chief of staff. I wish I could offer you the position –  you would do a very good job I think – but the world needs you in charge of SHADO. We would have made an excellent team though.”

Straker looked at her. “If you’d offered me the post I wouldn’t have accepted. I was ready to go back to England and spend the rest of my life doing, well…” He paused, glanced at Helen on the sofa opposite. “I don’t know what I’d have ended up doing. But I can solve your problem for you, Madam President. You want someone determined and dedicated? Then how about Colonel Peters?” 

The president shook her head. “Believe me, Edward, I’d like nothing better, but I have other plans for Colonel Peters. Recent events have made it obvious that we’ve failed SHADO  and not just in our financial support. There needs to be someone responsible for keeping me and other major leaders informed about what’s going on in SHADO.” She held up her hand. “I mean, we need an agreed White House Liaison Officer, someone we both trust, who can report back to me and other leaders with ways we can help SHADO be more effective. Whoever that person is, they will need to have the trust of the organisation’s commander, otherwise this is not going to work. The last thing Earth needs is another Peter Fitzpatrick.”

“I agree, Madam President. If we’d had such a person it’s unlikely Fitzpatrick would have got so far before you’d have realised something was wrong. So who do you suggest and would I have any input into the appointment?”

“I have someone in mind, all I need is your consent.” She gave an elegant shrug. “What would you say to having Colonel Helen Peters working in SHADO. I thinks she’d do an excellent job, don’t you?”

Helen leaned forward in her seat. “I can’t do that, I’m not qualified, Commander. I don’t have the experience.” She turned to the woman next to her. “You need someone who knows all about the organisation. I only learned about the alien threat a month ago.” 

He felt a rush of energy. It was going to be fine. “No, don’t you see? You’d be the perfect person – a foot in both camps and a background in Military Intelligence? You’d get to see what goes on inside SHADO and you’d be able to put our case for further funding to leaders who never see the reality of what we have to face. Helen?” He put one hand out to her. “At least think about it. And you wouldn’t be confined to SHADO HQ; you’d have to travel to all our bases: Skydivers, Moonbase…” He gave her an encouraging smile. “Even FarSight, eventually.”

To be able to travel to the Moon. To look up and see Earth in the distance. He could see the idea growing in her mind. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course. But I’d like you on our team, Colonel Peters. And I’m sure the president agrees with me.”

It was clear that the stateswoman intended to have her own way, and Straker was glad. Colonel Peters had proved her ability and yet, despite her bravery, the world would never get to know just how important her actions had been. If Helen had not been with him, if her courage had failed out there on the far side of the Moon, then Fitzpatrick’s plan might well have succeeded. The thought made his blood run cold for a moment, but then the realisation that he would be going back to where he belonged, swept like a warm breeze through him and he sat back to enjoy the discussion about the minutiae involved in setting up any new government post. 

It was early afternoon before he managed to leave the Oval office, to catch yet another plane. A full escort to the airport, and there, waiting for him, the SHADAIR jet. And Alec Freeman at the controls.

Epilogue

Straker sauntered into the Main reception area, casually greeting the studio staff on duty, any hint of nervousness hidden behind the armour of sunglasses and formal suit. A quick word with the security guard, a nod at the young woman behind the Reception desk, a quickening of his place as he saw one of the studio directors approaching. And then he was opening the door to his outer office, guarded by his secretary.

“Good morning, Miss Ealand.” He handed over his briefcase for the obligatory security scan then headed for the inner office. He might appear outwardly calm and confident, but only he knew the effort it took to remain controlled. It seemed a lifetime ago since he had last stood here but in reality it had been less than four weeks, and so much had happened since then. 

The repercussions were still causing havoc throughout SHADO and he anticipated several weeks of hard work if he was to get it back to its former level of efficiency. There were several bases to be re-opened and staffed, training schedules to be authorised, and FarSight to be completely overhauled. He had no intention of letting the base stay unused for one moment longer than necessary.

Miss Ealand put his case on the desk and opened her notebook and he felt the world put itself to rights. “Messages?” 

“Just one for now, Commander.” He waited. “Welcome back. I’ve missed you.” And she beamed a welcome before leaving him to activate the Voice Print ID. 

He stared after her, a little disconcerted by her admission, before opening the cigarette box that he had never expected to use again. “Straker.” And even though his re-appointment had been officially verified and Miss Ealand had welcomed him back, he still held his breath.

“Voice Identification Positive. Commander Straker.” He could have sworn there was a note of relief in the cold analytical computer voice. Or perhaps it was just his imagination. He took a deep breath as the doors slid open, unsure of what he might face, but it was quiet in the corridor and he walked through the corridors almost unnoticed by the staff, relieved there had been no mention of a formal re-instatement. It was enough to just get here and be able to start work. Back where he was needed. 

Alec stepped over to greet him, and they went into the neat office as if the last weeks had been expunged from the records. No Fitzpatrick, no alien plot, no terrible dark moments on the far side while screaming bodies were dragged into space. No blisters and burns, or broken fingers. They would heal in time. And maybe time would also eradicate the memories. But somehow he doubted that. It didn’t really matter though did it? SHADO had won. That was enough of a reason to celebrate, and he had just the perfect thing as well.

Straker opened his safe, sighing with relief to find that it had not been raided by Fitzpatrick, and pushed the bottle of single malt whisky to one side before getting out his work diary and slide rule. The whisky could wait until they were both off duty and had time to talk about FarSight and what happened. He was under no illusions that the aliens had finished with Earth, if anything the recent mass attack only proved their utter determination to conquer the planet, and Alec no doubt had his own personal nightmares from the past few weeks. 

Freeman was watching him. “So, what’s the plan? I’m guessing you want FarSight brought back into action, and from the look on your face I’ve a good idea who’s going to be responsible.” 

“You know the base better than anyone else and there’s no one else I can trust to get the refit done in the shortest possible time. Paul’s not yet ready for the responsibility and even though Virginia’s ready to come back to work, she won’t be able to wear a space suit for at least another two months. So that leaves you. The best man for the job.” Straker took a folder out of his briefcase and handed it to Alec. “Schedule of works, logistics, supply runs. Everything. You’ll have two dozen of our best technical staff including Keith Ford and Nina Barry to help run things. Keith’s going to be in charge of making sure communications are well up to scratch and I’ll be expecting a call every day from you, and not just to tell me how the repairs are going. Three weeks, Alec – if that. But you don’t want to do it I’ll understand, and that’s fine by me. If necessary I’ll go myself. I know the plans nearly as well as you.” 

He closed his eyes for a moment. The horror of being taken, of being tortured, of opening the external bay doors and watching the enemy die from decompression. The frantic journey in the Moonmobile, and watching Helen walk away knowing he would never see her again. He swallowed, pressed his hands firmly on the smooth surface of his desk. 

Freeman was still flicking through the folder. “What about the…” He grimaced.

“Bodies?” Straker looked at his watch. “There’s a group of techs on their way there right now. They’re going to do a clean-up and reboot the main systems ready for when you arrive next week. Then it’s just a matter of supervising the water and air systemsre-fits and so on.”

“Three weeks?”

“Hopefully less, but I’m erring on the side of caution right now. I don’t know what else the aliens might have done to the base, but from what I remember…” Another hesitation. Another memory suppressed until he had time to talk things over with Jackson. “…they didn’t have time to do much else.”

“It’s fine, Ed. Really. I actually don’t mind the thought of going back there. I’d like to see it up and running.” Alec put the folder down. “But Keith Ford? Can you spare him for three weeks?”

“He’s proved himself capable of command level responsibility. I’d be failing him if I didn’t give him every opportunity to progress. SHADO’s going to be here for a long time, Alec; we need to look to the future.”

“And you? It’s still early days for you. Will you be all right?’

Straker shrugged. “Me? I’ll be fine, trust me. Now, while we have the time I want to go over the specifications for the base controller in Siberia. We need to get that post filled as soon as possible.” 

He wasn’t going to tell Alec about the email he’d received from Helen yesterday when he was mentally preparing himself for the return to work. He’d opened it expecting a formal message regarding her appointment as SHADO White House Liaison Officer – instead there was a drawing of a man sitting on a low wall and looking at some ruins. He recognised the place and the man. The accompanying message was short and to the point. ‘Pompeii? Whenever you can make it. The drinks are on me this time.’ And he’d laughed and made a note to book a week off work when Alec was back from FarSight, instead of just taking random days here and there with no fixed idea of where he was going to go, or why. Maybe it was time to start looking after himself for a change. One last thing. “Alec?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.” He looked at his friend, his eyes serious and resolute. “For – ”

A loud voice interrupted him. “This is Space Intruder Detector One. I have positive track, bearing….’

Straker sighed and stood up but there was a very slight, almost unnoticeable, smile on his face as he straightened his jacket and headed out into his control room.