The Prometheus Effect Page 3

  “There, I think that's it.” Joshua handed the tablet back to Miss Penny who scanned it top to bottom nodding slowly as she went.

  “Yes, that's lovely. Well, enjoy the rest of your day! Are you going somewhere to celebrate?” She inquired assuming that Joshua would be elated at his new position.

  “No, I don't think so. I have a lot of work to do.” Joshua smiled and offered a fleeting wave as he left the plush office and headed back to the elevators. His mind raced as he conceptualised his action plan. Hours of internet research would be required, a good grasp of existing work and a lot of questions asked. Joshua allowed himself a cheeky grin as the elevator door trundled shut and he was alone. He punched the air in delight and pulled at his tie to relieve his airway from its restrictive presence. Aliens! After all, he was not being asked to uncover some clandestine plot or global scandal, this was going to be a breeze.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Joshua spent that evening and the best part of the early morning on his laptop. The hotel in Islington was comfortable and he got a good Wi-Fi signal from the local net-point. His job at The Messenger would eventually require him to move from his home in Oxford into the city of London. Oxford was a great place from which to commute into the capital but if he was to ingratiate himself into the culture of the city, he would need to live in and breathe the smoggy air of the most populated English conurbation.

  Joshua began his project at the earliest possible moment in order to give him the best chance of collating enough information to at least appear interested in his designated task. One of Joshua's finest qualities was the ability to research and retain relevant facts and figures and before long he was delving deeply into both official archives and various forums and message-boards.

  It was clear that there were a number of trends that were in place, a collective picture of what an 'alien' was. The origins of the belief that extra terrestrial life existed began centuries ago. Proliferating in the early part of the twentieth century and brought to the minds of the public by such events as H.G. Wells controversial radio broadcast, stories of UFOs dramatically increased during the 'space age'. The comic books and films of the 1950's onwards ignited the public’s imagination and although aliens came in many shapes and forms, ideas converged into a stereotypical image of what a typical extra terrestrial would look like. By the 1960's and 70's, a theme of alien abductions began to come to the fore, and later the speculations regarding the infamous Roswell incident in the U.S. cemented the image in many people's minds.

  The typical alien example was a smooth skinned, grey, sexless humanoid figure with a vast, telepathic intellect. They were technologically advanced, their motives were seemingly unknown although many argued that it was global domination or resource gathering. The argument that this collective image of what we determined an alien to be was due to persistent media exposure was a strong one, however numerous sightings across the globe appeared to suggest that a common theme existed and transcended cultural and geographical borders.

  Reading the varied and lively forums produced more than a few belly laughs from the eager journalist. Despite some high profile, credible individuals coming forward to state their case for an alien presence, the majority of individuals that were most vehement in their beliefs were the more intellectually challenged, marginalised section of society; the ones who perhaps took too much stock of what the tabloids printed; the ones whose imagination was limited to what they had witnessed on TV. This article was going to be an immense challenge; to filter out the tripe and leave the best cuts remaining would take many hours of patience and a dedication unseen in the average man on the street.

  Joshua was keen to be on time for his ten o’clock appointment, an induction and tour of the 'Messengers' offices. Retaining a smart yet slightly more casual approach to his personal presentation, he skipped breakfast and sauntered outside to the busy street. The ubiquitous fine drizzle of London rain greeted him as he thanked the porter who graciously held the heavy glass door for him as he passed.

  Hailing a cab, at first unsuccessfully, he suddenly realised that the hotel would have rang a local company for him, sometimes he had to do things the hard way. He persisted however, he was not one to admit defeat. Catching the eye of an alert cabby, the black vehicle pulled alongside and the window scrolled down.

  “Fleet Street.” Joshua called out, bringing a thumbs up from the driver. Climbing into the heavy carriage, Joshua noted how much better London taxi's had gotten since a previous visit.

  “Plush. This is a nice one.” He said to the driver as he fumbled with his seat belt.

  “Oh yes, just got this one in last month. She's a beauty.” The grey haired driver proudly responded as he stabbed the buttons of his console.

  “Are you one of those tabloid hacks then? Hold the front page an' all that?” The driver was keen to start a conversation. Joshua obliged. It was rude not to engage in a little banter, anyway, he was in a buoyant mood.

  “The Messenger. I'd like to think it's a class above the average tabloid.” Joshua replied, proud to be associated with his new employer.

  “Just starting my first day today, hence the ironed shirt. Give it a couple of weeks and I’ll turn up in jeans!”

  The cabby laughed and looked around to see his passenger as the cab ground to a halt in the traffic.

  “Yup, you look smart, I’ll give you that. Not something I have to worry about though!”

  Joshua noted that he was not wrong, is driver was indeed a scruffy article and his greying stubble accentuated his dishevelled appearance. The cab once again pulled off and a motorcycle courier shot up the inside suddenly causing the driver to brake suddenly.

  “Hells teeth, fuckin' bikes!” The driver yelled out of his window as the oblivious courier shot by.

  “So sorry squire, must wash my mouth out.” The driver shook his head as he berated himself. Joshua released his stiff grasp on the door handle and chuckled.

  “No worries, I thought you were quite restrained.”

  “You would think I would be used to it now, I’ve been doing this for nearly twenty years.”

  Joshua raised his eyebrows. He could not imaging toiling over the same roads doing the same thing for such an expanse of time.

  “That's dedication. At least that's one good thing about my job, when I finish a story, I move on to the next thing.”

  The driver peered into his rear view mirror and studied his passenger.

  “So what are you working on at the moment then? My mate got caught up in that armed robbery last week down Earls court, you probably heard about it, surprised no one's been on his case yet for an interview.”

  Joshua nodded acknowledging the drivers story, it was a particularly savage crime.

  “No, I don't do crime very often. I'm more of an investigative journalist. I worked on the Hannzoil affair, you probably read about it.”

  Joshua made sure to get out his party piece.

  “Nah, never heard of it. What was that about then?” The cabby quite clearly was not a broadsheet reader. Joshua did not feel a bloated explanation was pertinent.

  “Well to tell you the truth, the story I'm about to write is about aliens believe it or not.” Joshua gurgled an embarrassed laugh as he felt his driver may share in his ambivalence. The driver fell silent and did not reply. Joshua watched his eyes in the mirror, he could tell that he had hit a raw nerve. The journalist did not feel the need to press the cabby further, it was clear that the conversation had come to a natural close.

  “I suppose you think it's all crap then.” The driver suddenly piped up as Joshua checked his emails on his phone.

  “Well, I guess until I see some unequivocal proof I’ll be a sceptic. I can see how some might get sucked into the notion that they might exist however.” Joshua was not really taking notice of his drivers expressions as he bantered on. The cabby’s face was pale and drawn and intently attentive to his passenger's opinion.

  “So you're writing an article on al
iens then? That will be interesting. What angle are you coming from?”

  Joshua humoured the driver with a quick summary of his research so far, both significant dates and places and famous accounts.

  “As for what to do next I’ve no idea. Get some firsthand opinion I guess.” Said the journalist stuffing his phone deep into his pocket.

  “How will you do that? You know people who have been abducted by aliens don't like to talk about it in case everyone thinks they're nuts.” The driver seemed certain of this position although Joshua disagreed.

  “I don't know. I reckon if I had an experience like that, I’d want to tell everybody.”

  “Yeah, you're right I did, but then when everybody started to disown me and treat me like a mental case I shut up. Now I don't talk about it.”

  Joshua leaned forward and poked his head through the Perspex opening into the drivers compartment.

  “Really? You've had...an experience?”

  The cabby fell silent again and was suddenly agitated. Joshua felt he was a good judge of character and knew when someone was telling lies. He had a strong feeling that his driver was genuinely distressed at the conversation. A good starting point in his line of work.

  “What's your name my friend?” Joshua inquired as the can neared its destination.

  “Jimmy. Jimmy Stock. You know I really shouldn’t have said anything. I feel like a right plum.”

  “No, no. It is best to talk about these things. You know, if you did want to talk, I'm willing to listen. Totally impartial. It's my job not to offer opinion but to report the facts. I'd be very interested in hearing your story.”

  Jimmy bit his lip and rocked his head from side to side in contemplation. In many ways, Jimmy felt it might be cathartic to reveal his innermost and pent up secrets to a stranger. His closest friends did not give him the time of day. This young suited man in the back of his cab had an air of neutrality about him, he engendered an element of trust, not common in a Fleet Street hack.

  “It was a long time ago, nearly ten years. I might not be the best person to ask, it's something I find difficult to talk about. It's affected my whole life.”

  Joshua was rubbing his metaphorical hands. Jimmy's words sealed his interest. A real life emotional roller-coaster of a story, a firsthand account of a supposed alien abduction; Joshua could not believe his good fortune.

  “Look, can I buy you dinner somewhere or maybe we can talk over a drink at my hotel?” Joshua knew he had to convince his driver to agree before the journey's end.

  “I don't know. I work all sorts of hours, I’m hard to catch up with.”

  “You choose the time and place, I’m totally flexible.”

  Jimmy's head cried out no but his heart was pulling him inexorably towards an interview. He did not want to be ridiculed anymore and he could see where this was leading

  “Total anonymity, I can guarantee it. I look after my sources.”

  Joshua's pre-emptive words sealed the deal, after all what harm could it do. Jimmy nodded as Joshua handed him a business card with his contact details upon it.

  “Look, you know where my hotel is. I'll buy you a steak and we'll have a pint, how about that?”

  Jimmy laughed, that was music to his ears.

  “I finish at six.”

  “Seven thirty then. Don't dress up will you.”

  Jimmy laughed and swallowed hard.

  “OK.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  United States Space Shuttle 'Destiny', Earth Orbit

  November 11th 2020

  Roger Coffey peered out of the diminutive window, pressing his nose to the cold glass and straining his eyes to glimpse a view of Australia as it passed. He brought the shiny metallic pouch to his lips and sucked hard on the nozzle. The orange gel shot out and coated the roof of his mouth.

  “Hey John, have you noticed this before?” Calling his pilot, John Corrigan, he made room for his colleague to gaze into the vacuous abyss, the greasy stain of the navigators face still remaining on the smooth glassy oval.

  “What am I meant to be looking at?” Corrigan asked with a hint of grumpiness.

  “The array just about half an inch at ten o'clock above Tasmania.”

  “Nope. Can't see anything there.”

  Coffey did well to hide his annoyance and incredulity. Firstly, Corrigan's ambivalence towards his sighting but also his apparent myopia too.

  “Now does that look like a satellite to you?” He continued, pressing his case for something out of the ordinary.

  “Looks like it to me, if that's what you're looking at.”

  “Oh come on, it looks more like a station, it's too weird.”

  Corrigan looked at Coffey and chewed hard on a piece of gum. It was a look of disdain that antagonised Coffey.

  “What do you want me to do, call it in. Houston, we have a problem, Coffey is hallucinating, send up emergency measures.”

  Corrigan pushed himself away and back down the shuttle into the cockpit.

  “Asshole.” Coffey muttered whilst pressing his nose once again at the window.

  Roger Coffey was not usually part of the current seven man team. He was drafted in at short notice, it was a rare case. Astronauts were kept in quarantine before a flight to prevent sudden illness but Coffey was not a replacement for a sick navigator, he was the replacement for a dead navigator.

  Paul Niemechek was found in his quarters with a makeshift noose around his neck. It was a shock to all. Astronauts were not only physical supreme specimens but also psychologically fit. It appeared inconceivable that the teams of top clinicians could have missed a deep depression that could have culminated in suicide. Coffey knew Niemechek, he did not seem the sort to take his own life. He had a good life, a wife and two children who were doing well in school. He was the archetypal American family man, a solid dependable figure. It was a conundrum that no one could seem to figure out.

  Coffey did not seem to be accepted as readily by his new crew. He guessed that Niemechek's absence was still lingering in their thoughts as every action Coffey took was analysed and compared their lost mate. There was a peculiar atmosphere among his colleagues that did not sit right. Coffey only hoped that as the excitement of the mission unfolded, then the tension would dissipate.

  The Destiny was the first of a new line of shuttles conceived as part of the 'Rebuild' project. After the disastrous economic downturn of the last decade when all appeared to be lost in terms of the space program, there was a newly rekindled enthusiasm for NASA and its projects. The recent election brought about a wave of euphoria across the nation, a new president signalled a new hope, and a new budget for the space program which was bolstered considerably.

  The 'Prometheus' mission was in the main, a scientific research project centring around the release into orbit of a new data gathering satellite bearing the same name. Due to the short nature of Coffey’s preparations for the mission, he was undeniably ignorant of the crews tasks in carrying it out. He knew nothing of the technical capabilities of the Prometheus satellite; in a sense, apart from getting the shuttle up into orbit and back again, his role was hugely diminished by his 'stand in' stature. As the hours rolled by, his self worth appeared to be devalued by the minute as he stood by and watched with only a curious interest. The crew were in no mood for conversation or sharing their workload. Coffey felt on occasions that NASA should have canned the mission due to recent tragic events, but perhaps out of character, they charged on without delay. Following the demise of previous missions, NASA had become super sensitive where safety was concerned. It seemed almost bizarre that they should put a crew in mourning into space. Prometheus must surely have been of some importance and its dispatch into orbit greatly time sensitive for such a procedure to go ahead.

  The hours passed until the shuttle was in the prescribed position to offload its cargo. A carefully orchestrated space walk was required in order to properly release the payload. Coffey sat in the cockpit as he watched the others in the cargo b
ay perform their choreographed routine.

  It was the first time he had really seen the Prometheus satellite, and as it was unloaded and positioned, its appendages extended and placed into position, it struck him what an odd looking bit of kit it was. Something else was apparent but seemingly not discussed prior to the event, the orbital position of the satellite seemed in-congruent to common sense. The team of highly skilled and trained astronauts appeared to be setting the device to inevitably fail. Their orbit was shallow, they were not in the proper satellite band, it seemed a foregone conclusion that this machine, forged by the greatest minds in science at the greatest cost, would very likely and sooner rather than later, enter the Earth's atmosphere and burn up, possibly within a matter of days. As navigator, it stood to reason that any irregularities would have been shared with him, indeed it seemed odd from the very start when the schedule of events was first presented to him. So fine were the margins that in a matter of hours, the shuttle itself would begin to surf the searing heat of the re-entry. NASA did not train astronauts to be sheep, there was something extraordinary going on here and roger Coffey intended to find out.