Post contact first days, p.1
Post Contact: First Days, page 1
Post Contact: First Days
(Book 1 of The Post Contact Series)
D. C. Macey
Copyright © 2022 D. C. Macey
All rights reserved
Published by Butcher & Cameron
D.C. Macey asserts his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
This novel is a work of fiction. All characters and names are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Ebook formatting by Ebook Launch
Books by D. C. Macey
THE POST CONTACT SERIES
Near future SF action thrillers
Post Contact: First Days
Published October 2022
Post Contact: Holding On
Published November 2022
Post Contact: Breaking Back
Published May 2023
THE TEMPLE SERIES
Contemporary archaeological thrillers
The Temple Legacy
Published August 2015
The Temple Scroll
Published August 2016
The Temple Covenant
Published April 2018
The Temple Deliverance
Published April 2019
CONTENTS
Books by D. C. Macey
1. The Minch
2. Reahlagh
3. Patch Barracks
4. The Minch
5. Patch Barracks
6. Reahlagh
7. Reahlagh
8. Mull of Kintyre
9. Reahlagh
10. Exit
11. A New Place
12. Patch Barracks
13. The New Place
14. The Pentagon, Sub-basement
15. Revelations
16. Pentagon
17. Virginia
18. Planet Nine – Base Primo
19. Pentagon
20. Reahlagh
21. Base Primo
22. The Moon
23. A Return to Earth
24. Pentagon
25. RM Condor
26. RM Condor
27. RM Condor
28. Take-Off
29. RM Condor
30. Base Primo
31. Base Primo
32. Base Primo
33. Central Star Hotel, Washington
34. Base Primo
35. RM Condor
36. Chequers
37. Base Primo
38. Pentagon
39. Virginia
40. UN New York
41. Pentagon
42. Washington
43. Base Primo
44. Pentagon
45. UN New York
46. White House, Oval Office
47. Potomac River
48. Base Primo
49. Pentagon, Sub-basement Level
50. Base Primo
51. Potomac River
52. A Polar Descent
53. White House, Oval Office
54. Base Primo
55. White House, Bunker
56. Distribution Journey
57. Squadrons Prepare to Fold
58. Base Primo
59. White House, Bunker
60. North Atlantic
61. Potomac River
62. 10 Downing Street
63. Base Primo
64. Off the Virginia Coast
65. Potomac River
66. Squadrons into the Fold
67. Potomac River
68. Squadrons in the Fold
69. Base Primo
70. S-3 in the Fold
71. Earth’s Atmosphere
72. S-3 in the Fold
73. White House, Bunker
74. Base Primo
75. White House, Bunker
76. Earth Orbit
77. Sagittarius Squadron
78. S-1 in the Fold
79. Virginia, Backwoods
80. S-3 on Gravdrive
81. Base Primo
82. Virginia, Backwoods
83. P-1, the Perseus Arm
84. White House, Oval Office
85. P-1 at Pardamax d.
86. Orion Squadron Disperses
87. Base Secondo
88. Base Primo
89. S-3 Toward Osarus System
90. Base Primo
91. S-3 in Osarus Orbit
92. Base Primo
93. Osarus c.
94. Base Primo
95. Osarus c.
96. Base Primo
97. Osarus c.
98. Base Primo
AUTHOR’S NOTE
ABOUT D. C. MACEY
BOOKS BY D.C. MACEY
Chapter 1. The Minch
Jamie pressed his chest gently on the wheel; steadying himself against the rhythmic motion of the launch as it ploughed through the rolling emptiness of the Minch. Ahead, the Outer Hebrides stood silhouetted against the setting sun. Gull cries and the muffled growl of the launch’s engine mingled with the regular swish of prow cutting wave – a familiar, comfortable soundscape.
For a moment, his gaze dropped, focusing on the foredeck. Steph stood at the prow, leaning forward, her hair flying free in the breeze. Then his eyes resumed their scan of the islands ahead, searching out landmarks as his mind slipped into a familiar track.
He had more than a decade of service behind him. Combat duty in the Middle East and Asia, peacekeeping duties in Africa, and a raft of humanitarian missions to every blighted corner. He was, in the words of his commanding officer, a seasoned frontline helicopter pilot.
A pilot who woke up one day to find he didn’t want to do his job any more. Not frightened, just didn’t want to do it.
‘Combat fatigue. Take a break; you’ll be fine. You’ll be back,’ said the medical officer.
Jamie had taken the break and wasn’t sure he’d be going back. Perhaps now was the time for something new.
The Hebrides were nearer now, and he could just make out a small shape separating from the silhouette of the larger islands – Reahlagh. He pointed and called toward Steph through the open wheelhouse door. ‘There it is. Reahlagh! Last refuge of the clan MacAulay! Well, our strand of the family anyway.’
Steph was spellbound. A little bay, its mouth guarded by rocky teeth. A green hill rising behind the beach to cast a protective arc about its golden sand. Between the beach and hill, a narrow stretch of grazing land punctuated by a handful of cottages, byres, and a workshop; set at the foot of the hill was an imposing old house. A traditional Scottish keep with high little windows and a crenellated parapet fringing the rooftop. Set to one corner of the roof was a stubby tower.
‘It’s beautiful! Why have you never brought any of us here before?’ shouted Steph.
In the cockpit, Jamie shrugged. This was his place, his retreat. He looked ahead, trying hard to avoid admiring Steph’s figure which was suddenly silhouetted as the sinking sun shone through her summer dress. ‘Oh, I don’t know. No streetlights, no shops, I didn’t think it would appeal to a city girl.’
Strictly speaking, Reahlagh belonged to his elder brother, Rory, the laird of Reahlagh, and laird of other more fashionable estates on the mainland too. However, Rory stuck mostly to his Edinburgh townhouse. He was a merchant banker and lover of good things, expensive cars, and fine restaurants. For most of the year he stayed well away, leaving Reahlagh to Jamie and its own devices.
‘We’ll be ashore in a few minutes,’ said Jamie. He noted Steph’s wave as she turned again to face Reahlagh.
Close friends since their university days, but just that. She and their city friends often teased him about his mystery island, his haven. Jamie thought back to their first meeting, fourteen, fifteen years before – fresher’s week, a chaotic, drink-soaked introduction. From that first meeting it was clear they were opposites yet drawn together. She was pushy, enquiring; he, quiet, assured.
Steph joined him in the wheelhouse. ‘This is heaven,’ she said.
‘I like it,’ said Jamie. He knew she never spent any time away from the city, had never shown much inclination to do so. At work, she was by far her university’s youngest professor, leading a cutting-edge computer science team. Off-duty, she made no secret of her preference for the gym over the countryside.
He turned his attention back to the sea, focused on avoiding the guarding fringe of rocks while manoeuvring the launch toward the mouth of Reahlagh’s little bay.
It was less than a week since she’d decided he needed her moral support. When she had announced her plans to visit him on Reahlagh, their friends had been surprised, and he had grumbled, made polite excuses. She came anyway.
They were in the lee of the land now and the sea stilled. The calm water reached out a welcome from the little island.
Suddenly the gulls were gone and a movement low in the northern sky caught Jamie’s eye. An object he didn’t recognise was moving quickly south; he puzzled for a moment, then saw two more objects, following, matching the first’s pace and direction: Typhoons. His eyes automatically scanned the sky; he smiled as two more jets came into sight, closing fast.
‘This should be fun,’ he said, pointing toward the approaching aircraft, ‘I think it’s an intercept exercise.’
Steph looked toward the converging planes. ‘What’s that for?’
‘Just practise.’ He continued to watch, flipping his gaze back and forth between approaching aircraft and the nearing rocky outcrops. ‘Those two are Typhoons, British. The others are American, F-35s. Carrier based, maybe, or from one of the US airbases in England.’
‘What are they chasing?’ said Steph.
‘I don’t know.’ He looked more closely, struggling to recognise the target. ‘It’s not a drone; the way it’s manoeuvring, it must have a pilot on board.’ The strange aircraft was closing fast, much nearer now.
Suddenly, the Typhoons pulled up and away as the American jets swept in. Jamie and Steph ducked, forced down in an involuntary response to the roar of jet engines as the Americans passed low overhead. They looked up in time to see the American jets each fire a pair of missiles and fly on to quickly disappear over the crest of Reahlagh’s low hill. The target dipped and swerved to avoid the oncoming missiles.
‘What the hell are you doing? You’ve shot him!’ shouted Jamie, into the roaring sound trail of the vanished fighters. Steph looked stunned for a moment then screamed angrily after them too.
The target dipped again and almost paused in mid-flight, seemed to defy the laws of gravity and motion as the first American missile flashed past it.
‘Missed! Great flying,’ said Jamie. ‘But what the hell are you?’ He didn’t recognise the craft, didn’t understand how it could manoeuvre the way it did.
The craft dipped again as the second missile fizzed harmlessly past. Then it pulled up and back in a desperate attempt to avoid the third and fourth missiles – too late. At close proximity, the missiles exploded; the craft bucked, rolled, and tumbled toward the sea. As it fell, a capsule ejected, dropping between the launch and the falling wreckage. Both Jamie and Steph stood in stunned silence.
Then, spinning the wheel over, Jamie headed the launch toward the bobbing capsule. ‘Come on, we’ll see if there are any survivors.’
‘What just happened, Jamie?’
Jamie didn’t answer. He was focused on the capsule that bobbed in the water ahead of them, and on the nature of the craft he had just seen downed.
‘Jamie, what was that? What’s it all about?’ Steph shook his arm. ‘Jamie! Speak to me!’
‘I don’t know. But some poor pilot’s in the water. We’ve got to get him out.’
She fell silent, waited as Jamie took a moment to scan the sky for more jets; it was empty, for now.
Their attention turned back to the sea; a little way beyond the floating capsule, the surface suddenly boiled, signalling a seabed explosion and the end of the downed craft.
Jamie took the way off the launch as it closed on the capsule. He leaned over the side, trying to identify the object. Egg-shaped, something over three metres long, and it seemed to have no openings or handles.
‘We can’t do anything here,’ he said. Moving to the launch’s stern locker, he pulled out a large cargo net. ‘We’ll pull it ashore, whatever it is.’
Securing one corner of the net to the boat’s starboard quarter, he cast the others across the egg. Methodically prodding and dragging at the net with a boat hook, one by one he worked the free-floating corners beneath the egg and drew them back into the boat. He secured all the net’s corners before hurrying back to the cockpit. There he began to manoeuvre the launch and its tow slowly across the bay and on toward the jetty.
In the distance, he saw the two Typhoons circling round to assess the outcome of the American strike. Then, amidst a sudden roar, the American jets passed overhead again. Jamie leant out of the cockpit door and shook his fist at the jets, but they were already past. The pilots would never have seen his gesture. Then silence and an empty sky.
Chapter 2. Reahlagh
Jamie and Steph looked down from the stone breakwater to where the launch now rocked gently at its moorings. Behind the launch, the egg bobbed, its movement deadened by the weight of the net around it.
‘What is it?’ said Steph.
‘I don’t know. I thought it was some new ejection device. But close up, I’m not so sure.’ Jamie squatted and reached his hand down to touch the egg. ‘It’s made of a lightweight material, really buoyant, but tough. I’ve never seen anything like it, but then I’ve never seen anything fly like it either – fast as a jet, manoeuvrable as a helicopter. But whatever it is, the authorities … the Americans, don’t like it.’
Jamie stood and turned toward a sound. In the encroaching twilight, an older, craggy man, faced them.
He stepped onto the breakwater. ‘It’s yourself, Master Jamie,’ he said, his voice slow and clear.
‘Gordon! It’s good to see you,’ said Jamie. Then he gestured toward the older man. ‘Steph, meet Gordon Murray; he manages the estate.’
Steph smiled at Gordon; he nodded back then looked impassively down at the launch then into the sea behind it.
‘Mrs Murray and I heard an explosion.’ For a moment, his words seemed to hang in the air – at once a statement of fact and a question. ‘What’s that you’ve netted?’ he said quietly.
Both men stood in silence, looking down at the capsule. Jamie sensed Steph’s gaze on him. Glancing at her, he could see the tension in her face and knew she was full of questions to which he had no answers, yet. With a little shrug Jamie returned his attention to the egg.
‘For God’s sake!’ she said. ‘We’ve just seen this shot down for who knows why! Missiles! It’s madness! And the pair of you are mulling it over like a, like a … oh, I don’t know!’
Gordon Murray raised an eyebrow. Just a little movement, over-scoring a piercing stare.
‘What?’ said Steph. Suddenly uncomfortable under Gordon’s gaze, she glanced back to Jamie, seeking support. The old man’s eyes still watched her. ‘What?’
They all stood, unmoving for a long moment. Then Jamie broke the silence. ‘Let’s get this thing moved. Gordon, get the quad bike and trailer, please. I’ll get a block and tackle rigged to lift it out of the water.’ Gordon left silently. Steph, freed from his stare, moved to stand close to Jamie.
He looked at her. ‘They don’t like blasphemy. It’s not the way here.’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Steph, not seeing.
Just as Jamie had observed, the egg was remarkably light. They quickly hoisted it up and onto the trailer, ready for transport up to the big house.
Once there, Jamie and Gordon carefully carried the capsule through the heavy double doors and into the hall where electric lights displaced the evening’s twilight to finally give them a clear view of the object.
‘Now, let’s have a look at you,’ said Jamie, kneeling beside it and gently running his fingers over the surface, tracing its contours.
A door opened at the far end of the hall and an older woman bustled through. Steph caught a glimpse of a great cooking range, then she was hit by the smells of hot food and brewing coffee that followed the old woman into the hall.
Short and round and full of smiles, Jeanie Murray hurried toward them. With only a passing glance at the capsule, she greeted Steph. ‘Come in, my dear, come in.’ Her protective arm went around Steph as she glared at Gordon and Jamie. ‘What are the pair of you thinking? Bring the young lady into the warm. And has she no bag? Gordon, away and fetch it! As for you, Master Jamie, what’s this great nonsense you’re bringing in now?’
She glanced at the capsule then back to Jamie. Her telling look delivered a simple message; it was clear she regarded this egg as the current nonsense. Some boy’s toy which would probably create more mess. A stern look made clear that it had better not!
Jamie looked up from beside the capsule and grinned. He stretched out a hand to squeeze hers. ‘Jeanie, this is my friend Steph, Steph Simpson. Steph, meet Mrs Murray, known as Jeanie to everyone. She runs the house and cares for us all.’
Steph felt the arm around her shoulder tighten just a little.
‘Yes. And your friend will catch her death waiting for you to bring her into the warm. Come away with me, Steph, we’ll get you warm in the kitchen.’ As she spoke, Jeanie pressed lightly on Steph’s shoulder, attempting to turn and guide her toward the kitchen. Steph resisted.
Jeanie let her go with a laugh. ‘You’re as determined as him.’ She waved toward Jamie. ‘I’ll bring your hot drinks out here. You can eat when you’re ready.’ With a parting glare at the egg, she was gone, her final words rushing back toward them from the closing kitchen door. ‘And don’t be making a mess in my hall, Master Jamie.’
Half an hour passed, and nothing. The capsule was sealed and showed no sign of giving up its secrets. Completely smooth to the touch, no signs, no writing, it was impenetrable.
Jamie sat back, his mug of coffee cold beside him. ‘I don’t know – it’s got me beat. Let’s eat; we’ll try again later,’ he said.
