Chapter 13

Early October, the same year

After the long conversation with his friend Paul Wilson and erstwhile subordinate Dave “Jacko” Jackson, it had taken Toby Lake a month to get from Poole in Dorset, on the south coast to Dundee on the east coast of Scotland. He had walked most of the way, avoiding Leeds by travelling up the west side of the Pennines, the mountain range that formed a central spine up the northern part of England. He had spent nearly a week in Cumbria, the Lake District, trying to track someone down, but in the end he had missed his target; and rather than head south again after him, decided to continue his journey north. Having got to Carlisle on the England Scotland border, he had caught a train to Glasgow, but from there had walked again.

Once in Dundee he had made cautious contact with a couple of people he knew in Four-Five Commando, Royal Marines, and a couple of hours later was settled in a large country house in a very rural area of Deeside.

In the fifteen months since then, he had been training people, training them to fight and to survive; to live on their wits and to stay below the radar when they were in public places. He was good at it as well. Discreet enquiries in the Leeds and Bradford area had revealed that there was no manhunt for him, but still he had not visited his home area again.

It was the end of a long day and Toby, was standing outside, watching the setting sun. It was just 18:30 and it had been a beautiful day so far, but he hadn’t yet finished his working day. He took a deep breath, revelling in the peace of the quiet countryside, the rolling hills and woods, the streams and rivers, and the abundance of wildlife. The trees had just started to change colour, but it would be another week or two before the trees were really in their full autumn colours. He became aware of soft footsteps on the grass sward behind him, and his heart dropped as he realised they were heading purposefully in his direction.

“Sir?”

He sighed softly. He had been hoping for a bit longer to himself, just to relax before the evening session started. Turning, he nodded to the young man who had paused about six feet away. “Clive?”

“I’ve been asked to give you this, Sir, then to wait until you have finished.” Clive handed over a mobile phone then withdrew about fifteen feet, out of earshot of a casual conversation.

Toby looked at it. It was connected. “Hello?” he said cautiously.

“Is that Steve Dish?” asked a soft, female, voice.

“Er, who’s calling?”

“Ah well, now there’s a question. I’m actually not going to tell you.”

Toby frowned, and was about to cut the call off when the soft voice continued. “I’m sorry about that, but I hope you can understand the need for security.” It was a statement not a question.

“So who are you?”

The person on the other end of the phone knew he wasn’t asking her name this time, but instead asking a more general question that included why she was calling him. “I have a job for you.”

“I’ve got a job,” Toby said sharply. “An important job.”

“Yes, you have, but this is more important. Now you are needed to go out and actually do what you are training other people to do.”

“About time,” Toby muttered.

The soft voice gave a tinkle of laughter. “Yes, but we want you to do something slightly different.”

“Oh?”

There was a pause. “We don’t want you to join one of the underground units, the Maquis is it? We want you to be a bit more independent.”

“Why?” asked Toby suspiciously.

There was another pause. “You are being transferred.”

“Transferred? To where? ... Oh. You mean transferred between organisations, not just transferred somewhere else?”

“Yes. We want you to come and work for us. With us.”

“Who are you?”

“We are ... we are ... a small department that... , hmm, this is slightly difficult to explain. I don’t know if you’re aware, but when the Confederacy, the aliens, first approached Earth, contacted someone on Earth, I mean; for what was superficially very good reasons they initially approached first the Chinese government, then the UN.”

“Why the Chinese?” Asked Toby, slightly surprised.

“Well, from their point of view it was entirely logical. The Chinese population is the largest, and that area of the world is the most densely populated. They naturally assumed that meant it must be the most important. Possibly even the capital of Earth. For a few months, it’s not clear how long, the Chinese strung them along, and we believe they got maybe a quarter of a million people, slightly less probably, off the Earth. The Alien’s were not stupid however and began to realise something was amiss, so they cast around and eventually went to the United Nations.

“This was a far more logical and sensible target, or should have been, but unfortunately the UN Secretary General at the time was distracted by his wife being in the terminal stages of cancer, and also by various political problems, both inside and outside of the UN. Negotiating with the Confederacy fell to a couple of his deputies who were, shall we say, slightly less than scrupulous.

“At the lower levels the UN is a very effective and worthwhile organisation, but at the top levels politics often gets in the way of getting anything useful done, and with the General Secretary distracted...”

“So what’s all this got to do with me?” interrupted Toby, by now thoroughly confused. He was also getting a touch irritated. He was busy and had better things to do than to learn a bit of Confederacy history. Especially as he couldn’t see how it was relevant to him.

“Well, the Confederacy and the UN negotiated an agreement as to what the Confederacy was allowed to do on Earth, and, of course, what it wasn’t allowed to do. Most importantly, it, the Confederacy, is not allowed to bring troops down to Earth, except to collect people who want to leave. Officially, once someone has left and gone to join the Confederacy, according to that agreement, they are not allowed back again.”

“Okaaaay, but...” Toby was about to ask again why he needed to know all this, but instead decided to ask something else. “Was that ban put in place by the Confederacy side or the Human side?”

“The UN negotiators specified that. Now a few months after that, weeks actually,” Toby got the impression that the person he was talking to was being prompted, “the Confederacy decided to go to Europe. In actual fact they visited the NATO military headquarters in Europe, where they spoke to a number of very high ranking military personnel, most of whom were American, but also others as well, including British. From that moment on, the USA was directly involved. More agreements were worked out, but at the end of the day the original UN negotiated agreement pretty much remained in place. The initial effect of the US being involved was that the Confederacy now has a large Earth based office, about a block away from the head quarters of the NYPD. That aside, they, we, are still pretty much only allowed on Earth during collections.”

“We? You’re Confederacy?”

“Yes.”

“So why ... Ah. You need me to be your spokesman here or something?”

“No. Crumbs no.” She laughed, but Toby had finally placed her accent. It was a very soft Welsh accent. Not North Wales, nor The Valleys. Most likely Cardiff or its immediate surrounds. Alternatively, possibly somewhere on the English Welsh border. He remembered back to about six months after he had arrived in Dundee. A young Welshman had come to see him. He, and the people he had been staying with, had been given help and advice, and from that moment on he had become Steve Dish. Not Steven or any other variation, but Steve.

“So what then?”

“Well, I am a part of a small organisation within the Confederacy, specifically within intelligence, that has been tasked with opposing elements of the Human population that directly target us or people who support us.”

“Opposing?” Toby said, slightly sardonically. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? In any case, isn’t that what I’m already doing?”

“Yes, you are, but we want you to do something subtly different.”

“Of course,” muttered Toby. “What?”

“We want you to go after the real nasty elements. Not the ones who have joined the Truth and Freedom party, not the ones who have joined the Patrol. Other people will be doing that. We want you to go after the ones who haven’t joined. The Confederacy deniers and specifically what we term the Confederacy opponents. Specifically the ones who are actively killing people.”

“Okaaaay,” said Toby slowly, but the other person was not finished.

“For the most part, the Confederacy deniers will have joined Truth and Freedom. It’s a logical place for most of them to be. It’s the opponents we are more worried about.”

“Go on.”

“These are generally people who believe the Confederacy is real, but vehemently and violently oppose it for a number of different reasons. Emphasis being on the violence.”

“Let me guess,” said Toby. “Because they can’t go?”

There was another gentle laugh. “Yes. Partly. Some of them will indeed have too low a CAP score, most of them however have never been tested. They oppose for different reasons.”

“Such as?”

“Well, some believe that all should go, not just some. They believe it’s some sort of eugenics program, and they’re on the ‘wrong side’. Others believe that it’s the Confederacy that’s bringing the Swarm and if they can push the Confederacy away, the Swarm will follow them. Still others believe that the Swarm don’t exist and that the alien Confederacy is itself the enemy. They believe the Confederacy, the aliens, are trying to take humans as slaves, maybe as janissaries, slave soldiers, or maybe just to reduce the Earth’s population so that they can invade Earth. Then you have those that believe that the Confederacy doesn’t need us. After all, they say, we don’t have the knowledge or skills to go and fight in space. For the most part, the latter group are less of an issue.”

“I can see all of those reasons,” sighed Toby. He had heard many of these ‘reasons’ and related ones, many times before.

“Yep. And there are more. Organised religion is pretty much banned in the Confederacy. Faith isn’t, but organised religion is.

“Then you have those who are against us because they would not be able to make a profit, to get rich, or more accurately, richer, if they were collected. They don’t want to be soldiers, they want to make money. There is no money-making business in the Human confederacy. In that one sense, business is banned.”

“How can business be banned?” Demanded Toby.

“Well it’s not banned as such, but there’s no money. You cannot buy anything. Instead you can get, pretty much anything and everything material you want or need from replicators. And if you can’t get it, it’s because the replicators have not been taught how to make it, not, for the most part, because you are not allowed it.”

“I guess from that,” Toby chuckled, “that some things are banned? Guns maybe?”

“Weapons in general, yes. Troops on duty get issued stingers, a bit like electric stun guns, during collection and transport of colonists; combat troops get issued weapons, of course, but apart from that, pretty much no. Really, the only things actually banned are anything that could be considered dangerous or ridiculous. No drugs, no tobacco, limited alcohol and often only not very nice alcohol. I believe that was a limitation put in place by the original UN negotiators that never got repealed.”

“Fair enough. So it’s not that business has been banned, so much as that it has no basis for, well, existing I guess.”

“Exactly. But of course some opponents see that as banning it, and therefore oppose the Confederacy because they would not be able to make a profit.”

“Ah. I see.”

“But that’s often an adjunct to other reasons anyway.” She took a deep breath and started again. “On the other hand, you can trade. My sister is an artist. She trades pieces of her work. There are full blown orchestras on the moon. Theatre shows. Operas and ballet or modern dancing. There is a full entertainment sector that does a roaring trade. Restaurants that do specialised food in more ‘romantic’ settings, or simply food you may know nothing about. People trade tickets for any or all of those.”

“Wow! How the hell did an orchestra ... oh, hang on... , does that mean you’ve been to the moon? You’ve seen them?”

“Yes.”

“How? Why?”

“Well, concubines need something to do. So any that have a talent are approached, or at least their sponsor is, and asked if they would like to take part. Most jump at the opportunity. We have tribute bands for just about every act from ABBA through to ZZ-Top, from the nineteen-thirties and Louis Armstrong, Duke Ellington or Glen Miller, through to the fifties and Elvis, Marty Wilde, Buddy Holly, the sixties and the Beatles, Rolling Stones, the seventies and Queen,” Toby could hear her winding down. “I’m struggling now. Pick an era. Pick a style. There are bands to recreate the sound. Bands and singers to both emulate the sounds, and in tribute to...”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” laughed Toby. “These are all to keep people occupied.”

“Yes, but also to entertain. People work hard and often in a very dangerous environment, so they need to relax properly.” She gave another laugh. “Work hard, play hard! You might be surprised to find out just how quickly sex can become boring. Especially if there really is nothing else to do. So people trade for tickets for shows. Trade artwork. Trade souvenirs from fights with the Swarm. I’ve started to hear rumours that there are weapons taken from the swarm in fights in and around a system called Tulakat.”

“Hang on, why would you trade tickets? You just need to go and get them.”

“Some are scarce. Not enough tickets for the number of people who want to watch a show. You want a ticket to see one of the best of the Queen or Bon Jovi tribute bands? To see an Elvis, Buddy Holly or The Beatles? Apply, your name goes in the hat, then when applications close if there’s too many names, there’s a lottery. Maybe you’ll get a ticket. But hang on, maybe there’s another show that you’d far rather see, that you couldn’t get a ticket for. So you try and trade. Or maybe for work reasons, you just cannot go. So you trade it away for a ticket to a show you can go to. Or, as in my sister’s case, you trade a piece of artwork for a ticket.”