I could no longer win in my battle to stem Cadma's religious arguments.

I’d been an atheist since I was thirteen, much to my mother's annoyance, but Cadma had made me look at religion in an even more radical and critical manner. When entire civilisations, millions of years older than any on Earth, dismissed all belief as the invention of primitive peoples, it was difficult to retain any sympathy for people who believed in omnipotent deities today.

I told him, 'I can't believe I'm saying this to a near immortal being, but you need to give the world time. Don't be too hard on us or you’ll be just as responsible for hardening religious belief. They’ll unite together against a common enemy. You put yourself in danger. You saw how the Archbishop was able to swat down your questions.'

'Yes. I can see that, but if I remain silent, humanity will remain warlike, greedy, and selfish for longer. I must speak out. The lack of trust shown by the leaders of this powerful nation is such a disappointment. If they are so much in denial, how long will it take the more primitive, less well educated and more radical religious countries to change? I will, however, concentrate less on religion and more on the harmful politics and natures I see in your world.'

'As I say, you’re putting yourself in danger. Try not to cause animosity. Win the human race over by stealth, not by lecturing us.'

'It will be hard to harm me, Evelyn, but I do fear for you being caught up in any attempt.'

I shrugged.

««o»»

It was amazing to be participating in something which I’d seen on television so often. I was in Congress and it was about to be addressed by, was I being hypocritical using the phrase, an honest-to-God alien. Of course, I was a little awestruck to be inside this theatre of power with a visitor from another world. I’d remember the experience forever as I was sure it’d be unique for me. After seeing Cadma's new speech, I was equally certain he’d never be invited back either.

What he was going to say would reverberate around the world. When he’d passed his revised speech to me, I’d made every effort to persuade him to soften his language and, to a small degree, he had. The meaning, however, had been retained. My influence was small and Cadma was his own person. His speech wasn’t going to go down well in America, nor would it be liked by the hawks, xenophobic and religious groups, and many individuals elsewhere. Cadma was about to make mankind take a hard look at its long-held attitudes and beliefs, and I knew the religious and many political authorities wouldn’t ever accept what he said. Now it became clear to me why he didn’t want any country to be tainted by his opinions.

Cadma's future on Earth after he’d completed lambasting humanity worried me. On the far side of the hall I saw two more of those armoured police with the huge weapons and guessed there were more on this side. What were these weapons? Had the US military discovered a way of piercing Cadma's body?

I feared for his life. At best, I feared he’d be ostracised. I feared he might even be exiled back to his lonely vigil orbiting dead Mars. How would the people of the world react to this alien criticising them? It promised to be interesting indeed. It would become part of world history. I’d hate to lose my alien friend as I’d grown genuinely fond of him, but his banishment was a real possibility. Would the Prime Minister stand by him in Britain where he'd been offered the permanent residence at Goonhilly? Cadma hadn’t yet had his audience with our Prime Minister. How would Mr Clarke react to what we were about to hear? Would he still be allowed to speak to the UN later in the year?

The Speaker finished his introduction, talking in glowing terms about the importance of our first alien contact. How would he feel by the time Cadma had finished?

Cadma incongruously floated down the central aisle to the main dais and turned to face the members. A hush fell over the hall and he spoke quietly but clearly in his perfect English.

'Mr President, Mr Speaker, Senators, Members of Congress, ladies and gentlemen of this Joint Session of the United States Congress, honoured guests, I am grateful for the opportunity you have afforded me to address you.

'I had my speech ready to deliver, but events last night have caused me to revise my words. While accommodated as guests of your government, in our hotel suite we found six concealed microphones and three hidden cameras, two of which were in Dame Doctor Evelyn Slater's bathroom and bedroom. To say I was shocked and disappointed would be an understatement.' He paused for effect.

There was an immediate buzz of chatter around the chamber including distinct calls of 'shame' and 'disgraceful'.

'This and other matters have caused me to make changes to what I wanted to say to you and to the world. The people of the Earth would be wise to spend some time considering the incongruity between their words and behaviour.

'More than a hundred million years ago, my people sent a thousand and twenty-four of me in a single ship to orbit planets in neighbouring star systems. This was the third of many planned missions, each heading in different directions.

'Our sole purpose was to make contact wherever we found intelligent beings or the potential for such beings in the future. Once contact was established, we were to fulfil our mission by dedicating our existence to helping those people if we were able. We recognised, of course, that many civilisations might be more advanced than us, but we would still have offered help and would hope to learn from them. We were also to invite each intelligent species back to our world if a way were found to travel so far. Sadly, even this tiny corner of the galaxy is a huge place. Ships like my mother ship can approach the speed of light, but it is as nothing compared with the size of our galaxy, let alone our universe.

'We had no idea how we'd be received by other intelligences, but I admit to having been shocked and gravely disappointed when I have seen people shouting hatred at me and showing placards calling for me to leave. My friend, Dame Evelyn, had her partner murdered by fanatics who equated me with your mythical devil. She was almost killed herself in the attack and remains disabled to this day. Most humans I have met do not wish me ill, but a powerful minority seem to be unable to think or act in a civilised manner.

'On my world and on Carpellum, another world with two intelligent species, there is no xenophobic hatred, nor war, nor this thing you call religion. We have never had all of the conflicts and terrorism which have arisen from those invented beliefs on this planet. I can't say we abhor violence, because, if we ever experienced it, it is lost in our prehistory, so it is an alien concept. On Carpellum there is violence when animals eat animals, but not among thinking people since they became intelligent eons previously. When I first referenced the word murder in a dictionary, I could hardly believe what it meant. My people have no equivalent term and only ancient Carpellum stories make any reference to it on their planet. It is not something intelligent beings do. Why would any intelligent creature wish to take the precious and irreplaceable life of another?

'When I thought on this question, it did not take long to realise that only beings who have an irrational belief that life might not be irreplaceable, would be capable of destroying it. The belief in souls, resurrection, and an afterlife could be the only excuse for not appreciating the uniqueness and preciousness of each person's life.

'I have been cautioned not to include religion within my speeches, but yesterday I was in the Oval Office and had to suffer the ignominy of your elected leader disbelieving that I had arrived in your solar system one hundred million years ago. It is incredible for me to understand how the intelligent people who surround me in this great assembly room can believe the universe was only created six thousand years ago, when the evidence that it is untrue is hovering before them. It is patently ludicrous and those who believe such nonsense are an aberration.'

At his calling the President an aberration, I heard a growing muttering and build-up of conversation occurring around the hall. I’d told Cadma that even members of political opposition groups wouldn’t be happy to hear their president besmirched. The Speaker was in dialogue with his aides and the President's party were passing messages to and from the Speaker. What was going to transpire?

Cadma continued unabashed. 'I have brought you many wonders from my world. They have been offered freely. In fact, in this very room, I notice you are already using the polarisation of electricity in some of your devices. I know the fuel which I use is changing your transport industries and space exploration beyond recognition, and this polarised magnetism which allows me to rise and fall without touching the ground will soon change your world still further.'

For effect, Cadma lifted himself about an extra metre into the air then returned to his normal twenty-two centimetres.

'These gifts are for the betterment of all. I have other gifts, mainly of knowledge, which will improve your lives, removing starvation and disease through improved diet. You will soon be able to scan yourselves for cancers long before they become threatening and life expectancy will almost double during the rest of this century. All because of our gifts to you.

'What I hoped was for you to accept me as a person. The fact my body is electronic rather than flesh and blood changes nothing. I am still a living, thinking, intelligent being. I came to you with goodwill, generosity, and friendship. But here on Earth I find a species which lies to itself and its fellow beings, thinks nothing of killing them en masse during wars, incubates hate against anything different, and yet has acquired the technology to destroy itself and the already misused environment of its world. I see such enormous wealth in countries like this one and those in Europe yet read of children starving to death in others. How can you live with yourselves for allowing this?’ He paused for some fifteen seconds to let that question resonate.

'How do I help you if you will not help yourselves, particularly when distrust and hatred is targeted at me personally? The American secret service only needed to ask to learn about my motives and mission. They did not need to bug our suite. I am an open book. Covert surveillance is the most gross of insults and I am disappointed by the action.'

Again, the volume of conversation rose substantially, but died quickly away as Cadma continued. 'During the first diplomatic meeting with your people on board the Cluster, I discovered a nuclear device which would have destroyed not only me but all of the diplomats and scientists within many miles. It was there because of the suspicion and paranoia you have for anything different from you. Your very first assumption was that I might be a threat. How sad is that?

'During my meeting with President Gorelov a hugely powerful laser was directed at me and here you have soldiers carrying weapons which could perhaps destroy me, but in so doing would kill everyone within ten metres of me!'

Those people sitting near Cadma's position looked around themselves in a worried manner. A few even stood and moved further back. Cadma waited for them to settle down.

'I find you are so suspicious of me you needed to bug our hotel suite and invade the privacy of Dame Evelyn's bathroom. What did you want to discover which I was not prepared to tell you freely as part of my mission to offer friendship and knowledge to another intelligent culture?'

The Speaker stood and tapped his microphone. 'Mr Nsyncadma, a moment, if you will.'

Cadma increased his volume, not excessively but by enough to ensure the Speaker and audience were under no illusion he would allow himself to be interrupted. 'Mr Speaker, I have almost finished.

'Your species leaves me in a quandary. How can I interact with beings to whom I have given so much and offered to give so much more, when those entities treat me and each other with disrespect and, in some cases, with downright hatred?

'I do not have the fuel to leave your world. I committed to helping you before I ever met you. It was part of my mission. Perhaps, in a thousand or a million years you will change and come to see me and others of your people differently. Maybe I should seek your help to depart and hibernate on the surface of your moon until the human race can behave in a truly civilised manner, or perhaps destroy itself and allow some new intelligent species to evolve in its place.

'I thank you all for giving me the right to have my say but I will leave this place now in great sadness. I would like you and your people to consider what I have had to say but must admit to having little expectation that humankind will change its ways for a very long time indeed.

'I have never experienced fear, but I do experience apprehension. Currently, a foreboding is growing within me and it will soon become a dread that my very existence might be threatened by your paranoia. I have a real anxiety about Dame Evelyn's safety because she is my friend and confidante and is usually close to me. Will your paranoia as a species also put her in danger? I would so like to help you but fear my words fall upon deaf ears. Thank you.'

A seemingly stunned silence overcame the room. It was followed by a stuttering applause which grew, faded away, grew once more and increased substantially as people observed who was applauding and joined in. It was a majority, but only a small majority of the people present. It was not unanimous, and people seemed confused as to whether they should be applauding or booing. In my opinion, his speech had been courageous and truthful. Only people in denial could take it as antagonistic or unfair.

The President and his entourage stomped out of the hall, while the Speaker thanked Cadma for giving them all an interesting, philosophical, but alien perspective on the world.

We tried to leave but found ourselves surrounded by people praising Cadma for his honest and forthright views. Others pointedly took alternative exits, and one or two were derogatory to us as they squeezed past the blockage we were unintentionally creating.

Our Rolls Royce was outside. We entered it and it sped away to the hotel.

««o»»

In our suite, we watched the television coverage of Cadma's speech. Various political commentators were interviewed, and the criticism varied from those who thought it was disgraceful that this alien considered he had the right to criticise America, to those who were adamant that Cadma was a danger to the world and should be either destroyed or 'made-safe' as if he were some errant mechanical device. There were, of course, many who agreed with Cadma and were horrified at how we’d been treated, but the media seemed to prefer the concept of an angry alien berating America rather than an abused alien trying to teach the world that there’s a better way.

'Evelyn, notice how they talk about destroying me, not killing me. These people are positioning themselves to be able to justify treating me as a malfunctioning machine rather than a living creature.

'Also, see how they criticise me for criticising America. I didn’t. I was criticising humankind.'

'You did criticise them for bugging you and the President for his beliefs.’

'I suppose so, but I was not berating the people of the USA.'

'Oh, Cad, you know how I tried to stop you from making the changed speech. For a diplomat, you were pretty undiplomatic you know.'

'But what I said was true and how they have treated me, indeed us, is despicable. Even those who seem to want to understand me have an underlying distrust of my motives, like your Mr Clarke and the Russian President.'

'Cadma, I don't know where we go from here. There’ll be consequences.'

'Yes, there will. I guess they will think about what I have said before acting though. You have my place ready for me at Goonhilly?'

'We do.'

'Let us leave here and go there as soon as possible. I will need to protect myself and you and your people once I am there.'

I was suddenly worried he’d been dishonest. 'Protect us? You don't have weapons, Cadma, or do you?' Even I suffered the human paranoia.

'No, you of all people should know I don't, but my sensors have capabilities to stop certain electromagnetic functions in devices and will be a great help. I will not have you endangered by your proximity to me.'

'You saw those huge guns the security people had here?'

'Yes. They could certainly have hurt me, but I disabled them.'

'Cadma, let's talk on this when we get to Goonhilly. First however, you must visit the Prime Minister in Downing Street. I’m sure you’ll receive a warm welcome there. You already know he’s a listening leader from the matter of the device attached to the Cluster, which he agreed to disarm.'

'Yes, we will meet him but my presence in his home will endanger him too.'

'British people are pretty resourceful, Cadma. Have no fear, our military will ensure he and you are safe while we’re there. You’ll be protected from foreign powers. It’s the terrorists and fanatics who’ll offer the most danger.'

'But do you not understand, dear Evelyn, no military presence should be needed? The potential violence of both the aggressors and defenders is infantile, not worthy of intelligent people.'

'Yes, I know.' What more could I say?

I slept uneasily. My leg, abdomen, and shoulders were all sore and I'd failed to do my physiotherapy, yet again.

««o»»

The next morning, our car drove us to the airport past cheering supporters and smaller numbers of angry mobs. Cadma told me it showed he was more popular than unpopular, but I pointed out it only took one fanatic to spark off an attempt on his existence.

I knew British Airways had been extremely diligent in checking everything to do with our flights. To add to this, Cadma scanned every piece of luggage and technical equipment on board to satisfy himself there was nothing untoward installed or hidden on the plane.

There were only a few security officers, diplomats, and the press contingent flying back to the United Kingdom, so not a large complement. Once we were in the air, Cadma moved back towards the other passengers and asked them about their jobs, families, hopes, and aspirations.

I sat to one side and listened with admiration to his kind and interested manner with people who obviously meant him no harm. This was a different personality to the one who’d addressed the American Congress. This Cadma made friends easily and fascinated his audience. It was a joy to witness how well he socialised even with the press, who weren’t always the most likable individuals.

I returned to my seat and rested. I was uncomfortable despite the first-class seating. My leg was throbbing, and I vowed to get back into my physiotherapy once I’d returned to Cornwall. Perhaps the Polish fitness trainer would be available to get me back into condition.

Outside the starboard aircraft window, two Royal Air Force Phantom jets were accompanying us. I hadn’t seen them during previous flights.

One of the accompanying British civil servants who was seated near me and had seen the direction of my gaze, said, 'They joined us the moment we left US airspace.'

'Britain is protecting us,' I said.

'Must be a major operation as they'll have been refuelling in mid-air. We're way beyond their normal range.'

Silently, I thanked the Prime Minister for the extra security. Perhaps the UK would make a stand in Cadma's defence.

Our flight was timed to arrive at Heathrow at four in the afternoon and the second Rolls Royce was waiting to take us to Downing Street.

««o»»

The famous front door of Number Ten was too narrow for Cadma so we entered through a rear entrance and, while I used the lift, Cadma stood on end and elevated himself up one of the larger staircases at the back of the building.

Our first meeting was with the Prime Minister and some of the Cabinet in the Cabinet Room. I sat in the corner in some pain and an assistant brought me some water.

The meeting was most amicable. All our ministers were supportive of Cadma's stance in the United States. Unfortunately, it was impossible to be sure who was and who wasn't being sincere. They appeared genuine. Perhaps the British government was going to become Cadma's protector. I hoped so.

However, there was an historic rapport between the USA and Britain, even more so since Britain's exit from the European Union. Nevertheless, the new approaches being made to re-enter the reinvented European group of nations was eroding the transatlantic relationship, but it remained strong. President Parker would’ve been talking to Mr Clarke. He’d have listened, but would he have been at all influenced? I doubted it. Mr Clarke oozed sincerity as far as I was concerned. Every contact I’d had with the man told me I’d be able to rely upon him. Or was I just being naïve.

After the official meeting in the Cabinet Room, which was documented by photographers, Jenny Rae, Roger Clarke, Cadma, and I moved into the lobby area and through into the Prime Minister's office. I noticed the doorway had been specially widened since I’d been there a few months previously.

Much less formally than in the Cabinet Room, the Prime Minister said how delighted he was to meet with Cadma and me.

'I'd like to shake hands with you, Nsyncadma,' he said, 'but of course I can't.'

'You can place your hand on my golden area, Prime Minister. It is full of sensors. I will sense your warmth. You will feel my life. Please do.'

Both Mr Clarke and Mrs Rae stood, approached Cadma and laid their hands onto the appropriate part of the alien device. I knew they were now receiving Cadma's static and vibrations – his hand of friendship.

'I have a connection to you both and offer my sincere friendship to you. You are the only leaders who have wanted to make such a connection. This is also the only place I have been which does not have weapons developed to damage me. Thank you for the trust. Others think of me as a mere machine, but I also have feelings. I know how supportive you have been of me and Evelyn once the unfortunate incident in the Cluster was put behind us.'

'Yes, Nsyncadma, I’m sorry about our device on the Cluster, but we needed to be cautious initially. Also, I must admit the air force is on high alert, but that’s mainly to protect us from any attack upon you.'

'Please call me Cadma. I have grown to like the familiar name.'

'And us Roger and Jenny,' said Mr Clarke as the Home Secretary nodded her approval. 'Evelyn has expressed concerns about your safety when you move to Goonhilly. What can we do to help?'

'As you are aware, Roger, I do not sleep. I can continuously monitor my surroundings for a considerable distance, perhaps four or five miles. I am aware of your air force activity and can see the radar beams criss-crossing London. Similarly, anyone bringing something dangerous within range of my sensors would be noticed. Anything electronic I can disable. Having told you of that ability, I must also admit to having disabled the device on the Cluster long before you gave the order for it not to be used.'

'We didn’t know.'

'It was unnecessary to tell you at the time. Evelyn advised me that it might have exacerbated the suspicion mankind had of me.'

Ha, my friend had dropped me in it to my boss!

'Yes, I see. Evelyn is a very faithful and thoughtful person,' Mr Clarke said.

'So, electronic items are easily disabled. This means I can deal with incoming missiles, but not with their kinetic energy. A missile will still do damage, and this worries me because of the people I will be living and working with at Goonhilly. Although I hate the concept of attack and defence, can you provide any additional protection to deal with physical impacts?'

Jenny Rae said, 'I’ll have General Sir Michael Webb come to visit you at Goonhilly and we'll beef up the defences.'

'I am also unable to detect explosives, only their detonators, and they can be easily concealed. Stronger physical security would be good at the perimeter.'

The meeting eventually moved away from our security and onto a more general question and answer session. Cadma was delighted to talk about his people, their way of life, technology, family relationships, and his people's relationship with their neighbouring world. I don’t know what meetings had to be cancelled, but we seemed to be in the Prime Minister's office for a long time, certainly several hours. By the time we left, the four of us knew each other well, and the rapport was more than encouraging.

It was agreed the people of the Earth could learn much from the openness and honesty of the Dregednons.

Our meeting hadn’t ended until late in the evening and the Rolls set off for the West Country, turning into the Goonhilly complex in the small hours of the morning.

Tim was there to show Cadma his apartment, so I said goodnight and my faithful Jaguar took me home. It had to wake me when we arrived. I snapped on the central heating the moment I got into the house, then collapsed on the sofa and didn't wake until ten o'clock the next morning.

What passed for a government in Libya met in the old palace in the capital. General Khalifa had called the meeting. He was a big man in every sense of the word: a commanding personality, heavily built, tall and aggressive. He’d come to the attention of the military during the long-gone Muammar Gaddafi regime and became increasingly influential. Mindslip morphed him from a well-built forty-year-old Arab into the imposing Black thirty-year-old Ugandan he was today. Once he’d found his way back to Libya, proved his identity, and reclaimed his rank, he swiftly rose to become the country’s leader. There were no challengers. As head of state, he was fair, except when it came to any opposition and, during the last fifteen years, he’d reinvigorated the economy, increased the police force to reduce crime, cut out much of the previously endemic and infamous Libyan corruption, and tourists were returning in droves to visit the nation’s fascinating coastline and inland heritage. The standard of living had improved, and Libya was able to shed its pariah statehood.

His background was curious. Before Mindslip, he was startlingly well educated, obtaining science degrees at Oxford in England and was a post-graduate at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. He then spent four years working in the pharmaceutical industry in Belgium. Fluent in eight languages, while education is never wasted, he had apparently thrown away his academic career when he joined the Gaddafi regime as a lowly lieutenant. His climb was rapid, and his promotions not necessarily obtained through military merit. He’d gathered others around him, and they behaved almost like a mafia within a faction of the late Gaddafi’s military. He never upset his superiors and knew how to endear himself to those who held more power than he did, until, that is, he became more powerful than them and discarded them out of hand. Ruthless was the best descriptive word for his rise. Corrupt until he got to the point where he began to stamp it out in all things Libyan. Genius was the most apt description for his abilities.

Today, his cabinet met in a luxurious, air-conditioned conference room at his palace in Tripoli. From his office, he watched them arriving on a television monitor. They were all hot and sweating, having come in from the forty-eight degree heat of the courtyard where he ensured they were all kept waiting for a sufficient number of minutes to cause stress. The military members dare not loosen their collars and the others wore smart suits and ties, not ideal in the heat. He wanted them hot and bothered when he marched into the meeting room from his ultra-cool office. The last day of the week-long flaring of the sun was always the hottest, so perfect for his agenda. Make them sweat. Finally, he gave the order for them to be shown into the cabinet room.

Khalifa strode in through double doors, held open for him by two of the smartest soldiers he could find. One, close to two metres tall, was muscular and dressed in a spotless khaki uniform with crisp white shirt; the other, a female with knee-length khaki skirt, military jacket, and white blouse. On her head was a white cotton shemagh scarf worn as a keffiyeh. She was slim but well-endowed, exactly as Khalifa liked them.

As he entered the room, the two ornate doors were closed behind him, their golden panels reflecting the sunlight streaming into the room from a large window directly behind the general’s seat, which, itself, could almost be called a throne. Three walls were honey coloured with the contrasting one a darker shade. Impressive gilt-framed pictures depicted Gaddafi and other famous individuals. There were two oil painted scenes of cavalry battles plus an incongruous Hubble image of galaxy M31, the erroneously called Andromeda Nebula. Other pictures were a false colour representation of the influenza virus in shocking pink and amethyst, and a vastly enlarged electron-microscopic image of a microchip. Khalifa liked science and wanted it to be prominent in his palace.

Eight men sat around the ebony table in ornate red upholstered seats. Three military and five civilians: the ministers of employment, defence, health, science, and the chancellor. He’d handpicked all of them for their intelligence, education and, most important of all, their loyalty to him and commitment to his anticorruption policy.

Khalifa looked hard at the science minister and barked, ‘So, what have you learned?’

The nervous minister played with his pen, tapping it on his notepad as he spoke. ‘I still have information and data arriving, sir, so my report is not yet complete, but it is as you thought. The flares themselves are not causing the heat. That is being generated by the sun growing in temperature. Even if the flares stop, the heat will continue to rise. Even in periods without flares, the air temperatures are rising worldwide. The best estimate I can give today is that our country will become uninhabitable within ten to fifteen years, perhaps even sooner. Some might live underground. As you requested, we’re exploring how that could be achieved, but living as we do today will likely be impossible.’

‘And what other data or information are you expecting? Will it change anything?’

‘I have more data arriving from NASA daily, but the US is starting to be difficult about releasing information. As this climate problem worsens, I believe they might be considering the data to be, let me say, “sensitive” to their own defence needs. It is so bad, they are becoming worried about what will happen to their own population.’

‘It is as I thought. Thank you, Saad.’ Khalifa turned his attention to General Fathi. ‘Your report, please.’

The three-star general was a more confident individual than the science minister. He shuffled his papers then scrolled down his tablet. ‘Sir,’ he began, ‘the acquisition of the craft is more problematical than we first thought. Most of the shipbuilders around the Mediterranean are inundated with work. I don’t understand why that should be so unless others are thinking as we do. I have commissioned eight ferries capable of holding between four and six hundred people, plus some landing craft. We’re also buying any serviceable ships which come onto the open market. I really need to know the details of the plan to be able to look for alternatives.’

‘Yes, Fathi, I think you, General Ahmed and Mr Saad had better stay behind when this meeting finishes. Saleh, how are people surviving this heat?’

The health minister opened a folder and pulled out a couple of pages. ‘Sir, it is not good. The elderly are dying and there is nothing we can do about it. They could tolerate the situation with air-conditioning, but few houses have it. Last week we lost fourteen hundred people, mainly the elderly, because of the heat and, this week, we have already passed two thousand. And those are the ones we know about, sir. There’ll be others who haven’t registered the deaths.’

‘Thank you, Mr Saleh. Mr Saad, you and the two generals stay behind. Meeting closed,’ said Khalifa.

The others made their way out.

‘Come closer,’ said Khalifa, and he waved the three men to move to his end of the table.

He waited for the double door to be properly closed then said, in a conspiratorial tone, ‘Ahmed, how did the survey flight go?’

The two-star general opened his laptop. ‘Very well, sir. Here’s some footage.’ He turned in his chair and pressed a button on a remote control. Blinds closed over the windows and a projector screen lowered from the ceiling at the far end of the room.

Aerial video footage of the ocean began to run on the screen. A coast was being approached. There were cliffs plunging into the sea. Snow covered the land, but not totally, there was bare rock and, in places, what looked like scrub vegetation. As the flight continued, a fast-flowing river was crossed, and the aircraft approached a crescent-shaped bay, several kilometres wide, before heading back out to sea. The video ended.

‘This is a map, sir,’ he said, handing over an A2 sized document.

‘Is the bay suitable?’ asked Khalifa.

‘Most certainly. It’ll cost, but it can be done.’

If you have friends on social media, post the link below which gives them one of my novels free of charge, plus a lot of sample chapters from my other works, including my non-fiction. It costs them nothing and they don't have to even sign up to anything. It's totally free.

Sorry, my new contract (April 2025) with Vinci Books means that this is currently unavailable.

Another Year

Towards the end of November we had a reasonable snowfall as you can see in the photo of the garden above.

In the past it used to lie, frozen for months, but no longer. It was gone before Christmas and hasn't really returned.

We have a housesitter coming to stay while we're away to our home town of Bude in Cornwall in June. It'll be the first long distance test for the electric Jaguar, which, I must say, performed as well as any 4x4 we've ever had previously. I'm told each wheel drives independently in ice and snow which might explain why it is so good. Of all the cars I've ever owned, including a fantastic Subaru 1800 Turbo Coupe, the Jaguar is by far the most enjoyable to drive in any conditions. Holidaying in Bude, means that we don't have to polute the world by flying anywhere.

2025 - hard to believe we are already a quarter of a way through the new century. Old age is strange. My mind hasn't changed, but the damned body becomes less and less able. Seventy-seven next month.

Keep on keeping on,

Newsletter 8th November 2024

Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association

Membership Confirmed I am honoured to have been accepted into the Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers Association. With any luck, this will bring my writing to the attention of more people.

Reviews on GoodReads or Amazon would be much appreciated. I'm always surprised at how few of you living in Japan, Brazil, India and mainland Europe ever leave reviews, despite quite high sales. So far (8th Nov), I have no UK Amazon reviews for HEAT. Please help.

Free game for Trappist-1 readers & audio listeners

In the past, I have also been a game designer, including the classic board game, Nessie Hunt. Another of my games is mentioned in passing in the novel Trappist-1. You can download it free of charge if you have read the story.

In order to download the game, you need to go to the following URL. The #### is where you need to insert the name of the game (in lower case) so this is a gift only for Trappist-1 readers. Don't forget that it is a .pdf file.

https://harmsworth.net/####.pdf

New work underway, hopefully by Summer 2025

Follow up to Mindslip and Heat

Above is a NASA illustration of what Kepler-452B might look like.

The writer's block which seemed to hit me at the same time as Covid Lockdown, finally seems to have lifted its influence. I started to jot down notes for how the story would develop and realised that, in a few minutes, I had the bulk of the book mapped out. Not wanting to let the unblocked mind get a chance to backslide, I pushed on and the story now comprises almost 25,000 words.

KEPLER-452 B is the follow up to HEAT "Beyond Mindslip" which, in turn, carried the story forward from MINDSLIP "Evolution's Nemesis". Towards the end of HEAT, scientists were trying to tackle the problem of a mission to another star system. Without any faster-than-light technology, it had to be done using more conventional systems.

An ion drive was settled upon which would accelerate the vessel towards the speed of light during the first half of the journey then reverse its thrust for the second half to slow the vehicle down. The story is also in two halves, the first onboard the starship and the second, exploring humankind's new world.

Later in the newsletter, you'll find part of chapter one to whet your appetite.

FEDERATION is still available at the special price of 99p, 0.99€ or 99¢

The Amazon Description:

Federation - speculative, near-future science fiction for the reader who enjoys imagining how the world would react to alien contact.

FEDERATION takes close encounters to a whole new level. A galactic empire of a quarter of a million worlds stumbles across the Earth. When they say, "Take me to your leader", the world is thrown into panic. We have no world leader, only many who might like to be. With elements of a political thriller, there is an intriguing storyline which addresses the environmental and myriad social problems faced by the world today.

The aliens’ philosophy on life is totally unexpected. With the help of intelligent automatons, they've turned what many on Earth believe to be a reviled political system into a utopia for the masses, but are they a force for good or evil, and will the wealthy make the compromises needed for a successful outcome?

The story is told by a Daragnen university graduate, Yol Rummy Blin Breganin. He discovers that Earth failed in its attempt to join the Federation, and, for some unknown reason, members are forever banned from visiting or contacting the planet. Rummy had never heard of a whole world being outlawed. Perhaps it would be sensible to leave well enough alone but no, he decides to investigate…

FEDERATION is the first in a trilogy of near-future, hard (almost) science-fiction novels.

Submerge yourself in humankind’s cultural and economic dilemma. Get FEDERATION today. FEDERATION & EARTH and HIDDEN FEDERATION are also available. You can get them as eBooks, paperbacks or Audible books. There is also a money-saving combined edition. If you like paperbacks, be warned, a thousand pages is heavy!

New contract with Vinci Books means that this is not currently available.

PART OF CHAPTER ONE OF KEPLER-452 B unedited

Caroline Arnold-Pointer, a beautiful mixed race European Japanese woman, pulled herself hand over hand along the underside of Kepler’s C-section.

‘How’s the air now?’ asked a gruff sounding male voice in her helmet’s audio system. It was the EVA officer.

Her eyes flashed downwards for less than a second. Now was not the time to miss a handhold. The display on the upper side of her wrist read zero and blinked red.

‘Zero,’ she said. Panic was rising. She didn’t want to die out here. All that education and training wasted. Would it be painful? This wasn’t like suddenly being exposed to vacuum – that would have been instantaneous – this was her running out of oxygen. The tank was empty. The reserve was exhausted. All she had now was what existed in her suit and helmet. Any moment she’d feel lightheaded, disorientated and her consciousness would fade, never to return. She’d been well tutored as to the effects of oxygen starvation.

She still heaved herself along, handhold after handhold. Don’t rush, she said to herself. Haste during an EVA could be even more deadly.

Suddenly she cried out, ‘Argh!’

Her forward motion had instantly ceased, and it was the essential safety line which had stopped her. She almost lost her grip on the handhold. That could have been the end as she’d be yanked back towards the circumference and would have floated away from the hull. She’d have needed to have pulled herself back along the safety cord and would end up where she was two minutes ago. She couldn’t afford to sacrifice all that time. Her air was gone. It would kill her.

Don’t take shortcuts, she warned herself. She looked around. The vast expanse of the outside of Kepler ran away from her in all directions. Ahead she could see another twenty to thirty handholds and the safety of the hatch. Her intuition told her to slip the safety catch and risk those last few handholds without a safety line. Don’t take shortcuts. Don’t take shortcuts. She looked around again. Two handholds back, a connector was poking out of its hole in the hull. She turned, yanked herself back to the hole, connected the clip to her belt, undid the old one, which began to retract towards its own cubbyhole some twenty metres back along the way she had come. Secure now, she thought. Quick, quick, turn and pull.

She grabbed the nearest handhold and tugged. She had mass, but little weight as she neared the zero G hub of the hull. She flew forward, reaching for the next, grabbing it as it almost slipped through her grasp in her haste. More haste – less pace, she recited to herself. Sweat was beading on her brow. The helmet was beginning to fog. Was this the end? Was her air finally all gone? Did it mean she was breathing carbon dioxide? Death would be there in seconds. She looked forward. Hand after hand after hand. Three metres to the hatch. Keep going. Force yourself. No sign of the predicted headache yet. Grab the hatch!

Both hands gripped a wheel on the outer surface of the airlock. She wrenched at it.

Damn, damn, damn, damn! She’d forgotten to anchor herself first and very nearly went flying off the airlock. Two fingers in the cumbersome gloves managed to keep a hold. She wedged her feet into the closest handholds and turned the handle again. It was stuck. Was it jammed? If it was jammed, she’d have had it. No time to reach the next nearest airlock.

She heaved with all her might, and it moved. Suddenly it was spinning. Five spins and she pulled, remembering to secure her feet first. The hatch, about a metre in diameter swung open. She let go of the handle, hooked her hand over the edge of the airlock and hurled herself inwards headfirst.

Still work to do. Still breathing. Almost there, she said to herself. While one hand gripped the entrance, the other reached for a safety clip. She connected it to her belt, releasing the previous one in the same motion. She watched as it wriggled its way towards the hole where she’d found it.

Turning around, she faced the hatch. Still breathing, she thought. She hauled on the inner wheel and pulled. Again, she’d forgotten to anchor herself and she crunched into the hatch, wrenching her shoulder. Looking down into the airlock, she hooked her foot in one of the steel hoops and heaved again.

The hatch slammed shut. She spun the handle, turned and hit the green button.

All of a sudden, her suit was collapsing around her as the pressure equalised. She tore a glove off and frantically fiddled with the helmet clasps. It turned through thirty degrees and floated free.

She sucked in a lungful of the most lovely fresh air. She was safe. She’d survived.

How the hell had that happened? She’d carried out all the checks before beginning the EVA. Full tank, full emergency supply, no leaks. Everything secure. The EVA officer himself had checked her clasps. Nothing was amiss.

So, how, after only being ten minutes into the task, had her tank alarm alerted her to being empty? Or why might have been the more important question. It shouldn’t have happened.

Sorry, the rest of that chapter is too much of a spoiler!

SAMPLE CHAPTER

20 Violence

It was less than one hundred kilometres, but the journey across the Republic of the Niger, once part of the Songhai Empire, to reach the RN1 motor road took almost three days. There were no proper roads and the only homes the family saw blended into the desert so well that they seemed to be part of it.

Occasionally, people would come out of buildings and watch the old Jeep trundle by, and once a shot was fired, but they didn’t know if it was aimed at them or just a warning shot to keep away.

Part way through day two, they approached a small community – half a dozen houses plus a trading centre and shop. Fuel was available, but only in jerrycans. Destri filled the Jeep, finding it difficult not to slop the diesel in the process. He bought a full jerrycan to take with them. There was a dedicated spot for it on the back of the vehicle.

Bright entered the trading room and bought fresh meat, dried meat, vegetables, and milk. They also managed to fill their water containers.

Destri was apprehensive throughout the visit. He didn’t like the suspicious glances they received, and three men came over, wanting to buy the Jeep. Destri felt behind his back to ensure the gun was ready to pull if needed.

No, he didn’t want to sell. His French was hardly adequate to make himself understood.

He began to feel threatened and, as soon as Bright and the kids returned from the shop, he hurried them aboard and spun the Jeep’s wheels as he put his foot to the floor to get away.

They put as much distance as they could between them and the village before pulling away from the dirt track and making camp several kilometres north where some scrub trees were growing closely enough together to hide them from view. After they’d left the track and parked the Jeep a hundred metres away, all four of them went back with a broom and to drag some blankets to conceal their tracks from view. Destri worried that the villagers who wanted to buy the Jeep might come after them to obtain it by other means.

Destri slept fitfully that night and was thankful to wake and find that his fears had been unfounded.

Now the terrain was changing. They were on the approach to the Niger River and the vegetation was lusher. It continued to become greener, but there was a new hazard – areas of water from the last flood. They had to make many detours because Destri was too worried that the Jeep might become stuck in waterlogged ground. Fortunately, the wet areas were beginning to dry out, so the danger wasn’t as bad as he’d first imagined, but he took great care through the next few kilometres.

Suddenly, they came across a properly paved road and turned north. An hour’s driving later, they realised that the road was leading back to the west, so U-turned and sped the other way. Dusk was falling when they approached a substantial bridge.

‘Think we cross morning,’ he said quietly.

‘Why, Des? More distance from border the better.’

‘Worried about more communities. Let’s hide away for night and cross early, Bright.’

They turned off the road and hunted out a concealed area where they could camp without being seen.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The eastern sky was already becoming a luminescent flaxen-tinted, powder blue colour as Destri rose. Taking the pistol, his first task was to walk around the campsite, ensuring there had been no visitors. He checked areas on the approach where he and Bright had swept footprints out of the sandy ground. If anyone had walked in to investigate, they would have left spoor.

There was nothing. They’d survived another night.

Returning to the Jeep, he primed the barbecue grill and let the heat intensify. The bag of provisions they’d obtained the day before included some sausages, tomatoes, eggs, and some slices of morcilla.

Destri poked his head in through the canvas flap and shouted, ‘Come and get it!’ then returned to the heat and put the sausages and morcilla onto the grill.

Bright and the two children soon appeared. Bright made tea, while the aroma from the cooking meat filled the air around them. Destri placed a pan on one side of the grill, added a little oil and cracked the six eggs into it. The sliced tomatoes were added to the grill and breakfast was almost ready.

They tucked into their feast, then packed everything away to prepare to depart.

Back on the paved road, they crossed the bridge and continued to head eastwards at a leisurely pace, passing through a few settlements, and noticing how they were watched with great suspicion.

They came to a halt at an isolated trading post.

There were no other vehicles visible, so it seemed relatively safe.

‘Mariam. You stay in Jeep. Keep your head covered. This is a Muslim country. If you sees any car or truck approach, you hit horn once. Just once. Single short blast. We’ll hear and come running. Understand you?’

‘Yes, Da,’ she said.

‘Don’t leave Jeep for nothin. Understand?’

‘Yes, Da. I know.’

Destri gave her a peck on the cheek and ruffled her hair. ‘Won’t be long. Edu, you come wiv us. Don’t say or do nothin.’

The two parents and the boy entered the trading station.

Inside, the walls were mostly unpainted timber with some windows through which light streamed, illuminating dust which filled the air. There was a smell of flour.

Just inside the door, to the right, a man in his thirties, was crouching beside an open sack and the reason for the aroma of flour filling the air became clear.

Destri guessed, from seeing his tanned, white skin colour that he must have been a Mindslip race-change victim. Few Europeans lived in the African bush. He was filling kilo plastic bags with the creamy white powder ready for sale.

He looked up at the family and said, ‘Mornin.’

‘Mornin to you too,’ said Destri. ‘We’d like some eggs and fresh fruit, please.’

He stood. ‘This way.’

He made his way through the avenue of shelves to a long wooden counter displaying a wide variety of products.

Bright selected pears, more tomatoes, eggs, cheese, and milk.

‘You not from hereabouts?’ said the man.

‘No. Visiting relatives in north. Come through from Ghana. You don’t look from hereabouts either,’ said Des.

‘Mindslip effect,’ the man said in an irritated tone of voice. ‘How you gonna pay?’

‘I’ve got cedis. Can you trade those?’

‘Want two hundred francs for what you got there,’ he said.

‘What’ll you take in cedis?’ asked Destri. ‘Two hundred is about five cedis, I think.’

The man laughed. ‘Guess you want bank rate. This ain’t no bank, and I don’t give no bank rate.’

‘Just a fair exchange.’

‘Twenty cedis,’ the shopkeeper said.

Now, Destri laughed. ‘Nah. Seven.’

‘No chance. Fifteen.’

‘Ten.’

‘Twelve, final chance,’ he said defiantly, hands on hips.

Destri produced two five-cedi notes and two ones. ‘Harsh deal,’ he commented.

‘Good to do business wid you.’

Bright put the goods in a hessian bag, and they quickly left the shop.

Mariam hadn’t budged. They were soon in the Jeep and travelling east once more.

The road was quiet, the odd car heading the opposite way and a few trucks. At one point, a jet-black, four-wheel-drive pickup streaked past them at high speed, kicking up clouds of dust, and vanishing into the distance. Quite a few people were on foot or cycling, often loaded down with boxes and baskets, heading to markets in one direction or another.

The Jeep passed the black pickup, which was parked on the roadside, three men standing around it, talking. One hefty individual was leaning lazily against the bonnet, an automatic rifle hanging over his shoulder.

Destri did not like the way his eyes followed them as they passed alongside. It unsettled him and he increased speed.

‘Keep eye on rear,’ he whispered to Bright, who turned in her seat to look backwards along the arrow-straight concrete road surface.

A few minutes later, she said, quietly, ‘Somethin comin up behind us fast, Des.’

Her husband put his hand to the vibrating mirror and steadied it so that he could better see the approaching vehicle. It was the same pickup and, as before, it was travelling at high speed. Probably it would just shoot past and continue on its way, but he felt uneasy.

The pickup did not overtake. It followed them at a distance of forty or fifty metres, matching their speed. Destri eased off the accelerator a little, dropping their velocity enough for their tail to notice.

He felt even more uneasy when the black four-wheel-drive slowed to the same reduced speed.

A series of trucks and cars came the opposite way, and as if on a signal, when the road was clear, the black pickup accelerated, came alongside and one of the men in the passenger seat made a clear sign for Destri to pull over.

He slowed gradually and drove onto the rough ground on the right of the highway. He hoped this was some sort of routine check.

‘No one speak. Leave talk to me. Jus’ keep quiet. Mariam, Bright, cover faces,’ he said earnestly.

The pickup pulled across in front of their Jeep. The men jumped out, the large man hefting the rifle from his shoulder and carrying it across his body. He swaggered up to the Jeep.

In good French, he said, ‘Get out,’ and waved the gun at them.

Quietly, Destri said in their own local dialect, ‘Do what he say, stay opposite side of Jeep to them.’

He climbed out himself, reassuringly feeling the pistol tucked into the back of his trousers, hidden by the loose shirt.

In poor French he said, ‘How can we help yous?’

‘Where you from?’ barked the gunman.

‘Ghana. Making way to visit family in Algeria for wedding.’

A second man walked around the front of the Jeep and pulled the veil off Bright. ‘These your kids?’ he demanded.

Bright nodded.

‘Yes,’ said Destri. ‘Edu is ten and Mariam is twelve.’

Would the man realise the lie? Mariam was fifteen. Des was trying to protect her from being abducted.

‘What you got for trade?’ asked the armed man.

‘Nothin. Nough food for day or two and few Ghanaian cedis.’

'How much? Show me.’

Destri reached into his side pocket and pulled out a synthetic leather wallet. ‘Need it for food and fuel,’ he said, handing it to the man.

The gunman passed it to the third man who opened the flap and removed the colourful Ghanaian notes.

‘How much?’ asked the gunman.

‘Two hundred and twenty,’ said the other, folding the banknotes and putting them back into the wallet and slipping it into his pocket. Destri tensed.

‘Search Jeep,’ said the gunman.

The two men pulled out bags and began to spread the family’s belongings over the ground. They poked and prodded the clothing, looking for anything which might be concealed. One of the men grabbed Bright’s arm and twisted it around behind her back.

‘You’re hurting,’ she cried.

‘We don’t believe you. Where’s the valuables?’ asked the gunman, pushing the barrel of the automatic rifle into Destri’s throat.

‘We’ve nothin. We’re jus visiting relatives,’ whimpered Des.

‘Where’s wedding gifts?’ the man snapped.

‘Posted them ahead. Visit s’posed to be s’prise,’ Des said nervously.

‘Liar!’ He lowered the barrel and circled the Jeep slowly, looking into every nook and cranny, tugging off Mariam’s veil and looking at her lecherously. He returned to face Destri once more, again pushing the weapon into his chest.

‘Okay, get walking. We’ll take the Jeep.’

It was that ‘now or never’ moment. Destri’s hand had made its way behind his back. He felt the hilt of the pistol, fumbled to disable the safety then gripped it ready for action.

‘You can’t jus leave us here wid nothin,’ he cried.

The man pushed the weapon harder into Destri’s chest. ‘Don’t tell what can or can’t do, man. Get walking or we’ll keep the women too. The girl will fetch a good price. Twelve my ass!’

That was it for Destri. He quickly brought the pistol around from under his shirt and fired into the man’s chest. The gunman’s eyes were full of surprise.

A second shot and he fell, lifeless to the ground.

Destri picked up the rifle, pointed it at one of the others, and said, ‘Take him, put him in your pickup.’

Cautiously, the two men came around to the driver’s side of the Jeep and lifted the body, keeping their gazes fixed on Destri.

‘He’s dead. You killed he,’ one said.

‘Take him to pickup. Throw him in back and sit in the cab. Do it now!’ Destri shouted.

Bright and the children started to repack their belongings and return them to the Jeep. The men hefted the body into the open back of their vehicle and Destri waved them into the cab. As soon as they were both seated, he checked the rifle’s safety was off, took casual aim and shot both men through the head.

He reached into the cab, retrieved his wallet and cash, took money from each of the bodies, then positioned them as if they were in natural driving and passenger positions and shut the doors.

He then leaned into the back of the four-wheel-drive to take the leader’s cash before pulling a dirty piece of tarpaulin over the body of the gunman.

For a moment he wondered if they should take the pickup and leave the bodies in the Jeep. He decided against it. The vehicle might be well known hereabouts, and it could cause trouble.

Returning to the Jeep, he hid the rifle in the luggage area, then, shaking all over, he jumped in, started the engine, and drove onwards.

‘Oh, Des,’ said Bright. ‘Did you have to kill them?’

‘I did what necessary,’ he said, his voice trembling dreadfully. ‘Keep fingers crossed that can put distance between us and they before someone stops to check why they parked in middle of nowhere. They seemed do lot of that, so hope others keep clear rather than curious.’

Owing to new April contract with Vinci Books this is not currently available.

WORLD AFFAIRS

It might have escaped your notice, but there has been an election in the USA.

I was never a fan of number 45 and am fairly sure he will be unlikely to fill me with confidence as number 47. However, not only did he win the rather strange electoral college system, but he also won the popular vote so I must assume that more than 50% of Americans supported him.

I tend to be rather left of centre in my views, so wasn't sad to see Starmer in number ten, but I was never a supporter of the far left of Foot and Corbyn. I thought Harris was in the Starmer vein. I've put up with several of our Conservative leaders over the years. I quite liked Heath and Cameron, but Johnson was a deceitful clown and Truss was worse. Major's lies over the 1990 recession almost bankrupted me.

Leaving actual red or blue policies to one side, I do expect leaders to be honest - or, at least, relatively so. Yet, with number 47, the USA has voted for a blatant liar who is also a conspiracy theorist, loves power and holds grudges. Not only that, but it doesn't embarrass him even when he is caught at it.

Surely no one believed that migrants were eating the pets, for instance. Such claims are patently ridiculous and actually disproven while he was in the process of making them. Surely people realised he was lying over and over and over again, yet they still voted for him. That seems to be a worrying factor to me.

I guess we'll soon find out whether or not he has reformed in any shape or form. His unambiguous promise to resolve the Ukraine war before his inauguration would seem impossible, but, if achieved, might make all of his faults worth bearing. And someone needs to get Israel to show some compassion. Somehow I don't envisage that being one of Trump's qualities, but something badly needs to be done to stop the destruction in Gaza. Fingers crossed. I've never seen that work either, but it's worth a try.

Over here, I guess we'll be watching with interest. We are living in interesting times.

I'd be worried about losing customers by mentioning politics but my writing tends to not go down too well with the Christian Right, so I suppose I'm on a hiding for nothing with Trump's supporters anyway!

Hoping for the best,