Read Noah's Ark: Survivors Online
Authors: Harry Dayle
Noah's Ark: Survivors
Harry Dayle
Note To Readers:
This book is as British as its author. Readers used to
American English
may find some spellings and phrases differ slightly from those they are more familiar with.
Prologue
D
ARKNESS
. S
ILENCE
. C
OMMANDER
Grady Osborn squinted through the tiny window of the International Space Station, out across the vast emptiness of the universe. A black void, punctuated only by the tiny pinprick lights of distant stars and galaxies. They appeared brighter than usual due to the total lack of illumination within the spacecraft. And yet, directly in front of the small portal, there was a hole. A giant black disc from which no light escaped. It was getting bigger.
“Whatever the hell that is, it’s getting closer, damn it,” Osborn said, breaking the silence. The science officer next to him glanced up from his computer screen. Of the three astronauts in residence, he was the only one wearing his NASA-issued jumpsuit. The patch bearing his name had been modified by someone, although nobody was willing to claim responsibility for having inserted the extra letter in the surname, changing it from
Kingon
to
Klingon
.
“You don’t know that. An absence of light can’t get closer. It’s just getting bigger,” Kingon said.
“No, it’s coming towards us. I can feel it.”
And he could; at least, he believed he could. The hairs on the back of the commander’s neck stood to attention. “Where did Hector go? I’ll fix these lights myself if he can’t get his sorry ass back here. And then there’ll be hell to pay.”
“He said something about radar and wanting to rig something up, try and bounce some radio waves off that hole of yours, see what comes back.”
A clunk and a hiss behind the two men caused both to swing around. A hatch eased open and the darkness was sliced in two by the beam from a flashlight.
“Hector,” Osborn shouted, “tell me what the hell this thing is!”
The third astronaut spun in midair, pushed the hatch closed, then pirouetted to face his senior officer.
“I can’t be sure, but I’d say it was an asteroid.”
“Bullshit!” Osborn rolled his eyes. “If there was an asteroid this close, somebody back home would have seen it and we’d know about it.”
“Anyway, asteroids aren’t—” Kingon began.
“Aren’t generally black, I know,” Hector finished for him. “But this thing is solid, fast, and headed right for us. I haven’t run the full barrage of tests yet. If I had more time I could probably get a better idea of composition, density…maybe work out where it came from. But time is something we don’t have. It’s moving fast. Really fast. The deep space network must have spotted it, but they won’t believe what the data is telling them, probably think it’s a software bug. A beast that size, coming from nowhere? I wouldn’t believe it myself if I couldn’t see it.”
“How fast are we talking here?” Osborn asked, a note of concern creeping into his voice.
“My calculations aren’t complete but at a guess, Commander, we have approximately one hour before that thing — whatever it is — smashes this tin can into a million little pieces.”
It was said so matter-of-factly that for a moment, everyone was too stunned to speak.
“You’re telling me that thing is an asteroid? That it’s headed for this station?” Osborn managed.
“That is correct. Although given its apparent dimensions, it may better be classed as a dwarf planet. It really is an order of magnitude bigger than anything we would ever see this close to home,” Hector said enthusiastically. He sounded more impressed than worried.
“Sterling, can you reconfigure the stabilising thrusters to move us into a new orbit?” Osborn was trying to hide the panic in his eyes. He had to show leadership. Remain calm. Remember his training.
“A new orbit won’t be enough to save us,” Hector said before Kingon could reply. “It really is a monster. We’re talking four, maybe five hundred kilometres across at its widest point. Also, and this is mainly speculation, I think it’s putting out a tail of dust that’s maybe ten times bigger than that. Thick dust, really thick. We’ll be pulverised. Or vaporised. Possibly melted. We can’t get out of its way before it hits us.”
“Dammit man, we’re not going to sit here and wait for a freak asteroid to take us out of the sky; we’re going to try and move this pile of junk. Now!” Osborn tried to claw his way through the air, grasping at the nothingness, willing himself towards the thruster control console.
“Grady!” Kingon shouted. He launched himself from his terminal, pushing off the wall with his feet. He floated in front of the commander, blocking his path. “If Hector is right, if that thing is as big as he says, then we can’t get out of its way. We don’t carry the fuel for that kind of manoeuvre. We have to contact mission control, right now! We have to tell them what’s happening.”
“I fear,” Hector said, not looking at either man, “that telling Houston is not going to make much difference.”
Kingon looked at the younger man. “What do you mean? It’s our duty to inform mission control of anything that jeopardises this mission. I’d say getting liquidised by an oversized rock counts as jeopardy, wouldn’t you?”
“He means…he means we can’t save them, don’t you, Hector?” Osborn’s tone had changed. His voice was that of a man who knew he was beaten. “Because that thing’s not just going to take us out, is it? It’s headed for them. It’s headed for Earth.”
One
J
AKE
SHIFTED
HIS
weight from foot to foot. His position at the back of the theatre afforded him an excellent view of the assembled crowd, but not the comfort of a chair. Every seat in the house was taken. Every step of the aisles, between the blocks of seating, was also filled with people sitting, crouching, and some standing. The theatre was built to accommodate just over a thousand, yet somehow, between passengers and crew, more than twice that number of people had crammed themselves inside.
All of the doors were open: the main double swing doors at the back, and the emergency exits at the bottom. More heads and bodies squeezed in through them all, desperately trying to see the screen. The heat generated by so many human beings in one place was intense. The smell of sweat was inescapable, rising through Jake’s nostrils, sticking in his throat.
Yet, despite the unprecedented number of people, the only sound in the vast auditorium came from the speaker system: the words of a reporter, whose face was being projected onto the giant display that lined the rear wall of the stage. A logo in the corner informed the assembled viewers that they were watching CNN. As if, Jake thought to himself, it really mattered who was reporting this. It wasn’t as if history was going to recall the name of the station that managed to produce this broadcast. The final broadcast.
The image of the reporter was replaced with a video report. The banner across the bottom read simply, “The End?” Jake listened to the report as it echoed through the cavernous room.
“The rumours had already begun to spread through social media networks before the first confirmed sighting came from Australia. Footage captured on cell-phone cameras and streamed live across the internet showed the sky darkening. As the asteroid approached, there was panic in the streets. Then, the crack of a sonic boom as it passed overhead at incredible speed. It was as if an earthquake had struck. Windows were blown out, entire buildings destroyed as the immense vibrations of the passing monster shook them to the ground.”