The Final Correction Read online

  Condition

  Book Three

  Alec Birri

  Copyright © 2017 Alec Birri

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

  Matador

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  Tel: (+44) 116 279 2299

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  Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador

  ISBN 9781788030397

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

  Alec Birri served thirty years with the UK Armed Forces. He commanded an operational unit that experimented in new military capabilities classified at the highest level (Top Secret Strap 3) and it is this that forms the basis of his novels.

  Although semi-autobiographical, for national security and personal liberty reasons, the events and individuals portrayed have to be fiction, but are still nonetheless in keeping with his experiences.

  www.alecbirri.com

  Interworld /,intə’wuhld/ n 1 a world existing between this world and the next 2 a computer-generated environment for the use of disembodied intelligence (e.g. humans, Apals, Acarers, Aservants, etc.) capable of merging (telepathy).

  Contents

  Prologue

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  PART TWO

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  PART THREE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Prologue

  The North Wind and the Sun

  With apologies to Aesop

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Anyone would think you were scared.’

  ‘That’s equally nonsensical – I’m a celestial body, and you are a by-product of my activity. The very idea of entering into competition with each other is laughable.’

  The North Wind looked at the Sun and then at the man walking on the Earth’s surface below. He puffed at the man’s cloak and it flapped open.

  ‘Tell you what. I’ll shift some of these clouds out of the way to give you a fighting chance. What could be fairer than that?’

  The Sun sighed. ‘The only reason you can even do that is because of me. You’re nothing more than an aspect of the weather. You might as well challenge the rain to a race.’

  ‘I did – and the snow, too. But the harder I blew, the faster we all went. Dead heat every time. Thunder and lightning were the same, just more dramatic.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve noticed you’ve all become more active recently. You do realise the occupants of this planet have to put up with the damage you cause?’

  The man appeared about to undo the clasp on his cloak, so the North Wind moved the clouds back again. ‘Well, what do you expect? Forget your activity; if it wasn’t for man’s, the weather wouldn’t be getting stronger and keen to prove it. If you have a problem with that, then it’s human beings you should be blaming, not us.’

  The clouds evaporated. The breeze was picked up in response.

  ‘Are you saying man can influence you more than I can?’

  ‘What other explanation could there be? In some parts of the world the rain has never been heavier, the snow deeper or storms more violent – I can exceed well over 200 miles per hour these days and all thanks to man.’

  The Sun reflected on its activity. The man with the cloak would be experiencing the latest effects of solar radiation in a little over eight minutes. ‘So, let me get this right. You think a creature that, in cosmological terms, has existed for less than a blink of an eye is more powerful than the force that created it?’

  ‘And you say I’m being ridiculous. It’s got nothing to do with who’s stronger. You may have spent billions of years producing life here, but it’s all finely balanced. You’re too slow – in a blink of an eye man has changed the environment for the worse, but if it’s going to take you billions of years to fix, who’s the more powerful?’

  The North Wind blew harder. To its annoyance, the man responded by pulling the cloak around him. Seven minutes before it would be removed by other means.

  ‘More nonsense, Wind. When it comes to the weather, Water and I have an excellent relationship and have done for the last four billion years – whatever you or your friends decide to do will be balanced out somewhere else. We might be slow, but we’re not stupid.’

  ‘But what are you going to do when that’s no longer possible?’ The North Wind increased the breeze to a gale. It affected the man’s progress but not the grip on his cloak.

  Six minutes.

  ‘What do you mean?’ said the Sun.

  ‘Man-made greenhouse gases. No managing the effect of those by shifting the problem elsewhere – unless you consider turning arable lands into deserts fair compensation for melting icecaps – you’re going to have to reduce your output.’

  ‘That won’t be happening anytime soon, and anyway, it’s not as if we haven’t been here before. Life on the Earth is constantly evolving and has done since the beginning of time.’ The Sun looked at the other planets in its solar system. ‘A healthy balance between Water and me would appear to be essential, I grant you, but even if humans were to find themselves unable to exist, there are plenty of other creatures happy to take their place and if there aren’t, natural selection will soon produce some – look what happened after the dinosaurs.’

  Five minutes. The sky was now cloudless, but the speed of the gale and the direction it came from ensured the last thing the man wanted to do was sunbathe. He pulled the cloak even tighter. The North Wind tutted to itself.

  ‘But that was caused by somethin
g out of the dinosaurs’ control. What’s happening now is unique in the Earth’s history; one of its species is wiping itself out and taking all the other animals and plants with it.’

  Four minutes. The strength of the gale was increased to force nine which caused trees to shed their branches. The man gave up on his journey but not on his cloak. Much to the North Wind’s chagrin, the man sat in the lee of a rock and held the two halves of it together.

  ‘Well, that’s the beauty of nature,’ said the Sun. ‘You never know what you’re going to get. Who knows, maybe in as little as a hundred thousand years a new species will spring up out of nowhere and with an ability to correct everything man’s done wrong.’

  ‘A hundred thousand years? Look around. Human beings have irreparably damaged the atmosphere in less than a century. I told you, you’re too slow. Pretty soon both the air and water will be so toxic, nothing nature can produce will be able to survive. It’ll be like going back to when the Earth first formed.’

  Three minutes and gale force ten. The trees stopped losing their branches but only because they were being uprooted.

  ‘Is that what you’re saying?’ said the Sun. ‘Man is so powerful, he can not only end his own existence and the life of every creature and plant but even evolution itself?’

  Two minutes. The gale was now a storm, but the man managed to hold on to both himself and the cloak. The North Wind considered producing a hurricane but guessed that would end in blowing the man and his cloak away together. It gave up.

  One minute.

  The man peered from behind the rock. He’d never known weather like it – a raging tempest one second and dead calm the next. Maybe he was in the eye of the storm?

  He stood up to survey the scene while he thought he still could. The detritus of uprooted trees and branches lay all around. It was a miracle he hadn’t been struck by one of them – mayhem as far as the eye could see. He smiled at the Sun’s reassuring presence before reaching up to his neck. It would be the last conscious thing he would do.

  At tens of thousands of degrees Fahrenheit and a speed of over 500 miles per second, he would never know whether it was the solar flare’s heat that finally removed his cloak – or its blast.

  PART ONE

  2028

  Chapter One

  The noise of the motorcycle’s engine rebounded off the sides of the wadi.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  ‘You’ll soon find out.’

  ‘But, Baba, we’ve been in the desert for hours. Mama will be worried.’

  ‘She knows where we’re going, and stop exaggerating – it’s been forty minutes at most.’

  Isra winced at every rut and loose rock. Sitting astride the machine would be a relief but even suggesting it would result in the back of her father’s hand.

  ‘I feel sick.’

  ‘For the love of God, Isra, will you just shut up? We have to be at the rendezvous before sunset.’

  ‘Baba, please stop. I’m going to be sick – I have to take my pill anyway.’

  ‘Another twenty minutes won’t make any difference. You’ll just have to hold—’ Vomit ran down Faruk’s back. His daughter threw herself to the ground the moment the motorcycle came to a halt. ‘Allah give me strength! You’re supposed to be getting better – not worse.’ He reached into a bag.

  Isra wiped a hand across her mouth before grabbing what was being held out.

  ‘You are the most ungrateful child it has ever been my misfortune to have, and if it weren’t for the wishes of The Prophet – peace be upon him – I would leave you here right now.’

  It didn’t take long for the red pill to do its work. Prophet? Wishes? Isra got up and squinted in the direction they were heading. The setting sun made it difficult to see but other than the odd dust devil there was nothing for miles. She zoomed her new eyesight onto the horizon but that just magnified the haze. ‘Why didn’t you say?’

  Faruk scowled. ‘Because you’re the kind of child that already thinks they’re something special and the thought of you being chosen to do God’s work too can only make the rest of us wish you hadn’t been.’

  She squared up to him. ‘I’m not a child, I’m thirteen – a woman.’

  Faruk remounted the motorbike. ‘You’re a woman when I say you are – get on.’

  Their journey continued, but Isra was no longer concerned with the comfort of it. ‘What does he want me for?’

  She didn’t get an answer.

  ‘It must be something very important.’ Isra tried playing down the honour of being chosen by The Prophet. ‘Whatever it is, I will carry it out to the best of my ability – Allah’s will must be done.’ She recited a prayer before allowing excitement to get the better of her. ‘For God to return The Prophet to Earth is one thing but to be actually chosen by him…’ She stared into space. ‘Maybe he wants me for his wife?’ She cringed at the thought. ‘He’s very old, though.’ Her face brightened up again. ‘But he can do anything so maybe he’ll appear to me as a younger man? Either way, if The Prophet needs me for his wife then so be it,’ she conjected on the outcome. ‘I wonder how many children he wants? The boys will all have to come first, of course, but they’re going to look very strange.’ Isra prodded her father in the back. ‘Baba, why do you think Allah did it?’

  ‘Did what?’

  ‘The Prophet. Why did God choose to return him as a white man?’

  The motorcycle came to a stop again, and Isra prepared herself for another scolding – or something worse. She raised an arm just in case. She dropped it when her father didn’t say or do anything. He was looking at the cloud of dust approaching them from the other direction. Faruk switched off the engine.

  The Honda pulled up alongside, and its rider did the same. He looked at Isra. She covered her face.

  ‘Is this the girl?’ Faruk nodded. ‘Follow me.’

  The stranger turned his vehicle through ninety degrees and set off in a new direction. There was an AK47 strapped to his back.

  The sight of a rifle wasn’t unusual in this part of the world, but the man’s foreign accent was. Isra whispered, ‘Mujahid.’ Faruk ran a hand over his greying beard as if trying to take in the significance. He kicked the motorcycle back into life.

  Chapter Two

  It was dusk when they arrived. A Bedouin tent in the middle of nowhere. Not unusual but not what Faruk was expecting, especially given the number of vehicles and people he could see standing outside. A curious mix of animals too – camels, donkeys and even horses stood tethered to four-by-fours and pickup trucks.

  Others were arriving at the same time, which helped Faruk with his need to be inconspicuous, but not with his nerves. Especially once the people could be identified; the four-legged creatures present might have been content to socialise but not all of the two-legged. Faruk spat on the ground.

  ‘Leave the girl here.’

  ‘What? With these murderers and rapists?’

  Their guide tilted his head up. ‘The Great Satan is less likely to strike where women and children can be seen.’

  Faruk now realised there weren’t just Shia men to take offence at – some of their women and children were present too. To his further disgust, they were socialising with his own people. ‘What is the meaning of this insult to God?’

  The guide placed a hand on the butt of his AK47. ‘You’re not here to ask questions. She’ll be safe with them.’ Faruk looked in the direction the man was pointing. A group of toothless crones smiled back.

  ‘Go to those women, Isra.’

  ‘But I don’t know them.’

  ‘Don’t argue.’ Faruk grabbed his daughter’s arm as she dismounted the motorbike. ‘And keep away from them.’ Isra promised.

  Faruk was led to the tent’s entrance where he baulked at the white face of the man who wanted to sea
rch him. ‘American?’

  The man shook his head and passed a detector over Faruk’s body. ‘Chechen.’

  ‘Russian?’

  The man shook his head again. ‘No, Chechen.’ He retained Faruk’s mobile phone.

  Faruk didn’t know what to make of him. Having said that, he didn’t know what to make of his guide either. Too late to back out now.

  He was encouraged to enter the tent alone. It was like stepping into a palace. Not that Faruk had ever had the pleasure. A sumptuous luxury of deep-pile rugs, silk-lined drapes and intricately designed lanterns made one thing clear – this was no ordinary command post.

  The uncomfortable blend of nationalities and loyalties extended into here too. The only difference was social standing. High-ranking Imams and Clerics of dubious faiths mixed with influential businessmen and other privileged individuals. Inadequacy joined Faruk’s trepidation.

  A woman approached with her head bowed. She carried a tray of drinks that Faruk neither recognised nor trusted. He shook his head. She then met his gaze, and he realised it wasn’t a woman at all. The lifeless eyes of a robot stared back.

  Could anything be more offensive?

  ‘Welcome!’

  A man dressed in a traditional Saudi thawb and headdress appeared.

  ‘My name is Prince Ali Bin Hassan. And you must be Far—’

  Faruk reacted as if his past had finally caught up with him – he fell to his knees. ‘Your Royal Highness – please. Forgive me – I beg of you!’ A series of confessions followed as if to lessen the degree of punishment Faruk was now expecting. The prince interrupted them.

  ‘Peace be upon you, my brother.’

  Faruk lifted his head and stared at the hand being offered. He then realised others in the tent were regarding him in the same quizzical way.

  ‘Please, all are welcome here.’