Chapter Six .............. Jonesy

[moonglum]

Professor Stephen Jones was a brilliant scientist. He devised the procedures for placing a human being in a suspended environment. He headed the research team that developed the equipment necessary to allow humans to travel the vast distances of space without ageing. His team conducted their initial experiments and the system proved to be a success. Then, abruptly, the project was canceled. All his notes and research were seized and the equipment confiscated. His department was shut down, his fellow scientists were redeployed and the buildings sealed. He couldn’t understand it. He lobbied the government minister responsible continuously for months, to no avail. Then one afternoon, he returned home to find two men waiting in a car outside his house. As he drove onto his driveway, the two men got out of their car and approached.
“Professor Jones?”
Stephen closed his car door behind him and regarded the men. They didn’t look like government officials. “Yes, can I help you?” He asked.
The first man spoke again, while his companion kept turning to look out onto the street. “Could we go inside Professor, we need to speak with you!”
Stephen began to feel increasingly wary of the men. “Who are you, what is this about?”
“If we could just go inside Professor, this won’t take long,” the man put his hand inside his coat and Stephen panicked and took a step back, thinking the man was reaching for a weapon.
“What are you doing,” Stephen blurted out.
“It’s alright Professor. Just my ID,” the man produced a wallet-like case which he flipped open and held for Stephen to read.

AMBRICHTECH

Bryan Adler

Security Executive

Stephen looked at the words as they swam before his eyes. “Ambrichtech, what does Mr. Richerfeld want with me?”
The man sighed as he replaced his wallet. “Professor, this really would be better inside.”
Stephen visibly relaxed and turned towards his front door.

[moonglum]

Ambrose Richerfeld was a multi-billionaire. Old family money had been amassed from oil, shipping, and armaments. When Ambrose saw how computers were re-shaping the world, he ploughed vast resources into buying up software and hardware companies. He spent time and money compiling dossiers on men and women who could further his ambitions. Discovering their grubby little secrets and filing them away for future use. He was, without a doubt, one of a handful of men who could arguably lay claim to being the most powerful man in the world. He was a ruthless, ambitious man who, once having decided what he wanted, took it. Which was why it came as some annoyance to him that, at the age of fifty-nine, his doctors told him he was dying.
Late that night, sitting in his penthouse, he looked out over the city and pondered his fate. He was not about to let a little thing like his own mortality ruin his day. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the germ of an idea began to grow. He thumbed the intercom button on his desk. “Watkins, would you find Mr. Adler and ask him to be in my office first thing in the morning.”
Later still that night, Ambrose picked his way through his vast collection of dossiers until he found the file he needed.

[moonglum]

Bryan Adler sat facing Professor Jones and watched the frown-lines on Stephen’s face deepen. It had been two weeks since that morning meeting with his boss and things had moved briskly ever since.
“Well Professor, what do you say? Anything you need is at your disposal and Mr. Richerfeld is prepared to reward you handsomely. I am authorised to offer you ten million pounds for your services.”
Stephen smiled inwardly. “It is indeed a generous offer. However, I feel I should tell you that all my research notes were impounded when the project was closed down.”
It was Bryan Adler’s turn to smile. “You have no need to worry about that Professor, we are in possession of all of your research!” Getting hold of the information had proved to be easy. Background checks revealed a young computer programmer whose on-line activities were questionable, to say the least. The planting of some pornographic images and drugs, followed by a supposed ‘police raid’, made him very amenable to coercion. The following day all of the Professor's research was emailed to a ‘nonexistent’ address and the young man met with a fatal accident on his way home from work.
Stephen smiled, openly this time and rose from his chair. Extending his hand he said. “Very well, you can tell Mr. Richerfeld I would be pleased to join him.”
As they drove away from the house, Adler laughed. These academics for all their intelligence could be incredibly stupid. As if his boss would give Jones ten million. The rich didn’t stay rich by giving it away.

[moonglum]

A year later everything was ready. A small farm in the rural countryside had been procured and beneath it, a concrete bunker had been built. A small nuclear reactor powered the complex and Richerfeld’s vision had at last taken shape. His dream that somewhere in the future a cure for his terminal illness would be available, kept his hope alive these past months. Over the course of the past year, Professor Jones had learned of Richerfeld’s illness and guessed the true purpose of the work he had undertaken. He was always somewhat withdrawn and studious, but his resentment over losing his government position and now working to help a man hold onto his wealth by cheating death, festered in him and he became more quiet and sullen.
Professor Jones and Miles, Adler’s companion, were alone in the bunker. Adler had gone to fetch his boss to witness the final test of the equipment. The ringing of the telephone distracted Stephen from his work and he reached forward to answer it.
“Hello!”
The voice on the other end of the line sounded panic-stricken.
“Stephen? It’s Johnathan. It’s happened! My god, they didn’t believe us Stephen.”
Stephen’s mind, still half focused on the circuit board he was repairing, was confused. His old university colleague was rambling. Recently, Stephen had reached out to a few former colleagues in an attempt to dispel his feelings of isolation and betrayal. He also needed to keep up with current events. He had learned from his conversations, of growing concern over increased solar activity and a worsening depletion of the ozone layer.
“Johnathan? Slow down, what’s happened?”
“It’s happened! A flare, a huge flare!”
Stephen began to focus solely on his friend now.
“How long, Johnathan. How big?”
His friend took a deep breath and, slowly this time replied.
“The CME will hit in about 48hours. It’s at least twice as big as the Carrington one.”
In 1859 a British astronomer, Richard Carrington, witnessed a solar flare with his own eyes. Over the next few days, telegraph lines were electrified, technicians were killed and widespread communications were knocked out. Estimates place that event at between 800 and 1750 nT (nanoTesla’s).
Stephen paused while he took this in. An idea that had been simmering in the back of his mind began to seem more appealing by the second.
“Johnathan, are you sure about this?”
“Positive! We’ve checked and rechecked the data. Stephen listen to me, find shelter. Somewhere deep and dark. It’s your only hope!”
Stephen smiled. “I’ll try Johnathan. I’ll try!” Replacing the phone, he sat back down at his bench and picked up the soldering iron. Staring at the circuit board he suddenly could not stop himself and gave out a long, loud laugh.

[moonglum]

The following day Ambrose Richerfeld came to see the results of a year's worth of toil and expenditure. He was not a man easily impressed with the marvels that science could create, only in their results and in particular, how those results affected him personally.
“Well Professor, does it work?”
Jones stood by the pod, absently stroking the smooth glass with his hand. He smiled at his benefactor.
“All the preliminary tests have proven positive Mr. Richerfeld.” He held out his other hand, containing a sheaf of papers he knew full well Richerfeld would not bother to read, let alone understand. “I am afraid I’ll need another few days to calibrate my equipment for optimum performance, however. I have also had a problem with some of the components you ordered.” The Professor indicated the circuit board laying on his bench. “One or two of the parts were sub-standard and need to be upgraded. The new items will be here tomorrow.”
Ambrose bristled, first at Jones's attitude, then at the words themselves.
“This is not good enough Jones!” He stopped and reached out a hand to steady himself, his breathing becoming laboured. Adler was at his side in an instant.
“Sir, you need to rest.” He turned to Jones. “Could you fetch a chair, Professor?”
Jones turned and, with an audible sigh, pushed a chair towards the security man. A part of him wished the tycoon would drop dead now, but he was pragmatic enough to realise that, if that did happen then his chances of survival would be very slim indeed.
Adler caught the chair and helped his boss sit down. The security man glared at Jones and, nodding towards the circuit board, said. “How long?”
Professor Stephen Jones smiled. That smug smile of someone who knew they had the upper hand.
“Two days should do it.”

[moonglum]

Miles knew his position in life and accepted it. He had skipped much of his schooling, so his intelligence, or lack thereof, destined him to an adult life of servitude. A keen wrestling fan throughout his teens, gyms became his home where he trained at bodybuilding. He turned professional at twenty-one, and had some moderate successes, until retiring at thirty due to injury. He then worked security at clubs and venues until he landed his present job. Being Adler’s assistant suited him. Busting a few heads, breaking an arm or two, and even murder didn’t bother him at all. Jobs like that were easy and very profitable. This present job, for instance, babysitting some geek, was a cushy one. The two of them were alone in this huge bunker complex. They had all the amenities they needed, comfort, warmth, and food. They rarely spoke to one another, which again, suited Miles. It allowed him to indulge in his favorite pastime. Laughing aloud, he put the cartoon pages down and swung his legs off the couch. Standing up, he stretched and ambled through to the main room of the complex.
“You want a coffee, Prof? I’m making me one.”
Stephen started, lifted his gaze from the screen as he hit the ‘enter’ key. He hated being disturbed. “No!” he snapped and lowered his eyes back to the keyboard. He began typing again, totally unaware of the mistake he had just made. Miles shrugged and headed off towards the kitchen.
Later that afternoon, Miles lazed in his favorite position on the couch. His head slowly nodding, his eyelids slowly drooping, until his chin came to rest on his chest and the gentle sounds of his snores filled the air.
Death was instantaneous! Metal pierced the skin, bone, and then the security man's brain, as the thin screwdriver blade was driven home under the forceful swing of the Professor's arm.

[moonglum]

Professor Jones pondered his next move as he rode the elevator to the top. Once the bunker complex had been completed, A new farmhouse type building had been erected, purely to camouflage the workings of the elevator. The house itself was a survivalist's dream. Lined with steel, with armoured glass windows and doors. Any ‘prepper’ would have wet-dreams at the thought of being safe inside its walls. Except its sole purpose was to keep people out, not in. The car came to a stop and the doors slid open. Stephen removed and pocketed the elevator key then, grasping the security man's legs, he dragged Miles's body out of the house. Hiding the body was easy. The surrounding land was composed of dusty, desert-like soil, which lifted and blew around at the merest hint of a wind. Probably the reason why the original farmstead had failed and was left abandoned. Having completed his task, Stephen checked that everywhere was securely locked and sealed from within, then rode the elevator back down to the bunker below.
Here was his first real problem. How to prevent anyone from coming down to the bunker? It was entirely probable that Richerfeld or Adler had a set of keys that would allow them access to the house. If that were the case, then it would be logical to assume those keys included an elevator key. There was an elevator lock up in the house, so even if the car was immobilised down in the bunker, it could still be summoned from above. The power for the elevator, however, came from the bunker’s reactor so, Stephen reasoned, it should be possible to isolate it from down here. But where, how? Jones walked through into the small room they called the ‘office’. The room contained nothing but a desk with a computer terminal, a chair, and two filing cabinets. All of Stephen’s notes and research were on the computers so he had never needed to venture into either of the cabinets before. He opened each drawer, one by one, and found what he was looking for. The bottom two drawers contained the building plans for the bunker and, more importantly, the wiring diagrams for the whole complex. Taking them out to his workbench, Stephen opened them out and scanned them thoroughly. His eyes lit up and he laughed out loud when he saw the simple solution to his problems. Five minutes later he closed the control panel door in the elevator car, put the wire-cutters in his pocket, and smiled at the knowledge he was now safe from disturbance from above.

[moonglum]

Professor Jones settled himself into the pod, connected the two tubes to the cannula’s, closed the lid, and stared at the small control panel by his side. One simple press of a button was all it would now take, and in thirty-eight years' time, Stephen would wake in a world healed from its present predicaments. Thirty-eight years was not chosen at random. Naively he reasoned that the world would have recovered from any damage caused by the solar flare and he would be hailed as a true genius. He could not have predicted the war that was to follow.
Computers are infallible! Leaving aside purely mechanical or physical faults, computers will do what they are told to do and do it well. However, they are not sentient, at the moment anyway! They can’t predict what you actually meant, they just do exactly what you ask of them. This then was Stephen’s mistake. When Miles had interrupted him whilst inputting his program, one of Stephen's fingers had brushed against a particularly sensitive key on the numeric keypad. Thirty-eight then became three hundred and eighty.
Stephen savagely stabbed the button to start the process and as sleep slowly claimed him, he thought ‘I’ll show them. I’ll show them all’. He could sleep now, certain in his belief that the computer would execute its program to the letter.