"Not yet. Things have been pretty hectic. I lost my mobile back in London before all this started. I'm going to try and rent one now and I'll get back to you with the number. How are things going anyway?"
"Like you'd expect. Crazy. We'll chat more when you call back. I'm going to get right on this."
"Okay. I'll speak to you soon Don."
"Thanks Julia?Good?No, great work Julia. Bye."
"Bye Don."
With the click of the downed receiver, Julia's only thought was the much bigger story she couldn't write. At least not yet. But if there was anyone left on earth after the event to listen to that tale, she vowed to tell it.
She put the phone down and got to work on finding somewhere to rent a mobile phone. On post contact New Millennia Day it would not be easy.
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2000.01.02 14:00 G.M.T. 9:00 E.S.T.
c21 Work
In a disused carpet warehouse in the west end of the city Mohammed's team arrived within only an hour or so of each other.
Geremy was the first. He followed his directions carefully, and after making his way through what seemed to be a maze of corridors, found his destination. He entered the code to the lock on the door. Blackness greeted his sight. He flicked on the lights.
It was not the most glamourous of working environments, but it was eminently suitable. In the time that had been taken for the men to travel to the city the factory had been secured and an area the size of a large theatre's stage divided off to act as their lab. As dusty and dirty as the rest of the factory was, this area was clean.
Geremy stopped and surveyed the space. Benches filled with electronic units and computers met his gaze. He put down his bag and took a closer look. All the required construction and testing equipment appeared ready for use, much of it apparently requisitioned from universities that were closed over the holiday period. Plastic labels, many stating 'Property of the University of Toronto' or 'Ryerson Polytechnic University' proclaimed their origin.
It was all Geremy had time to do before he heard the tumblers on the door open again. Geremy put out his hand to greet who he guessed was Leonov. The gesture was heartily returned.
"Professor Peterson I presume! Mohammed praises your work highly. It is a great pleasure to meet you. I know we will work well together."
"Thank you. I'm sure we will? I only just arrived. Mohammed told me that you would be on the team, but didn't say whether there were any others. I assume, and sincerely hope there are."
"Yes, yes. There are several other scientists involved, but only you, I and Professor Steven Barrow will be working on the 'Will of God.'"
"I'm sorry, 'The Will of God?'"
"Oh, yes, it is I who should apologize. It is the name I have given to the device we will build on behalf of our Lord."
"It's a fitting description."
"Thank you. Well Geremy, to work, yes?"
"Yes. We can start as soon as you're ready. When should we expect Professor Barrow?"
"He should be here in a matter of minutes. Do you know him?"
"Only by reputation. He's associated with M.I.T. isn't he?"
"One of their leading minds Geremy. He is a nuclear physicist and an electrical engineer with many awards to his name. He is also a devotee of Tesler. But aren't we all? Now, I will change and we will begin."
In due course Professor Barrow arrived and after the same degree of pleasantries was exchanged, they unpacked the paraphernalia that Leonov had brought with him.
As soon as the equipment was sorted out the true work started. The group toiled furiously, without sleep or rest. Stopping only for the quickest of meals and the shortest of nature's calls, they laboured to produce that, which, if constructed in another place and time, would have surely qualified them for numerous scientific awards. Leonov himself would probably have received a Nobel Prize for his achievement. But who was to say that these things would not happen? If they succeeded and Mohammed was right, they would all, surely, be raised to the status of idols.
Yet none thought of the acclaim or possible reward, for all, perhaps save Geremy, shared Mohammed's unquestionable belief that they were doing the work of God and the righteous. And so they worked as supermen to attain their goal, without regard or thought for the toll that was most surely being enacted upon their bodies and minds.
They spoke little outside of technological terms, but the majority of that little was taken up with theological justification.
The ceilings rose high above their heads, and the occasional rat could be heard shuffling among the old wooden rafters. No one seemed to notice.
Clarity of thought and purity of purpose had been maintained by design, for no outside influences disturbed them. No television. No radio. All necessary food and drink had been provided. Their only contact with the outside world a telephone, with outgoing calls limited to Mohammed.
They saw no rallies, and heard no cries. Blind and deaf, the three men developed destiny.
And Geremy made a decision.
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2000.01.02 18:00 G.M.T. 13:00 E.S.T.
c22 Tourism
Fortunately for Julia throughout just about any situation humanity could name money still had meaning, and while money talked, retailers listened. Once Julia had located a mobile phone - a lifeline in her profession - she set herself the task of getting herself up to date on the current situation. With a large bribe she managed to get a couple of hour's use of one of a computer shop's web linked computers to access the Net. As she scanned the information one thing became apparent - there was probably more to be learnt from walking the streets of the city and sitting in pubs and coffee shops listening to conversations than by reading the abstract, closeted thoughts of those who in truth only had unanswered questions. So she put on her recently purchased hat, coat and gloves and walked.
Pubs were few in Toronto, but Julia managed to find one without too much trouble. Perhaps her idea was without validity after all. The prevailing mood seemed to be merriment. Beer induced and surely not indicative of the majority. After being approached by one too many undesirables she left and made her way to a nearby coffee shop. There elation seemed to be replaced with an electric tension. People's discussions revolved almost exclusively around the visitation and the impending gathering but with surreal aspects of normality thrown in. Two women sat at the table next to Julia engaged in deep chat.
"?So then Gary goes 'what do you want me to do about it? I need the money.' And storms off to work. I mean, all I wanted him to do was stay at home with me. What am I going to do if these aliens decide they don't think we're good enough to be saved? I don't want to be alone. They could do anything."
"I know what you mean. It doesn't bare thinking about does it? It's the children I worry about most. They're so confused, and I don't know what to tell them, and that makes them scared. I can't lie to them, because they hear all the news on television anyway, and if I stopped them watching that, well, you can imagine, can't you?"
"Hmm. Talking about kids, did you hear that Donald and Mary are getting divorced?"
"No. Who'd have thought?"
And so it went on. Fascinating in its blandness and curious in its absurdity. Julia decided to make her way down to where she knew the appearance would take place to observe and photograph the site and the preparations. It would also give her the opportunity to learn more about the building and the geography than her guidebook could possibly tell her.
The area surrounding the Dome was bordered on the north side by the city and on the south by Lake Ontario. She found Toronto itself to be a very modern city with some of the best examples of contemporary architecture she had seen anywhere in her travels. Twin towers of gold plated glass stretched towards the sky as monuments to the banks that owned them. Others, older and ominous in black, again owned by banks, seemed to represent their conservative past. She travelled by taxi through the city's financial centre, past tho
se monuments to power, south towards the lakefront.
Now, with her view unhindered by the sky-scraping offices, she could see the 'Dome. A road had been built to take visitors right up to and past the structure, but it was a hundred or so metres from the building that she had the taxi driver stop. She paid, thanked him and wished him well. As she turned to the massive concrete structure the first thing that caught her attention was the gigantic parody of sports fans, captured and frozen, watching an eternal game, forever excited, expectant and exuberant in their silence. She took some pictures and made some notes. Perhaps this was a most appropriate venue after all.
She followed the signs to the box offices and, as expected, found that all tours and events were 'cancelled until further notice.' Very few people were to be seen. Only the occasional security officer gave evidence to the area not being completely deserted. She walked briskly around the perimeter of the structure to see if there was any feature of particular note, or if there seemed to be a special reason as to why Mohammed had chosen this place above all others.
And high above her the probable answer was in evidence. Only one hundred and fifty or so metres or so to the east of the 'Dome rose the Tower. Julia read from her guidebook.
"The CN Tower, completed in 1975 and opened to the public in 1976, rises a total of 1,815 feet, five inches above the city of Toronto. It remains, to date, the world's tallest building and freestanding structure. It was built as a communications tower in order to rid Toronto of television channel ghosting by placing the transmitters above the skyscrapers. Observation decks and a revolving restaurant were added as afterthoughts, 'afterthoughts' that make it the major architectural tourist attraction in Toronto today?"
She gazed at the building with a sense of awe. Before any visitations, this configuration of cement and geometry must have seemed alien itself.
The wind from the lake was blustery and unbelievably cold. She fumbled in numbed clumsiness to take a picture then crossed her arms and made her way briskly towards the needle like structure that pierced the winter sky.
Surprisingly the Tower was still open, and a ticket vendor whose face lit up when presented with Julia's custom welcomed her. Tickets could be purchased for two levels - the observation deck and the 'Sky Pod' a smaller lookout at the highest position on the tower that could be visited by those other than workmen. Julia purchased tickets for both. The elevator to the observation deck was one of the fastest in the world and after only a minute or so she felt the elevator's deceleration signifying its arrival at its destination.
As the doors opened one of the first things to be seen was a souvenir shop. Before investigating further Julia purchased a small guidebook dedicated to the Tower. She quickly learned that two floors directly below where she stood a huge rubber ring camouflaged the gigantic array of telecommunications equipment she had read about earlier. This was probably of some significance to the events to come, but in what way she could not, as yet, even guess.
The day was reasonably clear with only a few clouds on the horizon, and from behind the glass-encircled deck she could see for several miles in any direction. Depending upon her orientation within the ring she saw either buildings or water, for one hundred and eighty degrees of view were taken by Lake Ontario. She thought about it for a moment, but could see no advantage in the proximity to the shoreline. She looked towards the cityscape. A panorama such as this could usually only be viewed from a plane. It was impressive, but in some ways it did not seem as unusual as she was sure it should. She had dined at the top of the Sears tower in Chicago three years before and had last visited the top of New York's World Trade Center only two years ago. Those experiences were strangely similar and so the extraordinary became the expected. But here there was more.
Signs showed the way to a door to another level, for below her there was another observation area, this time surrounded only by wire caging. Julia opened the door and found that it was as if she had stepped onto the wing of an aircraft. The wind felt as if it was sixty miles an hour or more, and the view was no longer like looking at a number of high-resolution video panels; this scene was real.
As she walked around, all of Toronto could again be observed, but Julia quickly realized that this cage, contrary to her expectations, had a more restricted downward view than the floor above.
She made her way back up the stairs, red faced and teary-eyed from the wind, and began to observe more carefully. It wasn't long before she found herself looking almost directly down on the 'Dome. With the correct orientation and the roof open, the playing field and a great number of spectators would easily be visible. And, if instead of sportsmen, politicians and other players upon a stage performed, then these too would be within clear view. But today the roof was closed, as she was sure it would be on the day of the visitor's arrival. The tactical advantage from the position was obvious and unclear at the same time. She looked down upon the circular structure with a mix of awe and dread at the thought of the forthcoming events that would be played out within.
Her knowledge was a burden of tremendous gravity. She wanted to scream out what might happen, to alert the more rational of the world to the actions that could surely be disastrous for all. She wanted to cry out, not only as a reporter, but also as a human being. With determination she suppressed the urge. Because, in logical reflection, who was she to know that she was right and Mohammed was wrong? With this taken into due consideration, she could only stay true to her word.
She took another elevator several hundred feet higher but there seemed no tactical advantage to the greater altitude. After taking many pictures, and more notes, she left the Tower and walked still further south, to the lake. She felt that it must be beautiful in summer, but it was only with great imagination, as she was again presented with the biting winds of winter.
Julia looked out over the peaceful water that lapped up to the jetties and stretched out past the islands that, in warmer times, were the playground of the metropolis. With a sudden urge she swung around and with her arms wrapped tightly around herself she stared at the city. What would this place be like a few days from now? Would it be devastated? Would anything remain at all? One thing was for sure. Physically changed or not, Toronto and its people, just as the rest of the world, would never be the same again.
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2000.01.02 23:30 G.M.T. 6:30 E.S.T.
c23 Interview With A Writer
There was much conjecture as to the society and home world of the beings that now spoke to humanity as parents to children. Were They immortal? Had They really contacted mankind two thousand years ago? Why did They look like humans? Were They simply an illusion? Was everything just an illusion?
How could the reporters possibly answer questions like these? Of course, no reporter could, they merely asked the questions of those who were, or who were perceived to be, more knowledgeable than themselves. In their search for the truth - and ratings - television stations around the world blared out the opinions of the 'experts'.
Some, however, were decidedly more 'expert' than others. And to those the nation paid particular attention. The interviewer was most serious.
"We have with us Arthur C. Clarke, scientist, inventor of the geo-synchronous satellite, author of the epic '2001: A Space Odyssey', prominent futurist, and host in the seventies of an investigative program called 'Arthur C. Clarke's Mysterious World'."
The camera cut to a short acknowledging nod by Clarke.
"Mr. Clarke, welcome to 'Question Time'. Let's get right to the matter at hand. Surely nothing in the world could be more unexplained than the events of the first hours of this new millennium. Perhaps you can share with us your evaluation of what has happened so far and your views on the intent of the aliens?"
Mr. Clarke, eighty-two, with just a reminder of grey hair left, but the wit and wisdom that comes only with decades of thought and evaluation, sat relaxed with his fingers linked, hands on stomach and watchful, alert eyes. He moved
nothing save his head as he replied.
"I'm flattered to have been consulted on these questions, but I'd like to say right at the beginning that we don't have enough information for intelligent conclusions. I can only give you some possible scenarios that have been prominent in my mind as a scientist, and as a writer. I don't think there can be any greater fiction than this reality, and so I think it's safe, if that's the right word in this situation, to tell you my ideas as a fictionist."
"Being one of the great science fiction writers of all time, I'm sure no one will object..."
"Ah, flattery, flattery. Well then, let's start with what we believe we know so far?"
Clarke counted off the points matter of factly on his fingers as he spoke. His head slightly tilted to one side, in the nonchalant attitude of one who's seen it all before - or at least thought about its possibility.
"Point 1. They have said that They will not harm us. That statement is highly debatable.
2. They have shown us the force of their weapons by apparently destroying a meteor that was heading for a collision with earth. Although NASA confirmed the presence of the meteor, we cannot overlook the possibility that since They seemingly possess the ability to destroy something of that size, They may just as easily be able to fake it.