Christopher Nuttall - The Nelson Touch

Ted sighed. They had, he knew, and he had been looking forward to returning home and tallying up the alien fleets and planetary defences they’d destroyed. But the alien attack on Earth had made a mockery of his plans. The aliens had been hurt, yet the human race had been hurt worse. And the Prince was dead. Britain was likely to end up with political chaos at the worst possible time.

“Yes, sir,” he said. He finished his tea and stood. “With your permission, sir, I would like to return to my flagship.”

“Granted,” the First Space Lord said. “And thank you, once again.”

“They blew up Sin City?”

North sounded shocked. Kurt couldn’t blame him. Sin City had been part of their lives ever since they’d been accepted into the training program. Now, the city had been badly damaged, leaving them with nowhere to go when they wanted to enjoy themselves. But it wasn’t the worst of it.

He swore as another message popped up in the buffer. Several pilots had lost friends and family, either in the desperate fight to defend Earth or down on the ground when the missiles hit. He’d already steered several pilots to private chambers where they could read the messages, then asked for counselling help for his men. But it was unlikely that anyone would be sent from Earth to tend to his crewmen. There were just too many problems on the planet below.

And then he realised that the message was addressed to him, personally.

He hesitated, fearful of what it might say, then downloaded the message into his private terminal and beckoned to Rose. She came over, puzzled; he showed her the message, then asked her to keep an eye on the remainder of the pilots. After a long moment, she gave him a hug — even though they weren’t in private — and motioned for him to leave the compartment. Bracing himself, Kurt walked down to his office, locked the hatch and opened the message.

We regret to inform you that your children, Percy and Penelope Schneider, have been transferred to Refugee Camp #19. Gayle Parkinson has recorded herself as their caretaker-of-note and has remained with them. Molly Schneider remains missing, location and current status unknown. If you wish to provide accommodation for your children and their caretaker-of-note, please contact the Refugee Commission or visit Refugee Camp #19 in person, bringing ID and details of their new address.

Kurt let out a sigh of relief, then stared down at the message. Where the hell was Molly? What had she been doing when the shit hit the fan? And what had happened, down on Earth, to drive his children out of their home?

“I need to get down there,” he muttered. The Admiral had told them that no one would be allowed to go down to Earth, but he could request special permission to go if he tried. And he had an urgent need to go. The few broadcasts he’d heard from the planet below had painted the refugee camps as horrific nightmares, crammed full of too many people for comfort. “They can’t stay there.”

He reached for his terminal and called the Admiral. There would be time to handle everything else later, he told himself, firmly. His children — and Gayle, who might well have lost her family too — needed him.

Henry opened his eyes.

For a long moment, he thought he was still trapped in a nightmare. The air felt hot and moist, while the lighting was low, low enough that he could barely make out anything beyond disconcerting shadows in the distance. He sat upright and discovered that he had been lying on a surface that felt oddly soft, yet eerie to the touch. It felt almost like touching a piece of human skin.

He swung his legs over the side and stood, then looked down at himself and recoiled in shock as he realised he was naked. His flight suit was gone, as was his watch, terminal, pistol and everything else he’d carried. Someone had stripped him completely naked… he shuddered as memories returned, reminding him that he’d ejected from his starfighter and then…

…And then what?

For a long moment, he thought he was in hell, but the coldly rational part of his mind dismissed it as unlikely. Logic suggested that he’d been picked up by a SAR team — and not a human SAR team. They’d have taken him to a sickbay or placed him in a stasis tube, not moved him to a strange compartment… he flinched as a shadow ran through the room, then looked upwards. Something that resembled a giant stingray was gliding through the air over his head.

Understanding clicked. The aliens had rescued him and transferred him to one of their underwater cities. He was a prisoner !

Five minutes of exploration revealed the limits of his prison cell. There was a small dispenser of water and food bars in one corner, a toilet in another… and a tiny hatch at the other end of the chamber, leading down into the water below. It looked as though he could just dive into the water and make his escape, but he had a feeling that he was too deep for escape before he ran out of breath. The aliens had created a devilishly simple prison cell that was utterly inescapable.

He sat back on the bed and waited, watching the fishes swim by overhead. There was nothing else to do.

It was nearly an hour before he heard splashing from the direction of the hatch and looked towards it. An alien was climbing out of the water with practiced ease, its bright green skin almost ludicrous in the dim surroundings. Were the aliens literally colour-blind? Or didn’t they care? Maybe that made them better than humans…

Up close, the alien was very alien. He’d seen their dead bodies, and the POWs taken to the base on the moon, but this alien was alive. It was roughly human, yet its body quivered constantly as if it were made of jelly. Its hands were oddly sinuous, thoroughly creepy. No wonder, he noted, that the aliens were happier underwater. They simply weren’t adapted to living on dry land.

He held himself still. There was nowhere to go.

The alien stopped, barely a metre from the bed, and bowed. And then it produced something metallic from a flap within its skin. Henry stared, wondering just where the alien had concealed the device. Its skin, up close, looked far too large for its body, as if it had once been very fat and then slimmed down tremendously. How much could it conceal there?

Henry winced as he heard a very faint sound, so faint he could barely hear it but it could still hurt his ears. And then there was a voice.

“We… greet… you,” it said. It came from the device in the alien’s hand. Its voice, Henry realised suddenly, had to be too high-pitched for human ears. Given that the aliens lived underwater, that made a certain kind of sense. “We… must… talk.”

A question for my readers.

I do have a planned Book III, but I also have a planned book covering the events on Earth during The Nelson Touch . Which one would you like to see first?

And now for something rather different… as fantasy and alternate history collide in Schooled In Magic .

Emily is a teenage girl pulled from our world into a world of magic and mystery by a necromancer who intends to sacrifice her to the dark gods. Rescued in the nick of time by an enigmatic sorcerer, she discovers that she possesses magical powers and must go to Whitehall School to learn how to master them. There, she learns the locals believe that she is a “Child of Destiny,” someone whose choices might save or damn their world… a title that earns her both friends and enemies. A stranger in a very strange land, she may never fit into her new world…

…and the necromancer is still hunting her. If Emily can’t stop him, he might bring about the end of days.