Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

One of the aliens held up an oversized hand to stop him in his tracks, while a second waved what looked like a metal wand over his body. A security check, he realised, and allowed his mobile phone to be confiscated without demur. He hadn’t been able to get a signal to call anyone — the landlines seemed to be badly damaged, or perhaps the staff just hadn’t reported in after the aliens had landed — and he made a mental note to suggest to the aliens that they restore mobile phone communications as soon as possible. It would go a long way towards allowing them to win hearts and minds.

The interior of the alien building was oddly disappointing. It seemed more like a giant tent than anything else, with dozens of aliens working on small consoles and barking orders — or at least he assumed they were orders — at their subordinates. A massive image of Britain was displayed against one wall, covered with red and green markers that appeared to surround most of the larger cities. For the first time, Alan allowed himself to doubt the wisdom of his course of action. The aliens seemed to have won the war in the first day. Perhaps they wouldn’t need him…

His escorts opened a door in the side of the building and pushed him into an oversized office. It was easy to believe that it was a power office, like the rooms favoured by CEOs he knew, but perhaps it was just normal for the aliens. They would need more living space than humans — a large human office might be uncomfortably cramped for them. A single alien was half-crouching in front of a desk, tapping away at what had to be a computer terminal. He — Alan decided to assume that it was a male, at least until it was proven otherwise — wore a simple black uniform, decorated with golden writing. Assuming the aliens prized gold as much as humanity, he was looking at a senior officer. He stepped forward and did his best to place an interested expression on his face. Who knew how the aliens would react to a man offering to help them?

“I am Ju’tro Oheghizh,” the alien said. Alan assumed that Ju’tro was a title of some kind — General, perhaps, or Leader? It was unlikely that the supreme commander of a force invading the entire planet would be based in Britain. “You wished to talk with me?”

“Yes, sir,” Alan said. Perhaps the alien wouldn’t understand human respect, but there was no reason to take chances. “I am a high official in the government of this country. I wish to offer you my services.”

There was a long moment as the alien’s unreadable eyes bored into Alan’s face. “We know who you are,” the alien said, finally. Alan’s mind raced; he hadn’t seen them communicating, but who knew what they might be able to do? They might have communications implants in their skulls. “You will assist us in bringing humanity into the State.”

“Of course,” Alan said, quickly. He allowed himself another smile. “I would be happy to serve.”

“You know,” Sergeant Singh observed, “I was rather hoping that it would be a nightmare.”

Robin nodded in agreement. They’d found their way to a police station, hidden most of the weapons in what he hoped was a secure hiding place, and then gone to sleep in the station’s dormitory. A handful of policemen with families had gone to their homes to check on their loved ones. No one had attempted to dissuade them. Robin had considered trying to slip out of the city and make it to his house — and his wife — but the aliens had blocked all of the roads out of London. He had kept trying the telephone, only to hear nothing, not even a dial tone.

He pulled himself out of the bunk and checked the shower. The station’s internal water supply was still working, thankfully, as was the internal generator. Most of London’s power had been lost overnight, although there was no way to know if the aliens had done it deliberately or if humans had simply shut the power stations down before they fell into alien hands. London had seemed uneasily quiet after the events of the invasion, but Robin had no illusions. It wouldn’t be long before the veneer of society fell away and what remained of social order collapsed into anarchy. And without the police on the streets, it was likely to spread rapidly. God alone knew what would happen then.

“I managed to get some news from the BBC,” one of the constables reported after he entered the briefing room. Had it only been two days ago when he’d been on patrol, back when the world had made sense? “They were claiming that negotiations are in progress and it was all a terrible mistake.”

Robin snorted. “That was no mistake,” he said, flatly. He couldn’t see how a race that could cross light years could launch an attack on London by accident . The BBC had never impressed him as a policeman, if only because it tended to side against the police force whenever its honour, capability or competence was called into question. “The planet has been invaded and we’re at war. God help us.”

He scowled over at the darkened terminal. Normally, it would have been glowing with updates from across the city, as well as items of interest, lists of suspects and all the other information that the modern policeman needed on a daily basis. Now, it was dark, suggesting that the police communications network was still down. Each of the police stations would have been cut off from the others… he shook his head, bitterly. What were they supposed to do now? Report in to the aliens and see what they had in mind for police officers?

“I’ve got something,” one of the other constables said. “I heard a voice…”

He fiddled with the radio again and the static faded away to a background hiss. “…Speaking for the Conquest Force,” a voice — unmistakably human — said. “I am the sole surviving member of the British Government. We have been defeated. The Eridian Conquest Fleet has destroyed our defences. We can no longer offer resistance to their invasion force. I am therefore ordering all remaining military units to surrender at once to the nearest Eridian force. Their leaders have assured me that they will be treated well, in accordance with their Rules of Law.”

Robin swore. “Who the hell is that ?”

“That’s Beresford,” Sergeant Singh said. “I think he’s sold out to the aliens!”

“We must accept the fact that human independence is over,” Beresford continued. “They have informed me that humans who are willing to serve will receive good treatment and a chance to climb within their ranks. Humans who refuse to serve them will be treated as criminals and rebels against the new lawful authority on Earth. I have been charged with making the process of human assimilation into their society as smooth as possible. There is no other hope for the survival of humanity. The aliens rule the skies. Long-term resistance will only result in the deaths of millions of humans.

“Accordingly, I am ordering all civil servants and policemen to report for service at once,” he continued. “Those who do not report will be treated as deserters and will face the consequences when they are caught. Our priority must be the reestablishment of law and order within Britain. Those who do not submit to their rule will be punished.”

There was a long pause. “We have grown used to human despots concealing their true motives behind fancy language,” he concluded. “The Eridians do not seem to share our attitudes. They wanted Earth; they took it. Their attitudes will not be swayed by pleas or protests. They believe that might makes right. Do not, for the sake of all humanity, seek to challenge them. They will respond with deadly force.”

A moment passed, and then the message began to repeat itself. “Turn it off,” Robin snarled, savagely. He couldn’t believe his ears. There was no way to doubt that Beresford had sold out to Earth’s new masters. They’d probably promised him wealth and power if he served them. “What the hell do we do now?”