Black hole

Jack leaned back in his swivel chair on the raised dais and surveyed the control room with satisfaction. Everything was running smoothly.

            Three engineers – Jason, Robert and Karen – sat at their consoles in front of him. Above them screens flickered with ever-changing data. Red, green and yellow lists and charts registered the flow of electricity from the National Grid into the Midlands Power distribution centre, and out again to hundreds of substations across the region.

Jack was proud of his skill at keeping the lights on and the equipment functioning in countless homes, factories, schools, offices and hospitals. He’d worked for the company for longer than he cared to remember. He’d begun as a linesman climbing pylons in blizzards to reconnect overhead lines, and had been up to his knees in mud repairing broken cables in countless streets. He missed the camaraderie of emergency call-outs, but not the cold and wet. That was a younger man’s game. Managing the control room suited him fine. It still had its moments.

            Tonight he had to be alert. It was colder than normal for March, and a frost was forecast for some rural spots, so the heating in many homes was turned up and demand was already above average. Then there was a long-awaited crisis episode of Coronation Street soon to be broadcast. That would create a spike in demand when a million kettles were turned on as the final credits rolled and conversations buzzed.

 People didn’t realise just how much power an electric kettle consumed, he mused. If they did they’d use their gas hob, or an open fire. But the more electricity they used, the more Midlands Power earned, securing his salary and pension and keeping the share price buoyant, which was all the CEO seemed to care about. And all Jack did, really.

            There was a minor hitch when a substation failed north of Nottingham. Jack sent crews to fix it and he re-routed power into the area from other substations to keep most tellies on. Once the problem was sorted, he would have to co-ordinate the network switching so that there was no risk of a sudden voltage drop somewhere just as the murderer, or whatever it was – he never watched the programme – was exposed and the switchboard was deluged with complaints.

Sitting there, with about three hours left until the end of his shift, Jack drifted into a recurring reverie. The consoles and screens ahead of him, and his own set of monitors, phones and controls on the raised desk were his Mission Control. He was in charge. He thought of that Sharon woman, the UK’s first female astronaut on the International Space Station, spinning round the earth right now. When she was on earth she lived in his distribution area, and was often featured on regional news. Houston, we have a problem. No worries: Jason, switch this. Robert, change that. Karen, do the other. All sorted. Have a good day, Sharon.

Jack jerked out of his dream as one of the screens went blank. Jason, Robert and Karen went into overdrive, typing into their desk monitors to call up the missing data. Then another screen went blank. And another. It was as if someone was turning them off, one by one.

            “What’s going on?” Jack shouted.

“They’re just dying,” called Jason. “And I can’t get into the system manually.”

“It’s like we’re locked out,” screamed Karen. “It’s rejecting my passwords.”

Jack phoned National headquarters. Jack’s team weren’t just losing data on screens. Automatic tripping systems were shutting the network down across the region. They were fail-safe devices to avoid overload and to isolate trouble spots. They’d never been known to close down a whole region. Everything was failing at once, although the complex switchgear ensured the control centre stayed on grid.

“The midlands is turning into a black hole,” Robert murmured.

Then the larger central screen, usually broadcasting a summary of the data carried on all the others, flashed suddenly, and white but indecipherable words appeared on a red background:

Земля была бесформенной и хаотичной и покрыта во мраке.

Underneath it was a cartoon of a smiling Buddha.

“What the hell is that?” Jack demanded.

“Looks like Russian,” Jason suggested, hesitantly.

“Can you read it?”

“No. But one of the call handlers might,” he said. “I think she’s on duty. Did languages at university. Name’s Anita.”

Normally, that would have attracted inquisitive or even ribald comments. Jason and Anita had been keeping their relationship quiet. But this was not the time for office banter. The atmosphere was tense.

“Get her!”

They tried rebooting the system again but there was no response from any of their sophisticated equipment. Anita, a slightly-built young woman with dark hair, was hustled into the room.

“Can you read that?” Jack barked.

Anita looked at the screen and took a sharp breath, briefly covering her mouth before removing her hand as all eyes turned to her. She nodded and spoke in a quiet voice. “It says, ‘The earth was formless and chaotic and covered in darkness.’”

“What in God’s name does that mean?”

“Isn’t it from the Bible?” Anita offered, almost in a whisper. “Isn’t that how it begins?”

“We’ve been hacked, Jack,” said Robert. “Big time.”

“By Russian Buddhists?” Jason asked no-one in particular. Anita sat down heavily at the back of the room.

* * *

“Jed! The lights have gone out!” His mother’s voice was shrill, panicky. “I can’t see anything and I’ve got the cooker on!”

            Jed sighed. He knew. His light had gone out too, just after he’d powered his computer down and the emoji of a waving Buddha – his personal sign-off – had faded from the screen. He used his mobile phone as a torch to find his way downstairs. Normally anything out of the ordinary would spook him, paralyse him into inaction or spark him into panic. But not this time. He felt surprisingly calm and in control.

            He helped his mother find candles and set them up safely.

            “Dinner was nearly cooked.”

            “It’ll be fine if we eat it now.”

            “It’s at times like this I wish your father hadn’t left.”

            Jed hated it when Mother became emotional. He couldn’t understand her. Jed only dealt in facts. “Well he did leave and you were glad he left and so was I. Anyway I’m 18 and I can help. I’m not stupid.”

            “I know you’re not, Jed.” Mother turned down the volume of her voice. “You’re very clever. In your own way.”

            Jed grunted. He laid knives and forks on the table, ensuring each was perfectly aligned at right angles to the edge and two centimetres from it. “There must be a number for Midlands Power,” he said. “If you can find it we can phone them and see what’s wrong.”

            “I forgot that,” Mother said. “It’s on a magnet on the fridge.”

            “Eat first,” said Jed. They did. The recorded message said there had been a widespread power failure and that engineers were working hard to restore supplies. The failure was likely to last for several hours and they were sorry for the inconvenience. Jed wondered what “sorry” meant in the circumstances.

            “Was it Anita’s voice?” Mother asked. “She sometimes records the messages.”

            Jed wasn’t sure. Most voices, even his big sister’s, sounded the same to him, especially on the phone. There was plenty of hot water in the tank so he began washing up.

            “I wish you’d let me buy a dishwasher,” his mother said.

            “It wouldn’t work without electricity.” And he knew, and she knew, that even if they had one he’d still wash everything again afterwards. Just to be sure it was clean. “Anyway, it’s my job.”

                                                                        * * *

Sharon carefully replaced the tray of seedlings in its Perspex case. It had taken her a while to get used to handling the trays in the weightlessness of the International Space Station, but the seedlings didn’t seem to mind. Nor did the tray. Nothing fell out of it when she turned it upside down. Up here, everything was upside down. And the right way up. At the same time. It had taken her longer than she’d expected to get used to it, even after her years of training.

            “That’s me done for the day,” she announced. “Time for a quick check on the universe and a few hours’ sleep.”

            She made her way to the observation pod at the bottom (or maybe it was the top) of the ISS with its panoramic vista. Like all the astronauts, she liked to come here when she had a few spare moments and gaze out in wonder at the deep black sky littered with pinpricks of starlight. It looked as if glitter had been sprayed onto a giant canvas by an artist at the Tate Modern.

            But most of all Sharon liked to look down – or up – at the breath-taking views of Earth as the craft sped silently and sedately 250 miles above it. She checked her watch, set to Greenwich Time. Somewhere down there on the blue planet her two girls Amy and Nicola would be getting ready for bed, supervised by her husband Mick and, sometimes, by her parents who lived nearby in the same east Derbyshire village.

            If the weather was dry, the girls would be out in the garden any time now, wearing their pyjamas, and a coat if it was cold, looking up at the sky and waving to their invisible mummy. “Night, night, mummy!” they’d shout out. “See you again tomorrow!” Sometimes they’d shout their outstanding achievements of the day into the unanswering night air, too, but she’d have to wait for her weekly satellite phone chat with Mick before the news would reach her, by which time something else would have risen to the top of the domestic agenda.

And tonight it looked as if it would be clear from Sharon’s perspective, too. There was a hurricane brewing over the Bay of Mexico and the cloud cover extended well over the Atlantic, but as the ISS neared Europe it looked as if the western part of the continent was enjoying a cloudless – and therefore probably cold – evening. The flight path varied each day but tonight it was passing over southern Britain.

She gazed more intently as the lights of cities and towns came into view. Even at this distance, they shone brightly, especially from the big conurbations. It made her realise just how dependant on artificial light and technology the world was. And just how much energy must be consumed to extend the length of the day, when once people would simply have told stories round a fire and gone to sleep early.

She could make out Southampton and Portsmouth and above them, from her perspective, the really bright splash of London. Not far above that Birmingham was visible, and to the right of it she would see Leicester, Nottingham and Derby – and home. But she couldn’t.

Sharon screwed up her eyes. The midlands could be covered with clouds, of course, but then she’d see a faint grey smudge as the moonlight bounced off them. Tonight, there was nothing to see. That part of Britain was just black.

She could hear Yuri, the station commander, moving about nearby. She called him to join her. He squeezed up into the pod

“Yuri. Part of the UK has disappeared. Look.”

She realised her choice of words was unfortunate as soon as the Russian cosmonaut spoke. “Ah,” he said, drawing the sound out. “I should have warned you. We have grown tired of all the sanctions you keep imposing on our glorious country. The Kremlin has ordered a nuclear strike to punch a hole in your arrogance. If it’s big enough then subterranean water will flood in and little England will sink into the sea like the Titanic. Plop!”

Sharon stared at him. Images of Amy and Nicola flashed into her mind. And Mick. And her parents. Fear, far greater than the slight tremor she’d felt at lift-off when she’d momentarily registered that there was no turning back and that she might not see her family again, gripped her. And then she saw a thin smile on the Russian’s face. He had a wicked, and frequently inappropriate, sense of humour.

She didn’t appreciate it just now. “No, Yuri, don’t. Something’s wrong. It’s not clouds.”

Yuri looked. “Must be some simple rational explanation.” He turned to her and said more softly, “Put a call in if you’re worried. Or check the news channels.” Dour as he usually was, Yuri had a human side too. You had to, living in cramped conditions with five other highly skilled and motivated people. They weren’t chosen just for their expertise. They were also vetted for personality defects that could endanger the station. They had to work as a team, all day every day. There was no escaping each other or the station. The Soyuz capsule was for catastrophic emergency evacuation only until her tour of duty was over. And that wasn’t for another six weeks.

Sharon couldn’t hop home for a day or two just to sort out a family crisis. Not even if, perish the thought, someone had died. But for all the training each astronaut had been given, so that they could cope with any conceivable emergency and take over each other’s roles if necessary, they’d not been prepared for the disappearance of part of a crew member’s country. The manual would have to be updated.

                                                                        *  *  *

Jack had phoned the CEO and sent a text to his mobile phone. The text needed only three words: double red alert. The end of the world is nigh. Total catastrophe. Never in his years with the company had there ever been a double red. He’d sent the same message to the Director of External Communications. The duty press officer had already put out a terse statement but this needed senior staff on hand to oversee the operation.

            Jason, Robert and Karen stared at each other, trying every trick they knew to regain control of a system that refused to respond to them.

            “This’ll put the railways down and traffic lights out,” muttered Jason.

            “And the water and sewage pumping stations,” added Karen. “And hospitals.”

            “East Midlands airport? Air Traffic Control?” enquired Robert.

            “Stop it!” said an exasperated Jack. “Railways and ATC will draw power from elsewhere. Stations will go dark though. Hospitals will have back-up. For a while.”

            Anita had returned to the main office but came back into the control room. “The switchboard is jammed,” she announced. “There’s so many calls the automated system isn’t coping. Any news?”

            Jason turned to her and shook his head, but just then the CEO burst in. He was wearing a sweater and jeans. They’d never seen him without a suit and tie before.

            “Right, listen up,” he announced. “In two minutes everyone here…” he paused and looked at Anita. “Who are you?” he barked.

            Jack answered for her. “She’s the Russian speaker. We may need her again.”

            The CEO paused. “OK. Then in two minutes everyone in this room – what’s your name?”

            “Anita.”

            “Everyone in this room including you Anita will be required to sign the Official Secrets Act and our whole building will be in lockdown until this situation is sorted. The Act is in addition to the confidentiality clauses in your contracts. If any of you objects you can leave now.”

            He paused. No-one moved. No-one spoke.

            “OK. So for your ears only there’s a couple of geeks on their way up from the National Cyber Security place to try and hack back into the system and hopefully trace back to the source.”

            “That’s a long journey,” ventured Robert.

            “Military helicopter is bringing them. Police will blue light them the last couple of miles.”

            “The next shift will be in at ten,” said Karen.

            “We’ll put them on hold,” replied the CEO. “No-one comes in or goes out. Except the geeks. The catering manager has come in. If this is going to be a long night, we’ll need sustenance. The kitchen’s well stocked. The Directors’ Lounge will be opened up and you’re free to use it for breaks.”

            Jack was impressed. The CEO, who had a business rather than industry background, was usually distant, unapproachable, and generally unfamiliar with the everyday workings of the centre. Suddenly, he’d become hands-on. And obviously he knew how to pull strings, too, and quickly.

            The CEO’s tone softened. “It goes without saying that whatever happens in the next few hours, nothing can be said about it by any of you to anyone outside this room – that includes all other staff. We’ll have an official line and statements will be issued. Assuming this is an international incident, then government officials will decide what goes public. We say nothing more than they tell us. Understood?”

            There were barely imperceptible nods around the room.

            “I suggest you take it in turns to have short breaks. I don’t expect this to be over quickly. Oh, and in case you’re wondering, we’ve informed ITV that a sizeable chunk of their audience might appreciate a repeat of tonight’s Coronation Street. To say nothing of their advertisers.”

                                                                        * * *

Jed finished washing up while his mother hovered in the kitchen.

“I won’t be able to make a cup of tea, will I?” she whimpered.

“The gas hob still works. Use a saucepan.” He managed to stop himself adding, “Idiot.”

“I never thought of that. I’m glad you’re here, Jed.”

He grunted and went back upstairs. With no power, he couldn’t play with his model train layout in the spare room – Anita’s old room – which he usually did for an hour after dinner. But he could tidy it, and move some of the small figures on the station platforms. He made a group huddle together under a lamp. The candlelight was just sufficient for him to put the remaining transfers onto a model pub he’d assembled the day before. The thing about transfers was that you had to get them exactly straight and in the right place otherwise it would look like a crooked house and he’d have to scrap it. Plastic model buildings didn’t come cheap. He succeeded, slowly. Jed liked getting details right.

He put the pub on a space he’d left for it beside the station approach road, which was a grey strip painted neatly on the baseboard and dusted with sand to give it an authentic gritty surface. The pub fitted exactly between the road and the green beer garden he’d already created. He took some figures out of the box he’d stored them in and arranged them outside the pub. They had to look like casual drinkers, people standing around in conversation. The candle was burning very low by the time he finished.

Satisfied at last, he blew out the candle and went back to his bedroom. With no power he couldn’t fire up his computer. So he used his phone to log on to the BBC news, and to follow the announcements about the power failure.

Things will just take their course, he told himself. Step by step. Detail by detail. Systems are logical. It’s people who aren’t.

                                                            * * *

Sharon stayed in the pod for a few minutes after Yuri had left. Checking to see that she was alone, she waved at the black hole beneath her, which was already rapidly disappearing into the distance as the ISS moved at five miles a second away from the UK. “Night, night, my babies,” she whispered. “Night, Mick. Take care of them, whatever’s happening. And you will phone my parents, won’t you? Just to see they’re OK?”

             The thought of her parents triggered a parallel thought about her sister, Lizzie, also somewhere under that black void. It was odd, Sharon mused, how siblings could be so different. There she was, literally flying high, a member of an elite band of space travellers, a trained botanist, a leading environmental expert, holding a full pilot’s licence gained in a decade flying jets with the RAF, headhunted for training as an astronaut and passing through the rigorous procedure with honours, happily married to a former SAS trooper turned university lecturer, and living in relative comfort in a picturesque part of the Peak District.

And there was Lizzie, in her average three-bed semi in an average Midlands town, a woman of average intelligence, rather slow and forgetful, afflicted with low self-esteem made worse by the departure of her husband. She’d scraped a vocational certificate at a local college, and was holding down – just – a job as a teaching assistant in a primary school, but was stressed because it might not last much longer, what with all the cutbacks.

            Then there were Lizzie’s two highly intelligent but very different children. Anita, a bright, dependable and personable girl, a brilliant multi-linguist who’d learned Russian for fun while her aunt was also learning it in her astronaut training so they could communicate privately. She was now setting her sights on joining the diplomatic or security services and using her current job as a temporary stepping stone.

And Jed. Five years younger than Anita, Jed had been diagnosed with Asperger’s at an early age, but like many others with his condition was something of a genius. He’d built and programmed his own computer from scratch when he was ten. Sharon had a soft spot for her nephew. She understood his need for order and routine – key requirements astronauts had to adopt in the confines of the ISS. She didn’t find his abruptness and his inability to empathise offensive and she encouraged his inquisitiveness. They often exchanged emails about the technicalities and computer systems of the ISS and ground control.

With the right nurturing Jed too could go far. Sharon, with help from Anita, who despite the age difference was close to her little brother, had coached him to get through interviews for the university place he’d take up in the autumn. Her next task, back on earth, would be to help him prepare for living away from home for part of the week.

She floated – she preferred to describe it as swimming in air – back to her sleep capsule. She was annoyed with herself at feeling emotional, becoming irrational; the image of that dark hole over her home area had imprinted itself on her mind and she couldn’t erase it. Even when she closed her eyes, the black hole was there surrounded by the fainter gloom of light filtering through her thin eyelids. The fears it produced, the thoughts about people she loved, made her feel weak. Her eyes began to water. She grabbed a tissue and dabbed them before a tear floated away.

                                                                        * * *

Jack poured himself coffee from the flask in the Directors’ Lounge. “Want one?” he asked Anita.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

 “They might have got the best china out for us,” he muttered, as he handed her a polystyrene cup. “So where’d you learn Russian, then?”

She shrugged. “I’ve always been good at languages.”

“Yes. But why Russian in particular? You a Commie or something?”

She smiled, helped herself to a Danish pastry, and draped herself over an armchair. “I blame my brother. He’s … he’s different. When he was quite a young kid he taught himself to write backwards – mirror writing without a mirror. A sort of party piece. Only he doesn’t do parties. I found it amusing and realised how different various scripts – especially eastern ones – are. And of course there’s bits of Cyrillic script that are sort of back to front letters. I guess that started it.”

“Easy to learn, is it?”

“Not until you get the hang of the alphabet and grammar! But I had an aunt who learned it, so we helped each other before I got to university.”

Anita paused, hoping Jack wouldn’t ask about her aunt. It was family policy not to disclose the connection. He didn’t.

“What others you learn, then?

“I did modules in several eastern languages. It’s partly how I got this job – we’ve got a lot of customers from the near east and India in the region.”

“Not many Russians, though.”

“You’d be surprised. Some Eastern Europeans know it.”

Jason stuck his head round the door. “The geeks are here,” he announced.

Anita looked questioningly at Jack. “You may as well come in,” he said. She took her half-consumed pastry and coffee with her.

                                                            * * *

Lizzie put her magazine down. Her eyes ached from reading it in the low candlelight. She went upstairs and spoke to Jed through his half-open door. “Do you think it’ll be long before the lights come on again?”

            Jed was lying on his bed, fully clothed, looking at his phone. “Could be ages,” he said. “BBC says it’s unprecedented. You could go for a walk. The moon’s up.”

            “It’s not safe at night,” his mother replied.

            “Then go to bed.”

            “Are they saying what caused it?”

            “They don’t know. Social media’s full of speculation. All they’re saying officially is that it’s a complete system failure. Which is stupid. Just sends the gossip into overdrive. Of course it’s a complete system failure. Any idiot can see that. Only systems don’t fail of their own accord. Something makes them. Or someone.”

            “It’s funny,” Lizzie began.

            “What is?”

            “Auntie Sharon will be flying through the night with all the lights she needs.”

            “Solar powered,” said Jed. “That’s what we should be. With batteries to store it. It’s not rocket science. Anyway, it could be day for her. Her nights don’t last long. She’s not hovering overhead. Besides, half the world doesn’t have power like we do. Won’t hurt us to do without for a while. It’ll come back.”

            “I’m glad you’re so relaxed about it, Jed. It’s quite unlike you – but I mean, it’s good. You’re not panicky, are you?”

            “I’m not afraid of the dark. Go to bed.”

                                                                        * * *     

As soon as Sharon pulled the door shut on her sleep capsule she knew she wouldn’t sleep so got straight out again and went to the control module. Yuri was there. “Big power cut,” he said, “but you probably know that.”

            “Could it have been a solar flare?” she asked.

            “No unusual solar activity has been reported,” Yuri answered. “And they’d have had a few minutes warning at least if there had been. Besides, we’d have registered the radiation – it’s all normal levels.”

            She tried a satellite phone call home but it was on answer machine. Probably the girls were having a whale of a time hiding in the darkness from Mick who was trying to get them to bed. But she still felt uneasy. She checked her emails, half expecting something from Anita or Jed if not from home. In unusual situations her young relatives often sent her something cryptic, or fun. But there was nothing. She was in the dark, too.

            She sent a message to ground control. They had ways of getting information through the back door. A reply was swift. Unofficially it was rumoured to be a cyber attack by the Russians. Government was on high alert.

            “Cheap trick,” said Yuri. “Everyone tries to blame us. They forget we’re as inefficient and clumsy as the rest. Except when it comes to space travel, of course. Then we’re the best.”

                                                                        * * *

The geeks were not what the group had expected. One was large, loud and Irish. “I’m Brendan,” he announced. “This is Christopher,” he added, pointing to his taller, thinner, quieter colleague. “But not Chris. He’s stone deaf if you call him Chris. Isn’t that right Chris?”

            There was no response.

            “See? I warned you. Now where do we plug in and who’s getting the takeaway? We’ve been dragged from our homes on a cold night…”

            “Office,” Christopher interjected. “We hadn’t gone home. We were on lates.”

            “No but we were going to. And I can’t exist on body fat if we’re to sort out your little mess. I’ll fade away to nothing.”

            “You’ve got enough fat to live on for a decade,” muttered Christopher.

            The CEO seemed unsure how to respond to the banter. “We’ve got the catering manager in,” he ventured.

            “Good,” cried Brendan. “Mine’s chips and black coffee. With ketchup. On the chips, not in the coffee.”

            “Bad for your blood pressure,” murmured Christopher.

            “He’s a vegetarian,” said Brendan. “But he eats cheese. Which comes from cows. Which when I went to school were classed as animals, although you never know these days. He’s completely unpredictable and inconsistent.”

            “I’m not vegan. I just don’t eat meat. Cheese sandwich will be fine, thank you,” Christopher said to no-one in particular, as he unloaded kit from an aluminium case and plugged in to the console next to Jason. “Some salad if you’ve got it. And a coke.”

            “Rots your teeth, coke does,” said Brendan, plugging his kit in next to Karen. “Now let’s see who’s been interfering with you good people. Where are we, by the way? Couldn’t see a thing from the flying bus.”

            “Hogwarts,” said Christopher, drily, saving everyone else the task of responding. “And it’s been invaded by Dementors.”

            “Who speak Russian, I’m told. We’ll have to find a universal spell.”

            There was a pause as everyone else looked at each other. “So which one of you is Harry Potter, then?” Jason ventured.

            “Him!” Christopher and Brendan said at once, and everyone – even the CEO – managed to laugh.

            “Then you might need Hermione,” Jason added. “She’s the one with the dark hair. Speaks the language. Muggle name is Anita.”

            The two visitors turned and looked. Embarrassed, Anita said, “I’ll go and get your food. I’ll be on hand if you need me.”

            “Good woman!” exclaimed Brendan. “Knows her place.”

            “Which if I remember rightly from the stories, was always to come up with the answer Harry and Ron missed,” murmured Christopher. “So maybe the Irish peasant could avoid offending the natives?”

                                                                        * * *

Jed fell asleep, waking regularly to check his phone.

                                                                        * * *

Sharon worked on her plants, and then did an extra hour on the treadmill. Exercise helped rebalance her hormones. She still felt uneasy but was unable to identify why.

                                                                        * * *     

The hours ticked by. The geeks muttered to each other, and occasionally to whoever was in the control room. Eventually, the CEO asked for an update.

            “It’s fiendish,” said Brendan.

            “He means complicated,” added Christopher. “For a start the hack is split into many parts. Each part has been bounced off countless servers and computers around the world so tracing the origin of the whole thing is difficult. Even seems to have gone direct through a satellite at one point. Can’t make that out. Unless there’s an astronaut with time and mischief on their hands.”

            “Aliens,” interrupted Brendan. “They get everywhere.”

“He means leprechauns.”

“At least we know for sure that leprechauns exist.”

Christopher ignored him and continued. “Every time we get a bit further in we hit another barrier that we have to try and break through. They’ve been clever. It’s almost like a multi-level computer game. I’m starting to wonder…”

            Brendan suddenly threw his hands in the air and leaned back from his computer. “Whoa! What’s this?” He and Christopher exchanged glances and began tapping their keyboards frantically. They muttered to each other quietly as they did so.

            After a few minutes the central wall screen flared into life. White on red, again.

Господь сказал: «Да будет свет», и был свет.

Прощай. На данный момент.

“Anita!” bellowed Jack.

            She gulped, moved forward and translated. “The Lord said, ‘Let there be light’ and there was light. Goodbye. For now.”

            There was another flash and a Buddha appeared, this time smiling and waving. Slowly the data screens returned to normal, except for the central summary screen which remained blank. Jason, Robert and Karen checked their systems for signs of interference, and brought them up to date. Jack began organising a careful phase-in of power. He needed to avoid the risk of power surges that would simply trigger another domino-like shut down.

            It was 4.00 a.m. They’d almost done a double shift. The early team would be in at six, so the CEO asked them to stay on for the remaining couple of hours then disappeared briefly into his office, no doubt to contact government. Anita slipped out of the room, fingering her phone. The geeks began packing up.

                                                            * * *

Jed’s phone pinged. He checked the message, and smiled. He waited for the power to come on and then went back to sleep.

                                                                        * * *

Yuri called Sharon. “Update,” he said. “Your country lives to fight another day.” Sharon checked the encrypted message from mission control. Normality had returned. Classified sources suggested there had been a cyber attack by a group someone had dubbed the Laughing Buddhas. Her heart missed a beat.

                                                                        * * *

 “You’ve cracked it,” declared the CEO, returning to the control room. “Well done.”

            “It’s what we’re paid for,” said Brendan.

            “Actually,” said Christopher, “we are but we didn’t.”

            “It looks as if it was planned like this,” Brendan admitted. “Just like Christopher said. As a game. It was programmed to recover.”

            Christopher continued. “Yep. It caused temporary disruption but at a relatively quiet time of day. It was limited in scope. With something as sophisticated as this they could have shut the whole country down. And there was no ransom demand. Looks like they were just having fun.”

            “They?” asked the CEO.

            “Beyond our paygrade to speculate,” said Brendan. “Especially at four in the morning. We never got far enough to pinpoint them. In fact, we needn’t have bothered coming at all. It would have sorted itself without our probing. But the overtime’s useful, and the chips weren’t bad.”

            Just then Karen uttered a stifled scream. “Look!”

            The central data screen had come alive. But instead of the data summary, it carried the ITV logo. Coronation Street began streaming unbidden into the control room. Jason, Robert and Karen tried in vain to switch it back to data.

            “Can’t be a repeat. Not at this time in the morning,” said Jason. “We must have been patched into Catch-up.”

            “Nature abhors a vacuum,” murmured Brendan.

            “Black holes suck cosmic debris into them,” added Christopher.

            “Then let’s get out of here while we’ve got the chance.” 


(c) Derek Williams July 2017