(225-50) Agnes

By Mark Ayling

THE WORLD’S GOVERNMENTS, IN AN unprecedented joint international address, were announcing to the planet that doomsday was imminent. An asteroid by the name of (225-50) Agnes would devastate the planet’s surface in approximately three years. In order to calm the world’s population, and to avoid a catastrophic panic, it was quickly highlighted that though the world was doomed and everything on the surface of it, steps had been taken to safeguard the species. A broadcast to the public would be forthcoming in no less than 6,409 languages worldwide to illustrate how this was to be achieved in more detail.

***

It was my thirty-fifth birthday. I was unmarried. I didn’t have any kids. My parents were both dead. I was incredibly rich. Not only had I inherited a shit-load of money from my super-wealthy parents, my work as one of the foremost investment bankers in the world had been lucrative to say the least. I could afford anything I wanted. That is, with the exception of the thing I really wanted, which was a place on the Ark Europa. Unfortunately I’d tried blackmail, bribery, intimidation, offering people vast sums of money to part with their tickets, all to no avail. I couldn’t acquire one no matter what I attempted. It had become apparent to me that those who were lucky enough to be allocated places on the Ark, and those who had won them during the weekly lottery these last couple of years, were unwilling to part with them for anything at all. I found this strange initially. I used to believe everyone had a price. Having said that, if it was me faced with the choice of a lifetime as an interstellar Bedouin or a mole in an overcrowded subterranean bunker, I know what I’d have opted for every time.

***

The black market surgeon who reconstructed my face was stabbed to death in a brutal mugging that took place in a public toilet days after the surgery was completed. Said surgeon was stabbed fifteen times in all before he eventually bled to death in a toilet cubicle with his head resting against a toilet roll dispenser.

***

A thirty-year-old man, living in the Merseyside Area, has today come forward to claim the final lottery prize of a place on the Ark Europa. The Ark Europa, which has finally been constructed following a number of delays and setbacks caused by engineering and construction difficulties, is now awaiting its eventual ascension. It is scheduled for liftoff precisely eighteen months from now and has finally reached its full capacity. There will be no more lottery winners.

“I am over the moon,” replied Gerald Braithewaite during an interview with the media at the shop where he bought his ticket. “I feel privileged to have been given this opportunity to represent Earth on the Ark’s ascension.”

Meanwhile the rest of the Earth’s inhabitants prepare to go underground as the final preparations are made to gradually evacuate the surface of the planet.

***

Initially I was optimistic, though as the weeks went on and my name wasn’t called, I began to feel cheated. Then suddenly there were no more winners to be had. Time, it would seem, was officially running out.

***

I did a bit of research after it became common knowledge the Earth was done for. What I came up with, or what I could fathom from all the jargon, due to my not being a “Star Wars” nerd or a world-leading astrophysicist, was the following. Agnes was probably an NEA (Near Earth Asteroid) whose elliptical orbit of the Sun within the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter had been altered after it had gotten too close to Jupiter or one of the other big asteroids and been thrown across space into a collision course with Earth. Agnes was a mile-long piece of space rubble. She was an acne scarred, potato shaped, S-Type asteroid composed mainly of silicate and nickel iron. It was estimated that she would impact the Earth at about fifty thousand kilometres an hour. This was the equivalent of an impossibly monstrous bomb going off. This was what was known as an extinction event. Essentially, what it meant for humanity was that we had to vacate the premises long enough to allow the dust to settle or dig a deep enough hole in which to hide out underground until the all clear was given.

***

I’d spent the evening with a prostitute in a swanky hotel in the country. It was three in the morning. I was snorting coke off one of her thighs. I got a nosebleed and had to go to the bathroom to clean up. Whilst I was there, sitting naked on the toilet with my head back and a courtesy towel clutched to my face to stopper the blood, I had my epiphany. I was thinking about the last winner, Braithewaite or whatever his name was, and suddenly it hit me. I would become Braithewaite. I’d heard about the wave of identity frauds sweeping the continent. People were being arrested weekly for assuming other’s identities. Often they were discovered because their surgeries were botched, the retinal work was poor, the DNA didn’t match up and that sort of thing. However I had an inexhaustible amount of funds. I could afford to have the work done properly. Alls I needed was the model on which to base myself. There would be complications. There would be a clean up involved once I was done being enhanced. Still, it would be worth it if I pulled it off because I would be one of the lucky few chosen by fate to embark on The Goldilocks Endeavour.

***

The World’s governments had known about Agnes for some time. Unbeknownst to the planet’s denizens, and with the exception of those involved in the projects (sworn to secrecy on pain of death) they’d been preparing for the inevitable these last two decades.

First up was The Ark Project, a collaborative venture involving most of the world’s nations, (a couple of countries had abstained, choosing instead to participate in the Bunker Initiative, more of which later). The Ark Project was being touted as a cosmic reimagining of Columbus. The idea was that mankind (or a designated portion of it at any rate) would embark on an epic interstellar journey, (The Goldilocks Endeavour as it came to be known) in search of a new planet to colonise, somewhere in deep space. (Ark naming rights would go to the sponsor Somy, or one of the other big software companies to be announced at a later date.) The Arks were mega-sized space vehicles. They were capable of housing, in relative comfort, millions of inhabitants. They were capable of recycling oxygen. They were capable of growing their own crops. They were a staggering feat of engineering. Hats off to whomever it was had conceived of them. The size of them alone was unimaginable. In fact, they proved so unbelievable initially that some people were querying whether the revolutionary propulsion system, amongst other things, used to propel them on their way, was made of alien technology salvaged from a UFO crash.

***

The woman who created and inserted my eyes, and calibrated my voice box to sound like Braithwaite, crashed off a bridge into a fast moving river. The brakes on her sports car failed to engage. She was knocked unconscious as the car hit the water. She was drowned in her seat as the car was submerged.

***

I read all the articles about the last winner, over and over, committed his face to memory and researched his history. I began to ruminate and obsess over him. I was constantly cogitating. How was it, I thought, that some shit-heel who has leeched off the state all his life and snubbed his nose at every opportunity, gets to escape the coming apocalypse. Meanwhile, men like myself, who have worked and sweated all their lives and earned their wealth (a good proportionate of it at any rate!) through blood and hard graft, have been condemned to crawl under the ground like insects?

***

Second up was The Bunker Initiative. This, in theory, would provide a place of safety below the Earth’s surface for the multitudes of races remaining on the planet. A number of bunkers had been constructed. They were self-sufficient with the capacity to support millions of people for well over a century.

***

The religious nuts are having a field day with Agnes. On my way home today I observed, scrawled on the side of a bridge on the way in to Manchester, “And the meek shall inherit the Earth.” It was cheerfully rendered in looping pink neon. It was if the artist who composed it was actually optimistic. I find such optimism delusional at best. My guess is that once Agnes hits, there won’t be much left for the meek to inherit.

***

The Arks were oversubscribed. In order to allocate the remaining places on them once you’d factored in all the scientific and engineering folk and the flight crew and medics and farmers and biologists and other necessary folks, it was decided to use a lottery. Millions of names would be inputted into a huge database. A random draw would take place weekly. If your name came up you would be offered a spot. If you refused, your place would be reallocated in a subsequent lottery.

***

In order to become Braithewaite and take his place on the Ark, I would have to get samples of his hair. I would have to have his retinas scanned and have my own eyes replaced. I would have to undergo an excessive number of facial surgeries, my voice box would need re-calibrating, my fingerprints would need burning off to be replaced by biologically replicated skin grafts. I would also need to observe his routines, to know what time he gets up, who he associates with, how he talks, his hobbies, whether he smokes, what bars he frequents, what food he likes and all manner of things. Most of this could be done through observation and surveillance. I would have cameras set up covertly in his home. I would have him followed and the details reported back daily.

***

Humanity’s response to the disaster was surprising. Instead of panicking, as was the general expectation, the people of Earth embraced Armageddon. Knowing what they knew, that they were potentially safe from the pending desolation, it was suddenly an event that everybody looked forward to. The corporations typically saw it as an opportunity. They exploited the world’s end with an impressive array of products. Games companies released holographic 3D simulations and first person shooters to cash in on the Asteroid craze. Fast food companies released apocalyptic tie-in meals and Asteroid Burgers. Brands began to compete over who would sponsor the Ark project. Who would provide the highest bid? Who would have their company’s logo distributed throughout space? Conspiracy theories began to circulate that Big Business had engineered the asteroid’s arrival to boost flagging profit margins in collaboration with the world’s governments. Construction companies were already bidding over redevelopment contracts for when the surface of the Earth was inhabitable again, just like when Hurricane Katrina hit all those years ago, disaster capitalism on a cosmic scale.

***

I found myself wondering what if he expired before I was able to complete my metamorphosis? How would I explain myself to people? How would I explain my appearance? What reason could I give for my sudden transformation? I began to hurry things along a bit. I learned where he went during the day, how he spent his free time, the fact he didn’t have anyone who was close to him. That was something at least. When I assumed his identity, I wouldn’t have to convince his friends and family who I was. He did not have any after all. He did not have a wife or children. He had no brothers or sisters, and none of his parents were above ground. We had something in common I thought. That was one part of this idiot’s life I wouldn’t have to fake.

***

Meanwhile, leaders of the world’s great and not so great religions began to vocalise about God’s Wrath. As it turned out, they were quite excited about the prospect. The end of the world vindicated their beliefs. It wasn’t long before they began to argue over whose God was responsible. As it turned out, everybody wanted it to be his or her God swinging the wrecking ball as opposed to the lesser deity of an inferior faith.

***

I thought of a number of elaborate ways to get the samples I needed from Braithewaite. In the end I settled for the simplest route available. I decided to kidnap him. I snuck up on him one night in a car park close to where he lives. I chloroformed him with a bit of old cloth. I bundled him into a van. I drove him to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. I took a cast of his head whilst he slept. I scanned his retinas. I took hair samples and nail samples, skin samples and blood samples. Then I tied him to a chair in a room. There was nothing in the room except for a speaker system for me to communicate with him and a computer monitor for him to read my instructions. I got him to read a number of different sentences, which I needed to be able to have his voice cloned. Then once I’d gotten what I needed from him, and I’d roughed him up and stolen his wallet from him to authenticate the kidnapping, I abandoned him on waste ground near to a train station in Cheshire.

***

“In other news today, the universal Ark project will be fully boarded and loaded up this week ready for ascension in four weeks time. Notice has been given to those lucky enough to embark on the flight, in what has now become known as The Goldilocks Endeavour. The five Arks: Ark Europa, Ark America (nicknamed the Mayflower 2), Ark Asia, Ark Russia, and Ark Australasia, will set off on a mission potentially spanning centuries to find a planet similar to the Earth. Meanwhile in other news, a religious group calling themselves the Sons of Forever, and numbering, according to some estimates as many as one million members worldwide, have today announced that they will be remaining on the Earth’s surface for the coming event in order to face God’s judgement together ... More on this story as it continues to unfold.”

***

I saw myself in the mirror once the facial surgery and shaping was completed; my voice had been changed and my eyes and fingerprints. I was immediately disorientated. My God, I thought. Who am I? I’m not who I thought was. I’m not who I think I am. What happened to me? Where have I gone?

I ran into the bathroom and vomited and turned the shower on and stepped under the freezing water. I cried for a while, curled up on the floor, veering between a potential psychotic episode and insight into my predicament. Gradually, as the shock wore off I started to calm down a bit. My name is Braithwaite, I kept telling myself over and over like a mantra. My name is Gerald James Braithewaite.

***

The young gay couple that sorted my fingerprints out for an impossibly extortionate sum—confidentiality guaranteed—were killed in a house fire caused by faulty electrical wiring. There was no trace of an accelerant when the fire was investigated, but then great pains were taken to make sure foul play was not suspected.

***

When the day came to take Braithewaite’s place I attended his home and rang the front doorbell and waited for him to answer. I was remarkably calm. When he opened the door and saw his doppelganger smiling back, it must have come as a bit of a shock. I pushed him into the house at this point and removed the pistol from inside my jacket. I’d attached the silencer a few moments ago in the car on the way over. I shot him twice in the chest point blank. He fell away from me and sat down with an expression that was part pained, part surprised. He turned to crawl away. There was a sticky blood smear along the floor. I stepped around him. I pressed the silencer-muzzle against his head. I shot him once more in the back of the head. His head jerked forward. Brain and bone spattered the tiled hallway. His feet kicked. I watched dispassionately as his body convulsed.

***

“Ark Europa you will be cleared for ascension in T minus ten seconds and counting ... nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, Ark Europa you are cleared for take off ...”

***

It was a couple of seconds before I noticed we were not alone. A young black woman with a sheet clutched to her chest to hide her nakedness was crouched trembling against the wall to my right. Tears streamed from her eyes. I stared at her a moment. No witnesses, I thought. I pointed the gun. It clicked to indicate it was jammed. I tossed it onto the floor. The woman ran. I immediately gave chase. She ran up the stairs across the landing into the bathroom. She tried to lock the door to prevent me from entering. I shoulder charged it open. I accelerated toward her. We tumbled into the bath together. She screamed and hit out blindly. I pulled the shower curtain down and tightened it round her throat. I proceeded to strangle her with it. Her eyes popped as I strengthened my grip. Her mouth worked silently. Her face turned beet red. Her feet kicked furiously against the bath. Finally after what seemed an age the kicks became less frantic. And then she was dead. I allowed her body to flop into the bath, resigned now to disposing of two recently deceased corpses instead of just the one I’d planned for.

I dragged both the bodies to the living room and sawed them into manageable parts, which I double and triple bagged and secured using gaffer tape. Then piece-by-piece I buried them in a variety of remote locations throughout the North. I travelled only at night and made sure that I buried the different packages in areas not frequented by the public very often.

***

“Ark Europa, this is your captain speaking, if I could have your attention for a moment? If you would all gaze to starboard, you will see, silhouetted now against the backdrop of Mars, Agnes, which is presently on a collision course with the Earth. For estimated time of contact speak to your area supervisor. Agnes will remain in view to starboard for a number of days, and then will be visible from the rear of the Ark until impact. A concert will be taking place on the date of the impact to celebrate this historical date in the history of mankind.”

***

Braithewaite, having been the last to win a ticket, was the final one scheduled to board the Ark. All Braithewaite’s (my?) personal possessions had been loaded up weeks before. By the time I arrived in a taxi and pushed my way through to the boarding gate and had my retinas scanned and my prints checked, and was waved through to the waiting area, a group of protesters had assembled. They were the usual assortment of disorganised left-wingers and religious types. There was a lot of shouting, some pushing and shoving, the protesters threw some rocks which caromed off the side of the Ark’s metallic carapace harmlessly, the police threw tear gas and kettled the protesters, then they battered them with riot shields and electrified truncheons. There was a lot of noise and smoke, but in the end it was all a bit anti-climactic.

***

The Ark was gigantic. Gigantic wasn’t a big enough word. Gargantuan wasn’t big enough. Colossal was probably closer. Even that wasn’t quite up to it. I looked up the side of it, soaring away into the clouds. How was it I thought, they were able to construct these science-fiction wonders? How was it that nobody from the media got wind of it? They were incredible. They were monstrous. Surely something should have picked them up. A privately owned satellite perhaps or a super-long camera lens? They were staggeringly large structures. It wasn’t like you could fling a tarpaulin over them to protect them against the elements.

***

Joshua Randall the billionaire investment banker and heir to the Goldstone fortune is missing feared dead today following a freak boating accident off the coast of Cornwall. “The Lucky Mermaid,” Randall’s pleasure yacht was last seen off the coast of St. Ives on Thursday. Randall was reported to have gone out in the yacht alone at 09:00 in the morning. An hour later, the Cornish Coast Guard received a distress signal from Randall though it’s unclear at this point what that call was relating to. By the time the boat was discovered it had capsized. The body of Joshua Randall was not discovered. It is believed that a freak wave may have capsized the yacht and that Randall may have been subsequently drowned. The search for Randall’s body continues ...

***

All through the boarding process I thought they would find me out. Even as the Ark was ascending I was convinced I would be arrested. I remained in my quarters for some time, which were decently sized given the circumstances and well provisioned with en suite bathroom and decent-sized sleeping pod. I waited for them to come for me. They never did. I waited until we were well underway before I ventured out. I found my way to the viewing deck for my level. I sat staring into the vast emptiness of space. A young lady with blonde ringlets, watery blue eyes and skinny calves seated herself next to me. After a short while I confidently introduced myself as Gerard.

***

“Hello Gerard,” she said offering me her hand. “My name is Emm—”

She checked herself and smiled briefly at her ghostly reflection in the viewing screen in front of us. “I’m sorry,” she said. She shook her head as if to clear it. “My name is Naomi,” she corrected. “Naomi Jane Roberts. And I’m incredibly pleased to make your acquaintance.” 

Mark Ayling is a registered mental health nurse living in the North of England. He has a degree in English Literature and French. He likes writing science fiction and horror, and reading children’s books to his son. This is his fourth story for “Perihelion.”