The Serene Invasion

Chapter NINE





JAMES MORWELL STARTED work at nine that morning and by eleven he was through with his duties for the day.

He sat at his desk and considered the appearance of the blue figure last week, its pronouncement that he and the Obterek were working towards the same end, and its gift of the shimmering blue discs. For a few days he had allowed himself a flicker of hope. He had contacted Lal and demanded the latest information regarding the suspected Serene representatives... And the news was not good. The two latest suspects had vanished days ago without trace. Lal assured him that he was working personally to track down other suspects, and promised that within weeks he would be able to present Morwell with a dossier of likely candidates.

The news had dispirited him, and for days he’d sunk into a depressed state, where nothing he did mattered at all and no hope glimmered on the horizon.

His life, of late, was becoming meaningless.

Three days a week he and four other once eminent businessmen, all of them self-made millionaires, met for a round of golf and dinner at their club on Long Island. But he was becoming jaded with the game of late; he detected that his passion to win was not matched by that of his colleagues, and what was victory against apathetic opposition? He blamed the Serene, of course. Their charea had affected not only humanity’s ability to commit violence, but also robbed the human spirit of something vital, the spark of life, of fight, that made individuals, tribes, nations, want to win.

So golf accounted for three afternoons a week, and sex – such as it was – the other three. On Sunday he rested by taking his yacht out to sea and losing himself in the blue immensity for hours on end.

Increasingly these days he enjoyed the luxury of being alone. On his yacht he cut all communications, deactivated his softscreen, and simply sailed.

It was while out on the ocean just a week ago that the idea had occurred to him, and he had greeted its sudden emergence in his head with uproarious laughter.

Along with other forms of violence, suicide was a thing of the past. These days, no one was allowed to kill himself. You spasmed if you tried to slice your jugular, or insert a rifle into your mouth and pull the trigger; you were unable to jump off buildings, or under trains. He was sure, idly thinking about it, that people must have found ways around the self-harming edict. But, if so, they had not survived to pass on the information, and Morwell himself could think of no way to subvert the Serene’s charea – which was a pity as, these days, he was increasingly wondering what was the point of being alive.

He had been out on his boat, staring into the clear blue sky and day-dreaming about possible suicide methods: somehow infect oneself with a lethal botulism, or lay oneself open to a fatal disease... but he suspected that at some point in the process one would begin spasming.

Could he purposefully allow himself to be pitched over the side when the boat yawed, and so drown – to all intents an accident...?

The next time he’d taken his yacht out, he’d tried to do this, and spasmed well before he got anywhere near the safety rail.

Then a few weeks later, while lying on the deck under the full might of the sun, he’d had his brainwave.

Rather than do something to kill oneself – perhaps the answer was simply to do nothing to stay alive?

So excited was he by the idea that he sat up and almost punched the air in elation.

He would board his boat with no provisions, no food or water, with his emergency radio left at home, lifebelts and safety jackets jettisoned; he would set the tiller and point the yacht east and simply... sail into the vast unknown.

He would starve to death – a protracted, painful death, no doubt – or the boat would find itself in a storm and, if he did nothing to steer it through, would capsize and take him with it. Surely then he would achieve his desire to end his life?

But always a niggling doubt remained: before he even set off, would he begin the involuntary spasming that would thwart his dreams of putting an end to himself?

His softscreen chimed, interrupting his reverie.

He answered the call. Lal’s sleek Indian face smiled out at him.

“I wonder if I might come up and see you, sir?”

“Is it really necessary, Lal? I was just about to leave.”

Lal’s smile widened. “If you could spare me just ten minutes, sir.”

Morwell sighed. “Very well. Ten minutes.” And it had better be good, he thought as he cut the connection.

A minute later Lal strode into the office and lounged in the seat across the desk from Morwell.

“You look, Lal, if you don’t mind the crudity, like a dog that’s learned how to f*ck itself and suck its balls at the same time.”

Lal smiled. Morwell was sure his frequent vulgarisms offended the man’s deep-seated Hindu puritanism, but if so he didn’t let it show.

Lal said, “Did I ever tell you that I had a sister, sir?”

Morwell sighed. “No, Lal. No, you didn’t. And I don’t think I ever enquired, either.” Don’t tell me that you’re f*cking her, he thought to himself, but refrained from asking.

“Ana,” Lal went on. “I was parted from her at the age of sixteen, when Paul Prentice found me in Kolkata.”

“That part of your life story, Lal, I am aware of.”

“We lived on Howrah station, and it was hard enough looking after oneself without taking into consideration a puling kid sister. I found Ana a millstone.” He paused. “I never said goodbye to her when Prentice enrolled me at the business school...”

Morwell smiled to himself and said, “With the greatest respect, Lal, why the hell are you telling me all this?”

“Because, sir, yesterday Ana tracked me down.”

“And should I be delighted that the Devi siblings are at last reunited?”

Lal smiled. “Not at all, sir. But I think you will be interested in what I have to tell you.”

“Go on, Lal,” Morwell said with heavy forbearance, “but make it quick, hm?”

“Very well.” Lal crossed his legs and leaned back even further in his seat. “After she’d shed her recriminations at the manner of my leaving, we shared a little history. I excused myself by saying that I’d not wanted to hurt her by telling her I was leaving – and that it was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. I think she was mollified. She told me what she was doing these days – working at the Andhra Pradesh wilderness city as a production manager. She’s done very well for herself.”

Morwell interrupted. “And I’m delighted for her, Lal. But I don’t quite see...”

“She told me that she is also,” Lal said, “a representative of the Serene.”

Morwell stared at the Indian. He felt as if his innards had been scooped from his torso, stirred up and returned. “Go on.”

“We chatted for a couple of hours yesterday, and I met her again this morning. She told me what she does for the Serene – not that she knows exactly what that is. Every month she leaves India for various cities around the world. She travels aboard what she calls a Serene jet – though it is interesting that we have never detected the flight of one of these planes. For the past five years the cities visited, she has noticed, have always been those that are occupied by Serene obelisks. There is obviously some link, sir.”

Morwell nodded, his pulse racing. “Well done, Lal.”

The Indian smiled. “There is more. This morning she told me about an incident in Fujiyama, Japan, which occurred a few days ago. Apparently there was an attack by extraterrestrials opposed to the Serene. Many humans were killed, though Serene self-aware entities apparently restored them to life. My sister was one of these people, along with two other Serene representatives.” Lal smiled at this point. “She mentioned their names in passing, and later I checked their identities. I have all their information here, sir.” He held up a memory stick. “One is a citizen of Italy, the other of the UK.”

Morwell nodded, letting Lal’s information percolate slowly through his consciousness.

At last he said, “This might be the break we’ve been waiting for, Lal.”

“The discs?” asked the Indian.

Morwell laughed. “The discs indeed, my friend.”

“I was wondering, as I have arranged to see Ana tomorrow, might I have the honour of...”

“We need to plan this carefully, Lal – but yes, I see no reason why not.”

He sat back and stared out at the vista of Manhattan. Suddenly, life did not seem to be so lacking in purpose.

In fact, for the first time in years, Morwell felt optimistic.