Panspermia Deorum

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Promethean

This is a work
of fiction. Names, characters and incidents are products of the
author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is
entirely coincidental.

The views
expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not
necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher
hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Copyright by
Hylton Smith 2016

Smashwords
Edition

Introduction

My desire to
write, at least in terms of genre, was always going to be science
fiction, and I admit I was a willing hostage to imagining the world
of the future. After publishing
The Nexus Odyssey
, I
broadened my endeavours into other works, such as alternate
history, mystery and detective, historical fiction, and even helped
publish a friend’s romantic fiction novel, albeit with a heavy
slice of harrowing drama. I’d like to claim that this was purely
driven by exploring new challenges, but apart from
The Jupiter
Paradox
, my reservoir of science fiction storylines had become
threadbare. And that is the case for the defence. The return to
familiar territory feels strange; nevertheless a compulsion. The
next few pages will be the true arbiter of such jumbled logic.

Please note
that Panspermia Deorum has mixed lingual derivation – ‘All seed’
being rooted in Greek, and ‘of the Gods’ stolen from Latin. Indeed
the entire story is one of unlikely combinations.

Part One:
Decline

December
2027

T
he lengthening shadows and watery sun added to his
steadily building irascible demeanour. Julien Delacroix reflected
on how this ludicrous situation could have been allowed to develop.
He’d never contemplated embracing retirement, regardless of the
arbitrary chronological age limit in his contract with NERO. The
study of Near Earth Rogue Objects had been his life, a purpose, a
vocation, linked to doing his bit for humanity. His other life was
now becoming his calling, rather belatedly for his family. How
would they handle being suddenly confronted with more of him, the
six sevenths which had always been the iceberg under the waves? At
sixty-one he had never been more uncertain about anything.

This conference
had been arranged for five months, and was the first real attempt
to conduct an overarching x-ray of all global threats. For some, it
was long overdue, for others it was mission impossible. The mix of
outstanding issues provided monumental challenges for the
protagonists in the chamber. The first thing they had to overcome
was the potential for divisive policy to emerge. At least the
unfavourable projections in this year, 2027, regarding the ultimate
fate of the planet, were not in dispute. The human race was heading
for at least one of many potential death sentences. Massive changes
had to be made. The world was at an undeniable crossroads of
far-reaching decisions. It was no longer credible to extol the
concept that not making a decision was in itself an option.

Arid regions
were still expanding, inversely proportionate to world food supply.
Population increase was a serious variable in this algebraic
formula, as yet without any cohesive resolve to find a consensual
solution. Mass migration, beginning in earnest in 2014, had
compromised social fabric in a way which was unhelpful to
integration and cultural tolerance. Such human tsunamis regularly
deluged public services of the host countries to the point where
fiscal reconciliation just became another weather report. Forecasts
of bad times over which there was no longer any control. In such a
gathering meltdown of ‘civilised’ institution, barbarism was the
main benefactor. Religion has never been far away from any power
struggle, and it enjoyed a resurgence in the lives of many people;
a prosthetic soul with which hope could be preserved. However, its
perennial sibling, terrorism, stalked the land in the guise of
anti-federalism, meting out the same old brutality to any and all
opposition. If anything could be claimed to be a unifying trend, it
was the rejection of ‘elected but corrupt government’, supposedly
representing the views of large swathes of citizens. Hegemony was
the new way forward, feudalism’s virtue was reborn in the cauldron
of protest; a cancerous niche of smoking mirrors. The European
Union’s bankrupt hulk became the ‘poster evidence’ for such
virulent ideology of fragmentation.

Julien’s
presentation had been scheduled for the penultimate day of the
conference. He protested without being heard. His worst fears were
acted out, in that subject after subject was kicked into the long
grass without any semblance of resolution. Julien was suspended in
slow mode, the voices of the speakers were distorted, seemingly
winding down, like an old record player coming to a halt. He
visualised General Custer’s last stand, the silent futility of
resistance, inaudible death throes. The lamentable ruling class.
These people were capable of meeting interminably, but never found
the guts to face their own inertia, thus being perceived as a
species destined for an evolutionary dead end. And so they
inexplicably continued to strut around their privileged, unchanging
hamster wheel, churning out the status quo.

The stated aim
of the entire charade had been to prioritise
action
after
ranking each and every threat, and any significant interrelation.
Julien’s compulsion to break out of this fog overwhelmed his logic
ramparts. There was no coherent plan forming in his mind as yet,
maybe he would think of something. All he knew was that he just
couldn’t take any more. He wasn’t an impulsive man by nature, but
strangely his usual stoicism was giving way to knee-jerk reaction.
Glancing at his greying temples reminded him that he had already
entered NERO’s ‘zone of disposability’. He could be farmed out to
graze the pastures of redundancy without a flicker of remorse.
Despite having a guardsman’s upright, square-shouldered stance,
these people made him feel so dishonest, cowering to the party
line, and for what? The announcement of his abrupt departure from
the conference was delivered directly to the media, to avoid any
face-saving spin being paraded by the organisers. His voice was
shaky, nevertheless, he went for the jugular.

“Unlike many
other threats which we’ve discussed in the last few days, my
presentation deals with something which isn’t dependent upon
opinion. There may be multiple ways of adapting ‘policy’ to reverse
trends in lawlessness, however, I have to deal with the deaf ears
of the Cosmos. If we don’t act to nullify a certain event which
will come to pass in twelve years, everything else is irrelevant.
Thank you.”

The microphone
was pushed even closer to his face. A journalist asked him to
expand on his prediction. He had his platform.

“It’s not a
prediction, it’s a certainty. In August this year, we knew that
Asteroid 1999 A10 was going to pass relatively close to Earth.
New data can now be applied to modify the
expected journey for this potentially hazardous object. The bad
news is that the mathematical implication indicates that this
kilometre-size asteroid did pass particularly close to the Earth on
August 7, 2027. This passage was actually as close as 22,000 km,
rather than the anticipated 37,000 km, from the Earth. Of course,
as everyone knows, this additional proximity didn’t disrupt our
everyday life. But there were measurable, transient, gravitational
effects. Fortunately, they were not serious, and there was no need
for people to be alarmed. The original predicted margin of this
brush with our orbit was not of huge concern, but when the orbit of
this asteroid was continually monitored on its chaotic journey
through the solar system, we realised that it must have had an
altercation with some other stray object, most probably from the
asteroid belt between Jupiter and Mars, or the Kuiper belt, beyond
Neptune. Whatever its origin, it seems to have caused a small but
crucial nudge into a different trajectory. The probability of a
collision in 2027 was still essentially zero
.”

The journalist
responded. “But that’s good news isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.
Unfortunately, it isn’t the end of the story.”

A different
media spokesman interjected. “Why is that? It’s gone hasn’t
it?”

Julien took a
deep breath before delivering the bombshell.

“This asteroid,
because of the unexpected nudge it received, will return in 2039
on an impacting trajectory.
Of course when it does return, it might receive another nudge
which could save us from oblivion, but I fear that is unlikely. I’m
in the business of probability, not blind faith, and the most
optimistic position I can take is one in which we begin
preparations now. We have to explore all options to deflect this
monster ourselves. I didn’t believe that waiting until the
penultimate day of the conference to disclose this information
would raise the required resolve to tackle the problem with
sufficient urgency. I hope that my maverick decision to broadcast
this terrible news won’t preclude me being part of the task force
charged with nullifying such an extinction event. That’s all I can
say at present.”

Within minutes this was world news, and the expected
communication came from NERO. It was none other than the chief
executive, Sir Ian Waverly.

“What the hell were you thinking, Delacroix? You’ve dragged
the credibility of our organisation into the cesspit of
sensationalism, and for what? I have to tell you that we are
waiving your notice period and you are dismissed with immediate
effect. Get back here and clear your personal belongings from the
lab. You will surrender any NERO material which you have with you
to the chairman of the conference, all of it. The security people
are on their way. Do not board any aircraft until I hear that they
have relieved you of all but personal possessions. Is that
understood?”

Saliva trickled down Waverly’s chin, like venom from a
cold-blooded predator. He did vaguely look reptilian, narrowed eyes
and heavily accentuated pronunciation of every ‘S’.

“Understood and anticipated. However, I can’t guarantee that
our paths won’t cross again. If that does transpire, you may regret
this conversation. In contrast, I feel no shame in this revelation
to the world. My scripted remit for NERO at this conference
shambles was to fool all of the people for some of the time. Twelve
years isn’t a long time to devise and prep a remedy for the return
of 1999 A10, but I guess you’d be chilling in the Bahamas by then,
trying to spend your way through an obscene golden handshake.
Sorry, I forgot, you don’t have any children, do you? I thank you
for doing me a favour, publicly dissociating me from your corrupt
influence. I feel better already.”

Julien cut off the call. He needed to contact his family. The
number was engaged. He sent a message asking his wife to call back
as soon as possible. His thoughts wandered to exactly how he would
garner support for forcing the asteroid problem to the forefront of
the global agenda. His phone vibrated.

“Julien? What is going on over there?” Elise Delacroix had
seen the TV interviews given by her husband. His statements were
totally out of character.