“NIGHT OF THE WERES”
The Leonid Meteors were an annual event, and 2023 was no different…as such. They arrived bang on schedule, 17 November 2023, but they defied the expectations of the world’s astronomersAccording to the BBC Science Focus Magazine, “The Leonid meteor shower is fast and is well-known for its impressive, bright fireballs. Every so often the Leonids will produce ‘meteor storms’, where viewers can see meteors in their thousands. Sadly, 2023 is not predicted as a meteor storm year, but the shower is still well worth watching, especially if you’re in an area with little-to-no light pollution.”
However, far from being a shower, by 18 November the Leonids were putting on a magnificent display, as astronomers explained that they had come closer to Earth’s orbit than anticipated, with many smaller meteors blazing a trail through the heavens to produce a much more fiery display than usual.
Even in major cities, with all the accompanying light pollution, the Leonids could be seen quite clearly, and London was better served than most.
The nightly views were so spectacular that the BBC quickly arranged for a special broadcast of The Sky At Night from Hyde Park, which was attended by over five-thousand star-gazing fans, though the question of why the meteors had seemingly come closer to Earth than expected still had Dr Maggie Aderin-Pocock and Professor Chris Lintott ultimately shrugging their shoulders, lacking a satisfactory answer.
By 23 November, news reports begin estimating that close to 90% of the U.K. population, and similar in Eire and northern France, have been out on the streets each night, enjoying the light show from the Leonids.
By 25 November sales of The Day of the Triffids, both the book and the film/T.V. mediums, had topped the charts, and The Church of Divine Harmony proclaims that the wayward meteors are a sign from God that he is displeased with the superhumans that exist in the world and the fact that they have been accepted into society without question by the government.
One thing that the astronomers were sure of is that the whole thing would be over as usual, and on time, by 30 November. Yes, the atmospheric phenomena may be extraordinarily brighter than normal for the tail-end of the yearly display, but that would be that. The world would not be ending, the Leonids would not be making Earthfall, and would simply go on circling the heavens as they had done for countless aeons.
Everyone would be perfectly safe.
***
At Jodrell Bank, Dr Alice Durham, granddaughter to Professor Bernard Quatermass, sat at a radar display screen watching the latest telemetry data for the final act of this year’s Leonid meteor shower. The green glow cast a peculiar sheen across her auburn hair.
“Where is Dr Murray?” she asked, not looking up from the instrument panel before her. She adjusted her glasses absent-mindedly as she waited for Bill to answer.
Dr Bill Mathom, a handsome middle-aged astrophysicist with a healthy head of dark brown hair, turned to look at her. “Believe it or not, he is in London tonight. The Royal Variety Performance, of all things.”
Now she did look up, a look of resigned disgust on her face. “Really? Bugger! That’s ruined things for certain.”
Bill smiled; Alice hated it when things didn’t go her way, but she would forget about it in around ten minutes. “Why, what do you need Kelvin for, apart from being a member of your next Science Council quiz team?”
Alice nodded towards the screen, “This data stream from tonight’s Leonid display, it’s…taunting me!”
Bill laughed, and left his own workstation to join Alice at her screen. “Well, you’re my superior, so if you can’t figure it out, I’m not sure what assistance I can provide. Where is the problem?”
She pointed, “There! And I’m not your superior, I’m just more experienced, that’s all.”
Bill squinted as he tried to make sense of the glowing information in front of him. “And a direct relative of the greatest British aeronautics scientist to have ever lived. But we don’t mention that intelligence jumps a generation, do we, Prof?”
Alice looked at Bill and giggled. Oh, why didn’t she make a move on him when she had the chance?
“Okay, okay! I have granddad’s brains.”
“In a jar by your bed?”
“Bill! Oh, you are gross. Come on, can you make anything of it?”
Bill leaned in closer. “Well, you know me, Prof, and I’m not sure you’ll like the answer…”
“A signal?”
Bill stepped back and straightened up, rubbing his lower back to ease the ache. “Why do you keep me around when you know everything before you ask me? Fancy a cuppa?” He made his way to the office kitchenette and flicked on the kettle.
“I thought it showed a signal, but that’s ridiculous. Isn’t it? It’s coming from the tail of the Leonids. What’s that all about?”
Bill popped teabags into mugs, then toyed with the sugar spoon, wondering whether to upset his GP and his own type II diabetes, “Now, come on, Prof, it’s obvious. It’s aliens, isn’t it?”
***
Thursday 30 November 2023, 2.30pm, the offices of the Rt. Honourable Alex Chalk KC MP, Lord High Chancellor of Great Britain and Secretary of State for Justice. Situated at 102 Petty France in Westminster the office is spacious, comfortable, but ultimately practical; its prized possessions were the overly large oak desk behind which Alex sat, and the plush leather chairs that were currently occupied by the three members of the Murgatroyd Corporation’s Enhanced Defence Team.
Sanctuary Stronghold Citadel
—
At forty-six years of age Alex was a successful politician and barrister. Square-jawed, with short dark hair, greying slightly at the temples, his smile seemed strained but genuine. With refreshments in hand, the Justice Secretary started his preamble.
“Hello, hello, sorry to keep you waiting. It’s nice to meet you at last…”
“And you, Mr Chalk,” said Citadel, the Australian of the trio.
“Oh, Alex is fine, no need to stand on ceremony here. Now, I would like to welcome you, officially, to the U.K. As you may already know, I am overseeing this agreement between our government and your Murgatroyd Corporation. It’s very nice to see you, the end result of Murgatroyd’s hard work. The U.K. government is paying a lot of money to have you over here, looking after our streets which, I understand, you haven’t done yet, but that is why you’re here.
We have a potential assignment coming up. It’s not ready to put in front of you just yet; we have some high level intelligence experts working on some last details, but we’re very hopeful that you will be able to help us out with something in the very near future. But, just for tonight, we want to make a bit of a show and have,…” he opens a drawer and pulls out a large envelope, handing it to Sanctuary, “here, three VIP tickets for the Royal Variety Performance, which is being filmed tonight at the Royal Albert Hall.”
“Thank you,” mumbled Stronghold, sincerely but awkwardly.
“You will have your own box, approximately four, maybe five away from the Royal family members who are turning up. It has a very good view of the stage. There will be a brief announcement, towards the beginning of the show; we would just like you to get to your feet, take a bow…lots of people are obviously aware of what’s going on with Murgatroyd and the fact that we have got you involved, so just to settle you in, sort of thing, we thought we would ask you to go along, show your presence, and have a good time.”
Sanctuary shifted in her chair, leaning forward slightly, “When you say, ‘take a bow’, you don’t mean literally take a bow, I mean I can just do a thumbs up or something like that? I mean, I’m not in the habit of curtseying.”
Alex smiled, glancing at her costume shiftily before replying, “Well, I can imagine that, in that costume, it’s a little bit difficult so, yes, a quick acknowledgement to the crowd…”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool,” Sanctuary nodded, satisfied that she wouldn’t have to cosy up to anyone.
Alex went on, “If you wouldn’t mind bowing to the members of the Royal family when it’s their turn to be announced, it would be appreciated.”
Sanctuary saluted, a smirk on her face.
“However,” Alex looked down at the desktop, “I’m sure no-one will be looking at you too directly when it’s their turn…so, I’ll call you back as-and-when we’ve got more information for you about this potential…let’s call it a ‘mission’, shall we? But for tonight, please enjoy the hospitality and have a good time!”
***
The early evening night was clear and cold, barely 1°C, and already the Leonids were making the skies a battleground of fiery light.
At the London Palladium, most of the guests were seated by 6.15pm, with occasional stragglers drifting in until nearly 6.30pm, just in time for the military band and accompanying choir to strike up the National Anthem signalling the entrance of their Royal Highnesses The Prince and Princess of Wales, plus the Crown Princess Victoria and Prince Daniel of Sweden.
The host for the show, Bradley Walsh, officially greeted the Royals, then introduced the Murgatroyd superhumans to rousing applause. Of them all, only Stronghold may have seemed awkward in the spotlight.
Acts came and went, time-keeping ruled over by television demands and experienced show producers: Malevo, Zara Larsson, Rosie Jones, the cast of “I’m Crazy For You”, “Britain’s Got Talent” winner Viggo Venn, Paloma Faith, some video film of good causes, then the latest escapology sensation Taboo took to the stage to finish the first half of the show.
He is robed, masked, faceless and unidentifiable, enigmatic and mysterious. He is handcuffed, straitjacketed, and placed in a sack before being lowered and sealed inside a water tank filled with piranhas. A curtain is dropped over the tank, the sack shudders, and the water turns blood red. Four minutes goes by and a stage hand with an axe rushes onto the stage as the curtain is raised; Taboo is seen standing fully dry in his robes on top of the tank.
While the stage hands prepare the next trick, someone off-stage bounces a basketball to Taboo, which he throws up to the Murgatroyd box, though no-one seems to know how he managed to throw it so far.
“If one of you would be so kind as to sign the basketball and return it to me, I’m sure we can auction it off later to raise more money for our patron’s good causes.” Taboo seems to have the crowd in his hands, and hundreds of people turn to applaud.
The basketball has ended up with Sanctuary, “Has anyone got a pen?” she asked aloud, and seconds later a member of the theatre staff handed her a silver marker pen. Sanctuary signed the ball, then threw it back out over the crowd, using her telekinetic power to help it float down to the stage.
As he reached to catch the ball with one hand, Taboo used his other hand to throw an egg into the air, where it promptly vanishes into thin air, even as he throws the ball off-stage.
Then the basketball is thrown back at him; it bounces once, he catches it and throws into the air only to also vanish in midair – Taboo shrugs as a carpet is laid across the stage before a tall solid metal sheet is brought onto the stage blocking all access and view. A a member of the audience is selected to test the wall before being blindfolded on the opposite side of the wall, after which a curtain is pulled across the stage; a second later the curtain falls to reveal Taboo and the audience member are on the other sides of the metal sheet. Taboo is bouncing the basketball up and down. He once again throws the ball up to Sanctuary, who confirms that it is the same ball, and the crowd go wild.
As the sheet and carpet are removed a troupe of acrobats somersault across the stage. A bright light highlights the troupe as they tumble and flip across the stage, and as the light follows them Taboo turns his back to the audience to applaud them. One young girl is somersaulted high into the air only for Taboo, in his mask and robes, to land in her stead. Where Taboo had been standing on stage the cloaked figure turns to reveal that ‘he’ is the girl.
Taboo and the girl take centre stage as the troupe files off-stage; they bow and the curtain closes to rapturous applause and cheering.
Bradley takes to the stage to inform the audience of the safety information and interval timings, and many people begin to make their way out of the auditorium and into the concourses, heading for the bars, bathrooms, and merchandising stalls.
As they sat in their private box, sipping soft drinks and nibbling on the occasional snack, the trio began to pick up signals that something wasn’t right with the world outside the confines of their velvet cocoon.
Sanctuary realised that many people were sending out thoughts of distress, too many at once to be coincidence. Stronghold’s ability to sense human life picked up a large influx of people entering the theatre’s foyer area, whilst many other people started to move away from the ne arrivals. Whilst Citadel also detected the same occurrence, his sixth sense was warning him to steer clear of the area behind the stage; as if on cue from some unseen stage director, two men, obviously part of the scene shifting crew, burst through the doors nearest to the stage steps and ran onto the stage as though their lives depended on it. And maybe it did as, close behind them, emerged a snarling man – if man it was.
It was wearing jeans and trainers that were streaked with a red discolouration; a pale blue long-sleeved shirt was ripped and bloodied, and tufts of hair or fur were visible through the rips in the cotton. But the face…neither human nor animal, but a masque that combined the two into a beastly, savage visage. It halted briefly, sniffing the air around it, then bounded up the steps, chasing the two men again.
Then the screaming started.
In the private area reserved for the acts backstage, heads turned as one as the cries rang through the air. People looked scared, concerned, agitated. With a theatrical twirl of purple robes, Taboo turned and walked silently towards the dressing rooms.
It was time to go to work.
***
The Waning Gibbous moon was bright in the sky as the first disturbance occurred. A scream from his neighbour’s house brought former SAS soldier Daniel Rowlf out into the chill night, a little after 7pm, an illegal military knife in his hand. Even in his late forties he was fit and healthy, and he was knocking on Dennis and Angie’s front door in seconds, demanding to know what was happening.
When the door was opened suddenly Daniel didn’t expect to see Angie lying on the floor, her blouse ripped, covered in fresh blood, lifeless eyes staring up at him in a silent plea for help. He didn’t expect Dennis to lunge for him either; he suffered a stinging gash to his left shoulder as a result.
He twisted away as his military training kicked in, moving away from his attacker quickly, maintaining a safe distance and assessing the situation. Dennis was gone. Whatever was wearing his clothing wasn’t a man, probably wasn’t human. It looked like a chimera; part-wolf, part-bear. Daniel could see claws, enlarged musculature, fur, animalistic eyes, hatred. This thing – it wasn’t Dennis – wanted him dead.
Finis – Session Zero
Superhero Adventures, UK Style 