Sunfall Page 4

  Despite the potential levels of radiation that, according to Sarah Maitlin, were now getting through more easily than ever, especially here in New Zealand, which was sitting under a massive hole in the ozone layer, Marc decided to go out for his run anyway. As it was, the midday sun was going to make it unpleasantly warm, and he hadn’t yet acclimatized since arriving from a freezing New York. His headache now receding, he bounded up the stairs two at a time to grab his running shoes.

  Whatever Dr Maitlin had to say about the fate of the world could wait.

  6

  Wednesday, 6 February – New York

  Her head was buzzing. Sarah sat alone in the back of the Manhattan taxi as it raced across town. She could have got a drone cab, but the street traffic this time of the evening was no busier than the air above it.

  So much had happened to her since first detecting the coronal ejection back at the Institute that she really hadn’t had time to take stock. It felt as though she had talked herself dry to the press; surely there wasn’t any more she could possibly say about solar cycles, solar storms, solar flares, sunspots, solar wind or coronal mass ejections. The media attention was finally waning now after a whirlwind few days and she felt drained, but she was still a long way from being able to get back to her research at the SSI, or any semblance of normality.

  Sitting back, she closed her eyes, overcome by an unexpected feeling of loneliness. There was no one she felt close enough to and on whom she could offload, or simply unwind with – and not just here in New York, but anywhere. Sure, there were plenty of academic colleagues around the world she knew well enough to socialize with when their paths crossed, but none were close friends. And, as her mother would all too often point out, many women her age had found partners to share their lives with and even settled down to start families.

  She smiled to herself. Much as she loved her mother and enjoyed spending time with her back in England when she could, she had long since stopped taking advice from her. In any case, she enjoyed her own company … most of the time. And, heaven knows, she certainly didn’t need a man in her life right now. After two mistakes, there was no way she was prepared to get involved in another relationship just yet. She would readily admit that both failures had partly been her fault. She had been accused by Simon during a big row in Rio last summer of being too preoccupied with her work, which was true. But she certainly didn’t regret that. The truth was she really loved her research, and Simon just hadn’t been important enough for her to be prepared to make the room for him in her life that he had expected.

  But now her work was being put on temporary hold. First had come the phone calls from the local media in Rio; within an hour of the Delhi plane crash, still late Wednesday evening, Rio local time, reports were emerging that the accident had not been due to any fault with the aircraft, pilot error or even extreme weather conditions. It had been a severe and catastrophic comms failure. Once the Indian news agencies had pinned the accident on the exotic explanation of particles from space knocking out the communications, the hunt had been on for someone to explain the science.

  It began when a local TV news researcher had called, sounding overly cheerful given the graveness of the news. Like many news networks around the world, he had traced the sequence of events back and found a report of Sarah having warned the authorities of the arrival of a serious cosmic-ray storm. The Globo News journalist had struck lucky by being the first to get hold of Sarah’s private contact details. It was gone 11 p.m. when she’d taken that first call just as she was getting ready for bed. By one in the morning, she had given seven other online interviews to various news agencies.

  Following three hours’ sleep and a quick shower, she had been driven to a nearby helipad where a team from Globo had been waiting to fly her to the downtown media hub for a live slot on the morning news.

  After the interview, an excited young analyst working for the station told her that the regular twenty million Brazilian viewers of the programme had been joined by hundreds of millions watching online around the world. The interview had started smoothly, and Sarah had felt surprisingly calm. The TV anchor who interviewed her was absurdly glamorous and immaculately dressed, making Sarah feel self-consciously scruffy alongside her. But the woman was a consummate professional and seemed to show a genuine interest in what Sarah had to say. She had explained in very careful, non-technical terms how the weakening magnetic field of the Earth could no longer deflect the high-energy particles from space, and that while this particular energetic solar burst would normally have been treated as an isolated and freak incident, the world could expect more violent events in the future as the planet’s defence weakened further. She’d felt on safe ground explaining this and was confident with the science. Most people knew about the growing number of holes in the ozone layer in the upper atmosphere and the general heightened levels of radiation exposure, but a direct hit from coronal mass ejections was something new to many, and the fact that this one seemed to have been directly responsible for bringing down Flight AI-231 had captured the world’s attention.

  But just when she thought the interview was winding up, the woman began asking questions she felt she couldn’t offer a confident opinion on. She knew that being a scientist meant she was expected to be an expert on everything, but what had annoyed her was that the woman could clearly see her discomfort and yet carried on pressing for answers. She had wanted to know when Sarah expected the Flip to happen and how quickly the strength of the field would be restored once magnetic north and south had switched over. She then asked how satellites or electricity grids could be protected before this happened and things settled down, and even what could be done to protect people from the harm cosmic rays could cause them directly. Had Sarah been lulled into a false sense of security by being first asked about the stuff she knew? Was this a trap? Did the network or the producers of this particular news programme have any political agenda? She had forced herself to remain calm.

  She explained how, once the poles had flipped and the field had regained its strength, everything would slowly return to normal, but until it did, and that could take decades, the surface of the planet was highly exposed.

  But her reluctance to be drawn in to speculating about these issues and her mumbled protests about not being qualified to comment were all instantly dubbed into fifty languages by software that even picked up, and mimicked, the frustrated tone of her voice.

  By the time the interview was over she felt drained. The syrupy smile and exaggerated fake gratitude of her interviewer had only made her more resentful of the woman. She’d been eager to get back to her apartment. Maybe if she’d had the chance to discuss all this with her boss, Philipe Santos, he could have advised her on what she should and shouldn’t comment on. But, as director of the SSI, he had been just as inundated as her with media enquiries and had brushed off her concerns, saying he had full confidence in her. He had then flown to Brasília to talk politics. No doubt he would be looking for ways of turning his institute’s early detection of the CME to his advantage by talking up the role the SSI could play in providing an advance-warning system which could help avert any future such tragedies, naturally only by securing significantly larger funding.

  The following day she’d received a message from Santos telling her to set up a VR meeting with the SSI’s counterpart research organization in London, the Helios Institute, to see if there was any mileage in collaborating more closely on a CME early-warning system. Although she knew it was a long shot, she asked him if it would be possible for her to fly to London to speak to them in person. These days, the convenience of a VR visor meant no one had to travel to conferences any more. Sarah knew full well that her avatar could meet up with the avatars of the Helios Institute scientists at a computer-simulated location of their choice, but she was also aware that she hadn’t visited her parents in almost a year. So she had argued the case for needing to be physically in London in order to properly discuss the latest solar data face to
face. Santos was no fool and knew her real reason for wanting to go, but he was also a reasonable man.

  By early Thursday evening she was flying across the Atlantic to the country of her birth and the chance for some brief respite, and maybe even a relaxing weekend at her parents’ house on the south coast of England.

  In fact, visiting them had highlighted just how long it had been since she’d last been over. She had been sensible enough not to try and adjust her body clock for the three short days of her trip, knowing she’d be flying back across the Atlantic soon enough.

  Her parents had both been following her Globo interview. ‘You sounded very confident and self-assured, darling,’ remarked her mother, ‘and, do you know, for the first time I think I now understand what your work is about. I know you’ve tried explaining it many times to me but, well, you know me.’

  Her father had suggested they go out for a pub lunch at one of their old haunts; one that held fond memories for Sarah too, from what seemed like many lifetimes ago.

  During the relatively short drive along the coastal road from her parents’ home in Southsea, she had only half listened to her mother’s animated monologue updating her on the latest news of family friends and relatives she hadn’t seen or spoken to in years. She stared out at the soggy world outside through the rivulets of rain running down the window. She recalled vividly, as though it were just yesterday, the childhood frustration both she and her brother would feel during the family’s regular summer drive to the sandy expanse of West Wittering beach; frustration at losing valuable beach time before the tide came in as the car crawled slowly along with the rest of the summer traffic towards the popular resort. But on this particular Sunday three decades later, the roads were nearly empty. With the pitter-patter of the rain on the car roof making more noise than the hum of its electric engine, her father had informed her in his typical matter-of-fact way that these days this coast road wasn’t much busier even during the height of the summer season. West Wittering beach and much of the surrounding low-lying marshlands were now permanently underwater, part of the changing coastline of the British Isles thanks to the rising sea levels.

  But the dismal weather notwithstanding, the day had been wonderful. After eating Brazilian cuisine for so long, a proper English Sunday roast with ‘all the trimmings’ had really hit the spot. The Lamb Inn down by the seafront in the Witterings was a family favourite and they were lucky to have got a table when booking so late. The entire day had felt soaked in nostalgia, just as it did every time she came back to visit her parents. As she always did on such visits, it made her question why she had moved so far away from all these childhood memories.

  That day now seemed like a parallel reality in which time ran at a different pace – a temporary haven of sanity in the eye of a storm. But there had been yet more surprises in store. On Sunday evening, she’d received a message from the prime minister’s office and a summons to attend Whitehall first thing on Monday morning to brief the UK government’s crisis response committee, COBRA.

  Sarah was intrigued as to why they would feel it necessary, or even useful, to speak to her. After all, if they had just wanted reliable scientific advice, then surely any number of solar physicists at the Helios Institute in London could have briefed them. She figured that political aides and civil servants were no less lazy than many in the media when it came to looking for expert opinion. You just checked to see who everyone else had been talking to.

  Her meeting with the PM, along with several ministers and aides, had been a somewhat surreal experience. The British government had been debating recently whether to fund a joint Sino-British ten-year project to build a new early-warning satellite system and couldn’t decide whether it would be worth the multi-billion-pound outlay, given the nature of the new threat posed by solar particles. The prime minister and several faceless civil servants had all been pleasant enough – in fact, the PM had positively oozed an obsequious charm that was mildly unsettling. Having been out of the country for so long, she didn’t really have a strong opinion on his true political views. Like the previous few populist governments, these people seemed keen, and short-sighted enough, to insist on knowing the views of any British scientists who they felt could give them technological insider knowledge that they could use to negotiate a deal with China.

  But what on earth she could tell them that they didn’t already know, she had no idea. Maybe they were crediting her with deeper insights than she could offer. She had simply repeated what she had said already countless times about the uncertainties of even the most sophisticated solar model. Why couldn’t they understand that space weather was just as unpredictable as terrestrial weather?

  But if Sarah had thought she’d now be able to head home and get back to her research, then she had underestimated the impact of her sudden fame. The day after her Whitehall meeting, and while immersed in discussions at Helios in London, she’d received a further unexpected message. This time her presence was requested in New York, by the UN Secretary-General Abelli herself. She had made her excuses to the Helios scientists and looked around for somewhere she could make a call in private. In the end she decided to play it safe and headed for a rear exit from the building. Although she had not been told that her invitation to the UN was a secret, she still thought it prudent to have some privacy.

  She’d stepped out into the chilly late afternoon air and the deserted backstreet and immediately wished she’d remembered her coat. The steady hum of hundreds of drones in the air above her head filled her ears: delivery drones, window-cleaning drones, surveillance and monitoring drones, all going about their business, choreographed by the London Transport AI so that they zipped past each other in every possible direction in three dimensions, never colliding or getting in the way of the much larger taxi drones that buzzed through the swarm.

  Sarah tapped her wristpad and called her father. As a retired political correspondent, he would have as good an idea as anyone what this all meant.

  For all the justifiable criticism of the UN’s ineffectiveness, especially since the epicentre of global power had shifted to east Asia, it still had considerable influence. And in any case, it remained the only body that even came close to being neutral on the world stage.

  His smiling face filled the screen on her wrist, although she could see that he was speaking to her from his study.

  ‘Hi, Dad. Listen, I’m afraid I’m flying out again tomorrow so I’m not going to get the chance to get back down to see you and Mum after all. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘What? Already? But sweetheart, you’ve only been in the country a few days.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. And I need some advice.’

  ‘That’s what dads are for, right?’ His features took on a more serious look, which amused her. Sometimes he acted as though she was still eight years old rather than thirty-eight. She smiled. ‘Well, you know I had my Downing Street meeting yesterday? The PM seemed a nice enough guy. Wouldn’t trust him as far as I could spit, of course.’ This was exactly the sort of thing her father would say, for she knew full well what he thought of the current government.

  True to form, he grunted his disapproval. ‘Well, yes, I could have told you that for nothing. So, how did it go? Assuming you’re allowed to tell me anything.’

  ‘Well, we’ll probably both get shot for treason if we’re caught,’ she said in mock trepidation. Her father had retired seven years ago, but still wrote the odd stingingly critical article on the government’s unpopular and draconian robot ethics and drone surveillance laws. She recounted her hour-long meeting the day before. ‘Nothing much to report, really. I went over the usual science and the risks of a coronal ejection hitting the UK. It’s all stuff they know already, Dad. They really didn’t need to hear it from me. Anyway, I called because of something else that’s just come up that’s even more important and I wanted to pick your brains.’

  His eyebrows shot up and he sat back in his chair in mock astonishment. ‘Really? E
ven more important than explaining basic science to a philistine like our prime minister? What could possibly be more pressing?’

  Sarah chuckled. Then, without thinking, she quickly glanced up and down the street to make sure she was still alone. ‘I’ve been invited to join some crack UN committee looking into the solar threat. To be honest, the whole thing is nuts. The committee seems to be full of government ministers, ambassadors and other high-profile characters. I mean, people with real power. I keep wondering why they suddenly want the advice of a mid-career scientist like me who has not had any real experience in science policy or politics.’

  ‘Don’t knock it. You’re an excellent solar physicist and they would do well to listen to what you have to say. And as for this committee, it sounds like another one of those intergovernmental panels to me – you know, like the IPCC. What bloody good this new one would do I don’t know, but I guess it’s about time some action, any action, was taken.’

  Sarah knew only too well that it was largely thanks to the efforts of the IPCC over the past forty years that the worst effects of climate change had been averted. And the same was true for the panel on antimicrobial resistance. The controversy these days was with the Intergovernmental Panel on Population Displacement, which had its work cut out and was hugely unpopular. But then the mass migrations forced by sea-level rises were still going on.

  ‘Well, anyway, I hope I’m not the only scientist on this panel and it’s not just a bunch of megalomaniac politicians with their own vested interests. I mean, how do these things work?’

  ‘I’m happy that you think I’m the fount of all knowledge and wisdom. But I’m just a retired hack keeping his head down while watching others try to sort out the planet. But since you ask, I’m not catching any whiff of conspiracy theories here.’