Survival
by Karen Page

The survival of the Human Race rests with one person. Can that person be found and the planet saved?

Prologue - Fifteen years ago

Donna heaved a sigh of relief, as the cool of her house soothed her red arms. The thick three hundred year old bricks shielded the house from the heat of the summer. Her parents had purchased the house in a sleepy rural village twenty years ago when prices were cheap. Now the prices were astronomical.

"I don't know how you can play tennis in this heat. Especially playing in the middle of the afternoon," teased Hilda.

"It quite straight forward," replied Donna, sticking out her tongue. "You just hit the ball with the racket; no different from normal, really. Anyway, I'm sure you were doing more energetic things with Adam."

"Adam and I have never done anything inappropriate," Hilda protested.

"Okay you two," interrupted their mother, Margaret Saunders, before their bantering got out of hand. "We have a guest coming in an hour. So please change into something a bit more respectable, and Donna, please have a shower."

Donna, thought about sticking her tongue out at her mother, but thought better of it. It might be her sixteenth birthday, but that wouldn't have stopped her mother from punishing her.

"Who is coming?" asked Hilda.

"Mrs Singleton."

"Not that I don't like her, but why is she coming on my birthday? Doesn't she normally come on Hilda's, due to her being Hilda's godmother?"

"She wasn't able to come last week due to her husband being ill, so she is coming today. She has something very important to discuss with both of you, so I expect you both to be on your best behaviour; especially you, Donna Louise Saunders."

"Yes Mum," the two children replied in unison.

"Why did Mum have to have such a good memory," bemoaned Donna to herself. "I only was naughty in front of Mrs Singleton once when I was seven."

When the doorbell chimed, the two sisters were sat in the lounge, dressed in casual, but smart clothes. Margaret ushered a woman who was slightly older than she was into the room. Moira Singleton was small, at about five foot, but never stood for any nonsense. There was rumour that she'd tackled two burglars that were both over six feet tall and won. Moira visited once a month and would always stop for many hours. Even though she was older, the children never tired of her visits. She would often delight the girls with many antics that their mother would frown upon.

"Hi girls," she said as she ambled in.

"Hi, Mrs Singleton," they responded in unison, both giving her a huge hug.

"Happy birthday Donna," she said, passing Donna a present. She also gave Hilda a present while saying, "And a slightly belated happy eighteenth to you Hilda. Now you are both past the age of sixteen, I think you should call me Moira."

Hilda and Donna both ripped open their presents. They were identical. Inside was a gold chain. Running within the twists was a blue thread. At the end was a sealed ball about a centimetre in diameter.

"Don't put them on yet," asked Margaret when Hilda examined the chain, looking for the nonexistent fastener.

"That's just like the one I've seen you wear," said Donna to her mother. Moira opened the top two buttons on her pale yellow blouse and she showed them that not only did their mother have an identical chain, but she also did.

"What's the blue in the chain, and what does it signify?" asked Hilda.

"Donna, why don't you cut your birthday cake and we can nibble on that while Moira explains why she is here," requested Margaret.

They all sang happy birthday to Donna and she proceeded to cut the triple chocolate cake. As Donna passed out slices to everyone, Moira requested, "What I'm about to tell you doesn't get discussed with anybody else, under any circumstances. Can I have your agreement on that before I proceed?"

Donna immediately agreed. Hilda, however, didn't. "I'll only agree as long as what is being discussed isn't illegal."

Moira and Margaret exchanged a knowing grin. "What I'm about to say isn't illegal, so that shouldn't be a problem."

Moira took a device out of her bag, pressed a button, and placed it on the table. The circular object had a blue thread running along its perimeter, just like the necklace. "This is a security shield and should make sure this conversation stays quiet."

"I've never heard of such a device," said Donna, her mouth wide open.

"This device doesn't exist on Earth," replied Moira. "It was invented on a planet just over eighty light years away."

"WHAT!?" simultaneously exclaimed both Donna and Hilda.

"Are we aliens?" queried Donna.

"No, you are human. Let me explain and things might become clearer."

"In 1923 a spaceship landed in a little alpine village in Switzerland. It was from a planet called Alfare, where they were concerned that this planet was heading towards disaster. The only way to save the Human Race is if we develop spaceflight and humanity spreads to different planets. They predicted that within a hundred years there would be a genius who would be able to design a spaceship. Their prophet drew a picture of a woman in her fifties, with her only child beside a spaceship. That is the only clue. Before they left, they warned that another planet called Reginadde would try to influence this planet to self-destruct. The aliens weren't sure how, but they said that nature would naturally disguise our saviour and her talent, so it wouldn't be visible until we helped. If we missed this opportunity, then the human race would never reach the 22nd century."

"How do we know they weren't just crackpots?" asked Hilda.

"They predicted certain events and they have been right. This includes the end of World War II, man landing on the moon and the date of Pope John-Paul II's death."

"Why didn't they just give us a spaceship, or the technology?"

"The technology comes with certain risks. Without the development required over time, it wouldn't be possible for us to build a spaceship ourselves. If they gave us a spaceship, the planet would never have got past World War II. This is the only way to ensure the survival of the Human Race."

"So how is this genius to be found?"

"Each of us wears a necklace like this one and it enhances our perception. If we find 'the one' we will know. Some people have more enhanced perception than others have. There are only a dozen 'true seekers' throughout the world."

"Why are you telling us this?" naively asked Donna.

"Because Moira wants us to join the group," responded Hilda.

"Will you?" asked Moira.

"What will it do to us?" asked Hilda, before Donna could immediately agree. "Will it shorten our lives? Make us less human?"

Donna, who was about to agree, closed her mouth and moved closer to her sister.

"The necklace enhances your perception and sometimes gives new abilities. It doesn't take away anything from you. You certainly don't become less human. If 'the one' is found then it might become dangerous if the people from Reginadde influence the situation."

"What happens if we accept?" asked Hilda.

"Then you put on your necklace and I will scan you with a special machine. It will tell me what skills, if any, that it has given you. It will also tell me a few other things about you, which help me plan."

"Can I discuss this privately with Hilda?" Donna asked.

"That sounds like a good idea," agreed Moira.

"Just before you go, why are you telling us this, not Mum?"

"Because I'm head organiser of the UK search. I report to the lead in Switzerland. She is the great granddaughter of the person who met the aliens."

With that, Moira and Margaret left the two young women alone.

"What do we do?" Donna asked her big sister.

"I don't know. Do you want to join?"

"Yes, but I'm always impulsive. That is why I wanted to speak with you alone."

"Well why don't you cut us both a large slice of that cake and we can discuss it."

The two girls spent the next hour talking through, not just about joining the search for 'the one', but what they wanted to do with their life. By the time they had called their Mum and Moira back, they had finished the cake and were feeling rather sick.

"You girls never cease to amaze me," said Moira with a grin. "Do you have any more questions, or do you have an answer?"

"One quick question, do you have any more cake?" asked Donna with a giggle.

"I take that as a no," replied her Mum.

"We'll both do it," said Hilda. "How could anyone refuse?"

"Put on your necklaces," instructed Moira. "There is no catch. Just put it around your neck and hold the ends together. The ends will seal, creating a necklace that can't be lost."

"Or removed," observed Hilda. "In for a penny..."

"In for a pound," continued Donna.

The two sisters held the ends together and silently the ends conjoined. No join was visible.

"Are you both okay?" queried an anxious Margaret.

"Fine," Donna replied

"No different than before," agreed Hilda.

"Are you okay for me to scan you?" asked Moira.

When both girls agreed, she waved a small box over Donna. "Interesting," was the only response.

She then waved the small box over Hilda. The box started beeping madly.

"What does it say?" asked Hilda.

"Hang on. Wow. That's rare."

"What is it?" asked Margaret.

"Hilda has developed skills; very rare ones. Not only has she got a very high perception level; classified as a 'strong true seeker'. She also has the ability to 'give of herself'."

"What's that?" Hilda asked.

"It is very dangerous. You can give part of your life force to save another person. One career I recommend you don't pursue is becoming a doctor."

"I was thinking about trying to become a psychiatrist. Is that okay?"

"With your perception, that would be a great career. You are a complex person to analyse. This is taking a lot longer than normal."

"So what do we do?" asked Donna.

"Nothing more than you ever did," replied Moira. "Just let me know if you spot 'the one'."

Just then, the scanner started beeping again. Moira peered at the display. "NO!" she exclaimed. "This can't be true."

"What is it?" demanded Margaret, snatching the machine from Moira. "Oh shit!"

Margaret then collapsed into a heap on the floor and wept.

Present time
Chapter One
"At last, a bit of progress," George Harries sighed. He was left in the room with his three colleagues, the delegations having already filed out.
"Now I didn't expect that," said Craig, collapsing into a chair.

"Always expect the unexpected," replied George. "I thought you'd have understood that by now."

"Oh I do," he replied, not liking the mild rebuke. "It's just so out of character."

"I agree and tomorrow we need to try and understand what their motivation is. Unless we understand the delegates, it's going to be very precarious. However, that's for tomorrow; tonight we will go to the opera."

Craig, Henry, and Melissa all smiled to themselves. George was renowned for his love of highbrow music. Craig and Henry had both packed dinner jackets and Melissa had a few gowns. When the team had been created, they had all been surprised by George's sudden decision to go to the ballet and none of them had the necessary outfits. None of them wanted to repeat the mad last-minute panic of finding something appropriate.

"The car will be outside the hotel at six thirty. That will give us enough time to get past the reporters, and be seated."

At six fifteen, George stood in front of the mirror and straightened his bow tie. Straightening his bow tie was a standard nervous reaction that he'd tried to stop, but so far failed. This was one of the reasons he never wore a suit when leading discussions.

He glanced around and saw Melissa, still in her underwear, remove her dress from the wardrobe. He glanced at his watch and saw they had fifteen minutes before the car would be outside the hotel lobby. There wasn't time for another session of fun.

"Oh well, maybe later," he thought to himself.

With a few minutes to spare, George and Melissa sauntered through the hotel lobby, not showing any signs of their two hours of inappropriate behaviour. They met with Craig and Henry before walking towards the waiting throng of reporters.

"George…George" shouted the reporters on mass, amid the flash of bulbs. "Is there any breakthrough in the peace discussions?"

"Things are progressing well," he replied, totally at ease with the press. "We are approaching a delicate juncture, so I won't say anything else. Tonight, I'm taking my aides out for some much-needed relaxation. I'd be glad if you could give us some peace, so we can relax and be ready to get back to hard negotiations tomorrow."

The press moved to one side and they climbed into the awaiting limousine. Ten minutes later, they arrived at Covent Garden for the evening's concert. The police escort had them through the busy London traffic in record time.

"I've heard this production has excellent reviews," commented Henry, as they settled in their box.

"Would have been better to sit in the stalls," grumbled George. "The sound in the boxes is awful. The shape of the boxes really damages the acoustics."

The other three just gave nods. George was renowned for his love of music. If it weren't for security reasons, he would never have agreed to sit where he was. There were many opponents of the peace talks on both sides of the conflict. The independent negotiator was always the prime target of such radicals.

As the music flowed out from the orchestra and singers, the tension of three days of negotiation drifted from their bodies. These types of talks were never easy. One misspoken word could dent the fragile truce. One misguided look could destroy the fragile trust that each side had with George Harries and his negotiating team. Negotiations like this were fraught with difficulties and nobody else had accepted the challenge. If these talks failed then-. No, nobody wanted to imagine the consequences.

During the interval, the interval drinks and a plate of exquisite sandwiches were brought to their box. While Melissa went to queue up outside the ladies Henry asked, "So did you?"

"Mind your own business," George replied. "All four of us are a team."

"You mean you would sleep with me or Craig?"

George, being the perfect negotiator, kept his poker face, even if inside he was choking at the thought.

"Are you up for it?" George replied; surprising the other two men and making them lose their control. "You two need to do better at coping with unexpected conditions," he chastised them. "It does no good in the middle of delicate talks if you can't control yourselves."

"Yes George," they replied.

When Melissa returned, there was no time for further discussions. It was time for the concert to restart.

The opera wasn't one of George's favourites, but it had achieved its aim. With their mobiles turned off, the four of them had a few hours of peace. The stress of trying to negotiate a peace treaty between two warring factions was never easy, but this conflict had been going on for so long, the animosity was instinctive and cultural. It required a change in thought, as well as deed.

As the opera finished, there was a moment of silence and then the audience erupted into applause. As the soloists took their bows, George suddenly felt ill and sat down in his seat. Melissa instantly knelt beside him, trying to find the nature of the problem.

"He's unconscious," she calmly whispered to Craig. "Get an ambulance and keep it quiet. I'd dread to think what would happen if the peace talks fail due to rumours about George's health."

Chapter Two

"Thank you, Hilda Saunders," said the host and the audience spontaneously burst into applause. This was the first book festival that Hilda had visited since the launch of her book.

When the applause died down the host said, "We have about ten minutes. Hilda has agreed to answer any questions, so if anybody has any questions please raise your hand and I'll pick someone."

A few hands shot into the air and the host pointed to someone.

"You said in your talk that you wanted to help people, and you saw becoming a psychiatrist a good way of achieving that. Why did you decide to specialise in gender issues? Gender issues aren't really regarded as the most important of issues."

"Thank you for your question. This one is a difficult one to answer, as it is a bit personal. Soon after my eighteenth birthday, I found my boyfriend of two years was gender dysphoric. Many people urged me to leave him, which I found heartless. He needed my help. Over the next few years, I saw him develop into a wonderful woman. She is still one of my closest friends."

"Don't you find such Non Breeders a waste of society's resources?" shouted a women. "Shouldn't they be put down, so they don't unnecessarily consume the world's precious resources?"

There was suddenly a lot of murmuring in the audience and people looked round to see who'd quoted the far-right political statement.

"No, I don't agree with Fredrick Smith on that point. Gays, lesbians and transsexuals might not breed, but they give a lot to society. Some top musicians, actors, inventors, doctors, surgeons could be classified as 'Non Breeders'. Without their skills, society would be a lot worse off. In addition, with the size of the world's population, it isn't crucial for everyone to have children. China has had population controls in place for decades and India has introduced restrictions on the number of children people can have. Even so, the world's population is growing too fast to be sustainable. Gays, lesbians and transsexuals have every much a right to live as other people. We no longer persecute people based on religion or skin tone, so why should we classify people by their ability to have children?"

The majority of the audience must have agreed with her, as the audience burst into applause. The woman who had asked the question lost her nerve and vacated her seat, which only lead to increase in the ferocity of the appreciation.

"Thank you, Hilda Saunders," said the host above the applause. "I hope you found your first festival not as daunting as many think it is."

As Hilda left the hall, she bumped into the man that had asked her the first question. "Thank you for an interesting talk," he said. "I hadn't thought about seeing your talk, but arrived here early, so decided to give it a go. I'm glad I did."

"Thank you, I think," laughed Hilda. "I'm glad you liked it. What did you come to see?"

"Oh, there is a fringe talk entitled 'if true space travel is feasible'. It's invite only, I'm afraid."

"I'm sure it is possible, given the correct design and technology," answered Hilda, thinking of the aliens that had passed on the information all those years ago.

"Not many people would agree with you. It was hard enough to get people to walk on Mars. No government wants to invest the money to research it and no private companies have that kind of resource."

"It's strange," thought Hilda to herself, "that nobody in the group knew about this talk. 'The one' might be there."

"It's a shame it's invite only," Hilda said, trying to look upset. "It sounds a really interesting talk."

"Well I'm allowed to bring a guest and I am alone. Would you care to join me?"

"Are you sure?" Hilda replied, trying to sound calm.

"After you've just entertained me for an hour, it would be an honour. By the way, I'm Richard; Richard Head."

"You already know my name, so I'm not going to insult you by telling you. So, tell me about this session."

"We have about an hour before it starts. Let me buy you a drink and I'll tell you about it."

Richard and Hilda walked down the road; the evening sun was still strong and was keeping the temperature high. As they approached a pub, they heard the dull thud of a loud base beat. A few customers left and the roar of modern music blared out.

"Let's try the next one," suggested Hilda.

"My thoughts exactly," Richard replied with a short laugh. "I'm not too old to appreciate the thing the youth call music, but it isn't really conducive to a good chat."

Instead of a pub, they went into a hotel bar. "It's a bit quieter than a pub," remarked Hilda. "But drinks are a little more expensive. Are you okay with that?"

"I'm a consultant," Richard replied. "I probably don't get paid as much as Britain's foremost gender psychiatrist, but let's just say that I can afford to drink in here."

They both settled down to a quiet corner with each nursing an expensive drink. How they could charge twice as much for a soft drink over an alcoholic one was something neither of them wanted to try to understand.

"So, who's the guest?" Hilda asked.

"It's someone called Julian Prosser. He theorised in his latest book that it would possible to travel faster than light."

"Really? How?"

Richard grinned at that. It was nice that someone took such things seriously. "Well they don't actually travel faster than light; it just appears that they do. It's easier to say that the ship travels faster than light."

After three hours of chatting, they were still on their original drinks. The fact they missed the actual talk hadn't dawned on either of them. Hilda, who'd never got into space research, was finding it fascinating. Richard had never found someone so attentive who had asked such pointed and relevant questions.

For the first time in many years Richard started to relax, his barriers gradually lowered, as he got more enthusiastic. Richard was finding this person more interesting than just someone he could talk to. As he talked, he would sneak a look into her eyes.

Hilda, who had originally linked up with Richard to get involved with people inspired with space, had found her wants changing. She had found him an interesting person who she'd like to be friends with. However, in the last half hour, she was looking deep into his hazel eyes as he explained theories. None of her previous boyfriends had worked out. The only one she had truly loved was Adam and he was now called Eve. Relationships during university never really took off as she could tell there was no love. The necklace might help her with her job, but for relationships, it was a curse. Now she was getting good vibes, he was interested in her and the interest appeared genuine. Only time would tell if things would develop further.

"Hey Dick, we missed you at the talk," said a voice from behind.

"Have I missed it?" Richard replied, looking at his watch. "Where has the time gone?"

"It's my fault," apologised Hilda. "We got chatting about space vehicle designs and we both lost track of time. We're still on our first drinks as well."

"Such a cheap date," the man laughed. "What a find! Well as Richard probably will explain, time is the key to it all. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Good seeing you!"

With that, the mystery man disappeared towards the stairs.

"Who was that and what did he mean about time being the key?"

"That was Julian Prosser, the guy who was giving the talk. His ideas are interesting, but I don't agree with them all. I have my own theories. One thing we both share in common is that perception is the key. There are many ways to look at it. First, the shortest path might not always be the quickest, and second, the shortest path might not be the most obvious."

Hilda looked a little confused, so Richard continued, "Take the Internet in the early 1990's. A lot of resource was in America; therefore, European countries all invested into high bandwidth lines to America. Consequently, it was quicker to download a large file from another European country by routing via America, rather than directly. So in certain circumstances, as the theory goes, to travel to one planet, the quickest route might not be the obvious one."

"Whose theories are correct?"

"Who knows," Richard replied, with a shrug of his shoulders. "They're just theories. They might both be correct, or both wrong, or maybe just one is right. Nobody knows, as the science hasn't caught up to test them."

"I've just realised what Julian called you. How could your parents have been so cruel?"

"I've no idea," he replied. "I never thought to ask them. I've lived with the name all my life, so the shortened version never really upsets me."

The shrill sound of Hilda's mobile phone broke the relative peace of the bar. It was the type of noise that attracted attention, which is what it did. Everyone looked around to see the ashen white face of Hilda. This was the type of call she dreaded.

"Hilda speaking," she said into the phone.

"We have had another case," the impersonal electronically disguised voice said. "This one however is high impact. Can you confirm your exact location, we are sending an ETP, and it's in your area now."

"Oh God," she moaned to herself. "I hate ETP's."

After giving her location she said, "I'll wait outside."

"No, for your own safety, please stay where you are. You will be collected."

The phone call was terminated before she could say anything else.

"That's one hell of a ring tone."

"Not my choice. This one is a work emergency, transport is being sent."

The racket of the Emergency Transportation Pod setting down disturbed the stillness of the night air. People all around flocked to see the rare sight. Since they were created, the seven vehicles had each amassed about four journeys each, as they were so expensive to operate. In essence, they were heavily modified helicopters, with afterburners sucking the fuel from huge on-board storage tanks. There only aim, to get someone or something to their destination as quickly as possible. Viewers, however, got more than they expected, as five heavily armed army personnel exited. Two took up position around the vehicle and the other three ran into the hotel.

"Everyone, onto the floor," commanded Captain Stephens at the top of his voice. The chatter about the ETP stopped at the sight of the three heavily armed guards. Nobody moved from their chairs, as they gaped at the sight in front of them.

"Onto the floor," was the command for a second time, as he moved his gun from the carrying position. Everyone in the room scrambled to comply.

The captain stayed in position, while the other two guards rushed to Hilda. "Dr Hilda Saunders?"

Hilda nodded.

"Then please come with us."

As Hilda started to get up off the floor, Richard leaned across and kissed her. "Good luck," he said. "I hope we meet again."

That single, gentle kiss, send a shiver down her spine. The way he had slipped it passed her defences mattered little to her. She had to leave and she didn't have his phone number.

"Dr Saunders!" ordered the young soldier, jarring her mind back to some sort of reality.

"Coming," she sighed, not wanting to leave, but knowing duty called. To send an ETP was unusual, but to send an armed ETP was unheard off. The extra fuel needed made it very costly. Ever since the burning of the Middle East oil fields, the price of fuel was astronomic and they were only used for dire circumstances.

As she picked herself up of the floor, Hilda started to sort through the multitude of emotions. Fear was there, but many different fears, fear not knowing where she was going and why there was an armed escort. Fear that she might not see Richard again, as she fought the desire to return the kiss. She had an attraction to Richard, which seemed to be more intense than she usually felt to other people. It was too early for her to tell if the attraction was love or lust, but something was definitely stirring inside her.

As she walked away, she felt there was more. She turned around to look into his face. His reassuring smile shone and his eyes sparkled, yet there was something amiss. She stared into his eyes, trying to understand the complexities of his soul. As she analysed his emotions there were several that she didn't understand. It then hit her with the same ferocity as it had the first time, with Adam just after her eighteenth birthday; Richard was a transsexual. Nevertheless, there was something else, something hidden. As she saw passed the mixed emotions, she saw what nobody else would be able to see. It was hidden so perfectly. Only someone who loved him and accepted him being a transsexual would be able to see it. Richard was 'the one'.

The two soldiers grabbed each of her arms and frog marched her out to the hotel bar.

"I can run by myself," she shouted at them. "Put me down."

They complied and they ran out of the lobby into the street, where the ETP awaited. The crowds gave a gasp as they saw a young woman running out, surrounded by a military escort for her safety. Once everyone was secured into the flying fuel tanker, it rose gracefully from the ground like a helicopter and hovered for a few seconds. The burners fired and it disappeared into the night, leaving the onlookers with tales that they would be able to tell their children and grandchildren.

Chapter Three
"Who's the patient," Hilda screamed into her headset, over the noise of the ETP.

"We don't know," one of the soldiers shouted back. "We were ordered to fetch you and we were told that all but you were dispensable."

"WHAT?" shouted back Hilda in shock. All thoughts of Richard evaporated from her mind.

The soldiers didn't reply. They were keeping a constant look out for anything that might attack them. Even though they were the fastest thing in the air and it was unlikely that someone could shoot them down, the soldiers took their mission very seriously.

"Everyone, hold tight," ordered the pilot. "This might be a bit bumpy."

Hilda, who had been on an ETP twice before, knew that the captain's warning was a huge understatement. They had managed to do the distance in fifteen minutes, where in a ground vehicle it would have taken four hours and they needed to decrease velocity rather quickly.

"Retro burn in three seconds," announced the co-pilot.

Hilda, like the soldiers, checked that their harness were taught and grabbed hold of the straps. The two soldiers on lookout continued their vigil looking for hostile forces. The braking and landing would be the most dangerous times, as the vehicle would be travelling at its slowest.

"Who on Earth did I upset to get another trip on an ETP?" she moaned to herself. This was Hilda's third trip and had now been a passenger in more flights than anyone apart from the handpicked pilot and co-pilot.

Hilda found herself lurching forward against the extra padded harness, as the front burners kicked in, rapidly slowing the ETP to that of a snail. As it slowed down, the vehicle lurched several times and stabilising burners fired to stop them slewing. Hilda was glad that she had been so enthralled with Richard that she hadn't eaten. Last time she'd flown an ETP she'd brought back all her breakfast.

Having slowed, they landed gently on the roof of the London Hospital. Over the last few years, the government had merged all of the hospitals in greater London into a huge hospital built on the grounds of the abandoned Dome. Waiting on the roof were five more heavily armed soldiers.

"Dr Saunders, please follow me," replied one of the soldiers.

Hilda gingerly stepped out of the ETP, her heart still pounding from the rapid deceleration. Her legs nearly gave way as she took her first step, but the soldier was ready for that.

"Take a second," he said. "Then we must get you inside."

"Who's the patient?" Hilda managed to ask, as the noise of the departing ETP diminished.

"Please come with me," was the only response.

Surrounded by the soldiers, she was ushered through a door and into the hospital. No words were spoken and after going down two flights of stairs and through numerous doors, they entered a heavily guarded corridor.

"Please come with me," he ordered, after performing both a retina and finger validation test.

Hilda by this time didn't even bother to ask any questions. She knew she wouldn't be told anything. The chances were they didn't even know who or what they were protecting.

"I'm Major Tom Thomas," he said, as he escorted her down the corridor. "If you need to go outside the secured area, you must inform me. I will organise a team to protect you."

Before Hilda got time to acknowledge, Tom knocked on a door and, as he opened it, said to Hilda, "In you go."

Hilda walked into the room and Tom closed the door behind her.

"Oh, Dr Williams," said Hilda with a smile. "It's good to see you again. The phone call said that they'd struck again."

"Indeed they have. The patient is a George Harries. He was taken ill at the end of an opera and has been unconscious for just under an hour."

"Are things going as per the previous three cases?"

"So far, yes, though there was a slight difference in the latter stages on the last patient, so we will be keeping a watchful eye."

"Why all the security?"

"Does the name George Harries ring any bells?"

"Only the-," Hilda's voice trailed off. "This isn't THE George Harries, the head of the peace negotiations?"

"I'm afraid so. Obviously, if the details got out, then all hell would break loose and the two sides would start fighting again. With enough countries backing either side, things would go downhill very rapidly."

"Then I hope your security is tight. Okay, give me the rundown on our patient's status."

"The initial period of metamorphosis is well underway. His blood pressure is fluctuating, has an elevated temperature, and is, as per normal, unconscious."

"Thank goodness for that," murmured Hilda. "I would hate for them to go through the process awake. It is hard enough now, without the stress of knowing what is happening to them."

"Would you like to play it like the previous cases?"

"It's probably best to. I'll have a rest now and let you deal with the medical intervention. Can you get someone to wake me about an hour before he awakes? I'll need to be fully ready for the long hours of psychiatric care that will be needed."

"I'll show you to what will be your room for the next few days. You're lucky as it used to be a private room, so has its own bathroom."

"Thanks," said Hilda, rising from the chair.

Her room was just opposite Dr Williams's office. At the end of the corridor, she saw a few well-armed soldiers, blocking anybody entering, but also her leaving.

"I'm sorry that it isn't much."

"It will do. Just don't forget to wake me before George wakes."

"Don't worry about that. There is no way I want to be without you when he finds out what's happened. I remember only too well how the previous victims reacted."

Dr Williams left, leaving Hilda time to rest. Sleep however, was illusive, as her mind went through what she knew was happening, and what she would have to do when George awoke. It was only as she woke, that she remembered Richard Head. Her first reaction was worry that she'd lost him and she pulled out her mobile to tell Moira Singleton.

As she dialled the number, there was a knock on her door. "Dr Saunders, it's time."

"I'll be out in a moment," she called back, putting her mobile away. That call would have to wait.

"Did you sleep well?" asked Dr Williams, as Hilda entered the observation area.

At the other side of the one-way glass lay their patient, a medical blanket covering his body. The monitors were gently beeping, as they fed his vital information back to the medical personnel carefully caring for his needs. No expense had been spared in looking after one of the world's most prominent negotiators. It was an expense which would later cause the hospital administrators many problems,which would later cause the hospital administrators many problems as they tried to balance the hospital's budget.

"Not really, too many things on my mind. How's our patient?"

"The transformation has been completed. There was a slight difference during the third phase, but nothing that we weren't able to deal with."

"A big difference?"

"Not big, it seems like a slightly different variation of what we saw in the previous victim. Since we were keeping an eye out, we were able to intervene before the fluid loss became fatal."

"Then let's hope I don't mess up."

"No pressure," laughed Dr Williams dryly. "I've only had the Prime Minister on the phone four times, reminding me how important George Harries is. The three members of his team have been analysed and none of them show any symptoms. They have been asking to see George."

"Not until I've got him stable," responded Hilda taking control. "You've saved his life, now let me go see him and keep him mentally sane."

"Do you mind if I watch you in action?"

"Not at all, though keep out unless he physically deteriorates. I expect a lot of emotion when he finds out his body is now physically female."