Chapter 1

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say.

Patrick exhaled dully. It took a special kind of moron to compose a sentence like that. What did he mean by “or so they say”? Of course people said it. It was a fact, as irrefutable as gravity or that there were 24 hours in a day.

He pushed a sinewy hand through the loose black curls of his side parting and read the offending sentence again. It went on. All the best on the other side, mate. Martin.

Of course it was Martin. Coffee-breathed, nasal-voiced, belt-round-his-nipples Martin. Barnton Heath’s Head of IT and nerd-in-chief. Patrick didn’t mind a bit of geekiness - working at an engineering firm it came with the uniform - but Martin took it to extremes.

Patrick read the missive a third time, assumed it must be a quote from a sci-fi show, or some palpably awful in-joke, and took up a pen.

Cheers then, Harry. This place literally won’t be the same without you. Pat.

He dropped the card into the large brown envelope and searched his drawers for some change. He was dismayed to find that he only had a £2 coin, but reasoned that it was a small price to pay to be rid of Harry - another who took being an incorrigible weirdo to ridiculous lengths - and tossed it into the envelope. He dropped the card onto the adjacent desk and turned back to his work.

The unread emails in his inbox were the usual fare. A few uninteresting notes on the Romatec job, suppliers sniffing around for new orders, a few internal memos.

He leaned back in his chair and sighed. The weight of monotony had attached itself to Patrick’s neck, and it was, he realised, starting to pull him under. When was somebody going to give him something interesting to do? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a really exciting project to work on. Sure, there was the Romatec job, which promised to keep him busy, but it was hardly stimulating. However, as everyone kept repeating, times were hard, and they were hard for everyone. So, requests for new work were few and far between, and those that did come in were small and inconsequential.

Of course, one big new contract would change everything. Rumours had been doing the rounds about a potential government contract, and whenever he thought about it, Patrick’s pulse raced. Government jobs were his holy grail. They were vast, took years to complete, and required every morsel of tenacity and determination to carry off. Those who got the gig and did a good job could write their own ticket.

The rumours had better be true, thought Patrick. He wondered if he could tap up Gwinnell for any information. He was always so infuriatingly tight-lipped. But catch him on the right day…

He decided to make a coffee. He leaned forward to lock his laptop, and as his finger hovered over the keyboard, a new message appeared in his inbox. It was a meeting request from his manager. Why was Avery - a man so anally-retentive that he liked to schedule everything three months in advance - putting a meeting in at such short notice? And for 5pm, when desks emptied and the revolving door at the front of the building was set in continuous rotation.

Very odd, thought Patrick, locking the laptop and picking up his mug. Avery was no more likely to schedule a last minute meeting than he was to set fire to his own face, or propose that Barnton Heath declare war on Spain.

Patrick assembled his coffee and gave the mixture a stir. What on earth could the old goat want? Patrick wasn’t behind with any of his work - none of the important stuff, anyway - and he knew for a fact that nobody needed him to pick up any extra slack. There wasn’t enough work to go around for that. He returned to his desk and, holding his breath, went to open the meeting invite. Avery was an avid advocate of adding detailed itineraries to his meeting invites. Checking over his shoulder to ensure nobody could see, Patrick took a deep slurp of his coffee and clicked the invite.

Urgent. Please attend.

That was all.

Patrick reeled. This could not be good news. A queasy feeling gripped him by the throat.

For the rest of the afternoon, he existed in a sort of trance, only vaguely aware of his actions. What could the meticulous old sod want? He wondered.

He hadn’t long to wait.

“You’re late,” announced Avery when Patrick pushed his head around the door.

“Sorry.”

Avery, whose face was obscured by a sheaf of papers, waved a hand as if to say that not much could be done, and indicated that he should take a seat. Patrick sat in awkward silence as Avery read. He watched, trying to discern some meaning from Avery’s face. Neither the neat, particular mouth nor the inscrutable eyes gave anything away. He fixed Patrick through narrowed eyelids before widening them as if to say it was time to get down to business.

“Look at this.” He passed the papers across the desk. “Look familiar?”

Patrick looked them over. “Yes, they’re the requisition forms for the Romatec job I’ve been working on.”

“As you say. The Romatec requisition forms. It’s a confirmation of the topographic site maps and aerial site maps, along with the procurement sheets for all the machinery, tools and other necessaries for the job. All very run-of-the-mill, and frankly…uninteresting, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

“Well, yes.” Patrick shifted uneasily under the weight of Avery’s stare.

“Very good. Now. Look at the sixth sheet.”

Patrick did so.

“What do you see there?”

“It’s an order form. Again, for the Romatec job.”

“Quite so.” He spoke as slowly and deliberately as a steam roller. “And in the revisions field?”

“There can’t be any revisions. It’s too early in the project for that, and besides, I presided over everything personally - there wouldn’t be-” Patrick paused. He stared at the form. There, in the field marked Revisions was a typed paragraph that began Order cancelled until further notice. Please halt all preparations…

“And whose signature is at the bottom of the page?”

“Well, mine, but…” Patrick riffled through the papers looking for some explanation. “That can’t be. I wouldn’t have cancelled the order. I mean…why would I?”

“Why indeed?”

Patrick stared blankly at Avery.

“Avery, I don’t know what to say. There’s no way that this can be genuine. I mean, ask yourself. Why would I do such a thing?”

“I really couldn’t say. Frankly I don’t believe that it matters. The fact remains. The order for the Romatec job has been cancelled, a move which has put us so far behind with the work that we will no longer be able to complete it on time.

“Well, I imagine it must, but-”

“This,” Avery leaned forward meaningly, “is an extremely embarrassing state of affairs. An embarrassment, which, I can tell you, is felt all the more keenly, as we have this week confirmed a large new piece of work with the Ministry of Defence.”

So the rumours were true. “There’s a new government contract?” Asked Patrick.

“Yes. A contract for which you would have been in an excellent position to operate in a senior capacity.”

“Would have been? You don’t seriously mean that I’m not going to be able to work on it?”

“That is exactly what I mean. Furthermore, I have, this afternoon, had to have several ignominious conversations concerning your conduct in cancelling this order. A lot of very important people are extremely displeased.” Avery drew himself up. “I’m afraid I have been left with no alternative.”

“Avery, no.”

“I’m sorry, Patrick. Really, I am. Until this unfortunate incident you proved to be one of our best engineers. I shall be sorry to lose you. But I’m afraid I have no other avenue of recourse.”

Patrick sat dumb as Avery continued. He was aware of sentences and phrases washing over him. With immediate effect….Can’t offer any severance pay…Won’t be able to give a reference…Nothing to hand over, just clear your desk…

Patrick felt conscious of a handshake, and even of thanking Avery, before heading out to the car park. He slid the small box of his belongings into the boot, opened the door and sat in the driver’s seat. He stared into the vast grey expanse in front of him. After ten minutes, he pulled at the handle, pushed the door open as wide as it would go, and vomited onto the tarmac below.

*

Patrick paid scant attention to the drive home. No sooner had the tyres of his car finished crunching on the gravel of the driveway than he was forcing his trembling hands to turn the key in the lock.

“Olivia! Olivia! Come here, I have something to tell you.”

The cottage stood silent. He stood in the doorway wondering what on earth it was that she could be doing, before remembering that it was a Thursday. On Thursdays, his wife played netball, and more often than not went for a drink afterwards, and so didn’t get home until late.

“Olivia?” He tried once more, as if yelling her name would cause her to appear in the hallway. He scowled when she failed to do so. As though woken from a long sleep, Basil, their two year-old cavapoo, came trotting out of the kitchen. “Well, I can’t very well stay here agonising over every detail waiting for her to come home, can I? I need some fresh air. Come on, boy. Let’s go for a walk.” He placed his phone onto the side table, clipped Basil’s harness on, and pulled the door to behind them.

Keen to avoid human interaction, Patrick chose not to take Basil down the High Street and into the park as usual, and opted instead to head out into open country. That summer had broken records for heat, and the small pathways that flooded so often in autumn and winter were baked hard. After five minutes’ walking, during which Patrick’s brow had already begun to moisten, they came to a stile, which gave access to a National Trust footpath that would take them all the way to Leek in one direction, and Buxton in the other.

“What do you reckon, boy? North or south?” Patrick watched as Basil pushed his nose to the floor and sniffed in both directions. Plainly, this was not a decision to be taken lightly.

“North, eh? Well, I didn’t bring my flat cap or a desire to join a trade union - not that I suppose I’ll need one of those for a while - but you’re the boss.”

He unclipped Basil’s lead and allowed it to hang round his neck, and they began walking in earnest.

“Well, Basil, me old mate,” the dog turned to look at him for a second before scampering after a squirrel. “You might notice a bit of a change in the cottage over the next few weeks. Yes, old friend, you may as well be the first to know that I’ve been let go. Effective immediately.” Basil cocked his leg next to a signpost.

“So,” Patrick continued, “you’ll be seeing a lot more of yours truly over the next few weeks, you lucky devil. Of course, I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve been fired. Well. That’s a bit more complicated. You see, there are these things called CAD drawings, and, well - look at me telling you about CAD drawings as if I hadn’t told you about them a million times before. Anyway, you know the Romatec job I’ve been telling you about? Someone - some bastard - amended my requisition sheets - ones with my signature on - and sent them off for processing. They essentially cancelled the whole job. It caused a hell of a lot of fuss. Avery said he had no choice but to toss me into the can. So, as you can imagine, the first thing I want to do is find the person responsible, and promptly beat him to death.” He kicked a stone down the path.

“In the meantime, I need to find another job. Pretty damn quick. God knows the savings account must be bare enough, thanks to the kitchen renovation, and the wedding, and all the rest of it. Actually, I wonder how much is left in there. Always helpful to work in specifics.”

He put his hand in his pocket and cursed. He must have left his phone in the car.

“Okay, so maybe for now we dispense with the specifics. But suffice to say there’s not much left in savings. Then there’s the mortgage to think of - which is squeezing us enough as it is - and car payments, gas, electricity, water, internet, before we even come to think of feeding ourselves.” As if to reassure him, Basil turned and gave a small jump towards his midriff. He tousled the dog’s head and continued.

“Then of course, there’s how Olivia will take the news. Christ only knows how I’ll break it to her. Pointless to keep it secret, even if I thought I could keep anything from her for longer than a second. Jesus, I wonder what her parents’ll have to say. We’ve not even been married a year. And you remember what her old man said to me when I asked for his blessing to propose. Rough.”

The footpath ended, and gave on to a rolling expanse of fields, all of which conspired to run as quickly downhill as possible. In the distance, the brows of the Peak District furrowed. Patrick followed Basil into a field.

“Once I’ve told Olivia, I suppose the most important thing to do is to find work. God, what was it Gwinnell said the other day? There’s no jobs, and everybody wants them. Doesn’t exactly fill me with joy. Feather your nest while you can, he'd gone on, and let the devil take the poorest. Or words to that effect. Still, there must be someone looking for an engineer with a decade of work behind him and several more in front. But then again, even if there are jobs to be had, the hiring process alone can take months. We’ll be bankrupt by then. Living like rats on the street, begging for scraps.”

Patrick’s mind lingered on the words Tom Gwinnell had said, and it struck him that it would be worth firing off a text to him. Again, he thrust his hand into his pocket for his phone, and again he rolled his eyes. He looked down the hillside. Presumably in pursuit of something, the dog had set off at speed, and was already a hundred yards away. Patrick groaned. The unfamiliarity of his surroundings, along with a sudden desire to discuss with someone the events of the afternoon, made him eager to get home.

“Come on, Bas,” he called. “I think we’ve gone far enough now.” They must have been walking for the better part of an hour, and he could imagine the look on Olivia’s face when she surmised that rather than wait at home to deliver the news of his termination, he had taken Basil into the neighbouring county for walkies.

He called out again, louder. A long way in the distance, Basil turned his head in misapprehension.

“Come on, boy. Home time.”

Basil tilted his head and stared, before giving a sudden start, and bolting further down the hill.

“Jesus tapdancing Christ. Of all the days to pick.” He jogged as quickly as the steep, ungainly slope would allow, taking care not to twist an ankle and calling out repeatedly after the dog.

Eventually the slope evened out, and as Patrick slowed he caught sight of the dog sniffing at a clump of grass. His lungs were thick with work. Blood sang in his ears. “There you are,” he gasped. “Come on now.” Basil gave him another look. Careful not to advance too quickly and scare him away, Patrick edged closer. When he was a few yards away, the dog bolted again, and into a small copse. Patrick gritted his teeth.

“Right. That’s it. When I get hold of you…”

He sprinted into the dense woodland, listening out for the telltale chink of Basil’s nametag on his collar.

After a couple of minutes’ hard running, he found the dog, lying wide-mouthed and breathless at the edge of a clearing. Through the trees, Patrick fancied that he could see a farmhouse beyond. Great, he thought. Now I’m trespassing , as well as unemployed, lost and thoroughly pissed off. “Come on now Basil, that’s quite enough.” Caution be damned, he thought, and strode determinedly towards the dog. He laid a hand on him and attached the lead to his collar.

“What the hell’s got into you?” Relieved and exhausted, he pushed his arms into the small of his back and breathed deeply. He looked back up the hill. It was going to be a long walk home. They must have run through at least five fields, each of which featured a hefty downward slope.

“Well. Better start back.” He made to leave. The lead tightened and jerked his hand backwards.

“Now what?” He turned to look at Basil, who was pulling desperately in the other direction. Whatever had caught his interest, it was significant.

He looked around, expecting to see a rat, or a pigeon scurrying away. He turned to look at the farmhouse, and for a second, his brain was unable to interpret the signals his eyes were giving it. In the sky above the building was the biggest thing Patrick had ever seen. Quite motionless in the evening sun sat a brilliant silver cube which must, he estimated, have been a kilometre on every side.

He stood staring upwards, his mouth widening.

“What the devil?” He murmured.

Adrenaline began to course through Patrick’s veins. Whipped into motion by a sudden surge of panic, he ran towards the farmhouse, Basil trotting alongside. He pounded on the door with furious, trembling hands.

“Hello?” He screamed, still banging on the door as hard as he could. The dog began to bark.

He knocked until his hands were raw with pain. When no reply came, he peered into the kitchen window. The house was plainly in use. Plates stood in the drying rack. A newspaper lay open on the table. No, this house had not been abandoned. Looking about him, he spotted a wheelie bin and checked inside it. It was two-thirds full. A cursory inspection of the use-by dates showed that the contents were only a day or two old.

Patrick looked skywards once more. It was unsettling to stand outside and look upwards, and see nothing but silver, gently glistening in the evening sunlight. It was also curious, he noted, that the thing - whatever it was - seemed to cast no shadow.

He looked closer and grimaced. A decade as an engineer had brought about in him an involuntary habit of analysing any structure or mechanism that met his eye, analysing the build, running his rule over the choices made during the manufacture process. But as he looked upwards, he noticed there was nothing to analyse. There were no joins, not even those that might have been cleverly concealed. The thing appeared to have been made from a single piece of… something, as though someone had taken a vast cube of silver and rounded the edges slightly.

Something else caught his eye. He felt sure that the thing’s surface was in motion. It pulsed and strained, like cells under a microscope. He felt sick. Yes, the surface was definitely moving.

“Come on, mate.” He tugged at Basil’s lead. “This is creepy. In fact this is several light years beyond creepy. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

They ran back away from the house, and to the edge of the copse that had hidden it from view. He turned to take a last look. The eerie stillness of the thing, coupled with its sheer size, struck a deep, primal terror into his heart. Cursing himself for forgetting his phone - what a photo this would have made! - he trudged up the hill. Within a quarter of an hour, had regained the path. He looked down the valley, but a large outcrop jutting into the sunset obscured any view of the farmhouse and its floating visitor.

*

An hour later, sweating, tired and hungry, Patrick barged through the front door of the cottage and barked his wife’s name. He ran to the top of the stairs. “Olivia? Olivia, where are you? You won’t believe what happened.” For the second time that day, his wife’s absence wrongfooted him. He rushed back down the stairs and grabbed his phone. The clock read 8.20. It was possible she was still out with her netball friends. He called, and when he heard her answerphone, sighed and hung up, and sent a string of texts asking her to call him at once.

He stood in the hallway, feeling like a chess piece that wanted to move. Bursting with nervous energy, and desperate to speak to someone about what he had seen, he decided that there was nothing else for it but to go to the pub.

He grabbed Basil’s lead and headed back down the driveway. He unlocked his phone and thumbed excitedly for the News app. He tapped the icon, holding his breath. This is surely going to be the biggest story ever, he told himself. He wondered what the photos would be like. Would they show the thing from different angles? Would there be video? Would people have begun to theorise as to its origin yet? Might it have been explained already?

But when the app loaded, Patrick’s face clouded. The lead story was about the cost of living crisis. The next three were about a politician who had been found doing something immoral, the implications of the ongoing heatwave, and a backpacker who had gone missing in Vietnam.

Patrick’s thumb scrolled faster through the app. He refreshed it, checked every section, and even deleted the app altogether and re-installed it. There was no mention of the thing.

He shook his head and tried a few other news sources. None of them made even the vaguest mention. The same with the local paper, Instagram and Facebook. Biting his lip, he thrust his phone back into his pocket, and pushed open the door of The Sword. Inside, jagged lengths of evening sunlight sliced through the windows and illuminated the dusty air. Here and there, small groups huddled over small tables. In the corner, a broad, muscular man of about forty sat alone, keeping a brooding and silent vigil in front of a large glass of whisky.

Trevor, the genial spheroid who had been the Sword’s landlord since long before Patrick and Olivia had moved to the village, gave him a benevolent smile.

“Evening, Patrick. How’s tricks?” Trevor looked closer at the panting, sweaty, wild-eyed figure before him. “Blimey, Pat. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost who looks exactly like you. Pint?”

“God, yes. Thanks Trev. Actually, no. Brandy.”

Trevor scratched his cheek slowly and prepared the drink. Patrick drained it in one pull, and closed his eyes in silent appreciation.

“God, I needed that. Can I have a pint as well, please Trev?”

“Everything alright, Pat?”

Patrick took a long pull at the fresh glass, pushing the foam from his lip with his sleeve. He leaned over the bar and fixed Trevor with a leering, intense stare.

“Tell me you saw it.”

“Saw what?”

“The…thing.” He sought around him as if the right words to describe it might be nestling next to the dry roasted peanuts. “The bloody…vast…object in the sky. Couldn’t have been more than a couple of miles away.” From the other side of the bar, Patrick thought he saw the large, brooding man lift an eyebrow and turn slightly in his seat.

Trevor eyed him. “You feeling alright?”

“Perfectly.” Patrick made a point with his finger. “What I need to know is - has anyone mentioned seeing anything in the sky?”

“Like a plane, you mean?” Asked Trevor, looking like a child who’s been asked to solve a quadratic equation.

“No, not like a plane. I mean - this thing was huge. It was a massive silver cube, and, well, it must’ve been at least a kilometre on every side.

Trevor began to chuckle. “Now you mention it, I did see one of those. It was just after I saw a bunch of flying pigs coming out of Sainsbury’s.” He shook his head, laughing. “Look, mate. You sure you’re feeling alright? You look like hell and you’re going at my beer like it’s got everlasting life in it. Where’s Olivia? Maybe she can help bring you back down to earth?”

“Olivia. Well remembered!” Patrick took another swig from his beer and dragged his phone from his pocket.

There were several texts from Olivia.

Can’t call now, sorry, we’re at The Lanes for Lara’s birthday. It’s really loud

By the way I might be back late - Emily just bought a fresh bottle of prosecco

Why not go to the Sword and have your tea there?

Love you xx

Patrick swore. He could try calling her, but the prosecco-addled mind of his wife was among the most useless sounding boards he could imagine. No, it would have to wait for tomorrow. God, what a chat that was going to be. She, hungover and irritable, he with no job to go to, and having to explain exactly why. And for dessert, there was the small matter of detailing how he had seen something truly spectacular in the sky, and apparently he was the only person on earth to have done so.

He took his glass to an empty table and looked again on his phone for any mention of the Thing. There was no mention of it anywhere. Was it possible that he had been the only one to see it? No, it just wasn’t possible. A thing of that size had to be visible from most of the county. And it’s not as if it moved quickly. There was ample time for people to observe it. But then, there was nothing on social media, he’d had no texts about it, hell, even the local pub, whose beer garden gave stunning views over the valleys to the north, was oblivious.

An idea struck him. He took his glass and headed out to the back. He weaved between the bevvy of busy tables to the fence at the edge of the garden. He clicked his tongue. Again, thanks to the topography of the valley, the farmhouse and the fields around it were completely hidden from view.

He approached a table of men who had the appearance of having sat in the beer garden for a good while.

“Excuse me, gents. I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything unusual in the valley this evening? About an hour or two ago?”

His question was met with a volley of responses that included a woman who had failed to say anything for at least five minutes, a dog riding a unicycle, and the Queen of England doing something unsavoury with a prize-winning turnip. He rolled his eyes and headed back into the bar. He tried asking at a few more tables, but was met with nothing more than a few blank faces and nonplussed stares.

He slumped back into his chair, finished the dregs of his pint and stared at it. Maybe he was imagining things. It had been a trying day. Perhaps the weight of his termination had done something to his mind, and, exacerbated by the heat of the day, and his long chase after Basil, had got to him. He gave it up as a lost cause. The best thing to do now, he told himself, was to get home and wait for Olivia. She, at least, would prove a sympathetic ear.

He paid for his drinks, took Basil’s lead in his hand, and headed into the refreshing coolness of the late evening air. In this new environment, a feeling of scepticism came over him. He rounded the corner at the end of the high street and took a deep breath. There was no sense dwelling on supernatural tingle-tangle. He was an engineer, for Christ’s sake. A man of science. He’d never believed in UFOs, or close encounters. He’d never even really liked the theory that there must be life beyond earth’s atmosphere. No, it was time to forget everything he thought he’d seen, and knuckle down to getting a new job. God knew it was a big enough task.

Satisfied with this new outlook, he smiled. A spring came into his step. He speculated greedily about the contents of the fridge. It had been ages since his last meal. Actually, he reflected, it seemed as though Olivia would be out a while longer yet. Perhaps he would get a takeaway. The day, it seemed to Patrick, at least promised to end well enough.

Fifty yards from his front door, he felt a hand on his shoulder and gave a start. Turning, he saw the big, brooding man who had been sitting alone in the bar.

“Can I help you?”

The man looked nervous. He looked around in all directions. He moved closer to Patrick and said in a hushed voice “That thing you were talking about. The massive silver thing in the sky.”

“Oh, that. Ignore me. I must’ve been imagining things. Too much sun, I imagine. Don’t give it a second thought.”

“I wouldn’t, only…” the man leaned in, a wild, desperate look in his eye. “I saw it too.”