Outplay: The Human Singularity Series, #2

By Mike Lees

Outplay, book 2 of the Human Singularity series.

Mike Lees displays his enigmatic and entertaining prose in Outplay, his new full-length novel, sounding the depths of human nature in a diversified galaxy.

When Jack Stone, a failing journalist, receives a key containing the Melody, a coded sound arrangement that activates the inertia drive, a ship, and a mission, he finds himself drawn into international and galactic intrigue.

Jack must reach deep within his soul to outplay James Carting, a scheming tech executive bent on seizing the Melody for his own gain at the risk of exposing Earth to alien exploitation.

Can Jack and his mixed team save humanity from a dark future?

Find out in this second instalment of the Human Singularity series: Outplay.

Where fiction fast becomes reality.

(A read of book 1, Outpost, will ease understanding of certain aspects of Outplay.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mike Lees Books
• Release date: Jul 29, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201987633

Mike Lees

From London, England, Mike lives in Switzerland. He enjoys the marvellous scenery and the multi-cultural community that country has to offer. That involves speaking at least two languages and dealing with the mosaic that Switzerland has become over the centuries. He is a Professional NLP counsellor and favours personal development in his life to guide him through the journey. Painting and writing have become an important vector for him to express his inner-self and share his experiences. As you know reviews are an important part of how an author gets known which in turn allows him to continue to write. Please consider leaving a review. Many thanks. Feel free to contact me: [e-mail]

Book preview

Chapter 1

New York

James Carting looked out of his plush twenty-first story office over the New York skyline. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed a panoramic view of the city and the Atlantic, giving James a sense of power and pride, but then a slither of frustration wrought through his thoughts. He’s just over there, he said to no one in particular, gesturing towards the sea. I can practically touch him.

Sir? asked George, his Chief of Engineering and Global Project Manager. Next to him was Stan Gruber, James’s Head of Security. They both sat on the other side of his desk, exchanging nervous glances.

James swivelled in his chair to face the both of them. It seems so unfair that we have built the most beautiful engineering masterpiece on Earth, yet it’s worthless without those codes. The Melody, gentlemen.

Shifting in his chair, Stan offered, I’m sure you’ll find a solution soon enough, sir. You always do.

George, too, shifted in his chair, and said, True, she’s a beauty. My team has done wonders over the past few years, but there’s the problem. It’s finished. What do we do? I’ve lain most of the workforce off. I’m satisfied with the result, but I would darn like to test it. That drive seems amazing; if we could get that working, it would revolutionize so many things. We’d be rich. I have to tell you, NASA is breathing down our necks for results with all the money they put up front.

Indeed so, gentlemen. I had the Director on the phone not two days ago. We need to go the last mile, without which we’ll lose all to that stupid navigator Stone and to the Russians! For chrissakes! James slammed the top of his desk.

Sir? interrupted Jane, his secretary, who popped her head around the door. A call from Mr Dubbins. He said it’s urgent.

Gleaming, James said, Excellent, put him through. A moment later, the call came. Any news, Dubbins? he asked expectantly, putting the loud speaker on for the two others.

Yep, your Mr Star Stone finally committed the mistake we were waiting for. I now have his address. I got it through Jack’s work place. He asked Jack to visit him for an interview. That bug we put in the lad’s office worked well. And, to be sure we didn’t lose him, I placed a tracking device on his car. He’s going there as we speak. It’s way outside London, but it shouldn’t be a problem. I have somebody following him. Passive like, like you said.

Now this is good news at last. Okay, hang on in there, and do nothing yet. We’ll be out tomorrow with the team. Give me a ring when Jack leaves Stone’s place, please. I’ll call him. I want to meet this Jack. Star’s a crafty sod. Wouldn’t put it past him to give the codes to him. James hung up, looking intensely at his two men. This is it, at long last. We should possess the Melody soon. Stan, get the team ready; we leave tonight. Contact the airport and our pilot and have our plane ready for take-off. I’ll get in touch with Anita. She’ll be coming too.

Stan tried not to roll his eyes. Yessir.

George, go back to our facility and ensure everything is prepared. We can’t afford any approximations. James rubbed his hands together. At last, Star, we shall meet again.

Chapter 2

Star

Had Jack known that the future of humanity was in the sway and on his shoulders, he would have turned back. Yet now he forged ahead through the windswept, foggy landscape to find Barling, a village lost in the east of Essex. A stranger to these parts, his work as a reporter for the Times Daily rarely took him away from London. His editor had insisted he meet this man.

He asked for you expressly, Jack, his editor had said oddly. Lord knew why, just a bloke trying to be interesting with his life story. What a waste of time. This is going to be a real washout, Jack thought to himself, trying in vain to get a bearing on his GPS.

Ambitious, he would much rather interview stars and royalty than go out picking up stories from the locals. Although he felt neglected, he knew a more dynamic environment would allow all his potential to shine. The proposition from the Defender seemed promising, but playing second stooge to that glamour queen, Mary Hobbins, who was always on the TV flashing her tits around, did not appeal. It was bleak, and having to come out here in the sticks to interview some unknown has-been did not help. What was it his editor had said? I spoke to him on the phone. He was quite convincing. It would be an entertaining story to capture the imagination of  our readers.

Is that what it has come to, filling up the gossip columns, a passing distraction for the casual reader on a bus? I’m worth more than that! Shit! He growled to himself, white-knuckled hands gripping the steering wheel.

Suddenly, through the fog, he came to an intersection with a signpost for Barling. God, at last, he thought. The GPS dutifully showed the correct direction: 21 Old Church Road. He pulled up in front of a row of council houses, jerry-built, grey, faceless, and depressive. There was neither parking nor pavement, only a potholed tarmac road boarded by grass with deep muddy ruts where other users had carelessly parked their cars.

No loss, he thought, looking woefully at what passed for gardens fronting the terraced houses. A few miserable privet bushes haphazardly scattered here and there between concrete slabs, parking slots fronting the houses. One house had a car sitting on wooden blocks, evidently not having been used in years. Rust, a broken window, and a few dustbin bags leaning up against the side painted a sad story. Not to mention the obligatory child’s plastic tractor half squashed under it.

Good lord, what is this dump?

Jack parked on the grass and mud, leaving half his car on the road to conserve his new leather shoes. A gush of wind and rain greeted him as he got out of his car, splattering his face. It was almost pleasant leaving London, so he was ill-equipped for the weather now. Let’s get this interview over with so I can get back to London. He had planned to spend the evening with Shirley, his girlfriend for the last two years, and his mind wandered off to more satisfying thoughts.

There would come a day when he could finally choose his missions: the nice ones in town, interviews in hotel lobbies or private suites, meeting with film stars and VIPS, being on first-name terms with the famous, perhaps even some glamorous travelling... LA? Why not? He tripped over a slab of raised concrete, the jolt abruptly drawing him from his thoughts and scuffing his shiny leather shoes. Shit! He ranted, stamping down inadvertently in a deep puddle and splattering his socks. Shit, shit and shit!

He located No. 21 and strode up to the front door. It had bright fire engine red paint, stark in contrast to the drab house staring at him, boding and bleak. He rang the bell, careful not to electrocute himself as it dangled from exposed wires. It gave one of those long, dreary carillons, taking ages to finish. Hearing nothing from the other side, Jack reluctantly rang again. There was some shuffling and a loud bang, like someone kicking a dustbin. The latch clicked and the door suddenly swung open inwards to reveal a small, middle-aged man, bent over a walking stick and wearing worn out training pants and a red t-shirt with a tired Star Wars motif. Over that came a stained waistcoat that looked like it had belonged to a suit once upon a time. The grubby Adidas trainers did little to save the look; it was as though he had spent the whole winter in them.

Bit of a vieux garcon, Jack thought to himself, trying not to roll his eyes.

Hello, you must be Mr Jack Stone, if I’m not mistaken, the man said, looking up at Jack.

Yes, and you are Mr Star Stone. Am I correct? I am pleased to meet you. Not. He smirked inwardly. Who would call their kid Star? He must have had a tough time at school. But as for his family name, Stone was common enough in England, which did not raise any eyebrows with Jack.

Yes, welcome and please come in. It’s a dreadful day. After a slight pause, he asked, The roads were okay?

Yes, thank you, Jack lied. He followed Stone into the house and closed the door behind himself. Inside, the corridor was dark and stale. He looked down unsurprisingly at the worn-out carpet on the floor and sighed inwardly. Fascinating? Thinking back to what his editor had said. Yeah, right. He was wondering what he was going to write for his column when the man disappeared through the first door on the right. Jack followed in a fraction of the steps taken by Stone.

The room, spacious yet dim, had dark furniture against the walls. Opposite him was a mantelpiece covered in ghastly light green tiles. He noted, gladly, that a fire was heartily burning away to give off that inimitable odour of burnt wood. It felt cosy in an oldie worldly sort of way. Stuffy, though. God knows how I am going to get a story out of this, he thought depressively.

Please take a seat, his host said, gesturing towards a comfy sofa.

Much appreciated, I will.

Make yourself comfortable while I prepare some tea. You take tea?

Yes, that will be fine, he answered, noting a certain apprehension in the old man’s voice. While Stone shuffled out of the room, Jack took the time to look around the area in more detail. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, bits and bobs of somebody used to living alone. A sad houseplant sat in the corner, starved of sunlight and probably of water as well. Then Jack saw a couple of framed photographs on the wall over the mantelpiece. He got up and peered at them.

One was of a man in his thirties sided by an attractive woman and a young child, a boy, and all were smiling and happy. The young man seemed familiar to Jack, but he could not quite put his finger on it. The picture had a strange three-dimensional aspect, a certain depth to it. He considered the background behind the supposed family: Tall, spired buildings reached up for the sky. A skyline he did not recognize. The unfamiliar profile surprised him. The media covered most of the striking skylines in the world. These buildings were certainly striking, so it was odd that he did not recognise them. Jack wondered where it was, reminding himself to ask Mr Stone about it later.

The other picture was of a woman in her late sixties in a garden somewhere with the same 3-D effect. Glancing around the room for a last look before sitting down, Jack spotted a framed certificate hanging on the wall behind the door. Peering curiously, he saw that it displayed a large star, like the Russian one, but with a strange golden hue. He could practically see through it. The certificate read:

We, the committee of the Star Academy of the Earth Space Alliance, Sea of tranquillity, UK Sector, Moon, hereby attest that

Mr Star Titus Stone

Has successfully passed the cursors and exams to attain the title of

Alliance Navigator - grade 6

Competent for Earth orbital, Sol system and the following interstellar routes nos. GZ14356 and GZi34324

Signed by two committee members of the academy dated 21.02.2072.

Okay, Jack smirked to himself. One of these Trekkie nerds, making believe they are part of the USS Enterprise and dressing up for conventions and all. He must have got this certificate from one of those meetings. I’m dealing with a nutter!

He heard the clinking of chinaware approaching, so he quickly took his seat on the sofa, smiling as Stone came back in. It seemed a wonder to Jack how the man balanced the precarious tray whilst holding his cane. He placed it down carefully on the small table between his sofa and an even cosier looking armchair opposite.

There you go, said Stone cheerily, seemingly relieved that he had set the tray down safely. A nice cup of tea on a day like this, do you wonders. He then sat opposite Jack with a whumf! as the air escaped the thick cushions.

Wanting to get this over with, to get back to town and more so to Shirley, Jack said, Thank you, Mr Stone. So, you called our office and asked for me to set up an interview. What do you have to tell me that would interest a newspaper in London?

The old man stared at him with piercing blue eyes, which Jack had not noticed before, and said cryptically, What I have to tell you may interest your newspaper, but I hope to God they publish nothing.

Astonished, Jack muttered, Well, why did you call me? I’m losing my time here, I know. He groaned to himself. He knew as a journalist it should be him leading the interview, setting up a structure of questions, a strategy, letting the person answer, making no personal remarks, then move on to complete a proper story, but here he wandered despairingly. Normally, he did homework on the subject and would know what to ask, and what not to.

Don’t really know where to help you understand and accept what I am going to tell you. But I guess I might as well get it out and see what you think.

I’m listening, Jack said mildly.

Well. Mr Stone coughed whilst jittering with the chinaware and pouring tea from the teapot. I am from the future, he finally said, with no embarrassment.

Okay, Jack muttered. I’m dealing with a wacko here, he lamented to himself. And really losing my time.

Indeed, I am your son, he said, pausing with a grin. I saw you looking at my certificate on the wall there. He gestured towards the framed document. I am, or was, a Star Navigator of the Alliance before I made the trip to Alpha Centauri. Circumstances with my visit to that system brought me back here with my injuries; I mean to this time.

What a shame, Jack replied, not hiding his sarcasm. And you want me to believe that? He smirked. And that I’m you father?

Mr Stone gave him a solid stare. Yes, I do, in fact, he said. I know it may be hard on you...

A tad, Jack interrupted.

...and I see you as a moderately intelligent person. I hope you can grasp the basics.

It may just be my moderate intelligence that’s keeping me from believing you, don’t you think?

Maybe, he replied meekly, staring at Jack with bright, intelligent eyes and waiting for a reply.

After an embarrassing silence, Jack replied. Mr Stone, you seem like a serious and honest sort of person, but I cannot and will not listen anymore to your story. I just don’t believe it. He paused, then added, Do you have any proof of what you say?

Yes, and no. Please humour me for a while longer and things will become clearer for you. Follow me into the next room; it might help you in understanding our situation.

Our situation?

Surprised to find himself in a humorous mode, Jack agreed and followed him out into the dimly lit hallway and into the next room. As he strolled into the room, he forgot to breathe for several heartbeats. In front of him was an array of flat screens lining the entire wall opposite the door. Some screens were small and square, others larger, and in the middle was an enormous screen at least a metre wide. On the centre screen were images from several media, separated into different segments like petrol station security feeds. The other screens were all functioning, some with scroll text and formulae, others with 3-D diagrams showing unfamiliar shapes or machines. Yet others, to Jack’s astonishment, had logos of NASA and the White House as well as of MIT and Roscosmos.

Under the screens were shelves with banks of servers, all ticking away with their familiar red and green LED lights, popping on and off in a melody to which only computer programmes knew the tune. On the left stood a white cabinet about two metres high. Like a fridge, Jack thought, except wires like spaghetti fed into the back, and it gave off a deep hum. Further to the left was indeed a small fridge. The old man watched him intently and, seeing his eyes fixing the fridge, said, Mineral water. I like it cold and I get thirsty here. It gets hot, what with the computers giving off all that heat.

"This is amazing," Jack marvelled. A gaming nerd’s paradise. He could feel the heat coming off the hardware. In front of the screens was a simple flat table with two keyboards and a complicated-looking joystick, and in front of that was a rather worn and comfy-looking leather chair. A few empty pet bottles lay strewn on the floor.

Having gotten over the initial surprise, he asked, Well, what do you do with all this, then?

Essentially, hacking and communication. The secret kind.

Oh!

Yes, it’s what I needed to do to ensure my plan.

And what do you mean by that?

Jack, Star said, sounding a bit too condescending. "May I call you Jack? As you know, my name is Star. Very pleased to meet you, Jack. Please take it as a truth that I am from the future. Things will fall into place for you, and you will see and, above all, understand.

As a fresh navigator, I was on an exploration mission to the Alpha Centauri system. Star travel became common after the discovery of the inertia drive. The Unified States of Earth immediately opened up the stars for exploration. They identified the third planet, Proxima Centauri C, as quite promising in view of establishing a small scientific outpost. We were to survey the planet and make a report on its viability. They called it, blandly, New Earth, which was supposedly populated only by Indigenous wildlife that, as it turned out, were quite harmless. The wildlife I mean.

Supposedly? Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

We discovered an anomaly, something which naturally should not have been there. At first, we did not know what its functions were, but certainly from some extra-terrestrial civilisation elsewhere in the Galaxy. Yes, Aliens! he said, noting the surprised look on Jack’s face. The device appeared ancient, but certain indications, like high radiation, suggested it was still in operation. Therein lay the problem. It was emitting electromagnetic pulses, and our snooping around alerted the owners, notably an alien who was living in the complex, and then his superiors as well.

Okay, interesting story, interrupted Jack.

Star threw him a glare, which would have frozen the balls of anyone, and continued. But you know we humans are curious animals. Perhaps it’s a quality of our species, but in this case, it was unforgiving. The attack came as a surprise.

Attack?

Yes, but to cut a long story short, I escaped. Unfortunately, this meant that those who attacked us know about Earth. In view of their advanced technology, this is not good for humanity. Fortunately, in coming back here, I can make amends, hence, your presence here today. I need you to go back to the planet New Earth and attempt to negotiate with them and, at least, to placate any misunderstandings. I’m asking you because the Heads of State, to whom I have spoken to, have already dismissed my story as science fiction.

Piece of cake, Jack laughed cynically, also not believing