Supernal

Chapter 1

5:13 pm Wednesday, 20th June 2029

Scottish Inner Hebrides

Toby Jardine frowned and stopped typing, his concentration disturbed by an unfamiliar sound. He was used to all the creaks and rattles of his ancient crofter's cottage on the Isle of Oronsay, but this was different. Then he recognized the throbbing beat of a helicopter in the distance and relaxed. The coastguard Sikorsky S-92 must have been scrambled for a yachtsman caught out by the changeable winds around the island. Even in June, the weather in the Hebrides was unpredictable.

He went back to his work, hearing the snicker of rotor blades increase until he judged the chopper must be passing right overhead. But, instead of diminishing, the noise continued unabated. Moments later it was accompanied by an insistent hammering on his front door.

"What the hell?" he muttered, getting up to answer it.

Before he'd taken three steps, two men dressed in identical charcoal grey suits walked into the room. Toby never locked his front door when he was at home.  Strangers on Oronsay were as rare as hens' teeth.

"Dr Tobias Jardine?" the taller of the two men asked politely with a Texan drawl.

"You can't just barge in here like ..."

"Dr Jardine, you need to come with us, right now."

"Is this some kind of joke? Why should I go anywhere with you?"

"We don't play practical jokes, sir, and we haven't been given any details. We only know we have to ask you to accompany us to Florida as soon as possible ... and are not to take no for an answer."

"Florida? Why Florida?"

"Because that's where the SpaceX shuttles are based."

#

Toby took a gulp from the tumbler of Glenfiddich the steward on the Gulfstream executive jet handed him and tried to make sense of what was going on. His uninvited visitors, whom Toby mentally christened Stan and Ollie, had refused to identify themselves and would only say they worked for the US State Department. Stan had been courteous but firm. Ollie had remained tight-lipped. Although neither had threatened him it was made clear that refusing to go with them was not an option. It hadn't escaped his notice that the duo both wore shoulder holsters. He guessed they were Secret Service, or maybe CIA, or some other US government agency that supplied goons these days. 

It had taken Stan ten minutes to convince him they were legitimate and that it was no joke. Toby's specialist knowledge was of vital importance for a top-secret project. In the end, his curiosity had outstripped his misgivings. He had no urgent business to attend to, and a few days in the Florida sunshine would be a welcome break.

He'd been given a few minutes to collect some personal items and his laptop. Clothes would be supplied. Everything would be explained when they arrived at their destination.

A nondescript helicopter,  devoid of any markings, was waiting with rotors turning in the field adjoining his cottage. It had taken them on a thirty-minute flight to an abandoned airfield. As they approached in the evening sunlight Toby recognized the coastline of the Mull of Kintyre and realized it was the disused RAF station at Machrihanish. 

The Gulfstream waiting on the unkempt runway had taken off within minutes. No customs. No passport control.

A smartly dressed steward on the jet fixed his preferred drink without asking, even adding a splash of water and a single ice cube without being told. That intrigued him far more than the fact they'd known where he lived. He'd received death threats in the past so made sure his address was always kept under wraps. If they knew details like how he took his favourite drink, they must know a whole lot more. He was still wondering why the US government would be interested in a discredited biologist and how long he'd been under surveillance when he passed out.