Chapter Six

'Check the pictures of the Mars Landing,' he shouted into the phone. 'Look at the air lines. One's disconnected. It's the story of the century: the Mars Missions are a fake. The Brits haven't been to Mars at all. Tell the world!' He slammed the handset down, knowing that he'd just made history. Oswald was waving at him.

'Alan, look up there, for Christ's sake.'

Alan did as Oswald said, and saw a vast, dark shape coming down through the clouds over the Thames.

For the first couple of seconds, those that looked up and saw it thought it was an aircraft in trouble. But after a moment of panic, they realised it couldn't be. It was perfectly silent. It wasn't a zeppelin, either: the hull was clearly made from thick metal plates, riveted together, and it must have weighed many hundreds of tonnes. It was drifting down, apparently effortlessly. In reality the underside of the object was lined with tiny rocket vents which were pulsing with bursts of magnetic force.

Far below, television pictures and computer monitors began to shimmer. Car radios and phone lines began to crackle. Every audio and video tape in Central London was wiped. Cutlery drawers were rattling, every loose piece of metal across the city began jiggling up and down.

People were beginning to look up. Cars stopped, the crowds on the streets began to point up into the sky. Every burglar alarm and car alarm went off.

The Sumerian MechInfs had wiped out the Mongol Militia, and now they were advancing relentlessly towards the Mongol capital, Doug City. The three hundred year campaign was reaching its inevitable conclusion and only an act of God would save him now. Still Emperor Doug fought on.

The VDU rippled, then the computer tried to reset itself. Every other machine in the Café was bleeping as they rebooted. Doug looked around at the denizens of his Internet Café, all of whom were glaring at him as though the freak electrical surge was his fault.

‘The end of Civilisation,’ he chuckled.