Intrusion

Alarm signals spewed across the sensorium. The capsule span, out of control, stars wheeling around it in the blackness of space. The Fragment struggled to stabilise the miniature craft, but it was taking too long.

A larger shape loomed out of the darkness, an attack cruiser that would be more than a match for the tiny capsule if it was observed. The Fragment had no choice, no alternative. It jumped the capsule, fleeing into hyperspace, hoping that the cruiser had not obtained a lock on its trajectory.

A trajectory that it itself could not compute, not with the damage the capsule had already sustained. It would arrive in a gravity well... somewhere. But it had no ability to predetermine where that somewhere would be.

The capsule emerged, popping into real-space close to a bright yellow-white star. The Fragment continued its frantic efforts to repair some of the damage, and finally succeeded in wresting control, stabilising its craft. Now, where was it?

The star patterns were unfamiliar, but after a while, the navigation system resolved them: an unexplored star system, outside the normal travel lanes. No significant data available.

A search revealed planets. One, the third from the star, was habitable. The Fragment assessed the damage to its craft, deemed it irreparable, and determined that its only chance was to make the micro-jump through hyperspace to the habitable planet.

It did so.

Something broke inside the craft; the strain of even such a small jump had caused further damage to a desperately weakened system. The planet beneath was mostly water-covered, but with significant land masses. Lights glowed across the night side - a stroke of luck at last! A primitive civilisation, albeit one unknown to the capsule's data banks, such as they were.

But attitude control was almost gone. The capsule was falling towards the planet; landing would not be soft. It was all the Fragment could do to minimise the speed of its descent, to steer the capsule towards one of the land masses, rather than having it fall into the sea.

Even then, it nearly missed, streaking through the sky as the pressure from the atmosphere slammed into it, heating up the air in a glowing train, falling, falling, towards one of the larger islands off the coast of the main continent...

***

"Captain Rogers?" asked Rebecca, "his name is really 'Captain Rogers'?"

"Uh, apparently," Richard was frowning, "why is that significant?"

"Maybe we're going to refocus on fighting Nazis?" broke in Brendan, "it'd be a change."

"Might be a bit late to punch Hitler in the face," pointed out Rebecca, "but I'm sure there's other deserving candidates."

"I have no idea what you two are talking about." Richard, a former officer from the Met, was the oldest member of the team, and sometimes appeared to be left behind by his younger colleagues' references - especially when the colleagues in question were Brendan and Rebecca.

The tech specialist feigned shock, leaning back in his chair, away from the bank of computer screens, and raising his hands in horror, "Captain America, man! C'mon! He's like, from the '40s - you're not that old!"

"I know who Captain America is. I mean, I've heard of the character... but I don't know what his 'real' name is supposed to be in the comics."

Brendan shook his head, unfashionably long hair flopping across his forehead, "you're just missing out on so much."

"If I'd known," said Rebecca, "I'd have worn my Captain America T-shirt."

"Somehow it does not surprise me that you have one."

"It's just the shield design. But, seriously, what do we know about our new security officer?"

Richard shrugged, "all I've got is that he's a captain in the Royal Corps of Signals. Doesn't even mention a first name."

"Probably not 'Steve', then."

"Uh... probably not. Although you can ask him when he turns up."

Which, hopefully, wouldn't be too long now. Meeting the new guy was unavoidable, although, being a security officer, he wasn't likely to be much fun. Rebecca was expecting an excess of rigid formality, having met quite a few military types during her work for the Ministry.

To be honest, she just wanted to get on with work. Not that she needed it as an escape from arguments with John; their breakup was well and truly past now. And, yes, she felt relieved at that, and the freedom it brought with it. It was too early to be getting attached to anyone else.

She'd been explaining some of this to a friend just the other night, including a few digs at the intransigent John. And then Suzie had jokingly said 'it's enough to put you off men for life.' Which clearly she didn't mean literally, not least because she had been happily married for the last couple of years. But somehow it had stuck in Rebecca's mind.

Were her experiences with John really enough to do that? She liked men, and even if the sex wasn't as great as it was sometimes cracked up to be, she didn't want to live without it altogether. But then, it wasn't as if there wasn't a third option, besides putting up with men being arseholes or dying a lonely old spinster. And try as she might, it was an option that kept creeping back into her thoughts.

Which was probably the real reason that she wanted to bury herself in work. Just this morning, taking the tube into Westminster Station, she'd been standing opposite a young brunette woman, probably a secretary. She had been wearing a skirt that was really too short for this time of year, and Rebecca had found herself admiring the shape of her legs, her eyes wandering up to the rest of her body before she caught herself and looked away, embarrassed by her own thoughts.

It was an image right now that she would quite like to get out of her mind. Not that there was anything particularly wrong with it, but it wasn't her. As a teenager, perhaps, she had wondered from time to time, but she'd never done anything about it, and had soon settled into a decidedly hetero lifestyle. Doing anything else now would only add further complications to a life that was pretty weird to start with.

She began skimming through some recent reports, more for something to take her mind off things than because the work really needed doing. It had been a slow few months for the team, and Britain seemed to be keeping itself safe for the time being, without any need of their help.

"Good morning, everyone!"

Rebecca looked up as Helen's distinctive Yorkshire accent heralded the arrival of their boss. A short, plump woman, she was a career civil servant, something that showed in her unimaginative choice of work attire; apart from anything else, she was the only one of the women on the team to regularly wear a skirt.

And stepping into the room behind her was... Rebecca blinked in surprise. Richard had clearly got one thing wrong!

"I'd like you all to meet our new security officer," began Helen, "Captain Kate Rogers of the Royal Signals Corps. Kate, this is Richard Melville, chief investigator..."

"Only investigator," muttered Richard.

Helen ignored him. "...Brandon Grant, technical officer, and Rebecca Saunders, our scientific advisor." She paused, looking around the room, "is Nalini about?"

"Got a call out," said Richard, "some place out in the sticks. She wasn't sure when she would be back."

"Nalini Ramprakash is our medical officer," explained Helen, "I'm sure you'll be meeting her later. Right, let's get down to..."

At that moment, the phone rang, interrupting her just as she was about to get into her flow.

"Room 42," said Richard, answering the call. He straightened up in his chair, had a brief conversation with whoever was on the other end, and then looked up at Helen. "The boss wants to see you in his office. Something urgent, I'm afraid."

Helen sighed, and turned back to her charge, "just make yourself at home until I get back. I'll give you the full induction talk later, but I'm sure the others can explain the basics. Sorry, but duty does call."

"Not a problem, ma'am," replied Kate, in a clear, accentless voice of the sort that didn't indicate betray any origins beyond 'Sandhurst'.

"You have escaped the horrors of the induction talk!" said Brandon dramatically, as soon as Helen was safely out of earshot.

"Not for long, though," pointed out Rebecca, "it'll come for you in the end. It's like death and taxes."

To her relief, Kate smiled at that. So she was human!

She was, Rebecca reflected, quite an attractive woman, too, in a military sort of way. Her dark wavy hair was tied back in a loose bun, and contrasted with her clear blue eyes and pale lips. She was dressed in what Rebecca knew to be the regular barracks uniform - a green pullover with khaki shirt and skirt, and rank insignia on her shoulders. So far as was apparent under the somewhat sexless clothing, she had a trim athletic physique that suggested the regular work-outs you'd expect in the army, although she was an inch or two shorter than Rebecca's own lanky frame.

Given her thoughts of earlier in the morning, the scientific advisor was also embarrassed to realise that her eyes had strayed to the officer's breasts, which were larger than her own without looking uncomfortably buxom. Fortunately, Kate didn't seem to have noticed, or, at least, didn't react if she had.

"So," asked the captain, "what exactly do you do around here? The assignment details were unusually vague."

"Yeah," agreed Brandon, "'the name isn't exactly informative."

"Intentionally so," pointed out Richard.

Rebecca decided to come to the captain's aid, "What precisely did they tell you?"

"Well, that your department is called 'Room 42', and that you have something to do with monitoring and directing space defence. I assume that means communication and navigation satellites, that kind of thing?"

That was a logical inference, Rebecca supposed, given that she had been assigned from the Signals Corps. "Partly..." she said, "but only peripherally. You see..."

"We hunt aliens," broke in Brandon matter-of-factly, and evidently looking for a reaction.

What he got was a cold stare. "Really?" said Kate, frostily.

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," said Richard, using his 'responsible older guy' voice, "but..."

He left the comment hanging, and Rebecca took up the thread, "...it's not entirely wrong." Kate turned back to her, eyebrows politely raised in a silent bid for her to elaborate.

"You see," she continued, "Earth is just at that point where our technology sends radio signals out into space, but where most of our communications aren't so tight beam that we've gone silent. And, believe it or not, that has attracted attention from whatever is out there."

"About which we know very little," added Richard.

"Except that it's probably more advanced than us, which is an obvious concern if we don't know what they want. It's probably not invasion, or they would have done it already, but that doesn't mean that we shouldn't keep an eye out for things, and try to evaluate what we've got."

"You think there are actual aliens out there? Little green men?"

"They're probably stranger than that... but, yes. In fact, we've found signs of them. Which is all highly classified, as you probably appreciate given what they will have already made you sign."

"There was more than usual," admitted Kate, "especially given that I've already taken an oath to Queen and country. But you're basically saying that... what, Roswell was real?"

"Why," said Brandon, throwing his hands up in the air, "does everyone mention Roswell? We're British, can't somebody think of... I don't know... Rendlesham?"

"Rendlesham?"

"It's in Suffolk," explained Rebecca, "a supposed UFO landing. And, before you ask, it was before our time, but so far as we can tell it was just a bunch of American GIs running around and getting confused by a lighthouse. I mean, there was a bit more to it than that, but it was basically a false alarm. But that doesn't mean that there haven't been some real ones. All small scale, but still real."

Kate looked as if she was still trying to decide whether or not they were pulling her leg. Room 42 was officially part of the Ministry of Defence, located in its headquarters on Whitehall, and the MoD wasn't exactly known for its jokes and witty banter. On the other hand, neither Rebecca nor Brandon looked at all like typical civil servants, no matter what it said on their payslips, and her scepticism was understandable.

"So you're telling me that you four are the entire British defence force against alien invasion?"

"You're forgetting Nalini, and with you there's now six." As she said it, Rebecca realised with some amusement that Richard and Brandon were now in the minority, outnumbered by the women two to one.

"But we mainly monitor and investigate," said Richard, "we can call on some serious support if we really need it, but a lot of the time we're staring at computer screens and trying to weed out the cranks. Or trying to dig up trace evidence and analyse it for clues."

"Although," said Rebecca, getting up from her chair, "now that you're with us I'd better show you the most important part of the department."

"Some sort of advanced monitoring station?" asked Kate curiously, and still sounding rather doubtful.

"No; where we keep the tea."

***

The Fragment's first attempts at establishing control had been unsuccessful. The first creature it had made contact with had been sub-sentient, allowing effective subversion, but not allowing the Fragment to do anything directly useful as a result. That, however, had not been unexpected, for it was only the first step along the path.

Control of the sub-sentient animal had, however, been sufficient for the Fragment to attempt subversion of a member of the sentient, civilisation-creating, creatures that inhabited the planet. Like the sub-sentient organism, it was four-limbed, with an internal skeleton and a dorsal nerve cord. However, it used only two of the limbs for locomotion, giving it a teetering, vertical posture that, nonetheless, left the other limbs - dangling from the upper portion of its torso - free for manipulation.

It was an unusual anatomical arrangement, but not one that was unprecedented.

More significantly, however, the Fragment's initial attempt at subversion had failed. With the sensorium damaged beyond useful repair, it had been limited in its ability to trace the alien's neural pathways and establish control. There had been severe physical side-effects as it disentangled the pathways for bodily control from those associated with higher functioning. The subject had therefore had to be discarded.

But the process had at least provided enough information for the Fragment to develop a new plan of attack. Using the data gleaned from the sub-sentient animal, it now knew enough to be able to establish a superficial link, to incline the organism to behave in a certain way, activating its reward centres to drive it towards a desired goal.

But that was inadequate for the fine control that would be needed for what the Fragment had in mind. For that, it would have to subvert executive functioning, which would in turn require it to release a flood of chemicals in the alien's brain that would override its mental defences. In short, it would need to induce an emotional overload and attack while the subject was diverted. Fortunately, it now had the means to do that.

It had identified four possible targets within range of its current location. Now all it had to do was to wait for an opportunity.

***

For once, Liam had the flat to himself. It was an unusual experience, but it had been one of those situations where he had had to take a day's leave before the end of March or risk losing it. Not only that, but Denzel had been sent on some training course up north, so he wouldn't be back for a couple of days.

The flat wasn't that large, so, while having to share it was financially unavoidable for the time being, it could get a little cramped with the two of them there. Denzel was a good enough mate - he wouldn't have agreed the flat share otherwise - but it was good to get the chance to do whatever he wanted for the day.

The truth was, though, he didn't really know what he wanted to do. With most other people he knew at work today, he wasn't like he could hang out with them. Or not until the evening, anyway. And he certainly wasn't going to waste the day going to see his sister. She could wait to the weekend, like everyone else.

So Liam had moped around for a while, feeling that he really ought to be enjoying the freedom, but having no idea what he was going to with it. In the end, he just plopped himself down in front of the TV and opened up Netflix. Perhaps he could binge watch something.

He hadn't made a decision on that, either, when the buzzer for the flat went off. Cursing, he got up and headed for the door. Some salesman, or the landlord... whatever, it was an interruption he could do without.

"Look, whatever it is..." he snapped, and the suddenly caught himself. "Oh, hi, Lucy, I didn't realise it was you. Denzel's not in today..."

"Yeah, I know." Of course she knew. It was a work day, after all. "But I left something behind, and he said you'd be in... can I come in?"

Lucy was Denzel's girlfriend, and Liam had a bit of a secret crush on her himself. She was attractive after all, and had one heck of a good body. Which made things rather awkward when she and Denzel were having sex and Liam had to pretend not be able to hear them. That was normally time for a walk. Which, of course, just meant that he had more time to fantasise about what was going on back in the flat.

It probably didn't help that he had had any himself for almost a year. Which was way too long for a guy his age.

[Emotional surge in Target Two. Insufficient to allow full access, but enough to permit ingress with a view to lowering of inhibitions. No response from other targets.]

He let her in, and Lucy went straight to Denzel's room. Liam copped a look at her shapely rear as she did so, and luckily she didn't notice. She was wearing tight-fitting black trousers and a dark woollen top over her blouse, on account of the cold weather. The trousers definitely accentuated her behind, and he was fairly sure that Lucy would have embarrassed if she had known what sort of thoughts had suddenly risen - almost unbidden - to his mind.

"What you doing today, anyway?" she asked as she finally came out of the room, patting down her bag as she did so.

"Nothing much," he admitted. "I thought maybe I'd watch something, but I haven't decided what."

"Maybe I can help you pick." She glanced over at the TV, still showing the top shows menu. "Orange is the New Black?" she suggested, then saw his expression, "okay, maybe not one for you. How about The Vampire Diaries? It kind of sucked to start with, but it definitely improved."

"I've not seen it..."

"Not at all? Then, hey, I've got nothing else to do this morning. We can watch some of it together, and I'll guide you through it. What do you say?" She sat down on the sofa, and picked up the remote, looking at him with an enquiring expression.

[Preliminary access to neural pathways of Target Four obtained. Conflicting emotional imperatives identified. Working to bypass imperatives imposing behavioural restrictions. Beginning to lower inhibitions. Discard Targets One and Three as isolated, focus on maximising synergistic emotional responses of Targets Two and Four.]

It was actually quite good, although, it not being the first season, Lucy had to explain a fair chunk of the backstory to him. More to the point, so far as Liam was concerned, Lucy was sitting right up against him, their hips and shoulders touching. He had plenty of opportunity, as she explained things, to glance away from the screen and watch her face instead, admiring the clear complexion, the big, dark eyes, and the way her long black hair fell around her shoulders.