Excerpt: The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident

This is the prologue to the third book in my Displaced Detective Series, The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident, a science fiction mystery. Books 1 and 2 (The Case of the Displaced Detective: At Speed) are in release, ebook and treebook; book 3, (The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident) has been released THIS WEEK! Book 4 (The Case of the Cosmological Killer: Endings and Beginnings) will be released this fall. You can purchase all of them in pretty much any format you like through my website, www.stephanie-osborn.com. Hope you enjoy this excerpt.


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Prologue—Encounters

"Leeming Tower, this is Blue-One-Niner; Tower, this is Blue-One-Niner."

"This is RAF Leeming. Go, Blue-One-Niner."

"Tower, I have visual at one o'clock low, approaching coast along south-southeast heading; range, estimated twelve klicks. Request verification and possible change of altitude."

"Blue-One-Niner, this is Tower. Please repeat visual info."

"Tower, Blue-One-Niner. Visual at one o'clock low, estimated range ten klicks and closing."

"Blue-One-Niner, Tower. I thought you said twelve klicks."

"Tower, One-Niner. I did; it's incoming."

"Blue-One-Niner, radar shows no other aircraft in your vicinity."

"Leeming, better look again. It's right there, range now…HOLY SHIT! It just accelerated! Range now seven kilometres and closing fast! I am executing evasive manoeuvers! Climbing to twelve thousand metres! Bogey heading south-southeast, nearing coastline…"

"Copy, Blue-One-Niner. Evasive manoeuvers; you are cleared to twelve thousand. Be advised, radar still shows no—hold one! Where the bloody hell did THAT come from?! Contact Fylingdales—you did? They don't? Roger that! All other traffic on this channel, this is Leeming Tower; please move to Channel Four immediately. Blue-One-Niner, this is Tower! Do you still have visual on bogey?"

"Roger, Tower! Closing fast…"

"You are authorised to pursue and bring down, peaceful preferred. Scrambling backup."

"Copy, pursue and bring down. If peaceful refused?"

"You are authorised to use whatever means necessary. If peaceful refused, consider hostile."

"Roger that. It's passing below me now. Turning to pursue."

"Copy that. Blue-One-Niner, can you identify aircraft? Radar signature is…inconclusive."

"Uh…Tower, that visual is an inconclusive, too. It doesn't look like any bloody aircraft I've ever seen. In fact, it doesn't even look like an aircraft…"

"Description?"

"It's a…big fuzzy ball, glowing kind of…yellowish-orange. And moving like a bat out of hell."

"Blue-One-Niner, please repeat last transmission. It sounded like you said a big fuzzy ball?"

"Affirm, Tower, that's exactly what I said. Think…giant tennis ball, only more orange. Still approaching coastline near Scarborough… correction! Bogey has changed heading! Damn! Stand by, Tower…"

"Leeming Tower standing by."

"Tower, this is Blue-One-Niner. I don't know what the blazes they've got, but it's way the hell more manoeuvreable than my Typhoon. They just executed a sharp turn to port, and I do mean sharp! I overshot by several miles inland, trying to make the turn. They are now paralleling the coastline, bearing southeast."

"Roger that, Blue-One-Niner. We…saw the turn on radar…"

"Yeah, you probably see something else, too."

"Roger that. Bogey is…ACCELERATING?!"

"Like that bat out of hell—on warp drive. Punching 'burners…"

"Blue-One-Niner, this is Leeming Tower. Report."

"Leeming, this is Blue-One-Niner. Sorry, mates, she's outstripped me by a long shot. Keep 'er on radar as long as you can, and try to anticipate and scramble interceptors. I've already almost lost visual."

"Roger that…"

* * *

Inside the radar room at RAF Fylingdales, the Officer of the Day discussed the situation with his chief technician.

"Are you sure?" the OD pressed his radar tech.

"Positive, sir," the tech replied, grim. "We've been watching it for the last five minutes, ever since it showed on radar. The only thing I know of that can travel that fast is a blasted Space Shuttle, and even they couldn't make manoeuvres like this ruddy thing is making. We're gathering all the radar data on it we can, profiles and such, but so far, we've not been able to put a plane close. Blue-One-Niner got a good visual on it, but that was sheer dumb luck."

"What kind of craft was One-Niner in? Recon?"

"A Typhoon, sir. And the bogey left it in the dust, even on full afterburners."

"Bollocks!" the OD exclaimed, shocked and gawking. "Left in the DUST? A TYPHOON?!"

"Like it was sitting still, as near as I can tell from air-to-ground transmissions. Radar supported the assessment, too."

The OD thought hard for several moments.

"Any idea where it's headed?"

"Yeah." The techie scowled.

"Well?"

"You're not gonna like it."

"Tell me anyway."

"Bentwaters." The engineer gazed solemnly at his superior. The OD blanched.

"Bugger. Get the brass on the bloody horn!"

* * *

Deep beneath the seemingly abandoned RAF Bentwaters base, ciphered telephones were ringing off their hooks. Frantic officers and enlisted personnel scurried about, attempting to ascertain under what sort of threat they were operating.

The underground facility itself was under full lockdown, with absolutely no sign of life visible to the outside.

And that was precisely how they wanted it.

Far overhead, in the deepening twilight sky, a glowing golden sphere floated, searching.

* * *

In the Headquarters of Her Majesty's Secret Service, the Director General was in her office, reviewing the dispatches as soon as they arrived.

"Not again," she muttered under her breath, obviously deeply concerned. "I thought we were done with this decades ago."

"Doesn't look like it, madam," Captain Braeden Ryker noted, subdued, handing her another report. "All hell is breaking loose out there, by the sound of it. Some of the public reports are probably spurious, and some of it—seventy-five percent, I'd say—likely due to hoaxes and copycats and just plain power of suggestion. But that still leaves the remaining twenty-five percent as real. We've got jets scrambled all along the coast, and except for the initial intercept, which was accidental, not one of our aircraft could even get close enough to see the thing." He looked down at the paper in his hand. "We did luck out on one point. Our local field office got a heads-up from Fylingdales at the same time they notified Bentwaters, and Gregory got his ass in gear with record speed. He mobilised a field team in time to have a gander at the object. They're still in the field, so we don't have word yet."

"Is it still out there?"

Ryker glanced again at the communiqué in his hand.

"Not according to the latest information, no, madam."

"Get a detail out there and start looking into the situation." The director shook her head, obviously gravely concerned.

"What about…?" Ryker began, then added candidly, "Do you want me to override Gregory, madam?"

"No, I want you to work WITH him," the Director declared with a wave of her hand. "Get some of the Headquarters experts out there right alongside his team—specialists, to aid him in his assessment, not supersede him. I know Gregory. He's a good man, with a good team. I simply want all the data we can gather. I want to know what this thing is, where it's from, what it's after, and I want to know five minutes ago."

"Right away, madam," Ryker nodded, exiting swiftly.

* * *

The field excursion team filed into the back of the nondescript office building, entering an equally bland conference room. They appeared to be college students and young professionals, clad in jeans or chinos and shirts, carrying attaché cases or backpacks, as appropriate. When the last of them arrived and the conference room door closed, they turned to the man in the corner.

"Here we go again, Gregory," the field team lead sighed, shaking his head. "It's the Halt transcript all over again, right down to the imagery in the night vision goggles."

"Any feeling of intent?"

"Definite intent," another remarked. "It was…looking…for something. A natural phenom doesn't sweep a grid pattern. This bugger did. Nice and precise, too."

"Blast and damnation," Gregory sighed. "What was it looking for? Any ideas?"

"That's the prize question, isn't it, boss?" the second field investigator shrugged. "If we could answer that, problem solved, and on to the next issue—which is, what to do about it?"

"Yeah," Gregory muttered. "Well, boys and girls, get your reports together fast. Headquarters is breathing down our necks. Word has it the Director General herself is involved, and you know to whom SHE reports. We're likely to have help soon. In fact, some experts are supposed to be coming down from London as we speak, to work alongside."

There was a collective groan from the room.

"All right, boss," the team lead noted. "Everyone, laptops out, reports in half an hour. Type fast."

* * *

Ryker came into the Director's office at speed, bearing the collected dispatches from the field office.

"Here you go, madam," he noted, handing them to the Secret Service director. "The latest on the phaenomenon. I can't say I'm pleased with the way this is headed."

The scowling director scanned through the reports, speed-reading. "Ah, I see your point. Are the subject matter experts on their way?"

"They are."

"Very good. Dismissed." As Ryker turned to leave, she changed her mind. "Ryker, wait a moment."

"Yes, madam?" He stopped, pivoting smartly on his heel to face her once more.

"Your…friends…in America…" She pondered briefly.

"Williams, madam?"

"No, the scientist and a certain detective." She threw a small grin at the agent.

"Ah," Ryker grinned back at her, "Dr. Skye Chadwick and Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

"The very ones. What are they doing at the present time?"

"I don't know offhand, madam, but I can contact Williams and find out," Ryker said. "I have strong reason to believe they may be coming across the Pond for a visit after the first of the year, however. Are you considering calling them in on this?"

"Possibly," the director confessed, looking over one of the dispatches. "Certainly they possess the specific expertise necessary to look into so abstruse a problem as this. They…" she paused, staring at the paper in her hand. "The night vision goggles showed a HOLE in the middle of the object?" She raised her head, gazing at Ryker in astonishment.

"Yes, ma'am. It makes no sense, I know, but that's just like it happened back in 1980."

"And you have every confidence in Chadwick and Holmes." She eyed Ryker sternly.

"Yes, ma'am," Ryker responded smartly, with confident emphasis.

"And this is really THE Sherlock Holmes?"

"Without doubt," Ryker smiled. His certainty was almost palpable. Despite this fact, the Director sighed without enthusiasm.

"Very well. Yes, Captain Ryker. Contact Captain Williams and have him ascertain their availability. Provide Williams with a detailed abstract of events through appropriately secure channels, and see to it he briefs Holmes and Chadwick on the matter as soon as possible. Ensure they are instructed to stand by in the event they are called in on the case."

"Consider it done." Ryker snapped off a salute before spinning and exiting the office.

~~~


For more, or to purchase this and more books in the series, go to my website, www.stephanie-osborn.com.

Excerpt: The Case of the Displaced Detective: At Speed

This is the prologue to the second book in my Displaced Detective Series, The Case of the Displaced Detective: At Speed, a science fiction mystery. Books 1 and 2 (The Case of the Displaced Detective: At Speed) are in release, ebook and treebook; book 3, (The Case of the Cosmological Killer: The Rendlesham Incident) will be released later this year. You can purchase both in pretty much any format you like through my website, www.stephanie-osborn.com. Hope you enjoy this excerpt.


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Chapter 1—Ruminations and Rehabilitations

Skye woke up in a hospital bed on Peterson Air Force Base near Colorado Springs the afternoon following the shooting, which was Saturday. Her chest and belly ached miserably, and there was a taste in her mouth as if all the armies that had ever marched had tramped across her tongue.

"Uhg," she groaned softly, smacking her mouth in disgust.

As sensation and full consciousness slowly returned, a previously unnoticed grip on her fingers tightened, and a familiar, English voice murmured, "Skye?"

"H-holmes? Is that you?" Skye wondered, confused.

"Yes, Skye. I am here."

Through the slits of her barely open eyelids, she saw a dark form loom over her, coming to sit gingerly on the edge of the bed. As her eyes finally responded to her mental command to focus, the form resolved into Holmes, who was now dressed in the RAF uniform he kept in their office. He reached for something beyond her range of sight, then brought his left hand back with a small plastic cup, a straw tucked inside it.

"Here. Sip this." His right hand never let go her own. Skye allowed him to place the straw in her mouth before sipping the cool water.

"Oh, that's better. My mouth tasted nasty."

"That would be the narcotics," he replied, the hint of a smile on his tired face as he returned the cup to the bedside table.

* * *

"Oh." Skye gave him a bleary-eyed scrutiny, and Holmes read it accurately.

"No, my dear. Watson broke me of that habit some years ago, at my own request, I might add. And I must confess, I find this world of yours stimulating enough that I have no interest in such substances, anyway." He allowed the hint of expression to become a full-fledged smile, and he said, "Dear old Watson, it seems, was equally as determined as dear new Skye. But it does mean I have some experience with nasty tastes in one's mouth."

"How bad?" Skye gestured to her bandaged, aching torso.

"Punctured left lung, lacerated spleen." Holmes drew a deep, pained breath. "Considerable blood loss. The spleen was not so damaged as to require complete removal, fortunately. There is speculation it caught a ricochet; the bits of metal pulled out from that organ definitely did not add up to a complete bullet, as opposed to the one in the lung, which emerged intact. But lung and spleen are repaired now, and you are getting blood." He gestured at the IV bags hanging nearby, where a deep-red fluid dribbled through a tube into her arm. "In fact, one of those is mine. They were low on your blood type." Then he quipped, "And relative to some of the people in this age of yours, it seems I am quite the healthy specimen." He paused, becoming very serious. "Skye, I must apologise…I had to break my oath to you."

~~~

For more, or to purchase this and more books in the series, go to my website, www.stephanie-osborn.com.

Solar Activity and the Activity Indices

Okay, back to bar magnets again. Because the Earth has one. But of course it's three-dimensional, not like our iron filings on paper example. Imagine picking up the bar magnet with the iron filings and paper attached, and rotating it 360º, letting the iron filings remain in the areas they move through. Now you have an image of what a three-dimensional dipolar (2-pole) magnetic field looks like – sort of like a giant pumpkin. With the solar wind (which is probably the largest influence on the interplanetary magnetic field) pushing on it from the Sun direction, the side of the pumpkin facing the Sun tends to smush in, but the side away from the Sun tends to stretch out and form a long tail. (You can see a really good animation of how this works here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Animati3.gif) This is all to say that you HAVE to think of the geomagnetic field three-dimensionally. And if it is three-dimensional, then each part of the field has an x-, a y-, and a z-coordinate component.

Let's simplify for a minute. Let's say that we're going to look at the component of the geomagnetic field that is running horizontally to the Earth's surface at any given point. Now because the Earth is curved, this is a tangent line that is continually changing as you move around the Earth. Now let's look at the disturbances from normal, caused by solar weather – coronal holes, CMEs, what have you.

So we have these variations, that are going to be different for different parts of the Earth for the same event. How do we measure it? It's a little like a Richter scale for geosolar storms. It runs from zero to nine, and there's a special formula that enables it to be calculated regardless of the location of the observatory, just like the Richter magnitude of a quake can be determined from seismographs on the opposite side of the globe. This scale for solar-induced geomagnetic activity is called the K-index. Zero is essentially no activity; anything above 5 is considered a storm level of activity. The bigger the number, the greater the effects seen on the ground, and the farther south the auroral oval can be seen. At a K=9, the aurora can be seen...in the TROPICS.

(Just for the sake of more information, the letter K was derived from the German word “kennziffer,” which apparently means “characteristic number.” Us scientists, we love our imaginative names, you know?)

Now if we reference the Kp index, we're talking about the interplanetary K index, not the geomagnetic K index. This is an average of all the K indices from all of the observatories, weighted as appropriate (remember, you won't get the same measurements from the various observation sites, so you have to factor that in, as well as the fact that the geomagnetic field is constantly changing). This gives us an indication of what the interplanetary magnetic field (IMF) is doing. BUT – not all of the stations report in at the same time. So then scientists have to calculate something called the “estimated Kp” which is just what it sounds like – an estimate for those stations that haven't reported in yet. This can sometimes be a very good predictor of what the magnetic field is going to do, and sometimes not so much. We're still very much learning this particular science.

But we're not done with indexes. There's also something called the a index. This is based on the AMPLITUDES (yep, there's the reason for using an a) of the deviations from geomagnetic normal, taken over a three-hour period. Then there's the A index, which is an AVERAGE (yep, that's where the A came from) of all the a-indices for a 24-hour period.

One more index we need to look at is the G scale, which is the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration's (NOAA) way of quantifying the strength of the geomagnetic disturbance. For any K index of 4 or less, the scale shows G0. At K=5, we jump to G1 – minor storming. For K=6, we have G2. For K=7, G3. At K=8, we have a storm level of G4, and at the maximum K=9, we have maximum storming of G5. Think of it like the Earth's solar DefCon level.

Next week we'll go into those DefCon levels in detail.

-Stephanie Osborn

http://www.stephanie-osborn.com

My first PopSyndicate article is up!

It's called It Ain't Rocket Science - Oh Wait, It Is! This month's article is on the World Science Fiction Convention which is this weekend!