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Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd - Terry Steward

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94 pages

English

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Robert Howdon has just published his first book on how mankind is successfully utilising renewable energy sources; reducing dependence on fossil fuels and slowing global warming. The main issue now facing mankind is that of plastic pollution. He becomes excited to hear of a program to modify genes in bacteria to efficiently digest plastic. This excitement in finding a way to eliminate plastic pollution turns to horror as he discovers the impact that genetically modified bacteria are having on the environment and people''s lives. The perpetrators are aware that Robert''s discovery could discredit them; if the devastating impact of real-world trials of gene modified (GM) bacterium were exposed, the company would face certain financial ruin. However, as fatalities climb, and evidence mounts, the perpetrator becomes more anxious to protect themselves and set a course for a direct confrontation with Robert.
One will be silenced.

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Science fiction

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Publié par	Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
Date de parution	28 août 2020
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781528968478
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0175€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Novae Spes
A New Hope
Terry Steward
Austin Macauley Publishers
2020-08-28
Novae Spes About the Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgements Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 References
About the Author

C:\Users\Admin\Contacts\Desktop\Author Photo-Terry Steward.jpg
Terry Steward is an operations manager at a UK regulatory agency. Formerly head of information technology at a national institute, and a former senior biotherapeutics scientist at a major pharmaceutical company. Terry’s interests in science, technology and regulation and his experiences ensures Terry is well-placed to generate plots and challenge perceptions in this techno-thriller genre. A graduate of Liverpool University and North East Surrey College of Technology. Terry has a degree in applied biology and a master’s degree in information systems management. This, his debut novel, Novae Spes was published in 2020. He lives in South London with his wife and three children.
Dedication
The book is dedicated to my late mother who actively encouraged the writing of the novel and readily commented on the drafts. She sadly passed away before this was printed.
Thank you for sharing your humour and love of life.
Rest in peace, Mum.
Brenda Steward 1934–2020
Copyright Information ©
Terry Steward (2020)
The right of Terry Steward to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Austin Macauley is committed to publishing works of quality and integrity. In this spirit, we are proud to offer this book to our readers; however, the story, the experiences, and the words are the author’s alone.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528935913 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528935920 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528968478 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2020)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgements
Thanks goes to my family and friends for the engaging discussions and patience in proofreading and assisting in the selection of the cover design.
I’d like to acknowledge the professional work of a creator, Jiovanni Rossi at CrowdSpring, who designed the imaginative eye-catching cover, incorporating plastic items such as plastic bottles within a DNA helix. And although we have never met, thank you Mark Lorche for writing such a stimulating and thought-provoking article in The Conversation in 2016 entitled: Scientists Just Discovered Plastic-Eating Bacteria That Can Break Down PET. Bon appétit!
Prologue
It was three months since the four little boats had begun their weekly visits to this remote location. Tonight, was just like the many other nights when the vessels had made their voyage; the skies were clear, with millions of bright stars and a full moon illuminating a calm, flat sea. The air was warm, and the breeze was light enough to allow a wispy sea mist to hang above the slight ocean swell.
The boats formed a rough line astern as they motored quietly through the night, guided by the bright torchlight mounted on the bow of the lead boat.
Each had a crew of four casual workers, recruited from the crowd of men congregating at the harbour, seeking manual work each morning. Most were uneducated farm labourers from the centre of the mainland, displaced and without hope, but in need of money to fill their bellies with food. Any work would do. They sat in silence behind the helmsman. None were concerned with the activities they were to undertake; it was just another job, for which they received a minimal payment.
Bartho, in the lead boat, was the eldest at fifty-five. Having received a relatively good education, he was able to speak both Spanish and English fluently. His seniority and knowledge made him a natural choice to manage the trip.
He knew that the location of their destination changed nightly, and charts and compasses were of no assistance; and, as they had on many previous occasions, they crisscrossed a vague location in the ocean until they found their target.
Tonight, the lead torch picked up their destination easily; seeing the tell-tale mist from a distance in the clear night air. The boats smoothly changed their heading and slipped towards the dark shape becoming evident ahead of them.
‘Estamos aquí!’ Bartho, the helmsman of the lead boat, shouted as the vessel nudged what appeared to be land: a muted and lumpy, pale, flattened iceberg, occasionally flecked with colour. It stood less than a metre above sea level and was perhaps two hundred metres in width; however, it consisted of neither ice nor soil.
‘Sí he llegado Bartho!’ shouted a man in the second boat as he came alongside and contacted the land.
Two other boats moored further along the southern edge, about ten metres apart. The crew disembarked onto the “island”, which crumpled, crunched and wheezed as the men moved around. Their torches shone across the thick mist hanging over this alien landscape. It swirled around the men’s legs as they moved into their positions. Bartho smacked his lips and sniffed, sampling the air; it felt dense and had a sharp acid, taste, far more pronounced since his last visit.
‘Bartho, look!’ shouted one of the crew. ‘Look how red the water is.’
Where the mist had cleared at the edge, a metre below Bartho’s feet, he could see in the torchlight how turgid and red the sea had become.
‘Si,’ he replied. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
Eight men took up positions around the land mass, at about twenty paces from each other, and extended graduated tent-pole-like carbon fibre rods. The men started to push the rods below the surface. Each shouted out their own assigned number and a value, which was duly recorded by the second boat’s helmsman, Roberto.
‘Number four: one point four metres.’
‘Number one: zero point eight metres.’
‘Number seven: zero point four metres.’ After announcing his measurement, each man took a stride towards the centre of the island and repeated the measurement process.
Five other men walked around the island with back-mounted metal tanks, spraying clear, odourless liquid through extended spraying arms. Each battered metal reservoir was labelled with a barely legible marking: ‘IS-23’ and a faded yellow corn logo.
Bartho continued to walk around the perimeter while the measuring and spraying were underway. His felt his breathing more difficult and required more effort; he was getting breathless. The ground also seemed less compact, and more unstable than he remembered from the last visit a week ago.
As on the other occasions, he saw dead fish scattered around the edge, partially submerged in the red foamy sea.
However today he saw more foam, and the pungent, acrid smell was stronger and he saw more fish and birds in all states of decay. Alarmingly, he now also saw large tuna among the smaller fish as he walked around the land mass. He counted three more tuna, many seagulls and several giant turtles. He shook his head in disgust. ‘What a mess. No, no, no,’ he muttered. He crossed himself and bent to look closer at the turtle’s eyes; they were glazed and fixed. Bartho felt saddened and his own eyes watered. He stood back up; his breath was more laboured now; the slight exertion had left him gasping. His own eyes were stinging slightly. Probably salt from a tear, he thought, dismissively.
Bartho coughed and became aware of his men around him. They were barely visible through the mist, but he could hear them chocking. Where the fog had thinned, he could make out some men in the distance, Doubled-over, violently coughing and spitting. Bartho looked all round; straining to see through the mist. The movement of the men had started to agitate the land mass, which was undulating with the swell of the sea. Jets of water shot up through the gaps as the land fragments butted against each other. He could see that the men were having trouble maintaining their balance as they carried out their work.
‘Bartho, it’s breaking up,’ one man nearby coughed.
Now concerned, Bartho shouted, ‘Roberto, what were the figures?’ looking about, not sure where Roberto was.
‘Average of zero-point seven metres depth,’ Roberto coughed from somewhere behind him.
‘Let’s get off this “Isla de los diablos”, and quickly, it’s dropped a metre in depth in the last week alone!’ Roberto blew a whistle and shouted, ‘Vamos, Vamos rapido!’
The men feeling nauseous and dizzy, hastily started to retreat towards the boats, their heads bowed, and hands over their mouths. The spotlights they carried could barely break through the thickening, acrid mist.
They splashed hurriedly across the breaking land mass, which was becoming increasingly unstable, rising and falling with the ocean swell now further agitated by the men’s erratic and desperate movements. Holes formed on the land revealing the darkly stained, blood-red, viscous, foam-streaked sea. Several men fell into the gaps while retreating to the boats. They thrashed in the water, floundering with nothing stable to grab; they uttered gargled screams as the sharp liquid pierced their skin and eyes, and the fumes overwhelmed their lungs. The land bobbed and turned as they tried desperately to get a grip on the greasy surface.
Although some colleagues stopped to assist, plunging their hands into the viscous sea, their attempts to pull out the fa