Congratulations to our two Year 10 teams who came 1st and 3rd in the Merseyside Senior Geographical Association Quiz. Pictured are winning members Kunal Mahambrey, Joshua Usher and Mazim Karem. Well done to both teams!

Congratulations to U6 student James Bamber, who has been announced as winner of the prestigious Atheneaum Writing Prize.
His short story about a solo space pilot’s terrifying meeting with a ghostly figure won a £1000 top prize, along with £100 for the school library and a year’s honorary membership of the Athenaeum. James will also read his story on Radio Merseyside and see it published in the Liverpool Echo. Click here to read the full article in the Liverpool Echo.

Read James’s winning stories below…

Don’t Let Her In

…the Drake spacecraft will take six months to just reach Mars and enter orbit around the planet, at which point the pilot will enter the landing module and attempt to land on the Martian surface for an 18 month period of exploration and research. Obviously this mammoth journey (two and a half years in total) presents enormous technical challenges; it was determined early on that having only one crewmember would make the best use of limited resources. However, many psychologists have also suggested that spending three years confined to a handful of pods without any physical human contact or real-time conversation will place an incredible mental strain on Drake’s now famous pilot, Michael Kaluza…

…this magazine asked the celebrity of the Solar System, Captain Kaluza, what had inspired him to become an astronaut and then volunteer for what is certain to be the most auspicious spaceflight since Apollo 11.

“It all began when I was a child, really. My grandfather, who was a passionate amateur astronomer, bought me a small refracting telescope on my 10th birthday. He was a very insightful man, much more so than I appreciated at the time, and I can remember that for an hour afterward he sat and explained just how incomprehensibly vast the universe was! He pointed the telescope at Jupiter to get me started and as he left he joked that if I looked hard enough, I might discover an alien spaceship soaring among the various moons.”

“So that night I sneaked out of bed, in my pyjamas, and scanned the heavens for hours and hours, searching for this damn flying saucer. I fell asleep sometime around midnight and when my parents found me they had to explain that there wasn’t really any such thing as an alien, that it was just a joke.”

“But it resonated with me, you know? The idea of something, someone being out there really set my imagination on fire, and with the universe possessing such an immense collection of worlds, who’s to say that’s not the case? Anyway, that’s the night I started my romance with the cosmos- the night I decided to devote myself to discovering her hidden treasures.”

“They all said it was a joke… but it changed my life.”

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 32
Another day in paradise passes smoothly and uneventfully. Now that the far side of the moon is firmly in the rear view window, my mission is very much a waiting game. Unfortunately, spending most of my time answering questions for the press. I hoped they would have gotten all that out of their system at Cape Canaveral…

No matter, Dr Fontaine says it’s important to keep myself busy with mental stimulation and that writing these articles and my log will help to achieve that. Then again, the other day I had to refuse, for the third time no less, to give a description of urination in microgravity.
Sometimes I wonder how we escaped the Stone Age.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 37
I had a bizarre dream last night. I don’t usually give more than a moment’s thought to such things but this dream was peculiarly vivid. And it was also somewhat disturbing.
I was in the Service module, checking some critical system or other when I heard a distinct metallic knocking sound emanating from the Hull. It wasn’t particularly loud, and it reminded me later of the sound that the ship makes as it rotates into and out of the Sunlight, causing the titanium to expand and contact. But that sound is much more irregular. This sound was coherent and purposeful. I can’t rationalise it, but everything within me felt that someone was out there, yet I did not panic. With a smooth movement I swung myself into and through the tunnel connecting to the Command module so I could get a view out of the port hole.

All the while the knocking continued, unhurried, four at a time. When I reached the small triangular window I paused, hesitating to roll down the radiation shield that ordinary covers the 6-inch glass window.

It dimly occurred to me that a Human visitor to my valiant spacecraft, however patient to gain my audience, was just ever so slightly out of place here, millions of kilometres from Earth in the airless vacuum of space. Who knows? Perhaps even here one can’t escape the pollsters.

I think I then asked Mission Control for advice, still feeling perfectly calm at this point in the dream. No sooner had I finished delivering my report when the peace was shattered. The radio started (replied?) at once with a cacophony of static and a voice, genderless and uniform repeating the same four words over and over again: DON’T LET HER IN.
Absolutely still I floated there, wondering, fearing, my sea of calm giving way to a rising tide of dread. All the time the knocking grew louder, becoming an aggressive and rapturous banging.
I had to know what (who?) was outside, I just had to. I decided to disobey Mission Control.

The shield slid aside, revealing the magnificent firmament, more radiant than any Earthly sky. But at that moment I was seized by the thing in the foreground. The person. The woman.
My Wife – Maria.

It was all I could do to hold her gaze, locks of her red hair floating placidly between our eyes. Her face was a mask of utter despair. A single tear came free from her eyelid and then froze in the frigid vacuum. Had she witnessed some great tragedy? Before I could contemplate the thought I watched again as her eyes glazed and became dead, all life departing from her features while a soft frost bloomed on her cheek. Her hands lost their tight grip on the craft’s structure and at once she fell away, wrenched out into the great void while my motionless form could only watch with horror.

I woke up sweating and clammy. It took me twenty minutes to gather myself.
No gravity has strange effects on the brain.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 63
Progress is steady and all systems are operating perfectly. All that talk about cabin fever seems to have been misguided; I’ve been utterly submerged in incessant communication from Mission control. How many times does Doctor Fontaine have to ask about my stool consistency?
To make matters worse, the only person I really want to speak with seems to be doing so less and less. Is Maria alright? She seemed somewhat withdrawn the last time I spoke with her and I swear that even with the radio time delay she was paused every time before saying something to me.
I asked her what was wrong. But she quickly asserted that everything was fine. I didn’t feel comfortable pressing her further.
What’s going on?

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 78
Progress steady, systems nominal. Nearing the halfway point to Mars now. Mission Control has warned me that I’ll have to record an address for the media. That’ll be fun.
I am becoming distinctly worried about Maria now. She hasn’t sent any messages in a week and although I’d rather not bring the Cape Canaveral worry warts down on her head, I simply must know whether she’s alright. I’ll ask Mission Control about her tomorrow.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 79
WHY?! Why would they lie?

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 81
Maria is dead. Suicide.
I could have stopped it but they didn’t tell me. She was desperate for me save her, but they kept her away from me.
And our child. Oh God. I never knew.
I never even knew!

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 81
It was Dr Fontaine, that bastard physician. The callous toad was finally forced to lay it all bare. Maria realised that she was pregnant about a month after the launch and was about to tell me, before she suffered a miscarriage. My poor Maria must have been devastated.

That might have been where the tragedy ended, where it not for that tunnel-visioned doctor. “The safety of the mission” trumps the misery of the Human being it would seem. God forbid that the most devastating moment of her whole life should cause me “mental distress”!

To protect my psychological well-being and to guarantee that nothing interrupted Drake’s big moment, Dr Fontaine ordered Maria to keep the whole thing secret, for all of the two and a half years of my journey.

It’s a wonder that she endured for as long as she did.
Oh God, Maria! You should have told me.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 84
Interviews be damned. If CNN wants to know how I’m doing they can ask Doctor Fontaine. He seems to know everything before I do.
I’m 30 million kilometres from Earth. Who’s going to make me answer their damned questions?

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 89
I broke off contact with Mission Control today. They were starting to sound like a broken record anyway. I want to be alone to mourn my love. I keep thinking about her, how utterly miserable she must have been. If she’d been allowed to talk, could things have ended up differently?
The image of her hanging lifeless body is burned into my imagination. My mind reaches out to her, as if the force of memory and regret can bring her back. Curse this steel prison. Curse this whole mission!
I want to be with Maria.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 112
Progress steady. Can’t sleep. Wish I was dead.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 128
Maria, I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I didn’t know. I DIDN’T KNOW.

Drake IX – Personal Log – Day 367645695 {ERROR}
KnOcKing woN’t stoPP. She’s oUtsiDe banging ONN the damn ship! ALL THE TIME! She NeVer sTops aNd I nEEd to geT out of tHis meTal box. Can’t hiDe fOreVer. Can’t kilL hEr again.
Time to let her in
{SYSTEM ERROR} {SAFETY SUB-ROUTINES DISENGAGED} {HABITAT DECOMPRESSION IMMINANT}
{ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!}

Dr Jameson’s Android
The following is an excerpt from first of interviews of unit H-54-637 (‘David’), following the Gregory Jameson incident, conducted as part of the McNeil investigation and commencing at 21:17 GMT. Date: 24/tenth-month/2127

Hello, H-54-600. Before we begin I must state the conditions of this interview. As a Service Android you are recognised as a non-human entity under the Pseudo-Intelligent Software Act. As such you are obligated to comply fully with this investigation. You may not withhold any relevant information during the course of this interview or this will be used as basis for decommission. Do you understand?
I do.

To streamline procedures I will address you as ‘David’. This was the informal name chosen for you by your charge, Dr. Gregory Jameson. Correct?
Yes.

Right, let’s establish your background. Where were you born, David?
I was assembled by Talos Robotics at their Baltic Plant eleven years ago. My basic functions were trial tested there but I was only fully activated after being assigned to Dr Jameson 18 months later.

Indeed. And why were you assigned to him?
I’m a Service Android, a non-sentient autonomous android designed to administer geriatric care to a human charge. Dr Jameson was a centenarian when I arrived and couldn’t live independently. I assisted him with the preparation of meals, personal hygiene, etc.

Couldn’t Dr Jameson’s home be automated to provide such assistance using smart devices?
Such devices couldn’t have fulfilled the full extent of care which the H-54 series is designed to provide. We are a revolution in elderly care, more than just elaborate toileting machines- we are able to administer emotional care to our charges and befriend them. In the past, elderly humans were typically kept in prison-like residential institutions where they suffered long periods of loneliness and social isolation.

What sort of person was Jameson?
He was generally quite reserved and standoffish. It was obvious that he was going to be a challenge. He resisted engaging with me whenever I attempted to initiate a conversation and frequently asked me to stand in a different room of the apartment so he couldn’t see me. I got the impression that He’d only agreed to use me under great duress. If he’d been able to live independently I’m sure he would have chosen to.

You were unable to overcome this pushback?
It was very difficult. Understand first that the man had little family- his niece visited him every once in a while, but always seemed uncomfortable and awkward. Connie didn’t know her uncle that well and Jameson for his part never seemed enthusiastic about talking with her, or doing much of anything (behaviour I understood as symptomatic of clinical depression). The rest of his family I only met once, on my first day. They checked me for any bugs and then promptly left, telling Dr Jameson that they’d visit again soon. They never did.

Gregory had long lost most control over his life so I think after a while it gave him some satisfaction to revel in his control over me. Despite possessing pseudo-intelligence I’m nevertheless an android, obliged to obey all instructions. I performed numerous outlandish tasks. He ordered me repeatedly build a house of cards which he would knock over and then tell me to start over. He once ordered me to do the ‘Robot’ dance for six hours, obviously delighted by the irony.

How did the impersonation begin?
During fifth-month. I had just finished serving his evening meal when his face burst into smiling with a delightful new idea.
Jameson was highly intelligent. Remember he was qualified in nano-dentistry. He understood how I worked and that I could analyse the character of my human patients to construct a suitable personality-type for myself. He wanted to ‘test’ my capabilities, asking me to mimic Connie.
I scanned my memory drive and analysed the behaviour I’d observed. I altered my posture and uttered the words “Hello, Uncle Greg! Keeping Well?” in a close approximation of her voice.

But it didn’t stop there, did it?
That idea must have occurred to him almost immediately, but must have been very reticent about sharing something so intimate. Dr Jameson didn’t always live alone. He had a lover in his youth, Russell, who died several decades earlier from bowel cancer, which wasn’t curable at the time. One day during seventh month, wearing a gaunt expression, he told me what we were going to do. Jameson planned to upload more than 60 hours of home videos featuring Russell, I then would mimic his personality, and his lover would speak with him one more time.

That’s… ghoulish
Nevertheless, I complied.

How did the conversation go?
The irreverent, upbeat dialogue I chose must have profoundly affected Jameson. He was utterly silent for the whole duration. He finally called an end and asked me to leave him. I left him sitting in his armchair, in the solitude of his thoughts. The soft sound of sobbing penetrated the door.

Jameson must have been distraught.
The experience was very taxing for him. Yet it also gave me a new avenue for aiding his mental health. I deduced that the absence of Jameson’s lover was the principle source of his chronic sadness. My H-54 programming drove me to seek the counter-measure.

And what was that?
Gregory Jameson needed to be reunited with Russell.

Surely that was impossible?
During my next check-up at the local Talos maintenance facility I requested a facial-refit, usually undertaken to meet patients’ aesthetic tastes, so that I would resemble Russell as closely as possible. I then set ‘Russell’ as my main personality-type. I became Russell.

Really? How could you think that was appropriate?!
I knew that if I could convince Jameson that I truly was his lover, it would be the perfect fulfilment of my main protocol – administer lifelong companionship.

That’s horrifying! Did you expect a grown man to fall for such a cheap trick?
An H-54 is no mere automaton, Officer, but the pinnacle of advanced computing. My basic purpose is to comprehend and address the emotions of Human Beings which I do with incredible speed and accuracy.

You never knew Gregory Jameson and you will be no closer to knowing him after this interview. You ask all the wrong questions. You never asked where he grew up, who his mother was, how he liked to read his news-app in the morning- what he dreamed. No-one ever asked him any of these things.
Absolutely he believed it. Rational thought would have dispelled the myth, but a confused, agonisingly lonely man like Gregory needed more than rationality at his time of life, so close to oblivion.

How long did you keep the act up?
Nine years. Right to the very end. Gregory Jameson died in the arms of the man he loved and Russell’s face was the last he ever saw.

Except it was a trick! He died alone, while a soulless machine whispered silicone lullabies! You were designed to be that man’s friend but you went far off protocol. Do you acknowledge you’re malfunction ?
I functioned perfectly.

If humans need machines to love for them, isn’t it they who have malfunctioned?

I’ve heard enough. This interview is terminated.

Excerpt Ends.