Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (33 page)

Banou looked at Richard in a kindly manner and put a hand on his forearm. “I fear this will be the last time that we shall meet. You must be cautious, my young friend; the world changes quickly and not for the better. I will hear of your time and what you do. Now, you must find Madame Vallogia and Niramyer . . . or should I say your good friend Asharf. Find them before they are harmed – God is with you.”

Richard looked down at the old man and covered his hand. “Thank you for your help, Banou. I will find them, you can be sure of that. And we
will
drink tea together again, you’ll see.”

With that, Richard crouched forwards and followed Abijah into the tunnel. Banou watched the two men scramble along the passageway until it narrowed and changed direction; after that, the light and the sound of footsteps faded.

Banou turned to find somewhere to sit and wait for Abijah’s return. As he did, he whispered, “You are wrong young warrior. We will not meet again, for I see red sand beneath your feet. Be prosperous and of long life . . .
Insha, Allah
.”

Richard estimated the tunnel to be at least 300 metres long. For the most part it had been circular, like a rabbit burrow, but in places, where granite seams had been unavoidable, it had narrowed to perhaps twice his shoulder width. And it was low in the most part, built for a much shorter race of people. He had scraped his head on several occasions but his balaclava had provided some protection. Abijah, who had led at a surprisingly spritely pace, suddenly pulled up as the tunnel opened into a small cave. Richard was covered in cobwebs when he emerged and the smell there, he noticed, seemed particularly pungent and acidic.

The cave was more than twice Richard’s height and he was pleased to be able to stand straight. He flexed his shoulders, while Abijah examined a huge circular granite door that effectively plugged the cave entrance. It was clear that the old man had never been this far either.

“Presumably the sea is close by – on the other side,” Richard whispered. The hollow echo of his words circulated the cave and then faded to nothing.

Abijah appeared to ignore Richard’s remark while he continued his search, and then suddenly he found what he was looking for and made an appreciative grunting noise. He looked up. “The sea is not far, yes. Soon you will be beside it.” He withdrew the object that he had carried so carefully from the plastic bag and offered it to the granite wall.

Richard moved quickly to see what Abijah was doing and what he saw took him by complete surprise. Indeed, it rendered him speechless, for Abijah held a life-like model of a hand – a right hand. It was a small, petite hand, like a woman’s hand. It had a grainy structure and appeared to be made of coagulated desert-coloured sand, but hardened by baking or some similar process. Beneath, on the underside, the palm and fingers were dyed blue.

Only as Abijah slowly and very cautiously offered the hand to the cave wall, to a position adjacent to the granite wheel, did Richard notice the receptacle. It was an impression in the stone, an exact duplication of the hand masterfully carved in the stone face. Immediately Richard recalled his time with Naomi and Asharf in the Pyramid of Khufu. It was in May 2050 and he hadn’t known her very long. That was how she had gained entrance into the great pyramid’s hollow centre – into the Temple of Osiris: the right of passage and its ancient secrets being her hereditary privilege. She had placed her right hand into such a hollow – a replica carved in a concealed corner of the King’s Chamber – and as a result an unknown granite door had rotated – pivoting at its centre in a most ingenious way. He recalled the story Naomi had told him of how her mother had taken her each year to that chamber, and offered her hand to the recess, until on her eighteenth birthday she had come of age and the door had opened.

A sudden, loud grinding noise jolted Richard from his thoughts. The door had begun to move and as it did the model being cradled in Abijah’s hands simply crumbled to nothing – sand ran through his fingers like water.

“Quickly,” Abijah urged. “The mechanism will move the stone gate back after it reaches its extremity; I cannot stop it. You must go now.” Abijah directed the beam of his torch at the ground, causing the shadows of Richard’s legs to appear spindly and long, like a giant crane fly.

The smell of the sea, the taste of salt and the wind in his face sharpened Richard’s senses. He stepped outside and became aware of the surf lapping on the beach. His eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and he heard the sound of distant gun fire. Barely was there time to shake Abijah’s hand and nod his appreciation when the great rock – which had a natural appearance on the outside – began to move in the opposite direction. Within moments there was a dull thud and all movement stopped. The entrance was sealed, perhaps for another century or more.

Richard ran quickly but awkwardly along the beach towards the harbour. He could see torch lights flashing and occasionally he heard the sound of men shouting. Sporadic gunfire still crackled on the wind, but it was some way off. It was nearly 500 metres to the harbour wall and when Richard arrived the area seemed deserted. It was a starless sky and black as before, but light from the town cast a strange ambiance over the area and, in one direction, despite the thick cloud, the moon’s eerie glow filtered through. Silently, and like a lizard in his tight-fitting suit, Richard climbed the wall. On top he got his bearings and realised that he was close to the area where he and Thomas had come ashore. Using the shadows, he made his way along the wharf towards the rendezvous position.

After a few minutes of darting and hiding and then, as he progressed towards the outer harbour wall, surreptitious dashes between bollards – because the buildings and the cranes had stopped and the quayside was all but featureless – Richard realised that the distant noise of vehicles, and the unseen commotion of men, appeared to be getting nearer. When not far from the agreed rendezvous position, Richard heard the sound of a vehicle screech to a halt. It was unnervingly close. Quickly he spun on his heels to hear the sound of men shouting; the clarity of their words tensed his body for flight. Throwing all caution to the wind, he sprinted towards the pickup point. Halfway, a figure emerged who was clearly Thomas –
for who else do I know with an illuminated face.
Thomas pulled him behind a container and they both sank to the ground.

“We might be out of luck, Richard,” Thomas said, as Richard pulled a leg up and crouched low beside him on one knee, as if ready to sprint off again. Thomas had turned his face illumine down so that his features were barely discernible.

“I can’t understand it,” Richard replied, bobbing up to see how the militia were progressing.

“I’m afraid that might be my fault,” Thomas said in an apologetic tone. “I saw a light flashing out at sea, directly east; I thought it was the pickup boat.”

“What!” Richard exclaimed. He pressed the backlight on his chronometer and checked the time. “But the rendezvous is not for twenty minutes yet – when did you do that?”

Thomas morphed his expression into one of embarrassment. “More than an hour ago . . . I didn’t think.”

“You bloody idiot! You’ve brought them down on us. That’s the first rule. You never reply to a signal unless it’s precisely at the stipulated time . . . They probably run up and down the coast in an electric boat every night, just waiting to see who they can catch – only we are not smugglers, are we? Ugh . . . you idiot!”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry! You just may be. I knew I should have come on my own.” Richard bobbed up and down again. “And that gun fire, a while back, what was that?”

“Artillery . . . fired out to sea, presumably to scare off any shipping.”

Richard shook his head with exasperation. “The submarine won’t hang around, that’s for sure, he’s gone, well on his way back to the Gulf of Aden by now. I can’t believe you did that.” Richard bobbed up, assessed the situation and then dropped down again. “They are coming over to give this area a thorough sweep. There is a lorry load of them – twelve, maybe fifteen; we could be in trouble here.”

The sound of dogs barking filled the night air and the shouting grew louder.

“I don’t understand it,” continued Thomas, as if in defence of his actions. “They have already run an infrared scan from over there. The boat went past twice. But they could not have sensed any heat from me; I had my life support system turned down to ambient temperature.”

“They are systematically searching this whole section of coastline, don’t you understand? They know we’re here somewhere. Listen, where is your capsule?”

“Where we left it, tied up – over there,” Thomas replied, and pointed to the outermost jetty.

“We’re going for it. Follow me, and turn your system up to optimal temperature – you’re going to need all the energy you’ve got!” With that, Richard sprinted down the wharf towards the capsule with Thomas in hot pursuit.

“Jump in and position the oars. Get ready to row your batteries flat!” Richard ordered. He checked behind. A group of militia were approaching at a fast walking pace. The beams from their torches probed in all directions; but not, as yet, in theirs.

The soldier’s voices grew louder. Richard could now hear the officer shouting clear directives. The dogs suddenly grew excited and began barking incessantly – they had picked up Richard’s scent.

At the quayside Richard released the securing lanyard and, holding it tight, he climbed down the wall and slipped quietly into the water, all the while pulling the makeshift canoe towards him. When he had his arms over the side, he whispered: “Turn around and row. Do it now – but quietly; they haven’t seen us yet!”

In the darkness and taking care not to splash the water, Thomas manoeuvred the capsule about-face as Richard carefully rolled into the restricted hollow of the short dugout. With Richard bent double at the front end, Thomas began long, steady strokes. They quickly dissolved into the dark night; the sea swell, thankfully, was slight. Richard watched the jetty carefully. It was some minutes before the soldiers got to where they had launched themselves. The men shone their torches aimlessly out to sea and down the jetty looking for clues, but Richard and Thomas were out of their range and soon their ill-disciplined clamour and the barks of frustrated dogs faded.

Richard directed Thomas using the compass in his chronometer. They would head north by north-east for twenty kilometres or so and then turn right to track a course a little north of east. After approximately sixty kilometres they should make landfall on the islands that formed the Dahlak Archipelago and, hopefully, if his calculations were right, Dahlak el Kebir, the largest island in the group. He recalled it as the chief port for pearl fishing in the southern part of the Red Sea and as once being a military base used by the Ethiopians. There he would charter a motorboat to take them to the Farasan Islands and beyond to the coast of Saudi Arabia, or better still, a light aeroplane that would land at Jizan Airport – he had world dollars enough to tempt even the most reluctant seafarer or private pilot.

Thomas informed Richard that he had an eighty per cent residual charge and Richard used his chronometer’s satellite navigation feature to calculate that he was making an impressive ten knots using long, powerful strokes; even so, at 18.52 kilometres per hour, the journey would take more than three hours.

Richard assumed that the submarine’s commander would inform the British Admiralty of their missed opportunity and formulated an abrive to Chris Quarrie on his telephonic pager, informing him of the delay. If they were lucky they would make Jizan by midday Local Time and the Alhazoun Airforce Base was another two or three hours’ drive from there. With a following wind they might be on their way to London by 3PM. That was more than eleven hours from now.
Peter Rothschild would be furious and so would the Lunar Senate,
Richard thought. Then, to add to his woes, there was no signal, not this far out in the Red Sea. He would have to wait and so would Naomi and Asharf.

Richard’s ill-humour at Thomas’ misdemeanour grew like a black cloud as he bailed water from the capsule and, as he urged his accomplice to bigger efforts, his temper was barely contained.

Thomas deactivated the plasmoltec expression intensifier and rowed with a blank, dark, flat, face screen through the night.

CHAPTER 22

Closer to Home

Moon Base Andromeda – 2 January
06:57 Lunar Corrected Time

“It’s a garbled message, sir. Almost completely unintelligible . . . I can’t make it out . . . something about insects . . . ants! . . . Yes, I know it sounds ridiculous, sir, out there, as well, but that’s what he said. I’ve replayed it several times. Carey agrees with me – he definitely said
ants
 . . . Okay, I’ll be expecting you.”

Herbie Smith put the telephone down and looked up at the group of operational personnel who encircled his console. His expression darkened with anxiety. “Give me the Freight Control Centre any day. Man, there’s too much pressure here.” He looked down at his screen and then up again at his colleagues. “He’s coming over, and Dimitri, too; you had better get back to your posts and be ready with the UAV information.”

Moments later Security Officer Dimitri Nurevski walked in to the Operations Room. He made a beeline for Herbie Smith, an Afro-American from Louisiana. Nurevski looked infuriated. No one got on the wrong side of the Security Officer, not when he had that dark Russian melancholy look. The operatives at the consoles surrounding Herbie buried their heads in their work.

“What the hell is this all about, Herbie . . . ? Ants! I mean we get the occasional cockroach here and there in the accommodation flats and maybe a honey bee escapes from the biodomes from time to time, but ants?”

“You had better listen to this Dimitri,” responded Herbie, having already prepared the playback. “Our most northern sensor outpost, LS17, in the shadow lands just a few Ks from the pole. It’s Jean Fontana and Ralf Biddle – although you couldn’t tell from their voices. Message came through at 06:32. I thought it was a joke at first – amateur dramatics. You know, just relieving the boredom of a night period. The message lasted less than two minutes. I filtered it; this is the enhanced version.”

Smith pressed a button on his console and looked up at the face of Dimitri to gauge his reaction.

“They are coming in, thousands of them, through the ventilations ducts and one-way valves . . . ants. I’ve never . . . I can’t . . . they’re everywhere. Comms are out. Can’t control the . . . massive electrical short. Extinguisher. Must get the extinguisher . . . arhhh . . . Jean, get them off me, they’re biting. The room’s alive . . . arghhh . . .”

Herbie shook his head. “That’s just some of it. The last part of the transmission sounds like a horror movie. Listen to this playback . . . it was earlier.”

“Hey Comm-Cen, how is it? Ralf Biddle LS17, how do you hear . . . ?”

“Yes Ralf, I hear you. Sorry, been for a natural break – not expecting a call from you for another three hours. What’s the deal . . . ?”

“Something funny going on up here, Jeff. It was just a routine report and I thought I’d better comply . . . but we got a sensory overload – probably a temporary spike in the supply voltage. I can’t see a problem with the systems feedback . . .”

“Okay, nothing showing my end, nothing out of the ordinary here . . .”

“Yeah sure, it’s gotta be a system malfunction – end of the line, you guys are always sending us the bad amps. Ha, ha . . .”

“Tell me, Ralf, what do you have . . . just for the record?”

“It started in our north-east sector, Jeff, about thirty minutes ago. Now it’s all around us, as if a massive piece of metal has been placed in front of the sensors – total overload, no returns whatsoever, through the entire three hundred and sixty degrees sector. Screens are white, can’t control the display with the gain, max gain, max filtration. I mean nothing seems to work – impossible, right?”

“Okay, okay, sounds like an electrical surge, very unusual all the same. I’ll give maintenance a call, get them out of bed. Leave it to me, Ralf; I’ll call you back with a sitrep when the team is on station.”

“You got it.”

Herbie looked up. “That first call was at 06:03 hours. Jeff Pastoor composed a short report and placed a call to the maintenance department at 06:08. He tried to raise Ralf and Jean again, but without success. Then we got that last transmission on the emergency frequency. That radio has its own batteries; I think the entire power network at LS17 was down by then.” Herbie took a wary look around to see who might be listening and then dropped his voice to a whisper. “Dimitri, I think they’re dead!” he said gravely. “I think they were attacked by something.”

“But not ants, that’s impossible.”

Herbie gestured in a “What if?” way and then suddenly stood up – Chief Operations Officer Eddie Lieven had stormed into the room.

Lieven put a hand on Herbie Smith’s shoulder and forced him back into his seat. “I’ve heard, Dimitri!” he shouted. “Trouble in the north sector again – LS17!”

Dimitri nodded. “I think it’s time to get the Defence Force involved, Chief. Something’s going on up there. We can’t keep blaming infrastructure malfunctions and believing that trespassers are impossible on the Moon.”

Lieven nodded. He was clearly reluctant to mobilise the voluntary army – the contingent of those with military backgrounds who volunteered for security duties on top of their careers – presumably worried about disrupting the normal routine of the colony and an inevitable cross-examination by the Senate’s executive committee. He considered the implications for a few moments. “Okay. Call the Colonel. Ask him to initiate ‘Recall Status’ for the 1st Regiment. We need an armed platoon on the scene as soon as possible. No need for the 2nd and 3rd Regiments to be called. What about aerial support?”

“The shuttle
Hermes
has remained on Alert Five since the third UAV was lost. We are keeping her on the ground as you instructed, although the science department has just confirmed that the recent surge in solar radiation and yesterday’s gamma ray peak could not be responsible for bringing down an unmanned vehicle – the shielding is better than the readings that are now available . . .”

“What about the last UAV we sent up?”

The Japanese woman at a nearby console overheard the conversation; she stood and took the few steps over to the group. “Excuse me, sir. Sorry, but I overheard that question . . . the UAV is still airborne, at the moment in the Sea of Tranquillity region. We thought it better to avoid the dark side in case it was a cosmic radiation overload causing all the system malfunctions we have been experiencing. It would not be the first time, sir. I’m in charge of the early warning response unit this morning. I can have the pilot head north towards LS17 immediately.”

“Good, well done. Let’s do that. Call me the moment the video relay starts. But tell the pilot not to approach from the light side; that’s been our problem – it’s what’s expected. Tell him the long way round – South Pole first, and then steer due north, dark side run in. Be sure to keep low . . . Dimitri, second thoughts, I think it might be prudent to mobilise the entire defence force – please request a general recall immediately. The Colonel has my authority to open weapon lockers. And call the duty doctor; I want the hospital on one hour’s alert. I’m going back to my office to make some calls.”

“Copied, Chief. What about the shuttle . . . ? Remain at Alert 5 or get him moving?” asked Dimitri.

“Is Commander Reece back yet?”

“No, Chief.” Dimitri looked pained. “MI9 is not exactly sure where he is at the moment.”

Lieven rubbed his eyes as a look of livid frustration clouded his expression. He went to open his mouth but stopped short. He turned and went to leave, but then stopped again and looked over his shoulder. He stared at Dimitri with fiery eyes. “Keep the shuttle on the ground until the UAV sends us some imagery,” he barked. “In the meantime, Dimitri,
you
call London again. I want him back. This is his last chance!”

Elysium borderlands – same day
09:11 Martian Corrected Time

Paul Carr put a hand on the shoulder of Tom Race and gently shook it. “Commander,” he said quietly, “time to wake up, I’m afraid. The information you requested has just come in from Osiris. The Science Officer is adamant that we wake you.”

It was a small cabin with two narrow bunk beds and just enough floor space to change in. Tom had slept in his clothes, not meaning to be out for more than a few hours. He came to his senses and massaged his temples between his fingers.

“How are you feeling, sir?”

“Better thanks, Paul – yeah better. Bit of a headache last night.”

“It’s to be expected. Anna monitored your vital signs whilst you were asleep; she said it was a hangover from your concussion. But don’t worry, you’re all unplugged now; she gave you a shot of Oxytripelene. As far as the monitor is concerned, you’re back to normal.”

“Great, great . . . okay.” Tom spun round and put his feet on the deck. He looked up at Paul. “Seems to be a quiet ride out there,” he commented.

“Almost back on the Plain of Elysium. Pretty much heading east – it will be smooth for several hours now.”

“Elysium! What time is it?”

“Quarter past nine. We made the rendezvous a couple of hours ago, Commander. I took the decision to let you sleep. There was no reason to wake you. We transferred Tanner’s body and Dan went across as walking wounded. We had a message from Doctor Silvano on the medical vehicle about an hour ago. Dan’s doing fine; he’s stable . . . no harm done from the oxygen deficiency. They’ll be on the road for another day and will update us with an arrival message when they reach Osiris.”

Tom nodded. “Very good, thanks. What about the Pyramids? Do we have an ETA?”

“From twenty-one to twenty-three hours from now – depends on the route that Lesley can take over the Golan Heights, and there are some heavy electrical storms to avoid, too. Commander, Larissa is keen to talk to you. She has the back course information that you requested. It’s amazing; she’s saying that she may have found a planet remarkably similar to Earth.”

“Okay . . . give me a few minutes to wash-up and I’ll be out.”

“Veronica has the coffee brewing and a bit of breakfast for you as well.”

“What’s the comms window, Paul?” requested Tom, sitting down at the console.

“Another hour and ten minutes, Commander, and then restricted for five hours. High-frequency radio comms if we need it, but that band will become more unreliable as we go further east.”

“What about the coverage when we arrive?”

“That’s going to work out okay. IMARSAT Five has the best imaging equipment of all the satellites. She will arc just as we arrive and be available for at least six hours.”

“Good. Let’s see what Larissa has found then, shall we? Anna, open a channel to Osiris, please.”

“Aye aye, sir . . . Osiris Base from Support One, come in Osiris.”

“Baillie here in ops – strength five. Go ahead.”

“Yes, five by five also, Andy,” responded Anna. “Commander Race is requesting the information from the Science Department; we are standing by.”

“Captain Pavlikova is with me, and the Operations Officer has just arrived; we can go visual.”

“Video on,” returned Anna, and she pressed a button that had the console monitor registering the scene in Base Ops.

Andrew Baillie was sitting in front of the camera looking at Commander Race. He looked to his left and then scooted aside on his castored chair to be replaced by the Larissa Pavlikova. Her pale complexion and the blackness under her eyes had all the hallmarks of working through the night. She looked up as somebody came to stand by her side. “Morning Richie,” she greeted, and then she looked back at Tom. “Morning, Commander. I hear you are feeling better – that’s good.”

“Morning, Larissa. Yes, thanks. You’ve got some results?”

“Yes. My prediction indicates a ninety-eight per cent certainty. I triple-checked the results and then had Ronald run an independent – I’m sure what we have is correct.”

“Okay, let’s have it.”

“First, I requested some information from the centre manager at the ALMA submillimetre telescope facility on Earth. He told me that the body has been tracked travelling at light speed, albeit intermittently, and that during periods of associated invisibility, it is believed to have slipped into another dimension. During these periods the body appears to have travelled vast distances through space. I will not go into the theory behind this phenomenon, Commander, because it is still speculative, but it does seem likely that the body has journeyed from a position several light years away.”

“I see, go on.”

“The supposition is that when travelling at light speed there is very little deflection in the space–time vortex – the body’s reflection if you like. I used our triangulation programme and plotted the back course – the exact reverse trajectory based on its current and previous passage through space. Apart from a comet that crossed its flight path about four months ago, and a Category Two asteroid with possibly enough gravitational pull to deflect its course by 0.000112 parsecs, there is nothing else in the Canis Major sector for, well, eight or nine light years.”

“I understand the science, Larissa, so what did you find . . . ?”

“By coincidence, Commander, we spoke about the point of origin yesterday evening. It’s the brightest star in the night sky visible from Earth, and also for us here on Mars – the star Sirius, Commander, with an apparent magnitude of minus one point four six; it has the Bayer designation Alpha Canis Majoris, known colloquially as the Dog Star.”