Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (51 page)

“One print only – um, that’s not so helpful,” he commented. He looked at Anna. “Commander Reece will have done that for a good reason . . . anything else?”

“He recommended that we use a blue dye on the palm and fingertips – again there is no reason given.”

“Can you do that?”

“Yes, that’s no problem.”

“Okay . . . and you have downloaded the complete file? It’s all there, no sign of corruption?”

Anna nodded but looked put out.

“Okay, sorry Anna, then press the button, please.”

“It’s done, sir.”

All eyes focused immediately on the 3D printer. The machine resembled a medium-sized microwave oven, with a clear glass door and a line of air vents in the top casing. It began to hum quietly.

“How long will the process take?”

“It’s a very large file, Commander, requiring maximum definition. The model will have a high degree of detail . . . the system is telling me another nine minutes.”

Tom nodded.

“I’ve reduced the hardener content in the Deromutine mix as you requested. The model should remain set for at least three hours and twenty minutes.”

“Good,” said Tom, and he bent down and looked through the glass door at the object taking shape.

“Commander, I need you to input your ID code into the pulse cannon’s fire control system so that it recognises you,” said Paul, who was standing behind Lesley. “Also your command failsafe code . . . the system will then be set to automatic.”

Tom nodded and simultaneously unzipped the thigh pocket on his left leg. He slid his hand inside and withdrew a heavy pistol. “It’s the Lurzengard semi-automatic that I acquired from the Humatron – hell of a weapon,” he said, turning it in his hand and checking the breech. Then he unclipped the magazine and checked the digital ammunition counter.

Lesley and Veronica looked apprehensive.

“Just in case,” commented Tom. He looked at Paul. “What have you got?”

“Two stun grenades and a fully charged static baton.”

“That’s it!”

“We were on a survey task, Commander. I didn’t draw any specific weapons. All the same, I’ve got the laser sight from the Geosystem’s Distancemeter.”

“Okay,” responded Tom. “And the notebook containing the translation programme?”

Paul slapped his leg pocket.

Tom gestured his approval and joined Anna peering into the printing machine.

“It’s a hand!” Anna exclaimed, as the object’s form was nearing completion.

“Sure is. A woman’s hand to be precise – I’m playing a hunch,” explained Tom. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll resort to the heavy equipment. But that will take time, and even so, I have my doubts about ever getting through the massive stone door up there.”

The machine pinged. Anna opened the printer and carefully withdrew the object. She looked surprised as she examined it. “I won’t ask who it belongs to, Commander,” she said, staring at the blue fingertips that had faint grooves. “But whoever it is they have an amazing fate line and the life line too is unusually prominent!”

Now it was Tom’s turn to look surprised. “Anything else?” he asked.

Anna looked again. “It’s just a hobby, but the marriage line is broken and the family line is crossed only once.”

“Go on, what else do you see?”

“As I said, Commander, it’s a hobby – I only know the basics – but the mounts of Jupiter and Mars seem particularly pronounced.”

“Really . . . now that is interesting.” Tom broke from his thoughts and looked around the circle. “Now listen up everyone,” he said. “Lesley . . . you’re in charge while Paul and I are outside. Any problems, and I mean anything . . . then you call. If you can’t get hold of us then stay in here until we call you. If we get inside we are unlikely to have a signal . . . understand?”

Lesley nodded.

“Anna, you look after comms. Update Osiris with the situation. Tell them to standby for the real-time digital image transfer.”

“Yes, Commander.”

“Veronica, you keep a good lookout and monitor the sensor and weapon systems. The pulse cannon is programmed to fire at anything that moves; apart from Paul and myself, of course. Paul . . . you go and suit-up, I’m right behind you. Any questions anybody?”

“Okay, let’s go to it.”

In the dispatch section, Tom and Paul completed a buddy check on their helmets and suits and tested their intercom before charging the airlock. With the positive pressure differential, there was a loud whooshing outflow of air from the compartment as the outer door inched open and then rotated upwards.

Outside, they could feel the strength of the wind blowing against their bodies and within moments sand and grit began to deposit itself in the crevices around their shoulders and elbows and around the accessories on their belts and backpacks. The white tube of the PTSV was made a rusty orange colour by a covering of dust. Tom turned and walked towards the steps as Paul closed and secured the airlock.

Clearing the vehicle, Tom had a sense of movement behind him and he turned back to see the turret on top of the vehicle turn in his direction and then the barrel of the pulse cannon point directly at him. It unnerved him.
But at least it’s a positive check that the system is functioning,
he thought. As Paul stepped from the electronic confines of the vehicle and into sensor view the long, cobalt steel barrel trained in an instant on him. “It will take a second or two to crosscheck and identify your code,” said Tom, and he waved Paul over to the steps where they both began the long climb. Tom held the model of the hand in a clear plastic bag and was careful to keep it away from his body.

Halfway up, the two men stopped for a break. Both turned and sat down on a step and gazed across at the towering Zeta Two pyramid. Even lolling backwards, Paul’s helmet stopped him comfortably sighting the top of the structure.

Tom put a hand on the sand-covered step and measured its width with outstretched fingers and thumb. “Judging by the size of the treads and risers of these steps,” he commented, “I would say that the average height of the race that designed and built them was one point four metres – which means that they are a damned uncomfortable pitch for people like you and me.”

Paul looked down at the PTSV; thankfully the barrel of the canon was stowed in the neutral position. “Yes it is hard-going . . . but ready when you are.”

From the platform the vista was incredible and indisputably unworldly. Both men stood side-by-side a metre back from the edge and gazed out over the plaza, with its raised terrace to the left, a square, sunken area on the far side and to the right what could have been a water feature – possibly a fountain. The light around the sun had a milky appearance; however, everything else in view seemed to have a reddish hue, although the tone varied from a dark, rusty brown to a sulphur yellow depending on the direction. They turned and approached the huge rectangular stone door with some apprehension, until Tom suddenly put a hand on Paul’s arm and pulled him up short. He pointed to the left-hand side of the entrance. “Look!” he said. Paul followed his finger.

There were clear scuff marks on the ground where windblown sand had not had time to cover. Then Tom saw the damage on the stone door – deep grooves and cuts and there was a pile of the stone on the ground – debris that was too heavy to be blown away. “It’s the Humatrons!” Tom barked. “They’ve been trying to get in . . .”

On closer examination there was an area of approximately one metre diameter where the robots had used mechanical equipment to cut to a depth of around fifteen centimetres.

“By the looks of things, this granite is especially hard,” commented Paul, while taking a wary look behind him. “I’d say they have been working here for some time, Commander. But with limited equipment . . . looks like a couple of battery-powered chisels and some hand tool . . . seems they didn’t come prepared for the operation.”

“They probably didn’t have much to go on – perhaps a few images taken by Gregory Searle, back a while.” Tom slid his hand into his leg pocket and pulled out the pistol. He handed it to Paul. “Safety catch is on . . . better keep a lookout . . . I’ll . . .”

Suddenly there was a loud, reverberating crack, the echo of which rumbled around the plaza for several seconds. Even with their helmets on and above the whistle of the wind it was clear and sharp. The two men rushed back to the plateau edge and looked down. The turret on top of the PTSV could be seen returning to its default position.

“Commander Race, sir, Anna here . . . can you hear me?”

“Yes Anna, what happened?”

“The weapon system acquired a target and automatically engaged it.”

“Where?”

“Veronica is checking . . . she says on a bearing of one seven seven degrees and at one point three kilometres.”

“At that range there is a high probability of success,” interjected Paul.

“Status, Anna?”

“Nothing showing, Commander, everything seems quiet.”

Tom turned to look at Paul; their near perfect reflections in each other’s visors made it impossible to make eye contact. “What do you think?”

“Optimistically . . . ? One down and one to go,” replied Paul, lowering the pistol.

Unseen, Tom grimaced. “But only a kilometre away . . . that’s too close for comfort,” he said, over the intercom. Then he pressed the radio transmit button on his belt again. “Anna, get Lesley to deploy the emergency voltaic panels, and then electrify the outer casing – tell her to set twenty thousand volts. We are about to try the key. Keep a good look out!”

“Will do, sir.”

Tom turned and walked quickly back to the left side of the entrance. “We had better get on with this,” he said, and he pulled the model from the plastic bag.

The door itself was of perfectly flat stone and it clearly blocked what appeared to be a square tunnel leading directly into the centre of the pyramid. Tom recalled the lines of hieroglyphic script etched into the stone, but Paul was surprised by the extent of it.

“Shall I take an image and download it into the notebook?”

“No, Paul, not at the moment, we can make up the log later – better to keep a lookout. I don’t want to be surprised by a Humatron.”

Paul agreed and he half-turned again but watched Tom brush away sand from a shaped niche set in the wall at knee height.

Tom carefully offered the model to the recess; he could tell instantly that it was the same size, and that the woman had spread her fingers precisely when the original scan was taken. He hesitated for a moment a few millimetres clear and then pushed the model home – the response was immediate.

Suddenly there was a grinding noise and an accompanying rumble that became accentuated as the great stone slab began to move sideways from left to right. Paul took a few steps backward in amazement – he was speechless. Tom straightened up, and as the gap in front of him widened there was a piercing whistle of escaping gas and he felt the powerful outflow increase until it pushed him off balance – he immediately dropped to one knee, bowed his head and leant against the force.

As the gap widened to more than a metre the outflow subsided. Tom looked up into the blackness and then slowly stood; he was in awe at what he had done. He arched his back and raised his head to maximum to take it all in. An unseen mechanism propelled the door, and the rumbling and vibration he felt through his feet continued until its edge – which was itself a metre thick – had almost disappeared into a recess on the other side. Silence fell upon the two men again. But a gust of wind from behind found the way in and the noise it made was like a distressing sigh from a giant whose mouth had been prised open. Tom sensed its secrets swirl around him and then disappear. He couldn’t help but be moved.

The exposed entrance was around three metres square. Tom took a bold step inside. Only then did Paul hesitantly move forward, checking behind again as he did – but neither man spoke. A tiny red light on Tom’s utility belt flashed incessantly. He was made aware of it because of the intense darkness that engulfed him. He pulled the instrument from its slot, looked at the digital display and then at Paul, who now stood beside him. “The spectrometer indicated a high proportion of carbon dioxide and some oxygen in that escaping gas,” he said matter-of-factly – as if that was normal on Mars. Then he unclipped his flashlight, set the beam to maximum intensity and directed it into the hollow – it simply faded to nothing.

“Better use the Illuminac, Commander.”

Paul turned to present his backpack to Tom, who unclipped a lantern from it. The instrument was the size of a small shoebox. It had a handle on the top and the bulging front face was an integrated lens and reflector. Inside was a microchip of Uranium-235. When showered by gamma rays, an elemental reaction causes the chip to fluoresce. The result is an incredibly bright light, the intensity of which is precisely controlled by a rotary switch. The longevity of the power pack is the half-life of Uranium-235 itself – seven hundred million years.

Tom set a luminance of one hundred per cent and a narrow focus, and at arm’s length he shone the beam into the gloom. What they saw made their jaws drop with amazement.

The entire pyramid was hollow, but a wide walkway with a shallow incline built peripherally against the internal walls led down to ground level. The walkway was perhaps twenty metres wide and Tom and Paul walked gingerly to its edge; to the side Tom could see that it was impressively cantilevered. Below was a cavern so vast that not even Tom’s dazzling beam could illuminate its extremities.

“Most of this is below ground, so why such enormous structures?” he asked of Paul.

“Can you illuminate the wall behind us?”

Tom turned away from Paul and did as requested, broadening the beam in order to see a larger area. Far from being a natural dark orange colour or blackened with age, the stone had a greenish hue.

“I would say that these walls are covered in some kind of mould – which would indicate a level of humidity.”

“Moisture . . . ! Maybe a subterranean source,” agreed Tom, checking an adjacent section of wall. “Let’s go and see what’s down below shall we?”

With that the two men turned to their left and set off down the incline. Tom lit their way. Paul brandished the revolver and frequently looked behind, sometimes walking backwards to ensure that nothing followed them. Underfoot was smooth and the layer of dust was readily scuffed. Numerous small shapes on the ground, causing tiny shadows, Tom saw to be twisted and dried fronds of algae or similar. When touched they turned to dust. The path to ground level looked to be at least a kilometre.