Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (55 page)

“Yes . . . correct.”

Richard looked at Rothschild. This revelation was adding considerable weight to his colonist hypothesis.

“I don’t understand what the problem is!” interjected General Roper, who looked away from the screen and then back at Professor Varela.

“It has taken thousands of years and two billion deaths for the human race to acquire the immunity it has against the current strains of virus and bacteria that populate our planet, General,” explained Varela. “These basic life forms are continuously changing, mutating, probing our natural defences – we are constantly exposed to them. Those who aren’t, those who live in isolation, lose their resistance – not to mention the allergy question. We know that periodically such pathogens get the upper hand. That’s when epidemics and pandemics occur. It’s been the case throughout our history – the bubonic plague, the flu pandemics of the last four decades, including avian and bovine flu. Drugs are only successful to a point; it’s our own immune systems that must evolve. But the pathogens that we have discovered in the sample provided by Commander Reece, and taken from the ancient artefact, are primitive pathogens – in their original form. Such a form would be alien to us here on Earth. We would have no natural protection against it and producing a vaccine would require living specimens and would take at least six weeks.”

“But can’t you resuscitate viruses, Matthew?” Professor Nieve asked, as microbiology wasn’t his field. “Certain strains have been known to survive for millennia and in extremely inhospitable conditions!”

Professor Varela shook his head. “Unfortunately that is no longer possible,” he replied. “When we realised what we were dealing with and to prevent any accidents, we radiated the cells with gamma rays to ensure all life processes were terminated.”

“To sum this up then,” Richard interjected. “The Ark of the Light, before it was recently cleaned and renovated, contained a dormant strain of influenza virus that humankind has no resistance to and also samples of the bacteria that causes bubonic plague?”

Varela nodded. “That is correct,” he said.

“Okay . . . let’s go further with this.” Richard rubbed his brow and then ran his hand over his head. “The Ark was built by the ‘old people’ . . . we know this because the materials used in its construction are not to be found on planet Earth. The old people were colonists and believed to originate from a planet in the Sirius B system – let’s not mention the irrefutable historical evidence at this point – and the
Enigma,
a spacecraft controlled by the malevolent computer EMILY, is now in orbit having returned from a round trip to Homer, the planet referred to by the old people as their home planet.” Richard paused at the realisation. “Then you were right to raise the alarm, Professor Varela. I’d say we have a problem alright . . . a big problem . . . one the size of the
Enigma
in fact!”

General Roper raised his hand. “Hold on!” he implored. “Before we press the button on this and cause worldwide panic. We do not know why these ‘colonists’ left the planet they called Homer.” He looked at Professor Nieve.

“We know that Sirius B was a normal star that gradually turned into a red giant. Radiation output from stars undergoing these death throes increases markedly and the physical dimensions of the star similarly. But this does not happen overnight. It is a gradual process taking many thousands of years. However, as we understand it, all life on a planet such as Homer would die quite early in the process.”

“How long would a civilisation survive after discovering that their star was becoming a red giant?”

“That is a very difficult question to answer, General, because there are so many variables; much depends on the complexity of the civilisation.”

“Make a qualified guess please, Professor.”

Professor Nieve thought for a moment. “The atmospheric temperature would increase at a prescribed rate – slowly at first and then accelerating as greenhouse gasses increased. Radiation levels would also increase. Eventually the protective layers, such as the Van Allen belts around our planet, would break down and high energy cosmic radiation would reach the surface. Thereafter everything would die – even at relatively deep subterranean levels.”

“So how long?”

Professor Nieve shook his head. “How long is a piece of string?”

“Please Professor,” pressed the General, “give us a ball park figure . . . five hundred years . . . ? More? Less?”

“In the case of the Sirius system, where we have a good deal of astronomical data, I would estimate a century at most.”

“So if the civilisation inhabiting such a planet has not already ventured into Space at that point, you would expect there to be a concerted effort to do so.”

“We are ourselves living proof of what can be achieved in a mere century, General Roper.”

“If it was to take longer than that . . . say, five hundred years,” someone else started, “then what would be the first effects?”

“We have run numerous simulations over the years in an effort to ascertain the effects on Earth should the solar radiation output from our sun increase. We found in all cases that there was a blooming of microbiological activity as a result of the initial increase in temperature. An increase of one to five degrees Celsius is all it takes and then the micro-organism populations go viral, so to speak.”

“You include bacteria as well as viruses in that group?”

“Yes, of course. Here on Earth, for example, our environment would be swamped by harmful as well as helpful bacteria and viruses. The most deadly strains of pathogens would increase proportionally to other micro-organisms, perhaps more so. The present human population of this planet is more than sixteen billion, infection would spread very quickly.”

“Is that why these colonists left their home planet?”

“It is possible, General, yes. But more likely they left because of the temperature and radiation increase. As I said, the viral and bacterial manifestation would be consequential, and this higher concentration is essentially, and probably quite accurately, recorded in the sample from the Ark.”

“Could we get back to our specific concern?” asked the UK’s Health Minister. She was a woman in her late fifties. “What confronts us has the potential to be more than a pandemic. From your simulation, Professor Varela, should such a pathogen be released in our atmosphere, what would the results be and in what time frame?”

“That’s an easy question, Madame,” replied Varela. “The entire population of the Earth would be eradicated within a month.”

There was a collective gasp.

“Sorry, but that’s my position on it,” Varela continued. “As I said, there would be no time to acquire immunity or develop a vaccine. As a virulent strain of flu the infection would sweep through the world’s population unabated. There would be no place to hide. The subterranean colonies would be incubators.”

“And that’s it?”

Professor Varela shrugged. “Some small mammals may survive; those who live in isolation – probably on islands. It would be like the end of the dinosaur era, when the meteorite collided with the Earth and formed the Gulf of Mexico. This planet would eventually repopulate with other species that had a natural immunity. In time a new dominant species would evolve – they may be like us, they may not.”

That disclosure kicked off numerous conversations – some between members of the panel and some in their vicinity. Gradually, the volume increased. Richard checked the time; it was less than an hour to his planned take-off. He would have no influence on the meeting’s outcome. Even if the panel made a decision it would need to go to the Federation Council for final approval.
Damned bureaucracy,
he thought,
unless something was done quickly, EMILY will have her revenge
.

Richard pressed a button on his panel that called Peter Rothschild. Rothschild, in London, gave Richard his attention. “Peter, I’ve got a humanitarian flight at twenty-one hundred hours,” he explained. “Over to the Cityport – patients for specialist treatment in Guy’s Hospital. I’m not required here anymore so I’m leaving . . . okay?”

Rothschild nodded his approval and then turned back to his previous conversation.

As Richard established a high orbit and reprogrammed the navigation computer with coordinates for the re-entry phase, he suddenly saw the
Enigma
appear on the horizon from behind the Earth. She was an impressive sight; her massive, ominous, dark grey hull and those long, thin, characteristic thrust tubes. She was far too distant for Richard to pick out any detail and with the sun behind her she was primarily in silhouette, but he somehow sensed that EMILY had her laser initiator trained on him and he began to feel decidedly uneasy.

Richard was about to call Canaveral in order to coordinate his re-entry when out of the corner of his eye on the left side of the
Ares,
and way below, he saw a small servicing vessel zoom past. The vessel was on a direct course for the
Enigma
. He was surprised. Clearly no decision had been reached by the Federation as to the contamination issue and a rendezvous was still on the cards. He tracked the small spacecraft as it passed from the Southern Hemisphere to the Northern Hemisphere and sped towards the great hulk. A bright white stroboscopic flash every ten seconds made the vessel stand out against the reflective cloud as it neared the edge of the Earth’s disc.

Richard selected the frequency allocated by Space Control to the
Enigma
– a dedicated frequency for orbital coordination and general communications. He listened for a few minutes, but all was silent. He knew how important the
Enigma
was to the Federation for ongoing research and future Space missions, and also there was the prohibitive cost of replacing her, but surely their intentions were not to placate EMILY – or humour her for the sake of her technology and experience. Surely they couldn’t ignore the fact that she had swept through the atmosphere of the planet Homer, and may now be contaminated with a deadly virus.
Delaying a move against her – even a precautionary move – is like playing with fire,
he thought. Richard looked at Yannick, his co-pilot, and nodded his approval to commence the re-entry profile. Moments later the autopilot selected five degrees nose down.

Passing over the East Coast of Iceland at 86,000 feet on a course for London, and with
Enigma
’s Space frequency still selected, Richard was paying attention to his instruments when suddenly there was an anxious radio transmission: “
Terminate Docking Sequence. Initiate Abort Code 666. No contact. Do you copy? No contact.”

Richard knew exactly who that transmission was directed at. Something had happened!
Someone on the Federation Council seeing sense at last,
he speculated. If so they had certainly left it late, as Abort Code 666 was an emergency directive. Richard turned his attention to the approach phase as the
Ares
disappeared into cloud. They would land in fifteen minutes and Richard would call Rothschild.

No sooner was Richard in the terminal building when his telepager rang. He pulled it from the breast pocket of his flight suit and looked at the small screen to see Rothschild’s name flashing.