Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (25 page)

“They integrated the brain into their Humatron-based experimental body?”

“It’s an improved frame, more resilient than the Humatron, apparently.”

“That makes it okay then.” Richard shook his head in a disapproving manner. “And what do you call this . . . hybrid?”

“A Human Integrated Mechanism . . . a HIM Thirty-Two. Because the man was thirty-two years old.”

“You miss my point, Peter. How do you address the HIM?”

“Thomas, just Thomas.”

“And there were no issues?”

Rothschild held a breath and screwed his face a little. “Professor Nieve told me that he had a nervous breakdown when he woke and realised the situation. That was more than two years ago. Since then there have been one or two physiological issues but . . .”

“Great, so you want me to work with a psychopathic robot! That’s just great!”

“There’s been a lot of work done. For more than a year he has been perfectly stable.”

Richard looked unconvinced.

“Essentially it’s the same man, you know, his personality – who he was: his loves, his hates, his character and his emotions. And with his help, with his insider knowledge, the integration between man and machine is becoming blurred. Professor Nieve is very impressed with him.”

“And that’s a good thing is it? A human brain, a consciousness, a person for all intents and purposes, trapped inside a mechanical body. Is that acceptable?”

“The moral issues of all this will have to wait, I’m afraid. Unlike the Humatron series, we have a system we can reason with. One we can rely on and one that is, by definition, self-aware.”

“I see, so you side-step the Level Seven ban by using organics.”

“Look. God only knows if the conglomerates are using Humatrons again. There is evidence to say that they are. And after four years that system has probably been improved, too. There might be an HU50 model out there, who knows, but if you meet one . . . Thomas may prove extremely useful.”

Richard nodded. “Well I don’t like it. I’m going along with it because I’m under orders.”

“All the same, keep in touch with Abbey and copy me in on any developments,” countered Rothschild, whose eyes dropped to Richard’s helmet box again.

Richard shifted anxiously. He checked his chronometer and buttoned up his coat. Rothschild looked up slowly and went to speak, but Richard cut him short.

“Personal things, Peter, as I say – and something for Mubarakar, that’s all,” said Richard, desperately trying to appear matter-of-fact. Then he slowly picked up the box.

Rothschild’s eyes narrowed.

“Now, if you will excuse me, it’s time to go and see Mubarakar.” With that Richard gave Rothschild a sharp nod and promptly left the room.

CHAPTER 17

Worlds Apart

Richard knew of the Series 5 Typhoon fighter, as he had been launched from one over Italy a few years back – although that example had been in Luftwaffe livery. That was an experience he would never forget.

It was an impressive sight, particularly to a pilot, as he neared the aircraft – helmet, oxygen mask and gloves in hand. Sleek, fast, delta wing, potent – probably the best ‘atmospheric’ fighter ever built.
All the same, it had been made obsolete by the Delta Class,
he thought. Although
that
fighter, with its matter-stream propulsion system, could not realise its true potential inside the two Van Allen belts for fear of perforating them.

The United Kingdom Joint Forces’ pilot was performing a pre-flight inspection and when he saw Richard approaching he promptly broke off and courteously walked over to meet him. He was wearing the standard issue green military flying suit over which was an anti-g body harness and as he offered his hand to Richard he realised the reason for Richard’s concerned expression.

“You don’t need to worry about this, sir,” he said in a friendly manner whilst tugging on a strap of his body harness with his left hand. “It’s a straightforward flight to Egypt. S.O.P for me to wear it, that’s all.”

Richard smiled faintly and patted his chest to signify a racing heartbeat. “Richard Reece, also Royal Navy . . .

How do you do?” he replied, shaking the man’s hand. “If it’s not restricted information, Lieutenant, Standard Operating Procedure dictates what altitude for such a
routine
flight?”

“Chris Quarrie. A pleasure, sir, if I may say; I’ve heard a lot about your exploits. I’m hoping to join the Space Programme in a few years, too.”

Richard smiled again.

“In answer to your question, sir, relatively low level, as you only have basic kit. The flight plan is filed for Flight Level Four Three Zero.”

“That’s reassuring. How’s the preparation going?”

Lieutenant Quarrie, at 1.8 metres tall, was a little shorter than Richard and, although only in his late twenties, was already balding. He had the look of a television character from a vintage children’s programme – John Tracy of
Thunderbirds
sprang foremost to mind. In any case, he could see from the pilot’s confident manner and well-worn gold shoulder epaulets that he had a good deal of experience.

“Nearly done,” came the reply. “This is Aircraft Orderly Spinola; he will help you into the cockpit. I’m afraid you are sitting behind me today, sir.”

Richard raised his eyebrows in fake surprise. “I can cope with that,” he responded.

Standing by the pointed nose of the aircraft, Chris Quarrie gestured with a gloved hand towards the two cigar-shaped pods, one hanging beneath each wing. “I don’t think we will achieve Mach 3 today because of the additional weight,” he said. “It won’t make much difference to the flight time – perhaps another fifteen minutes.” He pointed specifically to the pod below the port wing. “That one has a robotic system in it – a bit hush hush I’m told.” Quarrie tapped his nose. “And that one is a Special Air Service Covert Insertion Pod – one man safely behind enemy lines, that sort of thing. Very capable over water, too – full buoyancy aids. I’m briefed that we may also be doing a drop over East Africa – day after tomorrow – but that’s yet to be confirmed.”

Richard nodded. He thought of Rothschild. “The Ministry is covering every angle, that’s all,” he replied. “It may or may not be required.”

“I understand, sir. I am expecting to wait for two days at the Egyptian base – El Al Shalamin. I’m being hosted by an Airforce Squadron with F29s. I’m quite looking forward to it, actually.”

Richard glanced up at the low dragging cloud, then towards the control tower, and then across the airfield in first a northerly and then an easterly direction. Both ways, the skyline was darkened, bleak and urban high-rise. Their timing had been good; they were between belts of drizzle. However, towards the west Richard could see a squall line approaching, with reducing visibility and rain showers. He gestured towards it to warn the pilot. “Glad someone’s looking forward,” he said, and smiled faintly.

“Now, sir, if you are ready, we can climb in.”

The orderly helped Richard strap in and connect his life support equipment to the aircraft’s interface. Lieutenant Quarrie ran the check list, started the engines and checked the flight controls and other systems. Within three minutes they were ready to go. The mark was 13:58 Greenwich Mean Time.

Professor Mubarakar had arranged an ambulance to collect Richard from outside the main gate of the Egyptian Airforce Base. Richard was surprised when it arrived but, after checking the driver’s credentials, he realised that it would provide the perfect cover and possibly expedite their drive through the renowned congestion of Cairo.

During the journey, Richard was careful not to allow the pale green helmet box to shuffle or shake, lest the crystal lose some of its insulating wall or, worse, become exposed altogether. Should that occur it would simply burn through the box, the seat cushion, the ambulance’s floor pan, the metallised road and probably several hundred metres of the Earth’s crust as a result – and it would be difficult to explain that one away. He knew that only electromagnetic energy in the radio-wave spectrum – wavelengths above ten centimetres and between the frequencies 120 Kilohertz and 250 Kilohertz, the VHF and UHF frequency band – would cause the crystal to react by ‘boiling-off’, a term associated with characteristic extreme heating. And it was this heat that was being harnessed to drive giant steam turbines in the four former nuclear reactor plants that currently provided the world’s energy. Although modern telecommunications preferred microwave frequencies, in this old town there would be enough antiquated radio stations broadcasting in the VHF frequency range, and also other localised equipment, to set the process off. He just looked at the radio set that the ambulance driver was using to know that.

Each time the vehicle negotiated an obstruction, ran up the curb, bounced over a pothole or swerved to avoid another equally determined Cairo driver, Richard picked the box up in both hands and acted as a shock absorber. Occasionally, when the necessary avoidance was particularly excessive, the Arabic driver would look across at Richard, smile a toothless grin and utter something that sounded like, “God be praised.”

Mubarakar had quite cannily decided that an ambulance would provide suitable cover for the journey from the airbase to his apartment and it would also afford a certain amount of psychological priority on Cairo’s seething road network. Despite this, the general tendency for headlong opportunism by all but a handful of users had Richard shrinking, cowering and wincing in his seat in equal measure. Animals had priority over vehicles, as in other parts of Egypt, and Richard even saw a laden, hooded elephant. He had expected to run the gauntlet for at least an hour, but it was one hour and fifty minutes later that they finally crossed the 15th of May Bridge heading west, negotiated Ahmed Orabi until passing the Pharaoh Egypt Hotel and then turned right into a maze of streets to finally draw up outside a large, two-storey stone-built house with a Victorian period veranda on the first floor. In this private quarter, very much downtown and almost deserted, there was visible security in the form of closed-circuit TV cameras and the occasional patrol car.

“Not safe leave vehicle here,” said the driver, his whispering making his voice sound more guttural.

Richard nodded his understanding and climbed carefully from his seat with the helmet box tucked firmly under his arm. He walked to the back of the vehicle. For those moments it felt good to be in dry weather again, although the air smelt of mustiness and smoke. All the same, eight degrees Celsius felt positively warm.

It was a black night and the only useful light came from inside the vehicle, as by then the driver had opened the two metal doors. Inside, on the floor, secured by four canvas straps, was a long, shining aluminium tube. It was a little less than a metre diameter and two metres in length.

Richard heard the rattle of a chain being pulled from between two wrought-iron gates and he turned to see, a few metres back, Mubarakar step into the street. The Professor was wrapped inside a thick, black coat with the collar turned up and was indicating impatiently towards him. Meanwhile Abdel, his assistant, went about fully opening the gates. Mubarakar spoke in Arabic to the driver who then climbed back into the ambulance, started the engine and reversed through the gates and down a straight terracotta-tiled driveway until arriving at a carriage arch that was part of the main house. Richard caught up with Mubarakar as he issued another order and the driver then continued to reverse until he disappeared into a garage another ten metres or so from the back of the house. After Mubarakar and Richard had also stepped inside, Abdel scurried about, closing and locking first the outside ornamental gates and then the green-painted wooden doors of the garage. There seemed to be plenty of room inside and the shadow of another large van parked further back caught Richard’s eye. After a second heavy bolt was heard to clunk into position the ceiling lights came on and Mubarakar peeled back his collar. He was happy to see Richard.

“So, my friend, Egypt draws you back into her arms. This is good!”

“Pleased to be back, Professor . . . cold and wet in England as usual,” replied Richard, shaking hands as was customary. But Richard could not help frowning at the change of plan. “But I thought we were to rendezvous in the Cairo Museum?”

“There are issues, and I received a message from Peter Rothschild. He told me to be extra-vigilant. Quite how much more that is than
vigilant
, I am not sure.” Mubarakar grinned. “It is better here. I own the ground floor of this house and have done for many years, and the apartment upstairs is empty – they went to Sharm El Sheikh three months ago.”

“Professor, is the ancient statue . . . ?”

“It is here, my friend.” Mubarakar gestured with his head towards the white, Japanese-built van. He then looked at the box under Richard’s arm. “And inside you have a . . .
crystal
?” Mubarakar’s eyes widened at the thought of it.

Richard nodded cautiously. “The shielding, did you manage to do it?” he asked.

Mubarakar put a reassuring hand on Richard’s shoulder. “In the study of ancient mummies and artefacts we use X-rays frequently,” he responded. “We borrowed material from our portable booth to line the vehicle. It is done and the statue is positioned with the panel open. But first, hospitality – lamb stew, honey cake and mint tea.” Mubarakar turned and led Richard into the house.

Richard walked into the kitchen to see Hamid Faruq already enjoying a selection of Medjool dates that were in a large bowl on a central wooden table. “Hamid, how are you?” he enquired, extending his hand.

“God is merciful,” Hamid replied warmly.

The dates were preserved in thick sugary syrup and Richard was pleased to try them. He turned to Mubarakar. “You know about my support?”

Mubarakar nodded. “Science progresses faster than seems possible to an old man like me. You and Hamid, you will see what human ingenuity offers the world; the future is surely clouded by such technology, and the old times, they are gone forever.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not that progressive as to have a robot for a buddy, Professor,” Richard responded. “Anyway, I’m under orders, and it might be a good idea to have the system activated when we try the crystal in the statue . . . You never know, we might need it!”

After dinner, the three men returned to the garage to find Abdel sipping tea with the ambulance driver. “This is my cousin,” Abdel said to Richard.

“Driving like you do is in the blood then,” commented Richard with dry humour, momentarily lightening the growing preoccupation in the group.

Mubarakar had already explained the ‘family’ situation and that security was not an issue, and so Richard set about opening the aluminium tube by keying a five-digit code into the control panel that was mounted on the circular access door nearest the rear of the vehicle. The door opened promptly under its own means and Richard reached inside and partially slid out a stretcher arrangement that ran on side rollers. His immediate impression of the robot, and particularly the legs and waist area was that it looked remarkably similar to that of a Humatron HU40 – having a thick, opaque and pliable celluloid skin inflated to the size of a large man’s legs by a pressurised, oily, electrolytic fluid. However, the feet were different, much more life-like than the Humatron’s mechanical, claw-like feet. Richard then focused on the hands – again, they were complicated but ‘human-like’, instead of four-fingered metallic mechanisms. He released the nylon transportation straps that secured the bulky arms and legs to the stretcher bed and examined the chest area. Once more it seemed very familiar, with the outline of a Humatron’s ethereal alloy skeleton supporting a box-like structure that tapered towards the waist, and clearly apparent was the central control panel and cover. Inside the ‘chest’ box would be the high-capacity catholithium batteries and photoelectric converters. Overall, the primate-like proportions of the Humatron system had been replaced by those of a human; although the reasons for this Richard could only speculate.