Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (31 page)

By 1,000 feet everything appeared under control and the descent rate eased considerably. He could sense the water coming up to meet him.

At 200 feet there was a massive whoosh of air from outside and momentarily he felt very heavy as he was pressed into the padded decking of the capsule.

Finally, as the last of the compressed gas was purged from the retro tanks, the capsule dropped vertically. The radio altimeter indicated less than ten feet, but for a moment Richard’s heart was in his mouth. And then, after an impressively gentle touchdown, he was on the water.

Richard soon felt the unmistakable and uncomfortable motion of a heavy swell but an instant later he heard the hum of a high-speed electric motor. A mild vibration permeated the craft and very conveniently the calibrated units of the airspeed indicator promptly changed to knots. The reading was 14; it would only take five minutes or so to reach the harbour wall. Richard made ready.

There was a sudden thud and simultaneously the lights went out. Richard was plunged into blackness – he could not see his hand in front of his face.

A mechanical sound soon followed; it indicated the nose door opening. Water instantly seeped inside the capsule. Within moments the capsule end was open to the sea and the night air. Richard had already released his harness and he gently floated clear of the tube. Almost instantly the capsule began to sink and slip silently beneath the bobbing waves.

Richard gained a foothold on the harbour wall and grasped a rusting metal stanchion that protruded from it in order to pull himself closer. Water lapped around his waist. He checked his backlit chronometer: it was 16:58 Greenwich Mean Time, 19:58 Local, and it was a black night.

He found another stanchion and pulled himself higher. A very subdued glow inland indicated the direction of the main town, although the oldest part of Adulis was much closer – he could see it off to his right as there were a few isolated street lights higher on a peninsula; wave tops occasionally flickered in their reflected light. The sky was completely overcast as there was not a star to be seen from horizon to horizon, but it was dry and relatively warm. His chronometer indicated eleven degrees Celsius and that made his life a little bit easier.

Richard checked the area. It appeared deserted and so he hauled himself up the remaining half-metre or so by jamming a toe into a large crack between two stones and getting a handhold on the top of the wall. Soon he was crouching on the jetty. Just then he heard the sound of splashing water. He turned to see the dark outline of Thomas’ capsule approaching and then his human shape rowing for all he was worth. The small vessel reminded Richard of a dugout canoe.

“Keep the noise down,” said Richard in a forced whisper, “and throw me the line.”

Thomas tossed a thin, coiled, plastic cord towards Richard, who caught it and quickly secured the capsule to a nearby bollard. There was a gentle and slightly offshore swell running and, after Thomas had a hold on the wall, Richard let out enough slack so as to keep the capsule from rubbing on the stone. Moments later, and in an easy motion, Thomas also scaled the wall. They each crouched on one knee and Richard gave his brief.

“Now remember, keep out of sight and a good lookout – and that includes infrared. Use the radio only in an extreme emergency and do not acknowledge any offshore lights or signals until exactly 23:00 – but I’ll be back by then.”

Thomas nodded his understanding; there was an eerie glow about his face. “And if you’re not?” he quizzed.

“You leave without me. Absolutely no question. You’re a valuable system. God help us, you might even be the way ahead.” With that, Richard melted into the blackness.

Richard knew well enough where he was going, but because of the unknown terrain and obstacles, not the most expeditious way – or the safest for that matter, as he had not received the promised security briefing on his pager. He had an auto-centric miniature digi-map in a special transparent case, but didn’t stop to read it because it would direct him using primary routes and landmarks; rather, he kept to the shadows and made for the higher ground.

He was getting better at such covert operations and when he arrived in the once-affluent colonial quarter – an area that was built by the Italians at least two hundred years earlier and on foundations first laid down in ancient times – he began to get his bearings. He moved from wall-to-wall, house-to-house, and alleyway-to-alleyway, taking advantage of the sporadic cover, and loitering in darkened corners each time he heard a vehicle or saw a pedestrian.

There was a fair amount of movement and the red T motif of Tongsei was prevalent – particularly on larger militia vehicles. The pedestrians he saw appeared to be all men and military types, seemingly full of purpose, and as such he began to speculate that a curfew was in place for the locals. Unlike a few years earlier, and certainly regarding these older parts of town, it was clear that there were no longer any prohibited areas applicable to this powerful corporation.
Clearly the region was still blessed with mineral wealth,
Richard thought, but with no energy to extract it. He wondered why Tongsei was maintaining such a presence.
Perhaps they remain here in anticipation of things changing.

Movement was easy and unrestricted in his one-piece suit and, heading north-west, Richard quickly and warily crossed a main thoroughfare where it was made narrow by several old buildings on either side that protruded well forward of the established building line. During daylight hours it would be a busy junction. He avoided the numerous muddy puddles and on the far side slipped down another alleyway where, after a cautious lope of approximately a hundred and fifty metres, he eventually found himself in the lower part of East Parade. Thereafter, and due to his previous visit – when he had arrived by car – he was familiar with his surroundings.

Richard proceeded along the parade in the direction of the sea. A few of the historic buildings had numbers on their doors or gateposts which gradually decreased; he recalled the gradual incline towards the headland and that Number One had a commanding view over the old harbour. In time he came upon the quadrangle. There was a circular fountain as a centrepiece and Richard looked across the open area to see perhaps the oldest and largest of all the buildings – that was it, Number One, the museum.

Richard hesitated for a moment before stepping out from beneath a stone portico and the shadowy cover that it offered. It proved to be a fortuitous move as, at that instant, Richard heard the low whine of electric drives and a few seconds later two vehicles with Chinese pictogram markings drove into the quadrangle from the street to his left. The first was a Jeep-type vehicle and the second a lorry with a rear canvas hood; both screeched to a halt dangerously close by.

Richard caught sight of figures in the back of the lorry and thereafter a short commotion followed. Two weak street lights that were situated in opposite corners, and another on the other side of the quadrangle, offered gloomy illumination, but when the lorry driver turned off his headlights the shadows deepened to Richard’s advantage. Richard skulked further back into his darkened corner and pressed his back against the wall, but in truth the hiding place lacked depth and he knew that should anybody come his way he would surely be discovered. But at least he could see what was going on.
Do they know I’m here? Are they suspicious of something, or is this just a routine sweep?
His heartbeat quickened.

Richard’s dark suit provided good camouflage and so when things seemed quiet he edged forward to get a better look. Just then, and to his dismay, a group of four uniformed militiamen stepped from behind the truck and began walking his way; they had rifles slung over their shoulders. Another group headed off in a different direction. He slowly melted into the shadows and held his breath.

The men approached Richard’s position in a purposeful manner, but he could hear their voices and, although the language was unintelligible, it was definitely low and relaxed tones in which they spoke, as if having a normal conversation.

This has to be coincidental,
Richard reassured himself;
they’re just going through the motions
. He froze like a statue in his narrow strip of darkness. With eyes wide he watched and waited. After no more than twenty seconds the militiamen came into view. They milled as a nonchalant group and seemed to give no more than cursory looks up and down the street and towards the houses on either side, although one pointed towards an alleyway and said something. They spoke to each other as if offering advice on where to look and where, perhaps, not to bother. Another pointed in Richard’s direction; Richard winced and pushed his head back against the wall so fast it hurt.

One man broke off and strode alone along the street for thirty metres as Richard tracked him from the corner of his eye. Unlike his colleagues, this soldier appeared more diligent. Nevertheless, after calls and whistles from the others that thankfully seemed to curtail his motivation, the soldier cast a wary eye in a wide circle and then began his walk back. Suddenly the man shouted an instruction to the others and one of them responded by snapping his heels. This action may have been playful insubordination as the soldier in question broke away, despite jeers and tongue clicks. He walked in Richard’s direction and stepped onto the pavement. Then, and for no apparent reason, but nevertheless interested, he continued to walk along the short flagstone path – he even slid the rifle strap from his shoulder and held the weapon forwards in a ready manner.

Richard heard the footsteps grow closer. He silently sucked in a breath through his nose and held it; his heart thumped at such a rate that he felt it would surely break out from his chest.

The militiaman suddenly stopped short, as if to take stock – as a deer-stalker would after hearing sounds of a creature. Then, half-responding to apparent heckles of boredom, he hesitated.

Richard’s senses swirled but adrenalin kept his head clear. He was about to make a monumental decision when a shout went up from the quadrangle. It must have been the officer in charge because instantly the men in the street responded by turning and running off towards the lorry. But the man who stood not ten paces from Richard seemed reluctant to move. Richard could hear his breathing; it was shallow and disturbing. And he heard the rifle rubbing on the man’s clothing. And then another order echoed around the quadrangle. It was shrill and demanding and it summoned the man, and with that he turned and began walking away, albeit unwillingly.

A moment later, and as if Richard’s prayers had been answered, a third fanatical bark had the man scurrying down the path and onto the street and back towards the others. The piercing whine of an electric drive shocked the cool night air.

Richard listened carefully as the vehicles drove off. As their noise gradually dissolved into the blackness he breathed a huge sigh of relief and crouched forwards, bowing his head. He paused there and drew a series of breaths that were deep and controlled and designed to coax his heart rate to settle – but only marginally, for it was clearly very dangerous to loiter.

Richard checked the time, stepped into the open, and glanced across the deserted quadrangle towards the museum. There was a light on in a first floor room and a cloaked figure stepped into view at the window. Because of the time, and Richard’s light signal, Banou, the Chief Curator, knew that he was there. Richard immediately skirted the quadrangle towards the old building.

As he arrived the two large lanterns that hung from black metal brackets on each side of the wooden doors were switched off. With the dull glow from the street lights behind him, Richard leapt the five marble steps and as he appeared in front of the doors he saw the left one open. With no hesitation, Richard slipped like an avenging shadow into history.

CHAPTER 20

True Colours

Osiris Base – 1 January 2055
19:08 Martian Corrected Time

“Sir, I’m receiving a transmission from Space Station
Spartacus
– coming in on the accelercom network. You’d better come over.”

“Priority?”

“Code One, sir, and there is a tag,” enlightened Andrew Baillie. His eyes narrowed as he read the precursor.

“Code One! Details . . . ! Give me the details.”

“For a Code One signal, sir, I’ll need you to input your Head of Department clearance into the command security log.”

“Standby, opening the system . . . There you are, it’s done.”

“Copied,” replied Baillie. “Received and verified, sir, downloading the signal now.”

The words ‘ISSF Secret’
appeared on the monitor screen of Andrew Baillie’s computer. Another flurry on his keyboard changed the page to one that prompted the input of an additional security code, as the signal tag required a “Second Tier Command” level of authorisation. As the Communication Centre Manager, Andrew Baillie keyed in his personal code. Access was granted immediately and he redirected the radio pulsar from the accelercom receiver – where the digital stream had been decelerated – into the descrambler. Within seconds, two pages of plain text had appeared on his screen.

“Details available, sir.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

“Message relates to the ongoing Icarus event and the incoming body that threatens Earth,” Andrew Baillie said, matter-of-factly. “It seems
Spartacus
has scored a try on the deep space signal. They want an input from Commander Race as soon as possible and then the signal forwarded to the Space Federation HQ in Canaveral and London copied in, too.”

“That’s good news. Any additional information will be very welcome . . . People back home are beginning to panic. Where is Commander Race at the moment?”

“Last report from Lesley Oakley was the western boundary of Elysium – traversing the head of the Orinoco Rift. That was approximately fifty minutes ago. They are making good time. Their descent onto the Utopia flood plain will commence in an hour or so – still a way to go for the PTSV yet, sir.”

“When’s the rendezvous with the medical vehicle? Give me the latest.”

“Timed at . . . 07:20 hours tomorrow morning, sir.”

“Satellite report?”

“There’s one in the frame . . . Artisan Four. Direct comms will be available for another three hours and twenty minutes. Then there’s a five-hour blackout.”

“Okay. Open a line to the Commander – I’m on my way.”

The tall figure of Riche Fernandes, the Senior Operations Officer, caused several heads to turn as he strode into the large room; the operations department was buzzing as usual and his authoritative demeanour temporarily subdued all irrelevant conversations; he made his way to the communications area and more particularly Andrew Baillie’s console.

“Sitrep, Andy.”

“Line’s open to the PTSV, sir,” Baillie replied.

Another officer arrived: Larissa Pavlikova. She wore a dark blue one-piece cat suit with platinum shoulder epaulettes signifying the rank of Captain and also the planetary motif of the Uzbekistani Space and Science Directorate. She was in her late thirties, attractive and purposeful. Her jet black hair, which was tied back in a tight bun, contrasted starkly with her clear white complexion. She appeared to have Mongolian ancestry and stood well below the shoulder height of Fernandes.

“Can you hear me, Commander?” asked Andrew Baillie, leaning towards the microphone.

The radio crackled momentarily.

“Yes, listening, and Paul, too. Three by five, bit of atmospheric static around.” The midriff of a man in a white coverall came into view and then the face of Commander Race appeared on the screen as he sat down. He sported three days of stubble and looked tired. “We’re bouncing about here as you can see – going as fast as we can to the rendezvous position. So if my voice is wavering, you know why.”

“Understood, sir. Major Fernandes is with me and also the Science Officer. It’s a Code One message just in from
Spartacus
– they request an immediate response.”

“Go on.”

“Referenced to the current Icarus event, Commander; they have additional information on the incoming.”

“Good. Go ahead, please.”

“First, there’s a situation report – it reiterates the primary stations involved with monitoring the body’s progress. The ALMA submillimetre deep space telescope facility in Chile has overall responsibility for coordinating the ISSF’s response, but both Andromeda’s facility and the
Spartacus
are noted as essential. The body is approaching from the Canis sector. Earth’s Hubble 2 telescope has sighted something close to the variable star Murzim – at the moment it’s apparently just a white speck in that constellation . . .”

Captain Pavlikova put a hand on Andrew Baillie’s shoulder; she had something to say and leaned forwards in order to be captured by the console’s integral camera.

“Commander, Larissa here. Yes, our own observatory has confirmed the sighting. Coincidently, ALMA’s centre manager has also been in contact with us. He thinks that the visible speck actually
is
the body. At the moment it has an apparent magnitude of -0.64, which is about the same as the star Canopus – you may recall that star as being the second brightest visible in the night sky. But that intrinsic luminosity is increasing at an amazing rate, Commander. In twelve hours I estimate that it will have an apparent magnitude greater even than Sirius. Of course it is not actually getting any brighter, it is just getting closer.”

“How close is it? What are we talking here?”

“As of one hour ago it was seven point five billion kilometres away from us . . . approximately. At the moment, Earth is another eighty-five million kilometres.”

“So it’s about to enter our solar system.”

Larissa nodded. “Pluto is currently six point three billion kilometres from us, yes.”

“Do they have any idea what it is?”

“No, Commander. No one dares speculate. It is non-conformal. We have nothing to compare it with. But whatever it is, it’s tracking faster than anything I have ever seen before – it’s closing on Earth very quickly.”

“I understand. How long – how long have they got?”

“Space Station
Spartacus
is closest to it; she’s presently holding position approximately three million miles this side of Jupiter, waiting for the first close-up images of the moon Io to come in from the
Arius
probe flyby – that is due to happen in the next twenty-four hours, I’m told. We are using a geometric programme in the science department to triangulate the body – using the position of
Spartacus
, our position and that of the Sun. At the moment our results are unconfirmed, Commander, but we are definitely registering a deceleration – gradual but progressive. No natural space body does that!”

“So how long, Larissa?”

“It’s very difficult to be precise, because the body’s velocity is changing, and of course it remains relative to light speed.”

“Then give me your best guess.”

“An hour ago, Commander, we measured the body travelling at thirty-seven per cent light-related speed and decelerating at an approximate rate of three per cent, hour on hour. Based on that I would estimate an arrival in Earth’s vicinity in thirty-eight hours, give or take an hour – provided current parameters remain stable.”

“Why do you say ‘Earth’s vicinity’, Larissa . . . ? Are we having second thoughts about a collision here?”

“Why would the body decelerate prior to a collision, Commander? Maximum damage would be caused with the highest impact velocity. I’m speculating of course, but I think it will arrive in Earth’s vicinity at a very low velocity . . . controlled . . . possibly even establish an orbit.”

“Does Earth know that . . . ? Have you shared that with anybody?”

“Intentions are to cross-check our readings and re-run the permutations in . . .” Larissa checked the time on her wrist watch. “. . in two hours and twelve minutes, then pass on the full report.”

After a thoughtful pause, Tom nodded and said: “Okay, I agree, but don’t delay any longer than you have to. Now, what about the Code One message from the
Spartacus
?”

Larissa stood tall and stepped back a pace. “Andrew has those details, Commander,” she said and tapped her hand on Baillie’s shoulder in an apologetic way.

“Okay, thanks Larissa,” said Tom. “Andy, what have you got?”

Andrew Baillie peered intently at the screen. “Commander, as you know the body has been transmitting a signal in our common space communications frequency range for some time now, but due to the distances involved the transmission has been intermittent and distorted and far too weak, in fact, to determine a format or signature. Well . . . the news is that the Communications Officer on
Spartacus
now has a positive ID. And you’re not going to believe it . . . I don’t think that anyone is.”

“Specifics, Andy!” snapped Tom impatiently.

“The signal being transmitted is actually a message relating to an established ISSF Command and Control protocol, Commander. We have exactly the same format on file here, as does every colony and spacecraft in the entire Federation – it’s the
Rogue Command
Protocol!”

“What!” exclaimed Tom.

“Are you sure?” interjected Major Fernandes, placing his hands on the top of the console and studying the text on the screen for himself.

“Absolutely,” said Andrew Baillie. “I’ve just received clarification from
Spartacus
in the form of a duplicate transmission using a different security configuration. There’s no mistake, Commander. This signal format has been coming from well outside the solar system, but it
is
one of ours.”

There was an ominous pause. “I know of the protocol, of course,” said Tom, “it’s covered at Staff College for one thing. But only rarely mentioned after that. I do recall something about it more recently, though – from a few years ago.” He drew a deep breath.

“There is a file in the HOD’s library, Commander,” informed Major Fernandes. “It’s there for recall by senior officers. It will detail everything we need to know.”

“Yes, you’re right . . . Andy . . . you have my permission to go into the Head of Department’s library. Use Alpha Code Two Zero One One. The file will be logged under Chain of Command. Open it, please.”

“I’m on it, sir.” Andrew Baillie’s fingers danced over his touch-sensitive keyboard. Almost instantly a long list of files appeared on a secondary monitor screen. Larissa Pavlikova pointed to a specific line. “Located, sir,” Baillie said, nodding his thanks. “It’s entitled:
Rogue Command Protocol – Orders and Procedures
.”

“Open it then, Andy – and do it quickly,” pressed Tom.

In a confident flurry Andrew Baillie tapped in the sequence – but there was no response. He tried again using a different progression – the words
Access Denied
appeared on his screen.

Major Fernandes appeared confused. “The programme is denying us access, Commander.”

“What?”

Andrew Baillie lolled back in his chair and thought about the problem for a moment and then suddenly sprang to attention. “That’s just it, Commander, I can’t open it with that code . . . it’s your code! The protocol is not meant to be opened by the Commanding Officer. It’s got to be a HOD’s access code.”

“Yes, of course it has,” responded Tom. “Richie, please, would you enter your personal code.”

Major Fernandes leaned forwards and entered a series of letters and numbers into the system. Instantly there was a response, and the new page that appeared on the screen was full of text. “There are in-depth notes and instigation and follow-up procedures, Commander, several pages,” he informed, matter-of-factly.

“Would you read aloud the first page, please?” Tom requested.

Major Fernandes leaned forward again and peered at the screen. “
This protocol is to be initiated when succession of command is deemed necessary by nominated Osiris Base senior officers. A minimum of two Heads of Department and the base Security Officer must be in agreement. There can be no abstentions
.” Fernandes paused. “Then it details some administration requirements, Commander,” he continued, “and the current revision date is October 2050. After that, it reads:
Initiation of the protocol is authorised when at least two of the following conditions are identified and confirmed by the Chief Medical Officer or Deputy Chief Medical Officer: Space Fever; Robinson Crusoe Syndrome; Gravity Stasis Syndrome; Abnormal Behaviour; Psychotic Behaviour; Vitamin Deficiency Osmositary Syndrome; Delusionary Infecticide
. . .
the list goes on, Commander, it’s quite exhaustive. Basically, if the officer commanding Osiris Base – or any other ISSF colony or craft for that matter – is deemed unfit to carry out their duties for whatever reason, they can be relieved of their command by nominated senior officers provided specified minimal criteria are met and strictly documented procedures are followed.”