Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) (50 page)

“You okay, sir?” asked one, in an American accent.

“I’m okay, thanks . . . thanks a lot,” said Richard and gave them a subdued thumbs-up sign.

As other figures appeared, Richard looked for Thomas and saw him lying on the ground. He could see he was in a bad way because there was a gaping hole in his neck and faint traces of condensing gas rose from inside. Richard knelt beside him, put his hand beneath his head and raised it slightly.

“It’s too late, Commander, my oxygenation system has collapsed,” Thomas said weakly.

“No! No . . . we’ll fix you up . . . you hang on, Thomas.”

Thomas shook his head. “By the time you get me back to Andromeda I’ll be brain dead . . . brain dead . . . It doesn’t leave too much else for me, does it?” Thomas’s features faded into a flat screen that flickered momentarily. Then his face morphed again, as if he was summoning the very last microvolt. His expression looked forlorn. “Not much of a life anyway . . .”

Richard could see Thomas fighting to stay alive in his mechanical prison, trying to energise his synapse with all the electrical energy he could summon. Each millivolt that his brain produced rejuvenated his features for a moment. His face formed and faded and reformed again, like a mask rising in a bowl of black liquid and then sinking beneath the surface again.

A medic ran past Richard. He reached out to grip her arm, but the woman was carrying a polythene bag containing blood and was preoccupied. Richard adjusted his external speaker to high and shouted after her: “I need a battery . . . some power!”

Thomas shook his head vaguely. “They’re trying to save people from the robot war, Commander. Why would they help one?” Thomas’s vocallator crackled, like static coming from a radio.

Doctor Brown, his name emblazoned across his chest, was one of Rachel’s colleagues. He wore a bloody white spacesuit with a portable stethoscopic oxygenation mask hanging around his neck. Behind his clear visor his face was pale and his expression blank, as if he was shell-shocked. Richard grabbed his suit leg as he passed. The doctor looked back.

“David! I need some help! Do you have a defibrillator, or a portable monitoring unit . . . I need a battery!” Richard pressed.

Doctor Brown shook his head. “They’re all being used,” he said, as he looked down at Thomas’s fading face. Then he glanced back at Richard and went to speak but stopped short. “I’ll see what I can find,” he said and he walked off.

“Hang on, Thomas; I’ve got some power coming,” Richard said, lifting Thomas’s head again and shaking it gently.

“I’ve told you . . . it’s too late for me,” Thomas said weakly, and then he appeared to summon every shred of life that remained in him and every microamp of current that ran through his circuits. His face image sharpened and he opened his plasmoltec eyes. He looked directly at Richard and squeezed Richard’s forearm, and then shook his head in a resigned way. “This level of biomechanical integration isn’t going to work,” he said. “Mind you tell them that. You will, won’t you?”

Richard nodded. “I will, Thomas, I’ll tell them. I want to thank you for saving my life. I was wrong about you – I did need you.” Richard cradled the long neck and mechanical head in his arms and felt a compelling need to comfort his brother-in-arms. “Tell you what. If I ever have a son, I’ll call him Thomas – and be proud to. What do you say?”

Thomas’s dark shadow lit slightly. Richard looked around in desperation for the doctor. Slowly Thomas began to lose control of his features. The contours of his face slipped back into the screen, as if the liquid level was rising around his mask for the last time. His brow flattened, his cheeks disappeared, his lips melted to nothing and finally the tip of his nose disappeared. The process continued until the screen was flat and hard. The backlight flickered again. Thomas twitched as he tried to will himself back, but the LCD dimmed almost to nothing.

“Honoured, that’s what I’d say . . .” were his last words.

And with that the face screen turned black. Finally, the faint glow of a tiny, central, pinpoint of light disappeared.

CHAPTER 27

The Parallel Planet

The Pyramids of Elysium – 3 January
09:52 Martian Corrected Time

“Never in my life have I seen anything like this,” said Lesley Oakley, as she gingerly applied the brakes of the PTSV and drew to a halt with the vehicle straddling the crest of a rocky ridgeline. She stared out across the flat, windswept landscape that opened before her and then looked skywards in awe. Still unable to see the pinnacles of the great stone structures, she leaned forward until her face almost touched the glass of the windscreen and craned her neck. Only then did she glimpse the sharp points that seemed to perforate the thin Martian atmosphere. There they stood, all set around a central plaza, shrouded in secrecy . . . four monumental pyramids; architectural achievements that were almost unutterable.

Dark orange in colour and with a matt appearance they seemed blushed with an uncanny glow. Paul Carr sat beside Lesley, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. The red orb of the sun, hanging halfway above the distant horizon, served only to emphasise their dimensions and with its waxy brightness as a backdrop, the striking silhouettes of the pyramids accentuated not only their monolithic status, but also a spiritual significance. Tom Race, who stood between the seats, pointed at the closer of the two larger pyramids and indicated a platform some way above the ground.

“See! There’s the ledge!” he said. “Not far up, relatively. The one I was pushed from. You can just make it out.” He shook his head. “And I skidded down the side. I was saved by a mound of soft sand but still knocked unconscious. Sure was a close call.”

Paul prised his eyes away from the pyramid and glanced up at Tom. “Yes, it was the former Security Officer Gregory Searle, wasn’t it . . . ? The one who tried to dump you?”

Tom nodded. “It was not long after that that the ISSF restored the exclusion zone,” he informed. “We are the first to see this for what . . . four years?”

“June 2050 to be precise, Commander,” replied Paul. “I checked the file – the exclusion zone
and
the news blackout were re-established. Apart from that previous PTSV crew and you, of course, no one else has
ever
seen this panorama.”

Tom nodded again and then he felt Veronica behind him trying to peep over his shoulder. “Here, come and take a look,” he said, and stepped aside.

“It’s incredible. I’ve heard about them – stories, speculation of an alien race – but with the Federation’s complete security blanket, I’ve never even seen an image of any quality.”

Tom gestured through the windscreen. “That’s Zeta Three. It’s five kilometres away and yet it looks as if you could reach out and touch it.”

Veronica nodded.

“Fifteen minutes to satellite contact!” called Anna, from the communications console close to the rear partition.

Tom turned. “Good, thanks, can you energise the 3D printer in preparation please . . . and mix the Deromutine? Cut down on the hardener by ten per cent; that should give us a window of at least three hours.”

Anna raised her hand to show her understanding.

Tom turned back to Lesley. “Okay, let’s go Lesley . . . Just to confirm, it’s that one.” He pointed again. “The closest of the shorter pyramids – park on its northern side. That tall one behind it is Zeta Two.”

“Are there any issues with soft ground in the vicinity, Commander?”

“None that I know of – all the same, take your time. Amazingly, the plaza is paved with precision-cut stone slabs; you’ll find just a thin covering of sand and dust. I expect it to be firm under the wheels, but avoid the dune around the periphery.”

“Yes, Commander.”

With that, Lesley moved forward slowly allowing the giant bubble tyres and independent suspension mechanisms time to correct their position and maintain the PTSV body in an almost level plane as the rear wheels crested the ridgeline. Then, in a low gear, she eased down the steep incline. After a kilometre or so the gradient sharply decreased and she was able to coast for a similar distance, until the vehicle alighted on the central plain.
This place,
she thought,
would have been a vast seabed in times past.
On level ground, Lesley checked her compass and accelerated towards Zeta Three.

“How tall are those two, Commander?” asked Veronica. She pointed to the highest pyramids and then, having seen enough, stepped back into the cabin.

“Around two miles – three thousand four hundred metres – and almost two kilometres square around the base. And the smaller pyramids are one thousand two hundred metres. But they are all constructed to the same lines – precise mathematical symmetry . . .”

“And they are oriented exactly north-south, too,” interjected Lesley, gesturing her head towards the compass repeater mounted on the central console, as she made good speed.

In turn, Anna came forward to take in the view from the cockpit. As the pyramid approached, Tom crouched a little and scanned the area through the left windscreen and side panel. “Keep a good lookout, Paul,” he said. “I’ve a feeling those two Humatrons will be around here somewhere. They will know that we have deactivated their friend, so it’s unlikely that they will show themselves quite so readily . . . Even so, before you get changed, why don’t you prime the pulse cannon and set the sensor range at five Ks to be on the safe side?” Tom stepped aside again for Anna to come forward.

“Aye aye, sir,” replied Paul.

“Oh my God, they’re massive! Much bigger than those in Egypt,” declared Anna, stepping between the seats.

“The Great Pyramid near Cairo is only one hundred and thirty-nine metres tall, Anna – tiny by comparison. And the faces of these pyramids are isosceles in design – much steeper – whereas those of the Cairo pyramids are based on simple ratios of the sides of right-angled triangles.”

Anna looked impressed. Tom shrugged. “I did some homework on them a while back, that’s all.” He smiled faintly.

“Why? Do they know why these are designed in this way?”

Apparently it’s to do with gravity. Because of its smaller size, Mars obviously has a lower gravity than the Earth, and so structural loading per square metre is less by comparison. It’s interesting to note that the first smooth-sided pyramid built in ancient Egypt, at a place called Bahshur, was originally built at the precise angle that these are,” Tom pointed towards the sloping sides of Zeta Three. “Halfway through its construction it was known to have collapsed, because the underlying structure was unable to support the weight above. That’s when they had a rethink and reduced the angle by around fifteen degrees to what we see today. That’s why it’s known as the ‘Bent Pyramid’. Apparently, by the time the Giza pyramids were built, the architects had learned a few lessons, and the angle was increased again to around fifty-one degrees, but they could never achieve these proportions.”

Anna looked back through the windscreens and marvelled, hiding her slightly confused expression.

Tom made an inverted ‘V’ shape with his hands and demonstrated. “Less of an angle, less material and therefore a reduced loading.” He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’ve got a friend who loves to explain all this stuff.”

Anna stood straight and looked up at Tom. “Apart from the physical dimensions, do you think there is any link between these pyramids? I mean those on Earth, Egypt and Mexico, and here . . . There have been a lot of rumours lately.”

Tom drew a deep breath. “The jury’s still out. And I’m undecided, Anna, to be honest. But Commander Reece – who was here a few years ago as the base Planetary Surveyor – made a study, and he is convinced that they were built by the same race of colonists. Maybe the ones here had the edge on technology. Or perhaps they were built this size for a reason. Who knows!”

“And the key we are about to print – what if that works?”

“Sorry to interrupt Commander,” said Lesley. “We are entering the . . . well . . . precinct, for want of a better description; it’s astonishing, look . . . You can imagine it as a busy marketplace or a venue for political rallies or something like that. To me it just brims with memories . . . what do you think?”

“I agree, Lesley,” said Anna, as she gazed outside again.

“There is an unusual ‘feel’ to the place, that’s for sure,” said Tom. “I’ve experienced it before.”

“This is the north side, Commander, where would you like me to stop?”

Tom checked along the side of the pyramid and saw at approximately two hundred metres the flight of wide steps cut into an otherwise smooth surface. “Over there,” he directed. “You see . . . at the base of those steps . . . that’s where I was before. Pull up there.”

Lesley acknowledged with a nod and a few moments later she pulled up adjacent to the steps and at a distance of around twenty metres. Paul, meanwhile, in the left-hand seat, had the best view through his side panel. Lesley, who appeared a little apprehensive, turned for Tom’s approval; she set the parking brake and turned off the electric drives when he gave her a thumbs-up signal and nodded back at her.

Veronica raised her hand from the rear console. “Line of sight on the satellite Commander,” she called. “I will wait for another two degrees of azimuth to be on the safe side, and then we can download the file – it’s a strong signal.”

“Very good,” responded Tom.

A moment of eerie silence descended over the cockpit, and as the occupants stared out at the inspiring but also foreboding landscape, a prolonged gust of wind blew between the farthest structures. It was powerful enough to whip up a mist of rusty brown sand and dust that in a flurry circulated around the plaza, spraying the PTSV with grit as it did. In an instant, and reinforced by another gust, the mist was concentrated into a dense cloud that twisted and tightened into a vertical column, and for ten to fifteen seconds its form resembled the funnel of a tornado with its base touching the ground. For a while longer the distinct shape squirmed over the ground and then darted off to the side and dissipated, dropping its load onto a dune that was piled against a pyramid. The impromptu display left everyone speechless for a time, until Tom said: “Dust devils and sand storms are frequent in these parts.” He remembered the one that nearly cost him his life.

“It’s a very abrasive environment,” commented Paul.

“Yeah, and the sand and grit gets everywhere. We need to maintain a good positive pressure inside tube when we open the airlock, otherwise it will blow in and play havoc with the seals.” Tom pointed outside again. “Even though the pyramids are almost a kilometre apart their funnelling effect on the wind is clearly evident. To make matters worse there seems to be a high concentration of maghemite in this area, so protect your helmet visor as much as possible Paul, when we are outside. Oh, and my last bit of advice is to be very careful on the platform – those gusts will lift you off your feet, no problem.”

Lesley sat for some time scanning the landscape whilst seemingly deep in thought. Occasionally, she glanced down at the instrument panel and checked the life support readings. They had enough oxygen for two weeks and with seventy-four per cent of the solar panels serviceable, the batteries were charging at an acceptable rate. However, water was good for only another five or six days. Eventually she stood and slid across to the left-hand seat and looked out at the steep flight of carved steps that were some three metres wide and precision-cut into the smooth but pitted surface of the pyramid. In places the dark, orange-coloured stone had suffered considerable erosion, such as rounded edges to the risers, and here a lighter shade of orange helped Lesley imagine what the pyramids looked like in their heyday. The lower steps were partially covered in blown sand, but upwards, tapering into the distance, they looked like a stairway to heaven.

Closer to the vehicle, an occasional gust of wind blew the sand from the paving stones, exposing a flat and highly polished surface that reflected in the sun’s glory, being only another forty minutes until midday. By skewing in the seat in order to look behind, Lesley could see the edge of a dark and ominous shadow that was cast by the towering Zeta Two pyramid. With the Martian day being only fractionally longer than an Earth day, the shadow had been retreating at a familiar rate.

In front and slightly to the right there was a raised area that was like a terrace, or perhaps a small civic square. Lesley imagined a dignitary standing close to the edge and addressing a huge crowd of . . . beings.
Had catastrophic and ruinous news been proclaimed here,
she mused –
the end of days?

All the same, Lesley sensed a strong feeling of melancholy about the place, as if a terrible event had taken place there. At that moment, Paul stepped between the seats and put a hand on her shoulder; it dragged her from her thoughts and she looked up. Squirming a little awkwardly inside his pristine white spacesuit in order to stretch out some folds in the thermal layer below. Paul then tugged at the roll neck of his blue cottothene undergarment, so as to bring it above the undersuit. “You okay?” he asked. “You know, sitting up here on your own.”

Lesley nodded and smiled weakly. “How high is that ledge?” she asked, looking outside again.

“About thirty-three metres apparently, and the platform is ten by twenty, according to the Boss.”

“Well you be careful . . . the diurnal winds are beginning to pick up – just stay away from the edge.”

Paul nodded. “Anna’s about to print the key, why don’t you come back and take a look?”

Lesley smiled and climbed from her seat. Paul leant across to the weapon control panel and set the parameters to maximum sensitivity and a five-kilometre range. Then he connected the weapon sensor loop to the fire control system and as he armed the pulse cannon he murmured, “Anything moving out there will get a nasty surprise.” Then he stood for a moment focusing on the scene outside, and on the ordered precision of it all and its symmetry. Dismissing a strangely morose feeling, he turned and went back.

“The formatter has programmed a number of restrictions into the file, Commander,” said Anna, looking up from her console.

Tom was halfway into his spacesuit. He shook his legs alternately and stretched his arms to pull out creases until he felt comfortable. He pulled up the white roll neck of his sweatshirt, adjusted the metal neck ring of the suit so that it was central, and then glanced at the data on Anna’s screen.