Five hours. Time for something to eat. He sat down on the ice, his suit immediately warning him that heat loss had increased dramatically, adjusting the internal thermostat to compensate, and reached for one of the nutrient injections at his belt, fumbling with the controls to introduce it to the auto-med, a faint pin-prick as the chemical mix hit his bloodstream. That would keep him going for a little while, a few days, at least, but it was no substitute for a real meal. Just a little kick to make sure that he stayed on his feet a while longer.
He looked out at the horizon, taking the ice-laden beauty of the landscape in for the first time, the towering pinnacles of ice, jagged cuts in the surface that seemed to sweep forever, the starlight shining and gleaming as he had never known before. It seemed wrong, somehow, to subject such beauty to the atrocities of war, but he hadn’t been the one to start a fight on the planet. Though he didn’t know what else he could have done when the enemy hover-car. attacked.
For the tenth time, he went over the battle again in his head, trying to work out what he had done wrong. He couldn’t have predicted that they would launch a missile strike, dramatic overkill given the situation, given the threat they were facing, and given the potential consequences of such a massacre. Alamo would have had a good shot of the whole affair, and so would the fleeing shuttles up above, racing to get clear of the shock-wave from the titanic nuclear detonation they’d unleashed to send Salazar on his way.
Frowning, he called up the mission timeline again. If everything was going according to plan underneath the ice, then Salazar and Foster ought to be at their target by now, preparing to return to the surface, with another nuclear detonation scheduled for nine hours at a different exit point. One a good thirty miles from his location.
It was a desperate plan, and all involved knew it. Everything had to go right if they were going to pull it off, and so far, everything was going wrong, very wrong. With a sigh, he rose to his feet, then spotted something out of the corner of his eye, disturbed ground less than a mile way by the side of one of the few rocky outcrops, an island in the endless icy wastes. Throwing on maximum magnification, he quickly realized what they were. Graves.
With a deep, mournful sigh, he walked over to the outcrop, rifle in hand, grim determination on his face. So it was to be revenge, rather than rescue, after all. He started to run through ways of destroying the dome with the equipment he had to hand, a scant handful of grenades and ammunition clips, no deterrent to a determined officer.
Finally, his thoughts growing increasingly dark, he knelt beside the nearest mound, carefully scraping away the snow to expose the body within. The corpse was buried close to the surface, and it took only a few minutes to clear enough to recognize the face.
It was the face of a stranger.
Quickly, Cooper moved to the next one, this one wearing a jumpsuit, a gaping, frozen wound on his chest. A United Nations jumpsuit. He looked from mound to mount, counting twelve bodies. The standard complement of the design of surface installation that he’d spotted from orbit. Someone had murdered the crew of the dome, dumped them out in the wilderness, and taken their places. Likely using electronic trickery to mask their identity, their voices.
The not-men. It had to be. And his people were their prisoners.
Rising to his feet, he walked towards the dome, cold determination in his eyes as he walked towards his target. The jamming made more sense now. The not-men had already proven themselves masters of such technology, and the only way he could contact Alamo – and Kolchak, for that matter – to warn them of what was coming was to destroy it at the source, which had to be the surface installation.
Horror gripped his heart as he realized that his men were almost certainly dead by now, likely sharing the same fate as the murdered crew of the installation. He couldn’t afford to let that influence him. Hundreds of lives in orbit now depended on what he did next. And potentially millions beyond, should the not-men succeed in whatever they were planning. They had to have some scheme, something in mind for the two ships in orbit, and whatever it might be, he was the last, best chance to prevent it.
Rifle in hand, he walked across the landscape, no longer caring whether the enemy detected him or not. He’d have stood out easily in the icy terrain in any case, and the only explanation that made sense was that they wanted him to come to them, either to spare them the effort of a time-consuming search or with some other effort in mind.
Rising over the crest of a titanic sheet of ice, he saw the dome ahead, golden and shining in the darkness, a pair of shuttles waiting on the launchpads, ready to lift. One of them could provide him with an escape route, should the not-men permit. He paused, frowned, and reached for his communications controls again, trying to log into one of the two ships, hoping to use their equipment to boost his own.
Locked out.
They were getting far too good at manipulating Terran computer systems. United Nations Intelligence had provided them with some equipment, but they had to be receiving training from someone else now. Another mystery to solve later on. His backup plan in ruins, he reverted to his original goal. Vengeance. It was almost the only thing he had left, now.
He spotted the hover-car., resting on the ice, a pair of guards standing on either side of it. The range was extreme, but just possible, and he raised his rifle, lining up the sights with the nearest of them, the bullet in the barrel gathering data for visual recognition, ready to make the adjustments for wind, pressure and gravity that could make an instant marksman out of a fool, and prepared to take his shot.
Then, before he could squeeze the trigger, the guard moved, racing to the side, his comrade following. He ranged around his sight, and spotted the cause, a figure wearing a United Nations uniform, sprinting into the wilderness. An all-too familiar figure. Moreau. They’d capture her in a moment if he didn’t intervene, though for a second, doubt stayed his hand. This could still all be a trick, designed to lure him in.
If it was, though, he was probably as good as dead in any case. There wasn’t much that he could do to stop them killing him if they truly set their mind to it, and Moreau was the only hope he had of gathering the intelligence that might yet win the day. He ranged his rifle around, lining up on one of the pursing guards, and keeping his breath steady and stable, he squeezed the trigger, a loud crack echoing from the gun as the bullet raced towards its target, slamming into the faceplate of the figure. The plastigrass cracked, air leaking out in traces at first, then exploding in a shower of shards as the not-man, visible now at last, collapsed to the ground.
One down, one to go. He looked around for the other one, ranging with his rifle once more, and found him heading back towards the dome, likely ready to dispatch reinforcements. A second bullet disposed of that, the on-board computer knowing enough to reach for the vulnerable points in the life-system on the guard’s back, sliding through the air and catching its target, the primary air manifold, causing it to erupt in brief flame as the unit exploded. The not-men had chosen concealment over armor, and both had paid the price for that poor decision, a smile creeping across his face as Moreau raced towards him, instantly detecting her savior in the ice on the perimeter.
He looked at the airlock, keeping it lined up in the scopes. Another advantage of the design the enemy had been forced to use was that it was not meant for combat operations. Only one airlock, one way in or out, and he was able to keep it covered at all times. They were trapped inside. Except, of course, for the gaping hole at the heart of the floor, carved into the ice to allow the submersible access.
“Cooper?” Moreau asked, panting for breath. “I thought you were dead. We all did.”
“All?” he asked. “There are others still alive?”
She nodded, and replied, “Everyone they captured. They’ve been questioning all of us, me especially.” At his frown, she continued, “I was the ranking officer, remember. I think I’d just about outlived my usefulnes
s, so they put me in an airlock.” A smile crossed her face, and she added, “They thought they’d stripped out all the spacesuits.”
“You had one hidden?”
“Always do, just in case. I don’t think I’ve ever put one on quite that quickly, though. I honestly didn’t think I was going to make it, but when I saw you up in the distance, I figured it was worth a chance.” Glancing back at the compound, she added, “I’d thought of heading for the shuttles, but they’ve disabled the launch mechanisms.”
Nodding, Cooper said, “Tell me that you have a working communicator.”
“Jammed,” she replied. “I thought of that already. They’ve done something to our systems inside, and I presume that’s what’s creating the jamming field.” She paused, then added, “They killed everyone in the base.”
“I know,” he replied, gesturing to the rear. “I found their bodies back there.” He paused, then asked, “What about the submersible crew?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Everything was fine when we left the base to look for you, but I guess the bastards must have been hiding somewhere. If my team and I hadn’t gone to recon your position, I reckon we’d be lying in the snow as well.” Looking at his rifle, she added, “Any spare weapons?”
“Nope, and I’ve only got five spare clips for this one. Four frag grenades, two smoke. Not much to storm this little castle. Disposition of enemy forces?”
“Ten of them in the dome. Four soldiers, heavily armed, six technicians. All of which know far too much about how our systems work.”
“Blame United Nations Intelligence for that,” he replied. Turning to her, he said, “Though I presume that you know something about that, or you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place. Which means, I think, that it is long past time that we had a little conversation.”
“The dome...”
“Can wait for a moment. The not-men aren’t going anywhere. I suggest we compare notes, and work out at least some sort of a plan. Right now all I’ve got is a mad suicide charge while you throw snowballs as covering fire. I think between the two of us, we can probably do better than that.” Cracking a smile, he continued, “At least, I damned well hope so.”
Chapter 19
Orlova cycled the lock, surprised to see a dark corridor beyond, the security cameras all turned to point at the wall. She glanced back at Harper, who shrugged in reply and followed her inside, the hatch slamming shut behind her. Footsteps echoed down the long corridor, and at the far end, she saw a pair of figures approaching at the march, both of them wearing United Nations dress uniform. They stopped just short, staying in the shadows, and the figure on the left turned to a panel and entered in an access code, sealing the pressure bulkhead behind them.
“You’ll forgive me for a greater than usual level of precaution, Captain,” Clarke said, “but I think it justified in the circumstances. Let’s just say that your reputation more than precedes you, as does that of your Lieutenant Harper.” Turning to the left, he said, “Major Jon Riley, my senior aide. And someone I trust implicitly.”
Harper pulled out her datapad, and said, “I concur. No known connections to United Nations Intelligence, graduated fifth in his class, allergic to shellfish, collects antique plastic bottles.”
Riley frowned, and said, “You know about that?”
“We try to keep ourselves well informed about the habits of potential enemy officers. Congratulations on the promotion, by the way.”
“What promotion?” Riley asked.
Clarke turned, a smile on his face, and said, “I recommended you for promotion to a command of your own when we get back. I hadn’t heard back when we left, but I guess Lieutenant Harper’s information is more recent than mine.”
“Now that we’ve established our bona fides,” Orlova said, “I think we’d better get down to business. I presume that we can’t be overheard by anyone on the ship?”
“Officially,” he replied, “I’m in my cabin right now. As is Major Riley. And your shuttle was just a sensor glitch.” His face darkened, and he said, “The technician who decided not to report that you were trying to contact us has been dealt with. He won’t be a problem any more, I can assure you. Though I confess I don’t understand how an enemy agent could have got so deep.”
Glancing at Harper, Orlova said, “I’m about to commit a serious violation of my orders, but under the circumstances, I think it more than justified. A few months ago, we came under attack by an unknown race, an offshoot of humanity that our medical team call homo sapiens novus.”
“We call them the not-men,” Harper added. “Rolls off the tongue a little better.”
“We fought them off, and Alamo was sent on a secret mission to follow their trail, hopefully to discover their intentions, gather intelligence for a potential attack. Among the information we have already gathered is that at one time, they were being assisted by United Nations Intelligence.”
Harper pulled a datarod out of her pocket, and tossed it to a disbelieving Clarke, saying, “All our evidence is there. I’ve sanitized it to remove some things that you don’t need to know, but you should have enough on there to make for a pretty convincing case if you can get it to the right place. My assessment is that a faction in UN Intel decided that they might be able to use the not-men as cat’s paws, but they found they had a tiger by the tail instead.”
“You’re telling me that our own intelligence agencies have been infiltrated by these things?”
“I’m afraid that’s precisely what I’m telling you. We’ve been operating on the assumption that elements of our own command networks have been contaminated. Almost nobody knows that we’re out here, or why. Officially, we’re on a long-range exploratory patrol, and I suppose, in a way, we are.” Orlova looked coldly at Clarke, and said, “I’ve told you why we’re out here. Your turn.”
Riley glanced at his commander, and said, “I think we can tell you a not dissimilar story, Captain. And I’m to blame, in a sense. Two of our remote outposts came under attack five months ago, wiped out with no survivors, as though they had never been there at all, but with some evidence planted that suggested the Triplanetary Fleet was involved.”
“I can assure you…,” Orlova began.
Raising a hand, Clarke interrupted, “I know, I know, and even the hotheads in the Security Council had to admit that it looked like a set-up. Though for public consumption, we had to make quite a bit of noise about it, I’m afraid. We were sent out here to investigate, and to try and work out who was attacking us. We’d assumed that it was your Cabal...”
“Not ours,” Orlova pressed.
“But there was no evidence of that.”
“That’s where I came in,” Riley said. “I noticed that both of the worlds attacked had something in common. They’re both archaeological sites, and neither had ever been explained. There didn’t seem to be any connection between the two, but this world was close to them both, and we’d heard some reports of unknown ruins on the moon, so we came out here to investigate.”
“You thought this would be the next target,” Harper said, nodding in approval. “Not a bad idea. What about the surface operations?”
“Coincidental. We launched some deep probes, cover for our mission. Ostensibly, we were on a scientific expedition, but I don’t think that anyone here actually believed that for a second. Then we found the structure, buried deep under the ice. The Witch in the Well, I think they called it. Naturally, we decided we had to take a look.” He paused, then asked, “Just how much do you know about it?”
“Not enough.”
“Our first readings suggested that it was a source of almost unimaginable power, Captain. A resource that the Security Council immediately ordered us to secure, no matter what the cost. Hence the submersible. It’s the first chance we had to take a good look at it.” His face reddened, and he continued, “I must confess I didn’t expe
ct you to steal the blueprints. And the nuclear explosion came as even more of a shock.”
“We couldn’t think of any other way to crack the ice in a reasonable amount of time,” Orlova replied. “And we couldn’t exactly warn you.” Taking a deep breath, she added, “I have to know this, Colonel. Did you order the attack on my team?”
Glancing at Riley again, Clarke said, “Captain, we’ve had no communication from the surface since the submersible launched. Someone has set up a jamming field of some kind. I presume it isn’t your people?”
“Not under my orders,” she replied. “My team were operating under instructions to stay well clear of your installation. They just had to set the bomb and get out of there.” Glancing at her watch, she said, “We’ve got to set up a second one in the next few hours if our submersible is going to make it home. Do you intend to stop us?”
“No, but I don’t think that’s my decision.” He paused, then said, “Captain, I think we’ve both come to the same conclusion about what is happening down there, haven’t we. The not-men, as you call them, have taken control of our installation. Might even have their own people on that submersible. The only explanation I can think of is that they’re trying to start a conflict between our two governments.”
Shaking her head, Harper said, “Unlikely at best. It might raise tensions somewhat, but neither of us will actually commit to a war, not as things currently stand. It’s our ships they are after.”
Nodding, Orlova added, “A fight between the two of us would be pretty damned close. While I think we’d win…,” she paused, smiled at the expression on Clarke’s face, and added, “...it would result in serious damage to my ship. I’m certain that you believe that the reverse is true.”
“It would hurt,” Riley admitted. “Probably sufficiently that we’d have no choice other than to head home, get ourselves repaired. They’d have to send another ship...”
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