by A J Marshall
It stood tall and assessed the threat. It looked first at the PTSV, and then over at Tom, its eyes all the while glowing, as if on fire. Buckled around its right thigh was a grey-coloured holster and, protruding from it, Tom saw the butt of a pistol. Its attention momentarily diverted, the machine briefly glanced over its shoulder at the sun and subsequently, and almost surreptitiously, it edged around so that the voltaic panels on its back and head pointed towards the far off orb.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
“You had better get back in the buggy, Commander.”
“Get ready with the pulse cannon.”
“I am, but I wouldn’t count on it . . . not a target like that.”
Nominating Tom as the closest and easiest objective, the robot half-crouched, raised its hands and spread its bony fingers – adopting a threatening posture, much as a large cat would before pouncing on its prey. To Tom’s dismay it began edging towards him. There’s something about this machine, Tom thought, especially compared to what I remember. It moves freer, like an animal, like a human, with the swivelling knees joints, the articulated hips, and the flowing motion – and then the face . . . ?
Tom retreated tentatively until he backed into the buggy; all the while the machine advanced. It moved slowly and cautiously and Tom could see its face screen flickering and strangely blurring as it alternated between vaguely recognisable human expressions to a sensor-like display where its programming updated parameters and reassessed hazards.
Tom’s heart raced. Had anyone been paying attention to the pulse rate monitor in the PTSV they would have seen an orange light illuminate, indicating a ninety per cent increase over his nominal resting index. He felt a surge of adrenalin increase his breathing rate and a primal need to simply turn and run – but he thought better of it. “You had better take the shot . . . this would be a good time . . . don’t worry about the flash,” he uttered over the radio.
Paul tracked the Humatron using the manual sight; the robot was a clear target. Nevertheless, the pulse cannon was not designed for relatively small, agile targets such as humans – or a robot; he would only get one chance. Lesley Oakley sat pensively in the pilot’s seat. She was ready to engage the power drive should they need to move quickly. Anna and Veronica stood behind them, mouths agog.
Tom gingerly lifted his left leg into the foot well of the buggy’s right-hand seat. With that, the Humatron sensed what was happening, and still with twenty-five metres between them, slowly began unclipping the strap that held the pistol in place.
“I’m going for it,” announced Tom, with his heart pounding. “Programme a bias, for God’s sake aim in front of it, in case it . . .”
But Tom did not have a chance to finish his instructions, for the robot suddenly leapt towards him. In an instant, Tom was in the buggy. The machine was intent on a kill; it pulled the pistol from its holster and raced forwards.
“Now! Now!” Tom shouted.
The robot had covered more than ten metres when Paul loosed his first shot. He missed, but the sparking, neon blue charge passed between the two figures and caused the Humatron to skid to a halt and momentarily reassess the threat. This was all Tom needed and, already seated, he stamped his foot down on the accelerator pedal and pulled away, whipping up a cloud of sand and dust in his wake.
Paul reloaded without delay but the machine took off after Tom. It accelerated at a similar rate to the buggy and then opened its legs into a headlong sprint, the speed of which had Lesley gasping as she watched the chase unfold. Tom was quickly making sixty kilometres per hour and edged to seventy. The buggy’s electric drive trembled and whined with the effort. Vibrating wheels began to shudder and the vehicle bounced uncontrollably over the undulating terrain.
Running to the side of the streaming dust cloud and at an amazing pace the Humatron began to close on Tom. In full flight it held up an uncannily steady hand and fired a shot from the bulky pistol. Tom was bouncing in his seat with the movement of the buggy and, miraculously, the sublet ricocheted off his helmet, but now Tom knew what was coming and he dodged and jerked and swerved and evaded.
The robot loosed another shot and then another and another, each barely missing Tom’s body and helmet. In the havoc, he heard and felt a ricochet close to his right ear. In response Tom swerved more violently, but this reduced his overall speed and the robot quickly closed the gap between them to just five metres. Tom strained to look over his shoulder, eventually twisting awkwardly to catch sight of his pursuer. Instantly, and with just three metres separating them, Tom shouted for support: “Now would be a good time!”
“I can’t get a shot in Commander; I can’t see it. The dust . . . !” Paul screamed.
Tom needed a break, a way out, and very quickly. In the confusion he tried to think. He swerved again. He could feel the robot bearing down upon him. “Does the automatic fire control system have a lock on the buggy, Paul? Tell me!” he demanded. There was extreme anxiety in his voice.
The robot edged closer; opportunities narrowed. Only a space of about two metres separated them now. The buggy’s electric drive screamed with the effort. Paul checked the sensor screen. Another sublet whizzed past Tom’s head and instantaneously raised a puff in the sand in front of the buggy. Tom ducked, squirmed and twisted and drove like a bat out of hell. Another sublet penetrated the back of his seat. It missed his body, but Tom felt a sharp punch against his ribs. A hole was ripped open in the dashboard. Tom desperately slewed left and right and left again, avoiding some random boulders; the machine merely took them in its stride, jumping clear.
“Yes . . . I say again . . . affirmative . . . we have an automatic acquisition . . . but the buggy . . . You’re in the bloody buggy!”
“Paul! Do as I say!” yelled Tom, his voice vibrating and difficult to understand. “Engage the automatic target enhancement; let the system lock on. I’m the target . . . tell me when . . . !”
By this time the robot was alongside the buggy. Tom fortuitously caught sight of it in the corner of his eye and ducked as a powerful left-handed swipe caught the top of his helmet – another had him cowering in his seat. Instinctively, he swerved to the left; it was an aggressive and wildly skidding manoeuvre that momentarily gave him ground and left the robot trailing. But the machine was only lost in the dust cloud for an instant.
“Do it! Do it!” Tom shouted.
“Engaged . . . it’s done . . . the system has you . . . a positive lock!” Green lights flashed in the PTSV.
“When I say, Paul, you fire: no buts, you fire . . . Understand?”
“Ready!”
At that moment the Humatron appeared in Tom’s peripheral vision – at the edge of his visor. But this time it was on the left-hand side of the buggy. The mechanical brute was alongside again in an instant; it stared at Tom with callous red eyes and its powerful legs pumped so fast that they merged into a blur. Tom was flat out but still it edged ahead.
Wide-eyed and terrorised, Tom was running out of options, and then, to his horror, the Humatron leaped to its right and caught hold of the buggy. In the aggressive move it lost a metre or more but had managed to pull itself onto the equipment rack behind Tom. It was out of sight but Tom felt the buggy’s electric drive complain and slow and the rear suspension drag under the additional weight and he knew the Humatron was aboard.
“Now!” he screamed. “Now!”
By then, however, the robot had a hold of Tom’s suit. It grasped his shoulder; Tom felt the bony grip tighten. He knew he had only a couple of seconds at most and kicked out with all of his might, pushing himself from his seat with an effort charged by desperation. The robot lost its hold and Tom ejected himself from the buggy.
In an instant he felt his back impact the ground and he slid and skidded and grooved the sand, feet first.
A micro-second later, the buggy exploded.
The vehicle erupted into a hazy blue ball and was engulfed. Almost in slow motion, it disintegrated. Tom dug his heels into the
sand; his back was being pummelled.
Then he lost it and began tumbling and blackness engulfed him.
Moon Base Andromeda – simultaneous
“This image was taken during the thirty-three second window of operation of the sensor array, just before the blackout. Sensor Serial Number Zero Two Six captured it looking east. Sensor Twenty-Six is part of the northern system, close to the pole, sir. Herbie Smith in the Freight Control Centre saw it by chance. He says it looks like a spacecraft in one of his gaming programmes. I have taken the liberty of sending the image over to the guys in Space Control for analysis, but nothing back at the moment.” The woman’s chair was on wheels and she moved aside to allow the two men a closer look at her screen.
Lieven leant forward and stared at the vessel for some time – it was saucer-shaped and hovering just above a ridgeline. His eyes were wide with surprise and curiosity and then he stood straight and looked Dimitri in the eye. “If I was to make a guess, I would say it is a UAV, but one with self-defence capabilities. Look, that’s a sonic initiator on the port wing stub.”
Dimitri nodded. “You could be right, Chief; there is no visible cockpit. But Unmanned Air Vehicles are normally deployed for intelligence purposes; there is nothing to see on the dark side – only the sensor array field.”
“Maybe that’s it. It could be relaying information on the sensor coordinates. If it’s a scout vehicle, it would not be capable of the damage we have sustained . . . which means something else is out there.”
“So you think sabotage?”
“Without the sensors we are blind to what is happening on the other side, and we have no directional information for our defence systems. For aerial defence planning, we used a redundancy calculation of two sensors down out of every three, and we utilised a triangular-shaped installation pattern; it seemed appropriate at the time. We never envisaged a total blackout caused by ground operations. That’s an entirely different scenario!”
“An assault on our defences . . . but that is not possible! By who . . . ? Why?”
“By God we need to find out, Dimitri, and quick! At this moment we are exposed. I am going to inform the Council.”
The Asian woman spun around in her chair and looked up with an anxious expression. “Just a moment, sir, please,” she interjected and raised a hand to hold his attention. “Message coming in from Nick Rose in Space Control.” She paused and listened to a voice through her earpiece. “He has some results. He says that based on several items of installed equipment that they’ve recognised on the craft it appears to have a wingspan of four metres and a comprehensive surveillance equipment fit . . . including a high-aspect imaging device and accurate Doppler ranging equipment . . . It also has an integrated, long-range transmitter. He says . . . that he has analysed the antenna dimensions and design and calculated the most appropriate frequency band of operation. He tuned into the specific frequency; it’s very high, apparently, and not one normally used for communications . . . There is a continuous two-way flow of binary information from Earth . . . but he says it’s coded . . . he can’t make head or ta— . . . he can’t understand it, sir. He says that they are working on it and will get back to me.”
For a moment the entire gathering stood speechless. Chief Operations Officer Lieven’s expression blackened, as if an ominous raincloud had gathered over his head. “Dimitri!” he barked. “Call the Andromeda Wing Squadron Commander,” he ordered. “I want an S2 manned and ready for take-off in one hour. Postpone all other dark side operations until we know what’s going on over there. Get me some imaging from the next satellite pass . . . and what is the fighter count?”
“IROSAT is down, Chief – sorry, I did not have time to make mention. Its orbit became unstable at the same time as the sensor overload happened. The Duty Ops Manager shut it down; she is working on a recovery. Regarding fighters . . . manned, we have eighteen Delta Class, five in maintenance, seven Phoenix, two in maintenance and one Swiftsure; as for unmanned, we have twelve Trojans, but four in maintenance. That was the round-up from yesterday evening’s security meeting. I was on my way to this morning’s brief when I was called, but I can get an update.” Dimitri paused; he looked uneasy. “Regarding Commander Reece, I have to report he is still on secondment.”
Lieven’s face boiled. “Call London, call Strasbourg, call whoever you have to. I want him back immediately. Find out where he is and send a fighter to pick him up. Make it the Swiftsure.”
“But Chief, we agreed with the British that . . .”
“No buts, tell them!” With that Lieven stormed from the room. “Prepare four of the Trojans for a reconnaissance mission and put the Fighter Wing on alert!”
The Plain of Elysium – a while later
Tom laid his hands over his face in an effort to shield his eyes from the bright ceiling lights. Mentally, he forced himself to focus in on what had happened and he tried to recall the last few moments before he lost consciousness. After a while he began massaging his temples; he had been lucky and he knew it. Realising where he was, he sat up and blinked repeatedly. He supported his head in his hands for another minute or so. He felt beaten and bruised.
“So, Commander, you’re back with us,” said Anna, pushing back from her console and swivelling around in her chair in order to lay a reassuring hand on Tom’s shoulder.
“How long was I out?” he asked.
“Three hours, but your vitals indicated that you were actually in a stable sleep pattern for the last hour. You were knocked unconscious by the fall and suffered a mild concussion, but otherwise you’re in one piece – it could have been a lot different.”
“Yeah, I’d say . . . and the Humatron?”
“Trashed . . . along with the buggy and your suit and helmet. You will have to use the spare set.”
“Where are we?”
“We haven’t moved yet. Paul thought it better to let you sleep. He’s been outside and completed a recce and is keeping a watch now from the cockpit – in case anymore of those machines return. Everyone’s been busy. We are going to eat something first and then you can make a decision on retrieving Tanner – I’m very sorry, Commander, but he’s dead.”
Tom nodded sadly. “I thought as much. Pulled inside by that monster, he wouldn’t have had a chance.” Tom shook his head. “Okay, we retrieve his body first, get underway and then we eat . . . agreed?”
“It’s your call, Commander.”
Tom struggled with Lee Tanner’s body, eventually lowering him down feet first from the open hatch. The precarious angle of the module had raised the lowest rung of the access steps well clear of the ground and Paul Carr waited beneath the craft to take hold of Tanner’s legs as he came down. When Paul had the dead man’s weight, Tom turned and went back inside the capsule to study its controls and instrumentation. There were no seats as such, just three slightly inclined standing stations, each with heavy shoulder and waist harnesses. For the Humatrons, the g-forces associated with breakout velocity and re-entry were insignificant.
Tom noted that the technology was state-of-the-art and two of the display screens utilised new generation Quasar 3D-imaging that Tom had read about in his monthly science review but had never seen. He knew that the Epsilon Rio Corporation had pioneered the development of that specific flight control system, and impressive it was too. There was a general hum of electronics and it was clear that the power demand of the small craft was high, accounting for the concentric rings of solar panels outside and the capacitors and batteries that were integrated into the floor pan. Probably uses some form of high-yield Iridium battery, Tom thought, for operations during the night and when the sun’s obscured. There was also a dedicated charging station for the robots. The main computer displays were blank. However, off to the right, on another console, there was a single screen that glowed with an image. Tom stepped carefully across to the console, taking care to keep a handhold as he moved across the angled deck – he was surprised at what he saw.
“Paul, ca
n you hear me?” he asked.
“Three by five.”
“Where are you?”
“Just made it to the PTSV.”
“Copied. When you’re inside, try a call to Base Ops on the HF, will you? Obviously we head back home, but I want a rendezvous halfway with the medical support vehicle. If they leave promptly and make good time we can meet in approximately twenty-four hours on the Utopia flood plain. We get Dan the help he needs ASAP and transfer the body. Then we turn around and make a beeline for the pyramids, particularly Zeta Three. From what I’m looking at, Zeta Three is their reason for being here. And that’s not all . . . I’m looking at images that I recognise of the main entrance to that pyramid – a massive stone door. It’s on an elevated platform and there are close-ups of inscriptions and pictograms in the same area.”
“Will do, Commander, just opening the portal; I’ll be inside in a moment,” Paul replied.
Tom found the scroll button on an adjacent keyboard arrangement and in the semi-darkness flipped through several other images; his eyes widened further at the sight of each. Through his intercom he heard the faint grunts and heavy breathing of physical effort as Paul manhandled Lee Tanner’s body into the airlock. And then, after a moment’s quiet reflection, he looked for a computer interface – somewhere that he could access the mainframe with his suit’s own memory storage device, albeit of limited capacity. He found two ports in close proximity. The first was circular and relatively large – about the size of his gloved thumb. This was clearly where the Humatrons gained access to the module’s central computer and downloaded information and instructions. The second was much smaller, common and usable, being of the USD format. This would be the port used by the computer installation engineers and maintenance operatives.
The keyboard arrangement operated in a logical sense and, after Tom had plugged in a short lead that extended from the wristband of his suit, he proceeded to download all the images on the open file. Finally, he took a cursory look around the capsule. To him it felt as if he was standing in an alien ship, so destructive were the intentions of its crew. With nothing else of obvious interest and time pressing, Tom cautiously climbed through the hatch and onto the outside structure. He edged around the ascent module, climbed onto the lower re-entry construction, slid down, and jumped the final metre onto the sand.
