by A J Marshall
Richard sat on the edge of Naomi’s bed. He touched her face lightly with his hand and she woke up. He looked kindly at her and smiled. “How are you feeling?” he asked.
Seeing Rothschild, Naomi shifted, seemingly a little embarrassed. She sat up slowly. “Much better thank you.” She looked up into Richard’s eyes with a tender gaze and put a hand on his; there was affection in her way.
“Peter says that you are a remarkably resilient woman,” continued Richard. “You’ll be back on your feet in a day or two.”
Naomi nodded and smiled again, apparently pleased with the compliment. “Our union, Richard,” she said. “Was it fruitful? Were there memories of the crystals? Did you find what you hoped?”
Richard’s eyes darted towards Rothschild and then back again. Rothschild took a step closer.
“We will talk about that when you are rested,” Richard said.
Naomi realised his motive and changed the subject. “How is your headache?” she asked.
“Disappeared after a dose of Asperamin and a good breakfast, thanks,” Richard replied with a shrug. Then he paused thoughtfully, took Naomi’s hand in his and looked into her eyes. “Listen, Naomi, I need your help again,” he said, as if rapt. “I’m sorry but this is vital.”
“If I can, I will, you know that.”
Richard nodded and leaned towards her. “Tom Race has found an impression of a hand on one of the Elysium Pyramids on Mars. He thinks it might be a key to a door, a way inside the pyramid. From a recent experience, I think he could be right.”
“Yes . . . and?”
“I think it’s the same key that you use to enter the Temple of Osiris, Naomi. Your own hand . . . don’t you see . . . because of who you are!”
“My hand . . . on Mars – surely that cannot be?”
“The key is part of your ancestral line, Naomi, passed genetically from generation to generation. You told me yourself that the old people settled on the ‘red planet’ as well as the ‘blue’. If we had a model, a duplicate of your hand, with all its nuances . . . your fingerprints, the grooves, the lines . . . then Tom could try it. Just think what he might find inside those structures. I’ve seen them – they’re incredible. Much bigger than the pyramids in Cairo.”
“But Richard, if such a model existed, then anyone could enter my temple. My secret would be lost and therefore my birthright.” Naomi shook her head.
“I’ve already thought about that. Osiris Base could manufacture the model in Deromutine. It’s a protein gel that hardens for a few hours after mixing and then subsequently dissolves – even for less than a few hours when exposed to particular gasses in the Martian atmosphere. The material just becomes slurry and then evaporates. I often used it on surveying duties as a timing medium. Tom will have time to try the model in the recess. If it works and the door opens he can make other arrangements to keep it that way. The model would then dissolve. I’ll write specific eFormation into the programme so that only one copy can be made, and also only a 3D copier primed with Deromutine can be used on Mars. The signal will be transmitted in code by the Accelercom and so could never be intercepted. Your secret will remain within this room, I promise you that.”
Naomi thought for a moment. “I trust you, Richard,” she said, and nodded her approval.
Richard half-turned to Peter. “In the next day or two, Peter will arrange for a 3D scanner to be brought to your room. Asharf can operate it – it’s just pressing a few buttons – but don’t forget, we will need the maximum definition setting.”
“I’ll remember, Richard.”
Richard nodded his thanks. “I’ll let you get back to resting now – I’ll see you.”
As Rothschild turned to leave, Richard leaned further forward and kissed Naomi’s forehead lovingly and then again on the side of her face. He squeezed her hand in his and held their palms together for a moment. Only Naomi knew what he meant. “When you and Asharf get back to Cairo, be sure to go and see Professor Mubarakar . . . okay? Say you will,” he said, insisting.
Naomi nodded and Richard winked back at her, and then he followed Rothschild from the room.
As they walked across the landing, Rothschild asked: “Are you not going to tell her where you are going?”
Richard glanced back. “She already knows.”
CHAPTER 25
World Wars
“Richard! Wake up! It’s me!”
Peter Rothschild strode into Richard’s bedroom.
“What . . . er . . . oh, come on . . . ”
“It’s a Red Alert!”
The part-opened door allowed a stream of light to flood into the darkened room from the landing. Richard stirred in his bed and then came to his senses.
“Red Alert – at five-twenty!”
“What the hell difference does the time make,” said Rothschild, turning on the bedside light.
“You’ve got ten minutes to get dressed.”
“Ugh, what is it then? What’s happening?”
Rothschild paced the room and turned on the bathroom light and then he threw Richard’s clothes onto his bed. “The Moon is under attack . . . full scale assault. Started an hour ago, we’ve just heard – the Freight Terminal has already been overrun!”
“What! By who?”
“Nanobots, robots, you name it . . . mechanicals!”
“Nanobots and . . . What kind of robots, Peter?”
“Humatrons! A bloody army of them by all accounts! It’s the conglomerates, a concerted attempt to take control – they want the Moon as their centre of operations.”
“Shit! Rachel! I’m up! Get a car round . . . five minutes!”
As Rothschild left the room, Richard shouted: “Call the Spaceport. I need that Swiftsure class fighter prepared immediately – and any other support they can muster!”
Richard sat in the back of a limousine as it raced towards the Spaceport. He had felt the cold of the morning and its dampness on his way to the vehicle and had asked the driver to raise the temperature in the back considerably. He blamed his unusual susceptibility on a lack of sleep. Except for the occasional commercial vehicle that sped past – going in the opposite direction for a city delivery – the road was empty of traffic.
Later, outside suburbia, where the rising mist thickened above a rural landscape, only the penetrating brilliance from their own vehicle’s headlights gave notice of a purpose. Disaster loomed but the world still slept, Richard mused. A double sweep of the windscreen wiper blade wrested him from his thoughts.
Richard shifted impatiently and uneasily in his seat and considered the implications of such an attack. If the conglomerates took control of Andromeda and the Moon it would be disastrous, ruinous, probably the end for many here on Earth. They could run their illicit operation as untouchables. And an army of Humatrons . . . it didn’t bear thinking about. His thoughts turned to Rachel and his eyes narrowed. If anything happens to her, he concluded, someone will pay . . . He typed an abrive into his pager and sent it to Rothschild. It read:
15 minutes to arrival. Have Lieutenant Quarrie and other pilots meet me on the line for a briefing. All ships full fuel. Maximum munitions load. Targeting parameters will be downloaded from MILSAT.
Call me ASAP.
Richard reached up and switched on the vehicle’s speaker system as the call came in.
“Reece here!”
“Richard. Peter, got your message. The Swiftsure is ready.” Richard heard raised voices in the background and then Rothschild came back to him. “For God’s sake . . . the Federation says that this situation is completely unexpected . . . I should have pressed my concerns earlier . . . believed the RVers!”
“What’s the situation?”
“We have serious problems! Strasbourg’s Defence Wing, Sentinel ‘C Flight’, has been called to action, but they have only five serviceable Delta Class fighters and as many pilots . . .”
“What! From a squadron of twenty-one! That’s ridiculous! Give me an update – everything you k
now.”
“Andromeda lost their entire air force in the first forty minutes of the attack and their defence force is collapsing in disarray – they didn’t have much of an army in any case. Their defence planning has been structured and implemented based on an attack from Earth . . . coming from space . . . not an established force already on the ground.”
“How big is this attacking force?”
“The latest from Intel is that they have established a Forward Operating Base on the dark side, not far from the North Pole, and with a heavy defensive shield. Two Delta Class fighters were lost pressing home an attack – the Squadron Commander was in one of them. They must have been on the ground for several days because the Commander reported seeing a temporary airstrip before he went down. They have small, agile fighters of an unknown type, flown by Humatrons, and they are using the strip for short take-off and landing operations, thereby increasing their fuel and weapon payload. Richard . . . this is a very well-orchestrated attack . . .”
Richard shook his head; he thought of his good friend and colleague, and Sally, his wife. “They have two small children,” he murmured.
“Are you there?”
“Yes! Copied, Peter . . . but how big is the ground force? What are we up against?”
“The Federation Defence Council is analysing video footage taken by external imagers around the Freight Terminal – before it was overrun. Apparently, the highest imagers have an uninterrupted panorama to the north and north-west. They also have footage relayed from their last high altitude UAV before it was shot down. They have counted seven platoons of at least fifty machines, which subsequently split into two forces in order to advance on Andromeda in a pincer movement . . . and there are these Nanobot things . . . insects!”
“Three hundred and fifty Humatrons! That’s a full scale robot offensive! It’s war over there! And tell me about these insects . . .”
“Ant-like in construction, resilient, between one and two centimetres long, highly destructive, tens of thousands of them by all accounts – ‘flooding over the ground like a huge silver oil slick’ was how they were described.”
Richard knew instantly what Peter was recounting. He himself had been in a life and death situation with such Nanobots – in a harbour-side warehouse in Adulis four years earlier. Devised by Epsilon Rio, they were exact electromechanical replicas of African driver ants with long, curved, razor-sharp metal alloy mandibles that were capable of cutting through steel plate. Spacesuits would be shredded in an instant. He shuddered at the thought.
“How long can they hold out . . . ? How long have we got?”
“Intelligence just coming in indicates that three platoons are positioning to make a simultaneous attack from the south. Because of the terrain, I’m told that the distance involved is approximately one hundred and fifty kilometres. The Humatrons are on foot but moving quickly. They estimate a sustained attack on two fronts in approximately four hours – but it could be less. Another platoon has broken away from the main force, but Intel is unaware of its position or primary target at the moment. However, outlying communications are going down rapidly, so it’s likely to be a hit-and-run detachment. Richard! Everything we are doing is dependent on how long Andromeda’s defence force can hold out. They are telling the Federation a few more hours, but that could be optimistic. If the attacking force gains control of Andromeda, and thereby the colony’s space defence shield, we will have lost the Moon!”
“Are there any command or control transmissions emanating from the Earth? I mean, is the conglomerate control centre here?”
“No! The Federation has already confirmed that. They have used the satellite sensor ring – there is no contact. The Humatron force is pre-programmed. It is operating entirely autonomously.”
“Damned Level Seven systems, Peter – it had to come!”
“Is there anything I can do? I have a direct line to London and Washington.” Rothschild’s voice was almost drowned by the background commotion.
Richard thought for a moment. “Yes! Get me a priority phone patch to the Commander of Sentinel Wing in the Cape – we need to coordinate our attack.”
“Colonel Winton speaking . . . Sorry, I’ll have to call you back!”
“Doug . . . wait . . . Richard Reece here, Commander of Andromeda Wing. I’m in Strasbourg, on my way to the Spaceport.”
“Richard! Long time! This is a bad thing. Listen, we are about to man-up – haven’t got a lot of time.”
“Understood. I’ll be leaving shortly with a six-ship. You open to suggestions?”
“Sure as hell, yes! I’ll listen to any ideas. Full scale assault on the Moon . . . never been done before – nothing to go on.” Doug Winton had a marked Texas drawl.
“How many ships have you got?” Richard asked.
“Twenty-seven.”
“What!” Richard had anticipated at least fifty fighters to be available. “I was expecting you to call double that,” he countered.
“Damned defence cuts, Richard. The last strategic review cut our numbers in half. They say planet Earth no longer requires a sizeable defensive capability – statistically the threat from outer space is minimal, no on-going requirement . . . damned bean counters. And then we’re spread thin as ice when something happens. Gee, those politicians, they never learn.”
“Do you know what you’re up against?”
“I know they’ve got fighters – type unknown. The figure I get is fifty of’em. And an impressive ground force with anti-spacecraft capability. We are outnumbered, but I sure as hell hope not outgunned – it’s not going to be a picnic over there . . . we’re gonna take casualties.”
“What about the S2s?”
“They’re fitting out a number of shuttles with assault pods over on the west site. Not sure how many – somebody mentioned five. And there’s a general recall out for the Special Forces. You’ll need to speak to Command HQ for more information.”
“Okay, copied. Doug, tell me, what time do you estimate being in theatre?”
There was a pause. “Three hour flight time at maximum velocity . . . I’d say eight thirty-five, Lunar Corrected Time. Yeah, we’ll hit them at eight thirty-five!”
“Would you consider splitting your squadron in two?”
“Go on, I’m listening.”
“Your first section to descend over the Sea of Imbrium and run in from the south-west, initial course zero four five degrees – keep the Apennine Mountains tight on your right . . . not below four hundred feet. Second section to approach from the east, over the top of those mountains but fifty Ks further north – close to but south of Mount Hadley – heading two seven zero degrees. The peaks reach up to fifteen thousand feet in that area; keep low for a surprise attack – say not more than sixteen thousand feet?”
“And you?”
“This is the latest intelligence, Doug . . . The Humatrons have a two-pronged attack strategy – a pincer movement towards Andromeda from the north-east and the south-west. Their south-westerly force is moving quickest, using the rille Rima Hadley. As you know that valley is orientated in a north-easterly direction and it terminates on the Palus Putredinis. From there it’s only thirty Ks to Andromeda. For orientation, the Apollo Fifteen landing site is approximately sixty Ks east. Doug, listen, we have to kill that force in the valley – upwards of one hundred and fifty machines – otherwise they will be knocking on Andromeda’s door within an hour of emerging onto the Putredinis plain. Then they will spread out and become very difficult to target. The force from the north-east is using the rille Rima Fresnel to traverse the high ground; that’s a more sinuous valley and their movement is hampered. We can move onto them next.”
“You telling me you guys are gonna drop into the Rima Hadley valley?” There was a moment of hesitation from Doug Winton.
“That’s it . . . six abreast . . . it’s the only way,” replied Richard. “They are using the valley as cover from aerial attack, as well as it being easy underfoot.”
&nb
sp; “But the valley floor is only a K wide and the sides tower up to, maybe, one thousand three hundred feet! That’s pinball alley, Richard – at any speed that is not survivable!”
“That’s where you come in. I’ll lead my section down the middle, as fast and as low as possible. On the first strafing run I hope to surprise them from behind and get a good result. But I’ll need all the top cover you can give me, to keep their fighters off our backs . . .”
The driver stared at Richard’s reflection in his rear-view mirror and gasped.
“I’m being told that their fighter tactics are orientated to be more defensive than offensive. That means they will be like bees around a honey pot. To confirm . . . you want my guys to come in from the south-west and the east and we meet over the top of the rille?”
“That’s it. I will transmit transponder code Alpha six six four as we sweep down the valley and switch to code six six five just before engaging the Humatrons; that way you will know exactly where we are in the valley.”
“It’s gonna be tough,” concluded Winton.
Richard drew a deep breath and rubbed his brow. “The machines have planned their strategy well, Doug,” he replied solemnly. “And they have the advantage of the terrain. I know that area like the back of my hand. It’s the only way to make an impression, and by that time we may have some of our own troops on the ground. What do you say?”
“See you there, Richard, you can count on us. My call sign is Red One.”
“Thanks. I’ll use Black Formation – Black One. I’ll be in the only Swiftsure class in the fray.”
The limousine screeched to a halt outside the squadron building. Richard was inside in a flash. The Duty Officer, a young man, stood up.
“Commander Reece . . . someone is waiting for you, and, er, a robot?”
