Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series)

by A J Marshall

  Tardier wasn’t listening; he was skimming the surface, laying waste to another section of robots. Suddenly there was an explosion. Richard couldn’t see if Tardier’s ship had been hit or if the shockwave from the explosion had forced him down, but the result was the same and his Delta bellied onto the ground. Immediately, Tardier lost control and his ship gouged a long, deep trench that curved left in the last two hundred metres. The Delta’s winglets cut off the legs of several robots on its way through, until it finally came to a halt five hundred metres behind the robot’s line. Richard saw Tardier jettison his canopy and he saw Humatrons moving quickly towards him. Immediately, he commenced an attacking run and emptied his magazines on anything that moved within one hundred metres of his colleague. That was all he could do and as he overflew Tardier’s stricken ship he pulled a turn to the left. But he had an idea.

  There was one relatively intact Humatron force still moving on Andromeda, but they were being corralled into a narrow column by ground forces and strategic placement of land mines. Sporadically a mine exploded, reminding the Humatrons of the extremities of the battle line. Richard circled in a low, extended circuit that took him behind Andromeda’s main complex. When he was south by three or four kilometres he rolled his ship level and on a north-easterly heading, and raced directly at the buildings. He dropped ultra-low-level. Sand, dust and debris eddied in his wake.

  “Thanks for your help, Thomas – now hold on,” he said.

  The buildings loomed in an instant and Richard checked back slightly on his control column in order to skim overhead. When he saw the robots he instinctively altered course by a few degrees to run their centre line. Humatrons at the front of the column sensed the danger; they screeched their warnings – perhaps even their fear. The barrage commenced – obliterate!

  Richard checked forward – just enough. For five hundred metres the Swiftsure skimmed the ground so close that the underside scuffed the ground. And then he closed the thrust levers and bellied the ship. It was like a ten pin bowling alley and Richard went for the strike. He was a juggernaut smashing through traffic. He ran them down. The winglets were guillotines. He severed their intent; body parts cast aside like old imperialism.

  Richard truncated or decapitated almost the entire Humatron platoon. Eventually he skidded to a halt well inside their battle line. When all movement had stopped he reached for the canopy emergency jettison handle and wrenched it. There was a flash of explosive tape and instantaneously the canopy was blown up and backwards.

  “Out . . . out!” he called to Thomas and released his harness. But as he was about to climb from the craft, a shadowy figure stepped up from behind and Richard felt two mechanical hands gripping his shoulders. The pain was intense. Suddenly and bodily he was lifted clear of the cockpit and then thrown onto the ground several metres away. He was stunned and shook his head.

  When Richard came to his senses and looked up, a Humatron was striding towards him with spiny hands outstretched. The machine’s face screen morphed into a hideous death mask.

  Richard climbed to his feet but was easily knocked down again. The Humatron leant over him pitilessly and then lifted Richard by his helmet until his legs dangled, before finally throwing him aside. This time Richard’s visor was distorted. He saw stars and then his vision clouded. Then he felt himself being yanked upwards. His suit gathered under his neck and his chest was squeezed. For a moment he hung there, waiting for the killer blow. His time was up.

  Abruptly he was dropped – unexpectedly released to land in a heap on the ground. Richard climbed to one knee. His head cleared and he looked up to see Thomas locked in combat with the Humatron. They threw each other to the ground, raining down indiscriminate blows; it was an even but terrible fight. Thomas’s screen face came and went with his effort, but the Humatron pulled the most repulsive and gruesome expressions and its teardrop-shaped eyes glowed with sadistic satisfaction. Richard climbed to his feet and cast his eye around for a weapon; he found a Lurzengard pistol lying in the dirt with the severed hand of a Humatron still gripping the handle. Richard prised the mechanical fingers open and immediately turned the weapon on the Humatron – only to see that a second machine had set upon Thomas.

  For a moment, stunned, Richard watched in despair as Thomas fought off both, but it soon became apparent that he was losing the struggle. Richard saw one of the machines tear Thomas’s right arm from its socket and cast it aside. At that, Richard dashed forwards screaming and opened fire with the revolver, pumping scores of sublets into the first robot’s back. He ran to the side and shattered the Humatron’s face screen with another volley. Finally, the machine dropped and Richard kicked out at its head. The other Humatron released Thomas in an instant and went for Richard. Richard turned the revolver on it, stepping backwards to give himself time, but he tripped and fell. The Humatron stared at Richard for a moment with an expression of savagery and hate and then it lunged forwards, first knocking the pistol from Richard’s hand and then, with a wild swinging backhand, smashing Richard to the ground. The towering machine was quickly upon him. It lifted its leg to stamp out Richard’s resistance, but suddenly Thomas, from behind, pulled it down.

  Another inhuman struggle began, but Thomas, with only one arm, was quickly overpowered. Richard scrambled for the pistol, grasped it and rolled clear and then he opened fire again as the Humatron smashed its claw-like heel down on Thomas’s extended neck. Richard continued firing. In desperation he pumped until the magazine was empty. The Humatron ceased its uncontrolled shuddering and seemed to compose itself, then looked down, first at its perforated chest, and then slowly up at Richard. It extended its neck to a metre or more and peered down from on high, as if judge and executioner, and seemed to take amusement, even delight, at Richard’s helplessness. Then it stepped over Thomas’s stricken body, and like the Grim Reaper, moved on Richard.

  Richard threw the empty pistol at the Humatron’s face but it calmly moved its head aside. It continued towards him with extermination on its mind. Richard considered running but knew that would be futile; so he stood to fight and prepared for the worst. Suddenly the machine was cut down by a hail of fire from the side. After several seconds the sublet laden carcass crashed to the floor. And then, from out of the grimy mist and the debilitating dust of battle, stepped two storm troopers. Wearing armoured suits with large helmets and utility belts, and holding serious machineguns, they stepped forward like alien warlords.

  “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 pow
er!”

  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, st
epping 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.”