by A J Marshall
Rothschild looked at Richard in a resigned way. “This is MI9, Richard. We are supposed to be a Secret Service department, not a circus – we don’t do ‘heroes’ here – everyone does their job.”
Richard raised his eyebrows. There was a moment’s silence and then he clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Peter, you are going to have to lighten up you know – or you’ll have a heart attack or something.”
Barely perceptibly, Rothschild nodded. “You left it rather late, don’t you think? That’s my only criticism. Canaveral timed the shuttle exploding exactly at the pod’s deployment altitude – not much room to manoeuvre, so to speak.” A smile flickered but was suppressed and Rothschild nodded again, this time a little more exaggerated. “Anyway, how was your trip?”
“Good thanks, very good in fact. They sent an aircraft carrier, the Eisenhower. It’s my very own nuclear-powered supercarrier. It was on its way to the Med . . . Yannick and I got off in Gibraltar – nice to see the old place again.”
Rothschild looked impressed. “Four days at sea – felt like you were back in the Navy, I expect.”
“Certainly did. Perfect for recuperation. Plenty of hot water, good food, good banter, lots of flying stories . . . loved it.”
Rothschild nodded emphatically. “Excellent. Well, you don’t need me to tell you that you did a good job, a very good job . . . the Prime Minister sends his regards.”
“Oh, that’s nice.”
“You have called Rachel, I trust? Am I still the devil reincarnated?”
“It’s not all fire and brimstone, Peter. And yes I did – on the ship’s SATCOM and again when I got off in Gib. She’s fine, looking forward to me getting home – there’s a lot to put right over there.”
“I expect there is, and I’ve awarded you two weeks leave . . .”
“Two weeks! I don’t think so. I’m having a month off minimum, even if I take some of my holiday allocation.”
“You have a squadron to command; let’s not forget your responsibilities.”
Richard thought for a moment. “The Royal Navy pilot I flew with,” he said. “Lieutenant Chris Quarrie . . . He’s applied for a resident’s permit on the Moon – and his partner, too. I’ve already written a report recommending the Lunar Senate accept his application. In view of his actions, it’s likely to be accepted. He’s very competent and has a nice way about him – he will make a Royal Navy Captain, there is no doubt in my mind about that. I’ll talk to Eddie Lieven – Andromeda’s Chief Operations Officer – into letting him stand in for me for a couple of weeks. It will be good experience.”
Rothschild shrugged. “Very well, I don’t have a problem with that – I can clear you for a month,” he replied.
“Thank you, Peter. I’ll do some moon-walking and have a few quiet dinners with Rachel – you understand.” Richard paused and looked questioningly at Rothschild. “Anyway, where is Laura Bellingham . . . ? I’ve never known your office without Laura.”
Rothschild glanced at Richard for a moment and then looked down, as if he was put out. He tapped a finger on his desk in a preoccupied way and then he looked Richard in the eye. “Laura was the mole, Richard,” he said, straight-faced. “She was passing information to local Spheron agents from right under our noses.”
“What!”
Rothschild nodded. “I always thought it was the Americans who were the problem . . . you know that . . . their SERON interface. But all along the leak was right here in this office.”
“How did you find out?”
“Abbey investigated the safe house debacle in Strasbourg. Very few people knew of that house, let alone its address and entry code. Abbey quickly pinned it on Laura, and when confronted she confessed.” Rothschild shook his head. “I blame myself for not seeing the signs. All those fifteen- and sixteen-hour days – she was always very conscientious, of course, but those long hours . . . even at the weekends . . . that should have made me suspicious.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She was giving her heating allowance to her ageing mother. Her own apartment was cold and damp, with no hot water and no cooking facilities. It was going on for some time.”
Richard’s eyes widened – he still didn’t get the picture.
“Oldest trick in the book – goes back to the Cold War,” enlightened Rothschild. “More than a year ago, Laura’s mother needed some expensive hospital treatment. Because of complications and the fact that she had already been treated privately – albeit unsuccessfully – it wasn’t covered by the Independent Health Service mandate. Clearly, the conglomerates had their feelers out. She was approached for some information in exchange for the medical expenses – they wanted unclassified information, easily available on the World Net, actually. Laura didn’t see any harm in it. Then her mother’s treatment became involved, more expensive. Spheron asked for additional information, only this time a little more ‘useful’ shall we say.” Rothschild tapped his fingers on the deck again. “They were clever, took their time . . . nothing too sensitive. Laura obliged. Then, of course, came the sting. Oil supplies were non-existent and they offered to fill her mother’s oil tank up when she left hospital. This time they wanted restricted information. After that she was hooked and it quickly became blackmail; that was a year ago.” Rothschild shook his head.
“Is she being charged?”
“I reported the matter to General Roper and apologised for my persistent challenges to their security model. He understood. A similar thing had happened to his friend – you will recall General Buchanan when you retrieved the first batch of crystals?”
Richard nodded.
“Anyway, in answer to your question, no . . . we have managed to keep a lid on it – she didn’t do it for herself, for God’s sake. And in a roundabout fashion she may well have helped – by us bagging Karl Rhinefeld, you understand.” Rothschild looked disappointed. “The Prime Minister sanctioned my recommendation in view of her service.”
“And . . . ?”
“Laura has gone to the ‘typing pool’; she will never be trusted with confidential information again. We have avoided detention and she remains employed – such a waste of talent.” He shook his head again.
Richard was saddened by the news.
“There is, however, some rather good news,” continued Rothschild, forcing a smile. “Humatrons extracted a forty-eight kilogram consignment of raw crystal from the same seam that the Hera’s crew were working – on the surface of Io, you understand. Their space vehicle was bound for the Moon. Had the attack on Andromeda been successful they would have landed there and the conglomerates would have had the best bargaining commodity in history. Instead, their failsafe plan was to hide in the asteroid belt.” Rothschild sat back in his chair. “I must say the Chinese Government has been extremely cooperative here. Their Special Forces moved quickly and decisively against Tongsei, effectively overrunning the Huang Hai Industrial State. They confiscated Tongsei’s entire computer network and found a great deal of very useful information – not least the coordinates where the said vehicle was hiding. The Humatron pilots have been instructed to continue their mission. In a few weeks they will be intercepted when adjacent to Mars. The Space Federation Council has agreed that a five kilogram consignment will be allocated to Osiris. Commander Race will reinstate the Petrified Forests of Elysium.” Rothschild’s expression brightened.
“Yes. Tom copied me in on his report to the Federation. It’s amazing what he found inside Zeta Three – such a civilisation; such a loss. And Zeta One and Two are much bigger.”
Rothschild nodded. “Using the translation programme that you helped devise a few years ago, the Osiris Science Department was able to interpret the records that were found. The results have certainly changed the way the Federation views Mars.”
“So we have come full circle,” said Richard, staring out of the window thoughtfully. “Reached the reason why Admiral Dirkot Urket left Earth in the Star of Hope. A resurrected ship . . . forgotten
skills; it was to take a crystal to that dying civilisation. What must have been going through the survivors’ minds that day – when they realised that they had no way of contacting the subterranean colony and their precious crystal was shattered.” Richard shook his head. “And the rest, as they say, is history . . . and how sad is that?”
Rothschild agreed. “I have to say that I did not know that the core of Mars is inert. It was in Commander Race’s report. The subterranean colonies here on Earth have the heat from our molten core to support their endeavours. It’s something that I had not considered, but Commander Race wrote that after their crystal burnt out, the Martian colony chilled very quickly.” He paused reflectively. “Anyway, with a new crystal soon to be installed the future is looking bright for the proposed expansion of Osiris.”
“You’re right, Peter, that’s good news. And what have the authorities done about Epsilon Rio and their cyber-technology?”
“Epsilon Rio is also being broken up. Like Spheron and Tongsei, most of their senior management have been arrested. There will be some long sentences I can assure you, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be in a high security prison in China or Brazil these days. And some more good news is that the Lunar Senate has requested high level talks with the Federation Council ASAP. It’s a move to develop closer ties and instigate mutual defence planning – it seems that their extreme isolationist policies may be a thing of the past. You might find that there is a good deal more cooperation between respective flight operation departments and defence directorates.”
Richard nodded his approval. “And what about the main reason for our meeting today, Peter?” Richard said. There was an edge of unease in his tone.
Rothschild stared at Richard for a moment. “Yes, of course,” he said, and looked thoughtful. “Listen. Whatever happened inside the Great Pyramid on the day EMILY was paralysed is not my concern. I don’t want to know what generated that solar flash, if indeed it was generated. To my mind it could have been anything – a meteorite, a reflection from a solar flare, even a piece of Space junk re-entering the atmosphere. God knows there’s enough of it in orbit. You will not find any mention of another crystal in my report, and outside this department nobody is any the wiser.”
Richard breathed a deep sigh. “Thank you, Peter.”
“No need,” replied Rothschild, matter-of-factly.
“And what about the Ark of the Light?”
“It appears to be lost . . . The conglomerates must have disposed of it. Dropped into the South China Sea or something similar, I expect – that’s what’s written in my report. I don’t think we are likely to see that relic again . . . do you?”
Richard smiled faintly. “No,” he said. “Gone forever.” Richard checked his chronometer. “Well, it’s time for my flight. A shuttle to fly me to the Moon – like the song.” Richard’s smile widened. “I’ll be seeing you, Peter – and thanks again.”
Richard stood and offered his hand. The two men shook hands over the table.
“I’ll be in touch,” was Peter Rothschild’s passing comment as Richard left the room.
CHAPTER 33
Memories of a Tropical Paradise
Moon Base Andromeda – Residential Unit 103
15 December 2055 – 11 months later
“Richard, there’s an eDiction from the Veloudis Fertility Clinic in Paris, asking if you would consider joining their donor programme again next year. I remember you mentioned something about this but you never told me that you had been there.” Rachel was speaking from the kitchen.
“Didn’t I? I thought I did,” replied Richard from the lounge, where he was playfully bouncing a young child on his knee.
“Well you didn’t. So tell me about it.” Rachel put her head around the door.
“When I attended the joint debrief and wash-up in the ISSF Headquarters – last January, towards the end of the month, if I remember correctly. It seemed an ideal opportunity. I took the train from Strasbourg to Paris. I was there for the afternoon along with forty other volunteers. There was a lengthy screening process and they eventually selected twenty-one of us for the donation programme. The advice I received was helpful to us, too, Rachel – if you recall. They told me that there were no physical problems as far as I was concerned. We had to relax . . . try at the time they specified in your cycle . . . it worked, didn’t it?”
Rachel stepped into the doorway and shrugged. “I recall something of it I suppose.” She walked across to the sofa, sat down next to Richard and smiled at the baby between sips of green tea taken from a white plastic mug. Richard put a hand gently on hers.
“By nature, the programme is completely anonymous,” he said in a reassuring way. “The donors’ identities are coded; the names are not available – let alone ever used. The samples are frozen; apparently they can last for a few months. The selection process is entirely random. You know that. Anyway, I was happy to do it – I felt I was helping someone in some way – as much as I possibly could within the constraints of our . . . Well, anyway, I’m unlikely to participate again – the logistics of it are too difficult.”
Rachel shrugged. “I understand; let’s not talk about it again – okay?”
“Forgotten . . .” replied Richard.
Andromeda Flight HQ – the next day
10:37 Lunar Corrected Time
“Richard! Peter Rothschild here . . . caught you in your office for once.”
“I like to be hands-on, Peter, as you know – not stuck behind a desk all day.”
“Yes, quite.”
“Anyway, how is London?”
“Much as always. No improvement in the weather, I’m afraid, and the exodus to subsurface living continues apace. At least we have enough electricity for everyone these days.”
“The new consignment of crystals – I heard about them.”
“Operating well above expectation – very good news I have to say. They seem to have a great deal more latent energy than the originals.”
“I don’t think that’s surprising, Peter. Not if you consider the role the original crystals played in our history . . . Eridu, Babylon, Atlantis, the Colossus of Rhodes, powering the Star of Hope . . .”
“Good point! Yes!” Rothschild paused thoughtfully. “Listen, I have some news for you. The planned expansion of the Martian colony has finally been approved by the ISSF Council. They expect to quadruple the Osiris Base real estate in the next three years and the expansion will continue from there. They are planning a population of ten-thousand by the end of the decade and one-hundred-thousand by twenty-seventy. With the rejuvenation of the Elysium plantations, food production appears limitless – they are even talking of aerating the atmosphere again. Perhaps we all might move there one day.”
“Nice thought, Peter, but I know you only too well. You wouldn’t call just to tell me that. There’s something else, isn’t there?”
“Yes indeed,” said Rothschild after a silent pause. “The Space Federation has already started recruiting. Your name has been mentioned – as a preferred candidate no less. I’m to inform you that there is a managerial position on the first wave – if you want it, of course.”
“Go on.”
“As Director of Surveying and Land Acquisition – you always wanted your old job back and so did Rachel. The position of Chief Medical Officer is coming up, too. I know Rachel has never really settled over there. There is nothing for her on the Moon, she told me that only recently.”
Richard shrugged. “Land acquisition . . . so it starts all over again – will we ever learn?”
“Hopefully we will do it better this time.”
“Another nice thought.”
“The Prime Minister has agreed to release you from your reserve duties with MI9, and the Federation has made it clear to me that you are their first choice. No one else with your level of experience it seems. The job’s there if you want it. Two months to pack.”
“What about Thomas?”
“That’s just it �
�� part of the deal. They want families with young children – babies over fourteen weeks can travel.”
Richard paused and considered the implications. “Is it a one-way ticket, Peter? Be honest.”
“They want permanent colonists, and that’s the reality of it. I suspect it is, Richard, yes.”
“Then we will take it!”
Later the same morning
“Commander Reece . . . Lieutenant Oliver here. I’m the Duty Officer on the front desk. You’ve another call from Earth – this time it’s on the private net.”
“Okay, thanks Peter, I can take it now. Who is it, do you know?”
“Didn’t say, sir.”
“Okay, put it through . . . Hello there, Richard Reece.”
“Effendi, it is I, Asharf Makkoum. I call from Cairo.”
“Asharf! What a surprise. Are you well . . . ? Madame Vallogia?”
“All is well, Effendi, very well. I have news!”
“News! What news? Go on!”
“I know Madame Vallogia would never call you, not even with such joy. Her pride and dignity would not allow it. So I call to tell you myself – it is our secret, Effendi.”
“Yes, of course. What is it Asharf . . . ?”
“The fertility treatment Madame was undergoing in Paris – it was a success. This morning Madame had a child . . . all is well . . . and there are no marks. Effendi . . . she has a beautiful baby.”
Richard leaned back in his chair and stared blankly at the wall. He could hardly believe what he was hearing.
“Effendi . . . ? Are you there . . . ? There is more!”
“Yes, sorry . . . I’m here . . .”
“Effendi, it is a girl! Madame Vallogia has a daughter!”
THE END
Queen Nefertiti
An image of Queen Nefertiti taken from the famous bust by the Egyptian sculptor Thutmose
Queen Cleopatra
THE MOON
Palus Putredinis
