Authors: Stuart Clark
Wyatt looked up just as Robert was finishing his comment and caught a glimpse of the scattered light speckled on his face. For an instant he looked more animal than human. The fleeting apparition sent a shiver down Wyatt’s spine.
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Deck five was a pleasant contrast to its higher-numbered counterparts. The corridors were brighter and the floor was solid. Robert and Wyatt turned off the main corridor and into a lengthy room that ran parallel with it.
Two men on the other side of the room dressed in white overalls rose from their crouched position and turned to face them as they entered. Between their legs Wyatt could see the cryosleep chamber that they had been attending to, like a cocoon set into the sloping wall. Someone had already been “put down,” as they affectionately termed it.
The chamber already had a thin covering of frost that glistened on the cover glass and obscured the individual’s face so that it appeared as nothing more than an orange ellipse. On the wall behind the chamber, a display was monitoring life signs in a series of colored lines which snaked their way backwards and forwards, some intermittently jumping across the screen while others slowly meandered.
“When do you plan to have the rest of my team loaded in?” Wyatt asked.
“Soon. Very soon. They have all been prepped, it’s simply a case of getting them in their chambers.”
“Uh-huh.”
One of the men in white overalls took the bag out of Wyatt’s hand and placed it in the hatch above an open chamber. “Ready when you are, Mr. Dorren,” he said, indicating the chamber.
Wyatt sighed. “Here we go again,” he said and began to take off his shirt.
When he was naked, Wyatt walked over to the chamber, handing over his clothes to the technician who placed them in the hatch with his other belongings while he climbed into the chamber.
Almost immediately the other technician began to apply electrodes to his body. One on each of his thighs, three on his torso, one on each arm, a pair on his temples and two on his scalp. He handed Wyatt what looked like a PowerDisc player’s mouthguard and a small rubber plug. The former Wyatt placed in his mouth and the latter he pushed up into his right nostril. The technician then pulled down a tube from somewhere above Wyatt’ s head.
“This is your oxygen, you know that,” he said. “Ensure that it’s comfortable before we close the chamber. You mustn’t touch it after we have inserted it and sealed you in. Understand?”
Wyatt nodded his comprehension. The technician then proceeded to push the tube up Wyatt’s left nostril before plugging the remaining gap.
“Comfortable?” he asked.
Again Wyatt nodded.
“Okay. Have a good trip and we’ll see you again sometime.”
Wyatt gave him a thumbs-up.
The other man pulled a gun-like implement from his breast pocket—similar to the one the nurse had used in the prep room—and pushed it into Wyatt’s neck. “Sleeping drug,” he said by way of qualification and before Wyatt could even utter a sound through the mouthpiece he felt a sharp pain.
The technician pulled his head out of Wyatt’s line of vision and the chamber’s cover glass slowly descended until the seal was made. He rapped on the glass as a final parting gesture.
Robert approached the chamber. “See you later, Wyatt!” he shouted although Wyatt could only just hear him. Wyatt attempted a smile and nodded politely. Robert and the two technicians turned and left the room.
The drug was taking effect already. Wyatt could feel his head drooping when suddenly he was aware of fluid on the soles of his feet, then rising through his toes until his feet were covered and up to and around his ankles. Slowly it rose to his knees, thighs and crotch area. It passed the level of his stomach and continued to rise towards his torso.
Wyatt felt panic rising within him. He fought to control it, reassuring himself that he had an oxygen supply. He closed his eyes as the fluid level passed them, and heard, more than felt, his ears fill, all sound suddenly dulled. When he was completely submerged he began to relax again. He breathed deeply and his heart began to slow.
As he calmed, the sleeping drug took a stronger hold and he was soon unconscious.
CHAPTER
5
70034.........70034.........70034. Alan had been looking at the number on his screen for at least two minutes and still its significance was not apparent. He was daydreaming again. Not daydreaming as such but deep in thought.
He had not seen Kate since the previous evening when he had put her into the care of a colleague and told him to ensure that she get aboard Wyatt’s ship. She was a lovely girl and he had grown quite fond of her in the few days she had been here, but her absence was not the thing that was eating at him. Alan had the feeling that something wasn’t quite right and it was something that he couldn’t definitively put his finger on.
Too many things just did not ring true. The doubt nagged at him.
One fact seemed to reinforce Alan’s ill feeling. Wyatt had not come to see him while he was here on the moon-base, and if his launch were scheduled for today then there was no way that they would meet before his departure. This was distinctly out of character for Wyatt. The pair had built a great friendship over the years that he had served at the IZP and, no matter how urgent the situation, Wyatt had always taken time out to at least exchange pleasantries with him. Why not this time? Another question to add to his rapidly growing list.
He called up Wyatt’s ship number on the computer. Bay 12. Alan took his jacket off the back of his chair and pulled it on as he walked out of his office. Bay 12 was going to be paid a visit and Alan Chambers was going to put his mind at rest.
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People flashed by him as the buggy sped along the launch bay access tunnel. Alan did not register who these people were or associate names with the faces. He was thinking about Wyatt. He imagined he’d pull into bay 12 and find Wyatt there, barking out orders about what was to go where.
A few of the engineers disliked Wyatt for his attitude but the ones who had served under Alan for years knew better. They respected Wyatt; he had survived many U.L.F. expeditions to destinations where others had perished. He had seen horrors that they could not imagine, and if he knew what he wanted and where he wanted it put, then they would simply obey. It was very easy for the young engineers to be nonchalant; they did not risk their lives at work every day.
Alan pulled to a stop outside bay 12 and watched as the huge metal door lifted in front of him, slowly revealing the hull of the
Santa Maria
. He had figured out what class of ship it was before he saw it in its entirety and he drove into the bay as soon as the door had opened far enough to let the buggy pass.
Alan got out and looked around for Geoff Buchannon. He spotted him by one of the huge legs of the craft, the red headset denoting his status as bay supervisor, singling him out from the numerous others who swarmed around the great bulk at the bay’s center.
Geoff was a young man, at least, young as bay supervisors went. At twenty-eight years old he was already forging himself a great career in the moon-base engineering division. He was in conversation with two of his engineers when Alan interrupted, “Geoff, may I have a word with you, please.”
“Sure, Alan, what is it?”
Alan looked at the other two men before looking back at Geoff. “In private, please.”
“Give me a minute, will you?” Geoff asked. Alan nodded.
Geoff finished giving his instructions to the two engineers before sending them away to their task. He turned to Alan, “Now, what can I do for you?”
“Well, I was hoping to say a quick hello and goodbye to an old friend but now I’m even more puzzled. Why is Wyatt going away in the
Santa Maria
when
Voyager
III is sitting in bay thirty-seven, ready to go and not chartered? We both know that the
Voyager
is a better ship.”
Geoff grinned, a wry smile, “Who are we to reason why? As I understand it, this is only a routine mission anyway. There’s no need to send out the
Voyager
. Why spend more than necessary? You know how tight budgets are around here.”
“But Wyatt would have asked for the
Voyager
if he’d known it was available, and he would have got it—sod the expense! Who’s authorizing this?”
“Robert Eller. He said I was to report to him personally regarding all aspects of this project.”
The name added more fuel to the fire of Alan’s suspicion. Robert Eller, Mannheim’s nodding henchman here on the moon-base. “Is Wyatt around? I’d like to speak to him.”
“Sorry, Alan, he was put down earlier this morning. I saw a couple more of his crew come in since then but I think they’re all loaded aboard.”
“Okay, thanks, Geoff. Thanks a lot. I appreciate your time.” Alan’s voice trailed off.
“Is something wrong, Alan?”
“No, no…No, nothing at all.”
Alan turned and retraced his steps back to the buggy, Geoff watched him with a frown. The buggy lurched away with a screech, leaving two black snaking lines on the floor of the bay in its wake, passed under the bay door and sped away out of sight.
On his way back Alan began to wish he had never taken the trip to bay 12. His train of thought was following tracks that constantly brought him to answers he didn’t like. Firstly, if Wyatt had known that
Voyager
III was available he would have insisted upon having it for his expedition. So, if he did not have the
Voyager
, this could only mean that he was unaware of its availability, which meant that someone was keeping that information from him. Secondly, the cost of sending the
Voyager
over the
Santa Maria
would be negligible so whoever was keeping that information from Wyatt was up to something. That someone was Robert Eller or perhaps, ultimately, Mannheim.
Thirdly, the
Santa Maria
was launching from bay 12, one of the furthest bays from the main engineering concourse. This would mean that hardly anyone, apart from the team associated with bay 12, would be likely to go there. Therefore no one would see the
Santa Maria
being prepared for an expedition while
Voyager
III stood unused in another bay.
And finally, bay 12 was under the supervision of Geoff. Recently promoted and eager to please, he would gladly follow orders without question. Perhaps Geoff was a party to the deception that Alan suspected, a nice payoff for a job well done. Perhaps he had always been in league with some of the more unsavory characters assembled at the moon-base and this was the explanation for his rapid rise through the engineering ranks.
Alarm bells were ringing in Alan’s head.
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Five minutes later Alan was back in his office. His computer still displayed Wyatt’s flight details. He touched the screen for more information. Destination: Ionen Prime. That checked out. The computer had told him this when he’d been looking to assign Kate to a mission. Why was this right when so many other things appeared to be wrong? Apart from a bad feeling, Alan had nothing to go on. There was only one more thing to check out: Destination Coordinates.
Alan touched the screen again. He did not know the exact coordinates of Ionen Prime but he had a rough idea. The cursor on the computer ran across the screen leaving a trail of letters behind it that read “Flight co-ordinates for the
Santa Maria
are:” and then the cursor stopped and just sat there flashing as if the computer was reluctant to reveal this particular information. The screen wiped and the cursor appeared in the top left hand corner of the screen, winking dutifully next to two words: Access Denied.
Alan frowned. He ran through the procedure again, thinking he had made an error in his request but again the computer threw the same message back at him. Access Denied.
But this is crazy!
Ionen Prime’s coordinates were not classified information. Any pilot could probably reel them off to you off the top of his or her head.
Unless…unless Ionen Prime was a cover story. If Wyatt’s flight coordinates were classified then Wyatt could not possibly be going to Ionen Prime, and if he was not going there then where the hell was he going?
Alan’s immediate thought was for Wyatt, and then he remembered Kate. “Oh, God!” he said.
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“Can you hack into the mainframe?”
Lloyd looked up from his monitor at the intrusion, his spectacles reflecting the screen to give him two square green eyeballs in his lenses.
“Is a comet a huge lump of ice and stone that cycles periodically?”
“What?” Alan stepped further into Lloyd’s office. Lloyd was a genius but sometimes too cryptic for his own good.
“Don’t matter. Of course I can. It may take a little time but yeah, I can do it. Why, what’s up?”
“I don’t know and I’m not sure I really want to know but I don’t have much time. I need to know the flight coordinates of the
Santa Maria
—Wyatt’s ship.”
“But you should have access to that information from your computer.”
“I know, I should, but I don’t and that’s what bothers me. Something’s wrong, Lloyd. I know it, but I don’t have proof. That’s why I need your help.”
“Could this cost me my job?” Lloyd asked suspiciously.
Alan shrugged. “If we uncover something I fear it will involve some senior people.”
Lloyd thought about it for a moment, then smiled. “I’ve never been one to turn down a challenge.”
Lloyd immediately began a series of procedures, his hands caressing both the screen and the keyboard, sometimes so fast that Alan could barely read the messages that the screen was displaying before they were whisked away again.
Lloyd loved computers; they had been his whole life since high school. This was his niche. He’d learned practically every computer language there was to learn and for his graduate project, he had actually developed another. For his PhD thesis he had written a revolutionary program that would, if a computer with enough memory could run it and the particle assemblers could be obtained, teleport solid inanimate objects composed of one material. The first, tiny step towards teleportation, a concept that had festered in man’s mind for centuries, had been taken.
Unsurprisingly, Lloyd had been headhunted after he had been awarded his PhD. He’d had jobs in numerous IT departments until eventually he’d found himself on the moon-base developing software for all sorts of things, as far-flung as fully automated docking systems to security systems. It was the latter which qualified him as a hacker. If there was a back door into the system, then Lloyd would know all the cheats to find it.
“I’ll just check to see if I can’t get the coordinates from here. Not that I doubt you, Alan, but you may have a problem with your access.”
“Sure, sure…whatever.”
Alan watched as Lloyd ran through the same procedure that he had done earlier—and was rewarded with the same message. Access denied.
Again Alan watched as Lloyd typed furiously at his keyboard. He was frustrated now. Frustrated because he did not have a single shred of evidence to prove that Wyatt’s mission was anything other than routine, and frustrated because here in this room he was impotent, just watching as Lloyd went about the task at hand.