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Chapter Sixteen
They set off at daybreak, with enough provisions to last for four days, although Colin and Malcolm estimated that it would take them about ten hours to get there and perhaps eight hours back.
Megan had hardly slept during the night, and was as excited as could be when they took their leave of the base.
Malcolm was driving, and Colin assumed proprietorship of the engineer’s cubby-hole. Kyle and Kees Van der Ploeg, the young trooper he selected to accompany them, took possession of the upper observation area of the conning tower. Lindly and Francine took up residence in the crew quarters, setting up the cots and generally stowing the travel and observation gear in their allotted spaces. The kids, as kids were wont to do, roamed around inside the rover.
Malcolm fired up the engines, and watched the electronics display as the readouts advised him of the status. The fission engine was one of the latest developments of the huge Morgan Industries conglomerate back on Earth, and gave almost unlimited range to the vehicles equipped with its drive. The efficiency rating soared as it warmed, finally peaking at just below 90%, delivering almost 30,000 kilowatts. Radiation, inevitable for almost every fission engine, was minimal, with a rating of just 52.
It was roomy. About 25 feet long, by 12 wide and 8 high. The interior was compartmentalized, with separate cabins for crew living quarters, command and engineering. Forward was the command module, with the conning dome just above and behind the primary weapon, with nacelles for the weapons officer and electronics officer. Above them would be the commander, and below them, on either side of the central axis, the driver and engineer.
Below and behind the conning dome was the armory and equipment nacelle. The weaponry of the original unity rovers was just a variant on the standard issue hand weapons that most of the security forces had been allocated, with just a slightly longer range due to the higher muzzle velocity and the longer barrel. The armory contained some magazines of shells, attachments for the hand held pistols that converted the guns to flamers or projectile weapons, some percussive explosives and a couple of standard UN issue rifles. In addition to the weapons and ammunition, the spares included two complete replacement wheels, an assortment of spare panels and a rather sinister yellow heavy looking crate that said “DANGER - U235 - DO NOT HANDLE”. There were benches each side that could hold three troopers each.
Behind the stores nacelle was the fission engine assembly, with access from inside the rover. Up the stairs that Megan had climbed that first day was the crew compartment. This had four cots arranged in two sets of bunks, with the top two folding flush against the sides of the rover, and with an extractable table from under one of the lower bunks that folded out. There was a tiny kitchen range with an assortment of pots and pans, fed by a robust heat exchanger that took excess heat from the engine and converted it to power the stove assembly. Early designs had been equipped with microwaves, but after several crews had nearly starved to death in remote locations when engines flamed out, a more basic design was introduced that would work even if extracted from the vehicle and powered with wood or other combustible debris.
Dmitri and Marcel took turns at pretending to be the weapons officer. They sighted the gun on an imaginary target, and tracked it with the occasional “Whoom” coming from their lips as they pretended they were exterminating some imaginary enemy.
While the manuals said that a sustained cruising speed of 102 kilometers per hour was optimum in open country, Malcolm took it steady, at about half that pace. The giant wheels took the rocks and hollows in their stride at this cruising speed, and the maneuverability of the rover at this speed was impressive to Malcolm as well.
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Megan was soon bored.
She gravitated to the electronics nacelle and sat down at the console, with Petra hovering at her shoulder.
“Now don’t touch anything,” Petra said officiously. “You’ll get us into trouble if you do.”
“What trouble can there be?” Megan asked. “It’s only a big commlink.”
She twiddled the controls, and the unit lit up.
They were still within range of the Base, on a heading that was taking them due east, before turning north for the spire. That way they would avoid the large fungus fields that lay just north of the base and which encroached on the land right up to the edge of the lakeshore.
She surfed the channels hearing only static when suddenly there was a clear voice:
“…and we’ve stopped by either an ocean or large lake to the north of us. The peninsula continues to the northwest, but this seems like an ideal spot. Rocky enough to the east to support a good mining industry, and with ocean to the north and southwest and arable land to the east along the spit of land it’d be ideal.”
“It’s the Trekkies,” Megan said excitedly. “I’m picking them up.”
“Patch it through,” said Kyle.
Megan looked at the console. Easier said than done. ‘Patch it through,’ the man had said. How? That was the question.
She fiddled with the controls. Suddenly the cabin filled with static and noise:
“I got him, Sarge, I got him.”
“Good work, Higgins. Keep your eyes peeled, there’s more.”
THWOCK….THWOCK….THWOCK
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“Down, down. They’ve got Masterton.”
“Sarge, you’re painted. Got you. Drop out and go to the tent.”
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“Rats, I thought I was hidden.”
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“You were, but Susie got behind your lines unnoticed. Higgins, you’re painted too, drop out.”
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“Damn.”
Kyle chipped in:
“Megan, that’s an exercise back at base, can you patch me in now?”
‘Drat these requests,’ she thought. ‘I want to listen to Garth and the Trekkies’
She found the control.
“You’re on, Colonel Patrick,” she said.
“Stubby,” Kyle said. “Patrick here. Sounds like you were taken by surprise. Run through the drill again but with different positions and take more care this time. And good work Susie. You’ll make corporal soon at this rate.”
“Bloody hell, Colonel. How the heck were you listening in? We thought that you were on your way to the big steeple that the kids saw last week.”
“I am, Stubby. We’re just testing the range of the commlink on board. We’ve already picked up some signals from the Trekkies, so it’s pretty powerful. But get back to work. I’ll expect a flawless drill when I get back.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” was the Sargeant’s response.
“As you were Megan,” came the voice from the conning dome.
‘Now what the heck does that mean?’ she thought.
Whatever it meant, she roamed over the channels until she found the first one. This time it was a woman’s voice that they all immediately recognized as Lady Deirdre’s:
“…and name the base Lucky Autumn. Once you have the basic infrastructure assembled make yourself a terraformer unit that will let you concentrate on developing the surrounding terrain, then ensure that you have an adequate defense. How are the Elites?”
“Wonderful. That as a brainwave you had, I must say. Scanlon’s energized and is turning out to be a very able assistant to me. Takes his duties seriously. Made some key promotions yesterday that got him the respect of his troops.”
“Good. And Garth?”
“Yes, Dee?”
“Take care. I have a sense of foreboding about this Planet. An uncomfortable itch. It’s not all that it seems.”
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Marcel had the same feeling.
He had left Dmitri playing gunner and had gone to seek out Lindly.
“Not you feel it?” he asked in his fractured English.
Lindly put her hands on his shoulders and pulled him to the cot beside her.
“Share,” she said, tapping her head.
A look of comprehension came over his features.
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Lindly sensed the exploratory tendril of thought coming from Marcel, narrow and focused. His brow was furrowed as he concentrated on her alone, trying not to effect a wide broadcast. She reached with her mind and caressed the tendril, bringing it into her full consciousness.
He relaxed as he was aware that she had made contact, and that he didn’t need to try so hard now.
He rode the wave pattern that she had opened, and as she received him she felt the thought:
“stay open, I’ll link”
She waited, watching him, and gently reaching out herself to read what she could of Marcel’s mind. She wasn’t very good at reading, being more of a projector, as Deirdre had said some days ago. She found it relatively easy to project her thoughts to another, even to the extent of persuading them to do something that they normally wouldn’t do. Back in Scotland she had befriended an old lady who was outcast by her village. “Witch” they’d called her. She had the power to read and project, and had trained Lindly. Lady Deirdre had also visited her on occasion, and in fact that’s where Lindly met Deirdre and a friendship had developed that had culminated in Lindly’s joining the Unity as an assistant to Deirdre.
”They’re here. I’ll link now”
Lindly heard them. Thousands and thousands of whispers of wisps of thought. Unformatted, disjointed gibberish, coming from all around.
Her reverie was broken by the harsh voice of Lyle Patrick.
“At the crest of this next hill we’ll see the steeple. Malcolm reports it’s well within visual range now. We’ll have a super view if you kids want to come to the conn dome.”
Then from that direction Lindly and Marcel both experienced it, like a flame of thought burning through the morass of the thousands of cluttering mental chitterings:
”Welcome”
[This message has been edited by Googlie (edited May 15, 2001).]
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