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    Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma
    Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma
    Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma
    Ebook552 pages8 hours

    Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma

    By Philip Bosshardt

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    About this ebook

    Mars is being terraformed. A revived Red Hammer cartel has access to the archives of an extraterrestrial race. They’ve managed to divert an asteroid intended for Mars toward Earth...and they’ve issued an ultimatum. Looks like Quantum Corps has its hands full again. Major Johnny Winger leads his beleaguered nanotroopers into combat, on battlefields across the globe and the solar system, and inside the world of atoms and molecules. Third episode in the Tales of the Quantum Corps.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPhilip Bosshardt
    Release dateJul 9, 2014
    ISBN9781310564437
    Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma
    Author

    Philip Bosshardt

    Philip Bosshardt is a native of Atlanta, Georgia. He works for a large company that makes products everyone uses...just check out the drinks aisle at your grocery store. He’s been happily married for over 20 years. He’s also a Georgia Tech graduate in Industrial Engineering. He loves water sports in any form and swims 3-4 miles a week in anything resembling water. He and his wife have no children. They do, however, have one terribly spoiled Keeshond dog named Kelsey.For details on his series Tales of the Quantum Corps, visit his blog at qcorpstimes.blogspot.com or his website at http://philbosshardt.wix.com/philip-bosshardt.

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      Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma - Philip Bosshardt

      Johnny Winger and the Hellas Enigma

      Published by Philip Bosshardt at Smashwords

      Copyright 2014 Philip Bosshardt

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      "In looking at Nature, it is most necessary to keep the foregoing considerations always in mind, never to forget that every single organic being around us may be said to be striving to the utmost to increase in numbers; that each lives by a struggle at some period of its life; that heavy destruction inevitably falls either on the young or old, during each generation or at recurrent intervals."

      Charles Darwin

      On the Origin of Species

      November, 1859

      PROLOGUE

      Summer, 2080

      Ten Thousand Feet Above the Hellespontus Montes

      Mars

      General Dao Wen-Hsien studied the terrain two miles below the long gossamer wings of the Archimede rocket glider and thought to himself: how much like Tibet this place seems…the mountains could be the Tien Shan and the plains are so sere and desolate...except for the rust and ocher sands….

      But it wasn’t Tibet. Paryang was twelve long years ago and Dao tried to block out the memory of all the rubble and destruction. Quantum Corps had destroyed Red Hammer’s main base at the monastery. The Keeper of the Sphere had been buried under thousands of tons of rock and debris. Cartel operations had been severely affected, almost stopped completely. They had lost billions in scope and twist profits, not to mention all the fabs that would no longer work.

      The cartel had struggled and limped along for several years, but without the steady stream of tricks from the Keeper, without the help of the Old Ones and their vast technical archive, Red Hammer had been unable to withstand a determined assault from Quantum Corps.

      By the end of the ‘70s, Red Hammer had almost ceased to exist.

      Almost. Dao smiled wryly as the great lip of Hellas Basin eased into view below them, a rounded bulge just nosing over the horizon. Dust devils twisted along the desert floor as Archimede banked sharply and began her long glide toward the dirt strip near the center of the great crater.

      He remembered a meeting the Ruling Council had held in Hong Kong, just two years ago. Zhong, Berensky, Kulagin, Souvranamh, all of them had been there. Souvranamh, the great Thai neuro-traficante, had brought them the startling news.

      The Keeper lives…at least a part of it still exists.

      They had all been incredulous, but the evidence was there for everyone to see. Somehow, in ways no one could understand or explain, the Keeper…the operating system of the Sphere that maintained the gateway between Red Hammer and the Old Ones, had transmitted a partial copy of itself to another Sphere, buried under the desert sands at Hellas Basin, Mars.

      Communication with the Old Ones was still possible, and more than ever, essential, if the cartel were to survive. But in order for the link to be opened up and stabilized, someone would have to go to Mars. Someone would have to couple with the Keeper directly and re-establish the link…reset the quantum channels, re-initialize the buffer and amplifier so that humans could talk with their distant mentors once more.

      Something’s wrong with the coupler, Souvranamh had told them. There’s a lot of static and drop-out. I get a few signals…nothing intelligible. But it’s definitely a Keeper signal. If we get one of us inside that Sphere, it should be possible to re-configure the link and open a channel.

      So Dao Wen-Hsien was chosen to make the trip.

      Dao watched the dusty sand dunes of Hellas rushing up at them. Archimede’s pilot battled some tricky crosswinds and floated them down to a soft skidding landing on the dirt strip at Hellas Station. With a grinding bump and a rooster tail of red dust, the rocket glider slid and skewed her way to a stop only a few hundred feet from the station complex.

      A muffled voice came over the cabin intercom. All passengers, secure for towing. We’ll be underway for about ten minutes. Please remain seated until I turn on the EXIT lamps. And remember, two people per airlock cycle and watch your first steps outside. Traffic control just informed me they had fresh dust storms this morning and the footing is loose. Captain, out.

      To the other passengers and crew of the glider, Dao Wen-Hsien was a Chinese meteorologist, newly arrived on Mars from UNISPACE to do research on the possible weather impact of the Green Mars Initiative, the big terraforming project that MarsFed had just approved. Dao had received permission from the Council to make the long trip to Hellas Station, to set up some special instrumentation, carried in several trunks in Archimede’s belly and monitor current wind, dust, and other conditions before the Initiative started radically altering the planet’s environment.

      Dao’s real reason for coming was quite different. The Ruling Council of Red Hammer had tasked him with locating the new Keeper of the Sphere, making contact, and re-configuring its quantum coupler so that the cartel could regain contact with the Old Ones.

      The rocket glider was towed by tractor to the station complex. From Archimede’s windows, Hellas Station was little more than a collection of dusty humps and a few cranes and other pieces of equipment strewn about the gentle rise on which the base had been sited.

      When the tow was over, each pair of passengers suited up and made the fifty foot hike through shin-deep dust to the lockout chamber on the side of Base Central.

      After putting his bags away, Dao attended an orientation briefing for new arrivals in the wardroom. The speaker was a ruddy, big-boned Texan named Hugh Spalding.

      "Listen up, ya’ll," Spalding boomed over the din of the meeting. He had a toothpick stuck in the corner of his mouth. Some kind of juice dribbled out onto his chin as he spoke.

      We’ll organize parties and details by specialty right after this meeting. Before anybody goes outside, ya’ll read that little booklet you received when you checked in. Memorize it. It’s got all the safety procedures for expeditions. I don’t want anybody wandering around getting lost or falling into a crevice while you’re outside. While you’re here, I’m the expedition boss. Outside these walls, you do what I say. If you don’t, you stay inside and we ship you out on the next shuttle. Got it?

      There was a chorus of nods and mumbled assents. The meeting droned on for another hour. Dao listened politely but concentrated on his own notes, then watched ocher dust swirling outside the portholes.

      Somewhere out there, a Keeper was buried. It was his job to find it and soon. If he failed, Red Hammer was finished.

      The first parties were scheduled for the next morning. Dao was assigned to a detail of six scientists and one expedition leader from the Station crew. The leader was a balding Russian named Fedorov, built like a wrestler. There were two geologists from Japan, an astronomer from India, an American physicist and an English meteorologist named Colin Plunkett.

      The party climbed aboard a snorting marscat and secured their gear. Fedorov drove the cat and they soon trundled off through heavy dust fall toward a line of low hills in the distance.

      The Saucer Hills, Fedorov explained, as he settled in for the three-hour drive. Looks like a flying saucer, to some people. We stop there, have lunch, and get out for a walk, set up some equipment, take measurements, whatever you like. Two hours at the Hills, then on to our next objective.

      Dao quietly checked the coordinates the Ruling Council had given him. Forty-five degrees south by seventy-one degrees east. He scanned a small map of Hellas basin on his wrist computer. The Keeper was there, just at the far base of the Saucer Hills.

      At least, someone had done their homework, he thought.

      Hellas basin was a big bowl of sand dunes and ridged terrain, with a few sinuous mountain chains crumpling and buckling the ground for relief. As the marscat rumbled south by southwest from Hellas Station, Dao studied the monotonous yet stark ground bouncing by the portholes. The cat followed a curving route through undulating dunes, rising and falling like a ship on a dusty red ocean. Massive boulders and craters dotted the landscape. The view reminded Dao of a giant sand table.

      He knew that much of the terrain was likely to change over the next century, if the Green Mars Initiative was successful. Others in the expedition must have been thinking the same thing.

      Plunkett, the Englishman, hmmphed. Better enjoy it while you can. Once the first changes come, this will probably be a big lake.

      Like before, said Suwarthy, the Indian astronomer. He was sweating in his suit, a sheen of perspiration shiny on his forehead. Some think Hellas was an inland sea or lake once.

      The expedition discussed and debated the issue heatedly for awhile. Dao half-listened, concentrating on what he had to do. The Keeper signal had been weak, staticky quantum states spritzing through spacetime, on and off. Souvranamh thought he might be able to detect it within a few hundred feet, maybe even a mile away. The Chinese meteorologist eased forward to sit near Fedorov up front, eyeing the nav screen. It had a projected route overlaid on video of the terrain ahead. The Russian had to keep the pipper representing the marscat centered between the route’s red dotted lines.

      Getting close? Dao inquired of the Russian. Fedorov grunted. He stretched his back and neck, trying to get some feeling back into his shoulders.

      Another half an hour. We stop and get out.

      Dao noticed the flashing dot on the screen. That’s our objective…that dot? He figured the Keeper coordinates were easily several miles from the spot.

      Fedorov yawned and nodded. Camp Chaos. See this region--? He swept his hand over a region of tortured and fractured terrain to the southwest. It’s called Hellas Chaos. Could be a river or lake outflow…who knows? The camp is on a promontory at the end of this ridge. We’re following that ridge right now.

      Dao did some quick calculations. It would take an hour, maybe more, to walk the several miles to the Keeper coordinates. Somehow he’d have to get away from the party and doing that would be almost impossible.

      But General Dao Wen-Hsien was nothing if not prepared. He got up and made his way back into the marscat’s main cabin. The others were drowsy and lost in thought; only Suwarthy was staring out a porthole, eyeing a pair of dust devils dancing across the valley floor below. Dao smiled politely as he eased past the Indian astronomer, and slipped into the service compartment at the rear of the cat.

      Marscats were like huge, articulating caterpillars on treads. Three compartments were strung together, each free-swinging. From front to back, the cats were made up of a command compartment, a crew compartment and a service compartment. The service bay contained the galley and the lockout and stores lockers, including the expedition’s pressure suits and suit supplies.

      Dao made a show of rummaging through the galley, ostensibly looking for something to munch on. When he was sure no one was looking, he slipped into the cabinet where suit supplies were stored and located all the chest control packs, which regulated each suit’s environment. In his coverall pockets, Dao had five small buttons, one for each pack. With each button, he stripped off an adhesive patch, and placed the button on the bottom of one pack, out of sight. As he fixed the button in place, he fingered a tiny stud, activating the device.

      When the right time came, each button would do its job.

      Dao was returning to the crew cabin when the marscat lurched slightly and began perceptibly slowing. Fedorov’s gruff voiced called back from the command deck:

      Break out the rations and let’s eat. The camp’s just around the next hill. And start getting your gear together. I don’t want to stay here a minute longer than necessary. We got to make Camp Tracy before nightfall.

      So they ate, munching their sandwiches and fruits in sullen silence, while outside sporadic wind gusts rocked the cat back and forth.

      Wheelock, the American physicist, shook his head, slurped coffee from a thermos. Air’s thicker here in the Basin. Just enough mass to move the cat. Away from Hellas, I doubt we’d even feel that wind…not enough molecules.

      Suwarthy eyed the swirling dust outside. Someday, we won’t need pressure suits here…we’ll be able to get by with skin suits alone…like a winter day in the Himalayas.

      They finished their lunch and suited up. Fedorov personally examined each crew member’s fittings and suit setup, tugging at connectors and hoses, snapping belts and harnesses. Dao watched the Russian carefully. The buttons he had just placed were never detected.

      Outside, the party moved off in all directions. Ostensibly a meteorologist, Dao worked with the Englishmen Plunkett to unload a suite of instruments and load up the packbot. Others were examining a rock fall a few dozen yards away, selecting specimens to take back.

      Fedorov found a small rise near the lip of a nearby crater and hauled himself up to take in the view. The crater had no name in the catalogs, only a number…H-8741. The rim was lined with light frost and several columns of fine red dust, fine as talc powder, danced around the edge.

      Beyond the crater, the scalloped edge of a low escarpment encircled the small promontory they had driven up on. Hellas basin seemed flat and featureless from a great enough distance, but up close, it was anything but featureless. The western slopes of the Chaos were a tortured and crumpled landscape fractured and smashed by eons of bombardment and water-ice flow.

      Fedorov had driven the marscat up a long curving slope to the top of a mesa that overlooked an irregular bed of desiccated dunes and boulder fields. The Saucer Hills surrounded the mesa on three sides, like enveloping arms hugging a child.

      Dao and Plunkett started up the packbot and set off for an exposed ledge not far from the Russian. They climbed carefully, making sure the bot’s treads stayed directly behind them. A few feet either way and the bot would take a plunge of several hundred feet into the ravine below.

      At the ledge, they set about unloading the instruments and siting the gear for best readings. Plunkett’s voice became labored as he worked; Dao could hear the wheezing as the Englishmen struggled for oxygen. Several times, he stopped to adjust something on his wristpad.

      Trying to open up the regulator, Dao thought to himself. It won’t be long now. Even as he continued setting up the mesoscaph he’d been working on, he saw several others stop and do the same thing.

      The buttons were actually small containment capsules full of nanobotic disassemblers. As Plunkett fell to one knee, now gasping for air, Dao went over to investigate, knowing full well that the devices had finally reached his air regulators and valves. In less than a minute, the Englishman had fallen heavily to his side. His air supply and all the internal regulators had become so much atomic fluff. The capsules had done their job.

      Dao stooped down to study the Englishman’s face, now blue and distended with fear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw several others in the party drop to their knees.

      But Fedorov had reacted more quickly.

      The Russian was having trouble; Dao could see that. Fedorov fumbled with the controls on his wristpad and chestpack. Then he stumbled forward and loped down from the ledge, limping back toward the marscat from the edge of the crater.

      Dao moved to intercept him but the Russian was an experienced expedition leader and knew how to react in an emergency. He didn’t panic but made his way deliberately to the marscat and cycled himself through the airlock.

      Dao was right behind him. There couldn’t be any witnesses…or survivors.

      Dao cycled himself through the airlock and emerged into the stores compartment. Fedorov was up on the command deck, already putting out a distress call. Dao crept forward.

      …any station, any station…this is Marscat M-22 out of Hellas Station. Mayday…mayday…we’ve suffered multiple decompression casualties…any station…any station—

      The Chinese meteorologist shook his head to link in with his angel and felt the momentary dizziness of the coupler making its connection. Buried a few inches below his left collarbone, the angel stirred, its nanobotic swarm ticking over, ready for release.

      As Dao crept into the main cabin, Fedorov sensed his presence and turned in mid-sentence from the commander’s seat….

      …any station—

      Dao had already removed his helmet, unsealing the neck ring and quick-disconnecting the slide. He regarded the Russian coolly and without words, he let the angel loose.

      Unseen at first, the nanobotic swarm ejected from his shoulder capsule. For a few moments, the Russian continued his distress calls but when the faint sparkle of replicating bots in exponential overdrive swelled in the air between them, he swallowed his words and started to get up.

      You’ll never get away with this—I’ve already notified Hellas Station— Fedorov’s eyes widened as the faint sparkle blossomed into a coruscating, iridescent fog, quickly filling the cabin. He tried to back away but the swarm was on him in no time, forcing him to the deck in a writhing mass.

      His pressure suit afforded Fedorov some protection, just long enough to grunt out: "I’m willing to make a deal here…we…can…talk…arrgghh!!"

      Fedorov’s squirming form was soon enveloped in the glowing fog, as uncountable trillions of bots did their job. Dao elected not to watch, busying himself with safing the airlock, making sure they were alone.

      Outside, Hellas basin was still and bright. The winds had died down but a faint ruddy glow still hovered over the ground as fine dust settled out of the air in the late afternoon sun. He hadn’t tried the coupler link to the Keeper since they had left Hellas Station. But he had the right longitude and latitude. Marscat M-22 was only a few miles from the predicted spot.

      Up on the command deck, the fog was subsiding, leaving a fine particulate film on the deck…all that was left of the Russian. Dao scraped it away with the toe of his boot and snapped off a quick command to the angel swarm.

      ***Return to base***

      The master bot sloughed off all replicants and in a few minutes, had made its way back to containment and entered the tiny capsule in Dao’s left shoulder. He winced at the stinging burn of the maneuver, then felt the capsule port snap shut beneath his pressure suit.

      The angels had returned to heaven.

      Dao now set to work powering up the marscat, bringing her four electric motors on-line. Settling himself into the commander’s seat, he backed the cat down the slope of the mesa and turned around to a more northerly heading.

      Now it was time to contact the Keeper. Time to locate the sphere.

      Dao drove the marscat to the predicted coordinates, at the base of a small mound two miles from the mesa. He steered the cat through slippery sand dunes across a boulder-strewn plain, crunching and bouncing over heavy rubble pans, probably outflow from whatever primordial rivers had once gushed through the area. Arriving at the spot indicated by the nav screen, he found the mound a dust-covered rock fall abutting a canyon wall at the foot of the mesa, several hundred feet below and a mile to the north of their original position.

      Upon reaching the mound, Dao parked the cat and began suiting up.

      Dao shook his head several times just so, probing for the quantum link. He got snatches of something at first, then shuddered as the full force of the Keeper signal came flooding in.

      As always, for the first few moments, you were dizzy and disoriented, like you had spent the entire day riding the Dragon’s Tail roller coaster at Macau…that kind of dizziness.

      Then came the imagery…it never made any sense…or more likely, according to Souvranamh, your brain couldn’t make sense of the flood of entanglement waves that washed through the coupler. By turns, he felt like he had fallen into the ocean and storm waves were battering him from all directions.

      That subsided, to be replaced by a strong, fetid smell, a swamp smell of decay and rot. Mist and fog cleared and he was floating chest deep in a steaming swamp. Something screeched overhead and wings fluttered.

      Then the imagery dissolved once again, to be replaced by an open plain, like Sinkiang steppe land, only the plain was covered with undulating plants. The plants were not plants at all, he soon realized. The ground writhed with life, swarms upon swarms of bots seething and swelling and contracting, pulsing and throbbing to some unseen rhythm. The imagery jerked and shifted and this time, the horizon was curved and he was in space orbiting a planet. A planet of bots, teeming with nanoscale life.

      The planet of the Old Ones.

      Dao shook himself free from the maelstrom of the planet-swarm and checked the coordinates of the Keeper once more.

      A few seconds later, the nav screen beeped at him and he parked the cat for good. He was there. The Keeper signal was just ahead.

      Dao unstowed the cat’s twin manipulator arms and selected excavator grips from a rack on the side of the vehicle. Gingerly, he lowered the manipulators to the rusty, rubbly ground and began clearing, scraping and then digging.

      The sun was low now, a wan orange smear in the dust of the dig. Night came fast on Mars. Dao knew he would have to hurry if he wanted to make contact while there was still light left.

      And he didn’t know how much of an emergency message the Russian had managed to get off. That was a worry, but he put it out of mind. Still, he knew rescue teams could show up at any moment…he figured they were an hour’s lifter flight from Hellas Station at most.

      A few minutes’ excavation produced nothing definite so Dao commanded the arms to change angle and dig more deeply.

      Just as the sun started to pass behind a rock overhang, casting the dig site into shadow, the arms struck something hard. Dao emergency stopped the device.

      He left the cat in full pressure suit and clambered and skidded his way down the loose red dirt slope of the dig until his boots struck the same hard surface. Switching on his helmet lamps, Dao saw what he had found.

      It was a smooth, translucent pearl and white dome, a curved top to a much larger, almost egg-shaped structure. Dao smiled. He had done it!

      The sphere they had been seeking for nearly twelve years now lay right at his feet.

      It was Souvranamh, or maybe it was Kulagin, the Russian, who had given them the best description of the original sphere:

      It’s like Pushkin Square Station in Moscow…you go inside and suddenly, a new world, a lot of new worlds open up. You can go anywhere, at any time. Everywhere is within reach. Just find the right platform and climb aboard. It’s a gateway to everywhere…

      In truth it was a portal…to the Old Ones, whoever and whatever they were.

      Dao figured he knew how to get inside, if this sphere worked like the one Quantum Corps had destroyed at Paryang. He set to work.

      From memory, he placed both hands on the exposed translucent surface of the sphere. It felt faintly warm to the touch. Then he shook his head, to link in with the quantum coupler.

      After the usual buzz of disorientation, he found himself in a small dimly lit room, devoid of furnishings. Each wall had two doors, eight doors in all. Dao knew he had to somehow determine which door to open. Opening the right door would unlock the sphere. Opening the wrong door would lead to places best left undisturbed.

      The Paryang monastery sphere had used a riddle based on the Eight-Fold Path. Dao ticked off the parts in his mind: right view, right intention, right mindfulness and effort…it was an anagram, he recalled…a mathematical scrambling of the elements—

      …and then it came. An image of geometric forms—icosahedrons, polygons, trapezoids—all compressed into a tunnel, a long curving corridor and he found himself hurtling at breakneck speed down this corridor, until—

      With a hard bump, his whole body jarred from the impact and when he opened his eyes, caught his breath and came to his senses, he was in.

      Inside the sphere.

      How long he had been inside the portal, Dao couldn’t say. He shook himself fully awake and found he had fallen sprawling right on top of the sphere’s surface. It was dark inside the dig pit, save for a faint glow from the sphere itself, a dim almost imperceptible radiance that reflected off suspended dust.

      Dao collected himself and climbed out. The sun had just set below the scalloped hump of Hellas’ horizon. Fortunately, the marscat’s interior and running lights were on. Dao scrambled for footing and made his way over to the vehicle, climbing inside and hurriedly cycling the airlock.

      He went forward to the command deck and sat in Fedorov’s chair. Already he was working on what he would tell the rescue party. Whatever the story, it would have to be plausible and consistent.

      Dao checked his watch. It was already night outside…1735 hours local time. The Chinese meteorologist selected the same radio frequency Fedorov had been broadcasting on. The signal would go planet-wide, bounced off relay sats in orbit to every camp and settlement on Mars.

      Any station, any station…this is Marscat M-22 declaring a level one emergency. We have casualties here. Any station, any station…Marscat transmitting in the clear from— he rattled off the latitude and longitude from the nav screen —declaring a level one emergency. Mayday, mayday—

      He didn’t have long to wait. Even as he was rummaging through the rations locker in the galley aft, the radio crackled to life.

      …M-22…this is Lifter Rescue out of Hellas Station. We are inbound, closing on your position…descending through ten thousand…M-22, turn on your approach beacon immediately…we’ll maneuver and land as close as we can—

      Dao located the powerful lights and switched on. Outside, the rock fall and canyon walls were bathed in a yellow glow. From ten thousand feet up, Marscat M-22 would flare like a supernova in the black of a Martian night.

      Dao settled back to munch on some crackers. He knew the next few hours would be grueling and nerve-wracking. But at least he had one satisfaction.

      The link with the Keeper of the Sphere was now open again.

      United Nations Quantum Corps Briefing

      UNQC Western Command Base

      Table Top Mountain, Idaho, USA

      September 1, 2080

      General Jurgen Kraft walked quickly across the grassy quadrangle toward the Ops building with a sour set to his face. Must be something in the way the planets are aligned, he muttered to himself. Table Top was especially scenic at the beginning of fall, with a light dusting of snow on the northern slopes of Buffalo Ridge, while patches of aspen and birch lent autumnal colors to the valley below the hill.

      Kraft was carrying a communiqué that UNIFORCE had just received overnight at its Paris headquarters. It was a message from Red Hammer, the east Asian cartel that Quantum Corps had been battling for nearly twenty years now. The message was an ultimatum.

      I thought we’d buried the scumbags once and for all, Kraft thought. The Corps hadn’t heard anything from Red Hammer in several years. All their normal hangouts had been quiet. Twelve years before, the cartel’s main base of operations in the Himalayas had been destroyed in an assault by Johnny Winger and 1st Nano. Red Hammer had been scattered to the winds and very little had been heard or seen of them since.

      Now, this-- Kraft clutched the disk in his coat pocket. The wind had picked up across the top of the mountain. Off to his left, a hyperjet roared off down Runway 32 Left, accelerating through bright blue skies for some distant land. It burned in the sky like a meteor in reverse and was gone in seconds, heading for a space-skimming ride to somewhere.

      Kraft was now commanding officer of Quantum Corps’ Western Command, which meant he ran Table Top Mountain. Just after midnight, the duty officer from Ops had awakened him in quarters with flash traffic from UNIFORCE. General Wolfus Linx, Kraft’s immediate boss and CINCQUANT, had ordered him to set up a briefing at 0800 hours local, with vidlinks to Paris and several other places.

      It’s from Red Hammer, Linx had told him. An ultimatum…we’ve got to act fast. Get your best people on it and patch me in when you’re set. UNSAC himself may attend too.

      That got Kraft out of his bunk in a hurry. UNSAC was the Security Affairs Commissioner himself, one Jiang Hao Bei. If UNSAC was involved, Kraft knew whatever had happened was serious enough to affect the whole world.

      Had Red Hammer somehow finally reconstituted? Had Quantum Corps intel missed something?

      Kraft made the Ops building and headed for the briefing theater. Halfway there, he ran into Major Johnny Winger.

      What is it, General? Winger asked. He fell in alongside Kraft as they took the lift down into the bowels of the mountain, to the secure command post five levels below.

      I got word we have a Code One in the making…

      Kraft nodded tersely. UNSAC asked for a briefing. It’s Red Hammer. Some kind of message or ultimatum came into Paris overnight and UNIFORCE is in an uproar.

      The briefing theater was a semi-circular facility surrounded by screens and desks. SOFIE ran all the visuals and links; the AI had recently been upgraded to receive inputs directly from ANAD swarms. There was a direct patch to BioShield so the Corps could monitor the status of the protective swarms that patrolled the planet and enforced the nanobotic edicts…a direct outgrowth of Serengeti Factor and Amazon Vector outbreaks years before.

      Kraft came in and the non-duty personnel came to attention.

      As you were…status of briefing setup? Kraft took his position in the bird’s nest one level above the monitoring stations.

      The duty officer in charge reported: All parties are on line now, sir. Your station is ready to go.

      Kraft acknowledged the faces vidlinked in…from Paris, from Phoenix station in high earth orbit, and elsewhere at Table Top. In addition to those present at the Ops center, General Linx’s hard Teutonic face scowled back at Kraft from one screen. To his right, Galen Bosch, assistant Director-General at UNIFORCE-Paris was blowing his nose on another screen. A third screen displayed an elderly but clear-eyed Japanese national, floating serenely in weightlessness amid spartan, vaguely Shinto surroundings. Kaoru Nakamura was the Earth-bound chief of the Green Mars Initiative. At the moment, Nakamura was scholar-in-residence at Lagrange Televersity, at Phoenix Station.

      Kraft sat down and shuffled through some notes.

      Is it Red Hammer, Kraft? Linx asked. That’s all I need to know.

      Kraft swallowed hard. Linx was a gruff, impatient four-star heading up Quantum Corps interests at UNIFORCE’s Paris headquarters. HQ was a real playpen for politicians, a hotbed of intrigue and Kraft figured being gruff and crusty was a career Corpsman’s best defense in a place like that. At least he keeps the pols off our backs, Kraft reasoned.

      We believe it is, sir. Overnight, at 2250 hours your time, UNIFORCE received a rather unusual communication at Paris. The message came in via ground courier, delivered directly at HQ. Intel’s looking at the thing now but the gist of the message is this: Red Hammer seems to be alive and well. Q2’s trying to authenticate the message right now.

      Linx snorted. I knew it! The bastards are like a disease…stamp them out in one place and they grow like a fungus somewhere else. I knew Paryang wouldn’t be the end of them.

      Nakamura’s voice echoed in from a quarter million miles away. Just how did the message arrive? Who received it?

      I can answer that. Galen Bosch’s image was pale and terse. The A-DG had been up all night, mostly in meetings. The communication was addressed to the Director-General personally. It’s basically an ultimatum from this Red Hammer group.

      Johnny Winger had heard some of the scuttlebutt floating around Table Top. What kind of ultimatum?

      Kraft scanned several reports. Q2’s still trying to validate the message but here are the basic details: somehow, some way, the cartel is threatening to divert a long-period asteroid now heading for Mars, to support the Green Mars Initiative. They’re threatening to divert this asteroid from Mars to Earth…impact in less than three months. Is such a thing even possible?

      Linx’s face hardened. Nakamura…you should know something about all this. Is there such an asteroid…can they do this?

      The distance to Phoenix station, orbiting Earth at the L2 Lagrange point created a momentary delay. Nakamura was glad of that; he needed time to compose an answer.

      It’s called Wilks-Lucayo, General. A C1-class carbonaceous chondritic body we located out beyond Mars…about a half mile in diameter. The project got approval last year. The diversion just started last month. We’ve got propulsion units all over its surface, nudging the asteroid onto a Mars-intercept trajectory.

      Galen Bosch was grim. Have you still got control of the thing? Could this Red Hammer cartel seize control of the propulsion units?

      Unlikely, Nakamura replied. The engineer busied himself checking other screens around his workstation. Current status on Wilks: on course for Mars intercept on January 11, 2081, our time. That’s about four and a half months from now. Control just executed a trajectory correction burn two days ago…they’re reporting no anomalies at this time. I have the data here—

      So what the hell’s all this about, Kraft? Linx growled. The veins on CINCQUANT’s forehead stood out like miniature canyons whenever the O-10 was mad. Some kind of hoax?

      Kraft could feel the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Unknown, sir. The ultimatum indicates that Red Hammer has the capability to divert this object. They don’t explain how. And they list some conditions, if we want to prevent Wilks from being diverted.

      What kind of conditions?

      Kraft perused his copy of the communiqué. Basically, this is a ransom note, General. As I read it, Red Hammer is demanding two things: a payoff of 1 trillion UNotes and one other matter— Kraft paled as he looked up, seeing CINCQUANT’s expectant face.

      And what’s that?

      That Quantum Corps itself cease operations. Be closed down by UNIFORCE.

      What! Linx was incredulous. Absurd…even the thought of it is absurd. The Corps is absolutely vital to UNIFORCE…isn’t that so, Herr Bosch?

      The A-DG’s hesitation was only momentary, almost imperceptible. But it was there. Of course, General. Such a demand is quite impossible. Naturally, this communication must be brought to UNSAC’s attention right away. There will undoubtedly be a meeting of the UNIFORCE Council, just to discuss these demands and how we should respond. I assume there’s a deadline, General Kraft?

      They’ve given us one month to comply. There are also some details on how the ransom is to be paid off…currencies, assets, drop-off points, that sort of thing.

      Bosch was thoughtful, stroking a trim black beard. Why, exactly, was Quantum Corps brought in on this investigation in the first place, outside of the demands themselves? Wouldn’t this have been better handled by UNISPACE? Why does Red Hammer even mention Quantum Corps in their demands?

      I can answer that, Kraft responded. "Red Hammer and Quantum Corps are old enemies. It was Major Winger here who led the assault known as Tectonic Strike, back in ’68, to put their main base of operations out of commission."

      This was the facility in Tibet that the Chinese made such a commotion over--?

      "Yes, sir. Paryang was the name. Red Hammer had centralized operations there. During the Amazon Vector crisis, most of their swarm control was located there. When Tectonic Strike busted Paryang, the Amazon swarms became less coordinated, less effective. BioShield, with our help, was able to defeat the swarms and restore the Earth’s atmosphere to normal. We also smashed their link to this alleged race of aliens…the Old Ones, they were called."

      Bosch nodded. Yes, yes…I recall studying the tactical reports and the after-action write-ups in school. Quite an operation that was. Bear with me, gentlemen…I’m just trying to understand what’s going on here. You really believe that this message—these demands—are all about Red Hammer getting revenge on Quantum Corps? Bosch looked almost comically skeptical. His black eyebrows lifted in mock surprise. Forgive me, General, but isn’t your analysis a bit far-fetched?

      Before Kraft could answer, Linx cut in, livid with indignation. Director Bosch, what you are suggesting is a slap in the face to an organization of very dedicated men and women. The world owes a hell of a lot to the Corps. BioShield wouldn’t have any teeth, if it weren’t for their ANAD operations. Who knows how many millions might have died if Serengeti Factor and Amazon Vector hadn’t been defeated. Quantum Corps was our last defense…if they hadn’t held the line…. Linx shook his head, unable to contemplate the terrible possibilities that had been avoided. The whole world owes an enormous debt of gratitude to these brave men and women.

      With all due respects, sir, Kraft added, we know our adversary quite well. And they know us. I think the trillion note ransom is actually nothing but a smokescreen. Quantum Corps or rather, the dissolution of Quantum Corps…that’s the real demand.

      Johnny Winger concurred. Excuse me, General, but it seems to me that something must have changed here. Tactically, operationally, Red Hammer’s been quiet, almost non-existent, for the last twelve years. What’s happened to change the situation? That’s what we should be asking ourselves. That’s what Q2 should be looking for.

      Bosch considered that. Major, since you raised the question, perhaps you have some kind of answer for us.

      Kraft cast a dubious sideways glance at Winger. It was Linx himself who had requested the Corps’ top atomgrabber be present at the briefing. That was annoying as hell. No lowly battalion commander should ever be able to upstage a ranking flag officer. But then Winger was no ordinary battalion commander, Kraft had to admit.

      "General, the best answer I can give is that Q2 should go back to basics. Look at indications. Look at their sources. Patterns. Check BioShield records. Have we seen anything indicating Red Hammer activity anywhere…something with their signature on it, like a big scope or twist shipment. A spike in illegal fabs somewhere…illegal nano erupting in odd places…anything out of the ordinary. We all know what drives Red Hammer. We know what their bread and butter is. It stands to reason that their capability to make this kind of threat and carry it out didn’t just appear overnight. There should be something Q2 can get a hold of, something that would give us an idea of what we’re up against."

      Agreed, Linx decided. Kraft, get on that. Poll your sources and run correlations. We’ve got to find out what’s changed to make Red Hammer so bold again. He shook his head slowly, still unable to believe the communiqué. Dr. Nakamura..?

      The Japanese engineer floated serenely in weightlessness like a wrinkled Buddha. Yes, General—

      Double-check all your security measures again. We should send a liaison to Phoenix station to get up to speed on the project and all its details. How, exactly, are you diverting this Wilks-Lucayo to Mars?

      Nakamura launched into a detailed explanation. Over the last two years, we’ve landed and secured to Wilks’ surface an array of some sixty-four mass-driver impulse motors. These motors are like industrial dredges with huge electromagnets attached. They chew up surface material and fling it away as reaction mass. Not a lot of thrust, mind you, but over time, it builds up. The effect of the combined array is to very gently perturb the asteroid’s course while it’s inbound from its aphelion point…its farthest point from the sun. Bit by bit, a few hundredths of a meter per second at a time…the impulse motors are altering the trajectory. The Project’s very careful about this…every eventuality has been calculated and prepared for. We want to impact Mars at a very specific place at a very specific time, to gain maximum effect. The whole point of this is to bring in a huge spike in water, carbon, hydrogen and other volatiles all at once…in effect to make a phase change in the environment of Mars. Tip the planet into a new state all at once.

      Galen Bosch was intrigued. I’ve read the theory behind this, Doctor. Just where are you planning to impact Wilks?

      Nakamura fed an impact simulation to all screens. I can answer your question best with a short video. Watch this, he said.

      An image of Mars blossomed into view. Wilks-Lucayo soon appeared as a point of light streaking

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