Agents of Titan- The Lunar Portal Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  AGENTS OF TITAN

  AGENTS OF TITAN

  THE LUNAR PORTAL

  DAVID CHRISTMAS

  YOUCAXTON PUBLICATIONS

  OXFORD & SHREWSBURY

  Copyright © David Christmas 2018

  The Author asserts the moral right to

  be identified as the author of this work.

  ISBN 978-1-912419-25-8

  Printed and bound in Great Britain.

  Published by YouCaxton Publications 2018

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  YouCaxton Publications

  [email protected]

  Chapter 1

  JOHN KENDRICK took a deep breath of the fresh spring air and sighed contentedly. It was good to be back in the Californian sunshine once more.

  For the past week, he’d struggled through a series of appropriation committees in Washington, D.C. trying to safeguard his funding for the next three years. They’d been desperately difficult meetings and he’d eventually been forced to accept a small cut in line with the reduction in the overall NASA budget. It had been a small victory not to have been more heavily sliced, and he knew he should be congratulating himself. For once, however, the need to constantly justify his Office’s existence and argue for a fair share of the financial pie had taken its toll. The transcontinental travel with associated time zone changes hadn’t helped either – and neither had the weather in DC, which had been unseasonably cold and wet. He’d been left depressed, worn out and listless.

  What a difference a weekend made. On his return, his wife had taken one look at him and told him to take himself off fishing. He’d protested, of course, had tried to do the macho thing and carry on regardless, but she wouldn’t have any of it, and he knew from long experience that he was on a hiding to nothing. He’d persisted for a while, offering up some token resistance for form’s sake, but eventually he’d backed down, as he always knew he would. And how glad he was that he had. As he’d tended his line, the sunshine had almost tangibly melted the stress away, like the first thaw of spring, and now, on his first day back at work, he felt ready for anything. He could even persuade himself that the main administration block of the Jet Propulsion Laboratory was brighter than usual, its white façade sparkling in the light as if it were gleaming out a welcome to him. He whistled happily and pushed open the door to the main lobby.

  He knew his PA had deliberately kept his schedule light this week. Margaret was perceptive and thoughtful, and during his absence, she had made it her business to keep up to date with events on the east coast, including the weather. Today was almost certainly going to be relatively lazy, giving him a chance to catch up on things.

  He took the elevator to the second floor, turned right through a door labelled “Planetary Defence Coordination Office”, and entered the secretarial office next to his own. As he’d expected, Margaret was already at her desk.

  ‘Morning Margaret. How are things?’

  ‘Morning Director. All quiet for now.’ Margaret Earnshaw smiled as she noted his mood. She’d had regular catch-up sessions with him by comm while he’d been in Washington and had noticed with alarm the gradual deterioration in his appearance. Not something that strangers on a committee would pick up, of course, but subtle signs that she could interpret probably as well as his wife. She knew he’d had a short break – she and his wife kept in close contact – and was pleased at the difference it had made. ‘You should have the whole morning to catch up. There are a couple of short meetings this afternoon, but nothing significant.’

  ‘Excellent! It’s a lovely morning. Let’s hope it stays that way.’

  ‘There is one thing …’ She was interrupted by the comm. She glared briefly at the caller ID, then flicked it into private mode and turned away from Kendrick, who was already halfway to his office door. He stopped, immediately suspicious.

  ‘Look,’ she said in a half-whisper, her face darkening, ‘I’ve told you. 11.00 is the earliest he can see you. No, he can’t do it any earlier. No. I believe I’ve just said that.’

  Kendrick was curious. The one-sided dialogue suggested that whoever Margaret was talking to had already called this morning and was running out of patience. He turned back to her workstation and signalled he’d take the call.

  ‘Alright,’ she said sharply. ‘The Director’s here now. He says he’ll …’ She glared at the terminal. ‘He hung up on me!’

  ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Fred Toynbee. He’s called twice already. Insists on seeing you right away. Won’t take no for an answer.’

  ‘Hmm. That’s strange. Not Fred’s style.’

  In fact, it wasn’t Fred’s style at all. As Scientific Head of the PDCO, he’d spent years watching close fly-pasts of asteroids and comets and was generally seen as unflappable. He was also unfailingly amiable and polite, so whatever was causing him to act like this must be something serious. Kendrick frowned. He didn’t like to think of what “serious” might mean for someone like Toynbee, but whatever it was didn’t bode well for his expected quiet morning. Perhaps it was as well he hadn’t got anything planned.

  He sauntered into his office and settled himself behind his desk, half-heartedly shuffling a few papers, and rearranging the few pieces of desk furniture for no particular reason. He fired up his terminal and was about to open the first of the files that Margaret had flagged as important, when he heard raised voices in the secretarial office.

  He assumed it was Fred again, and debated with himself whether he should let the man in or leave it with Margaret to sort out. If Fred had something to say, it was probably something he should hear sooner rather than later. On the other hand, he didn’t want to undermine Margaret’s authority. He was still pondering on the conundrum when events took their own course. There was a loud shout, the door flew open, and Toynbee strode in. He turned and slammed the door shut behind him, only for it to be
thrown open again almost immediately by a very angry Margaret, her face like thunder.

  ‘I told him he couldn’t come in,’ she said, glaring at Toynbee. ‘This isn’t good enough. I won’t be treated like this.’

  Toynbee glared back and held his ground, defying the fuming woman and effectively daring Kendrick to have him evicted.

  ‘Alright, Margaret, I’ve got this,’ Kendrick could see from Toynbee’s face that he needed to listen to the man. ‘Thanks for your help. I’ll handle it.’

  ‘If you say so. I expect an apology later.’ She marched out and pulled the door shut, not quite slamming it but making her disapproval all too plain.

  ‘Bloody obstructive woman,’ Toynbee grunted.

  ‘She’s only doing her job, Fred. You’re not making it any easier for her.’

  Toynbee was a Brit, a lean man in his late forties, his thinning hair more than compensated for by the bushy beard that was starting to grey prematurely round the edges. He and Kendrick had been friends for years and the two men often played tennis together. This outburst was completely out of character, as was his appearance. Never a smart dresser, he was normally clean, neat and tidy. Not today. His shirt and trousers were crumpled, and there were sweat stains beneath his arms. What hair he had was spread every which way over his scalp and clearly hadn’t seen a brush or comb today. Kendrick had very rarely seen Fred angry, but today he was both angry and on edge. His eyes were bloodshot and he gave every appearance of not having slept much the previous night. He grabbed a chair without being asked and plopped wearily down, tossing a data-wafer across the desk to Kendrick.

  Kendrick made no move to pick it up. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Just load it and see.’ Toynbee’s anger appeared to have evaporated, but it had left him with a nervous fidget. He shuffled around on his chair as if he couldn’t get comfortable, and his fingers tapped rhythmically on the chair arms.

  Kendrick stared at him for a moment, wondering at the strange behaviour, then picked up the wafer and inserted it into his desk console. It loaded automatically, and he gave the displayed files a cursory glance before looking back at Toynbee.

  ‘Okay Fred, you know how this works. I shouldn’t have to interpret this. You brief me.’

  Toynbee leaned over and took over control of the terminal, so he could pull up a picture, if that was the correct term for something that seemed to consist of wall-to-wall blackness. Kendrick had seen enough of such things over the years to recognise a photograph of empty space. He squinted at it, trying to see what had excited Fred so much. All he could see was the occasional pin-point light of a distant star, though Toynbee acted as if it explained everything.

  ‘We’ve struggled with this for the last two days,’ he said.

  ‘Is there something there? I can’t see anything.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Toynbee fiddled with the resolution and gain. ‘Take a look now.’

  Kendrick stared again. He supposed there might be something there, a lump of coal in the night, or it could simply be his eyes playing tricks on him.

  ‘I’m still not sure. There might be something.’

  ‘I’m not surprised you’re unsure, we almost missed it too.’ Toynbee sat forward and wiped his visibly sweating hands on his trousers. ‘One of our interns saw it first. Pure chance. He was doing observations off the plane of the ecliptic at the time, and this confused him. First, he thought there was something there, then he wasn’t so sure, so he took it to the tenured staff. They weren’t sure either but had the sense to suggest our intern should try fine-tuning his observations over several days. That produced a result, and they brought it straight to me.’

  ‘So, what is it Fred?’

  ‘It’s a massive rock, very dense, no perceptible outgassing – and it’s coming our way.’

  ‘How close?’

  ‘Sorry. When I say it’s coming our way, I mean exactly that. No close fly-past. The thing’s going to hit us. No doubt about it.’

  ‘And when you say “massive”?’

  ‘It’s more than twenty miles across.’

  Kendrick got a sudden taste of bile and felt his heart rate shift up several notches.

  ‘No chance of error?’

  Toynbee gave him a scathing look and Kendrick knew he’d just delivered a major insult. This wouldn’t have come to his attention unless the observations had been double- and triple-checked. Toynbee was a stickler for accuracy and one of the most level-headed guys around. Prone to hyperbole he most certainly was not. This data was accurate. Kendrick noticed that Toynbee was waiting for a reaction from him.

  ‘A planet-killer then?’ There, he’d said it. All those years of watching the sky in the absolute certainty that this would happen one day and now he was having trouble believing it.

  Toynbee swept his hand over his head in agitation. ‘Most definitely. Doesn’t matter where this thing impacts – land or sea, it makes no difference. If it hits, it’ll be game over. Have we made any progress with the ADP?’

  The ADP was the Asteroid Defence Programme. It had been set up in 2020 to develop the means of defending the planet against exactly this sort of threat, but the options available had always been limited, and underfunding remained a constant problem. Only last week, Kendrick had watched powerlessly as the Programme’s budget had received a further massive cut. Nobody seemed to recognise its importance anymore. All the resources were being ploughed into sub-quantal physics and its associated emerging technologies, the perceived wisdom being that this new technology would be able to handle anything coming from space. The handful of people who argued differently were considered dinosaurs. The ADP was a joke.

  ‘Not really.’ Kendrick wasn’t sure what to say given their distinct lack of readiness for this. ’Years ago, there was talk of attaching a QUAVER-drive to an encroaching asteroid and then simply driving it away. That was before the QUAVERs were abolished in favour of the Cold Fusion Reactors, of course.’

  ‘It still sounds like a good plan.’ Toynbee looked more hopeful. ‘Surely, it could still be done? Just substitute a CFR-drive for a QUAVER-drive. A new generation CFR ship could get to the rock in plenty of time.’

  Kendrick frowned. ‘I should stress it was never a bona fide plan in the first place, just some bar-room chat. I agree it might be possible, and since all our damned money’s gone into sub-quantal and CFR technology because people think it could be used for this purpose, it’s probably payback time. I’ll make a call or two and see where it takes me. In the meantime, I’ll expect regular updates from you and your team, especially anything that might suggest the outcome will be less … catastrophic.’

  ‘Of course – that’s what we do. You can rely on us.’ Toynbee walked to the door. ‘Oh, and by the way, if something’s going to be done, it’ll need doing quickly. The time to impact is just under eight weeks.’

  He went out and shut the door, leaving Kendrick feeling shell-shocked. He sat for a moment getting his thoughts and emotions in order, then opened his comm.

  ‘Margaret, get me the National Security Adviser – ultra-secure channel.’

  Chapter 2

  THE OLD BROWNSTONE had clearly seen better days. Though Beacon Hill remained a well-respected neighbourhood in the Boston of 2086, the house looked dejected, a little dowdy in comparison with the bright, well-tended dwellings that surrounded it. Inside, the ambiance was homely – enough bric-a-brac to make it look lived-in, not enough to make it appear cluttered. It was a family home, with comfortable, well-worn furniture and photographs of the children dotted around. It might have belonged to any middle-class college professor.

  In the sitting room, the motes of dust danced in the air, lit by the rays of an insipid late-afternoon sun that was doing its best to provide a little uplift to what was a very dreary spring day. There was silence, except for the ticking of an antique grandfather clock in one corner of the room, and an almost unnatural stillness. The room seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

&n
bsp; Without warning, the air near the fireplace began to shimmer. It looked like a heat-haze on a hot summer day, or a mirage in a desert, but it was incongruous in this cold and lonely brownstone. A small, black irregularity formed in the centre of the shimmering air and expanded rapidly in jerky fits and starts, like the unfolding of a screwed-up piece of paper. Within a couple of seconds, it had achieved the size and appearance of an open doorway, a doorway in the air, impossible to see through and radiating a faint red glow from its edges. For a brief moment, it sat there, then there was a spurt of yellow light and two figures stepped through – two figures clad in black, figure-hugging uniforms that were streaked with gore and grime. The portal closed behind them in a screwed-up ball of red light and they paused, momentarily disoriented by the sudden silence.

  Deira and Sol MacMahon had come home.

  It was highly unusual for active employees of the Agency to have a home they could call their own. It was even more unusual for two agents to have been partners for twenty years and counting. Deira and Sol MacMahon were not usual in any way that mattered.

  Sol was the first to move. He gave a contented sigh and went to flop in his usual spot on the sofa. Deira was having none of it. She’d been expecting it and she yanked on his arm hard to stop him.

  ‘Not with all that crap on you. Shower first and get the uniform in the cleaner. Then you can lounge all you like.’

  ‘I guess I am a bit of a mess.’ Sol looked down at himself and grimaced. ‘Things didn’t go exactly as planned, did they?’

  ‘Sure didn’t – but we got the job done. Just a bit messier than anticipated.’

  Sol looked admiringly at Deira. After all the years they’d been together, he remained entranced by her fantastic figure – a figure so effectively enhanced by her black Agency uniform. Her piercing bright green eyes were like radiant emeralds, still sparkling from the recent adrenaline buzz, and her short, red-brown hair gave her the appearance of a beautiful pixie. He sighed in contentment and made for the bathroom.