Exiles of Titan- The Martian Phase Page 3

  In the early hours of the following morning a call came through on Philippe Fournier’s comm. He rolled over in bed and picked up the little instrument, wondering who could possibly want to talk at this hour. He sat bolt upright when he saw the identification tab – it was Professor Chayka. He accepted the call, audio only.

  ‘Good morning, Professor,’ he said, ‘Philippe Fournier here. How can I help you?’ He glanced sideways at Tirzah who was pulling herself up the bed and looking questioningly at him. He shrugged and waited for the response.

  ‘Ah, Dr Fournier,’ came the familiar voice. ‘I wonder if you would be free to attend my cabin for a few minutes? I’d like to discuss something with you – but not over an open comm.’

  ‘Of course, sir.’ Philippe tried to push Tirzah’s arm away as it strayed round his waist. ‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Chayka terminated the connection.

  Philippe stared at Tirzah. ‘What do you think that could be about?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Tirzah stretched languidly. ‘Whatever it is can wait for a little more than five minutes, surely?’

  The hand round his waist moved under the duvet and her other arm encircled his chest trying to pull him back down. Philippe was tempted.

  ‘That’s the professor!’ he said, though without much enthusiasm.

  ‘So what? It’s one-thirty in the morning for God’s sake. He doesn’t own your soul.’

  The hand under the duvet found what it was seeking and Philippe turned and began to lie down again. Then his curiosity got the better of him. What could Professor Chayka want with him at this time of night? Whatever it was, it would surely be to his advantage not to keep him waiting. He struggled up and sat on the side of the bed. Tirzah pouted as she lay on her side looking up at him.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It must be important,’ he said. ‘I’ve should go.’

  He stood up, pulled on some slacks, a t-shirt and some loafers and ran his fingers through his long wavy hair a couple of times.

  ‘See you later,’ he said over his shoulder on the way out. ‘That’s if you’re still here.’

  ‘I’ll still be here,’ Tirzah shouted at the closed door. ‘It’s my cabin!’

  Philippe hurried along the short length of corridor between Tirzah’s cabin and the professor’s and knocked on the door. Chayka opened it part-way and, after a swift glance in each direction, beckoned him in and indicated he should sit in one of the two work chairs. Chayka took the other chair and sat staring at Philippe in silence. The silence was unnerving and Philippe began to wonder why he’d been summoned here tonight. Did Chayka know of his relationship with Tirzah – and if so, did he disapprove?

  Suddenly, Chayka seemed to come to a decision. ‘Dr Fournier, I find myself in a somewhat difficult situation. I hope I can rely upon your discretion?’

  ‘Of course, Professor. Always.’ Philippe was both relieved and intrigued.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Chayka stroked his beard and paused again. ‘Have you heard about my research into so-called “mass PHASEing”?’

  Now it was Philippe’s turn to pause while he organised his thoughts. Chayka waited politely.

  ‘Normal photonic transmission is limited to people with the gamma mutation,’ Phillipe said. ‘That’s a very small proportion of the population. There’s been talk that you’ve been looking into extending things to the general population – the mass PHASEing you mentioned – but the difficulties appear to be insuperable.’ He stopped, unsure what to say next and Chayka stepped in.

  ‘Yes, what you say is correct. However, I’ve reviewed my early work and I now think it could be successful.’

  ‘But that’s marvellous! That’d be another historic milestone. Is it going to be one of our work strands while we’re on Titan?’

  ‘That’s where my problem arises. This posting has only received Bureau approval for the life-generation experiments – indeed, it was primarily organised to facilitate those experiments. The Bureau has specifically banned the mass PHASEing work for the immediate future.’

  ‘But why? That makes no sense. It would bring so many benefits. What could’ve possessed them to ban it?’

  A tinge of red appeared on Chayka’s cheeks. ‘I suspect it has something to do with their desire to retain the technology for their own use – specifically, transportation of their agents.’ He fixed Philippe with a defiant look and went silent again as if debating with himself whether or not he should continue. Philippe waited patiently and Chayka finally got to the point, becoming animated for the first time.

  ‘I will not comply with their stupid diktat. I will continue my research in secret – at least in the first instance. I don’t want to tell the rest of the team in case it goes nowhere, but if I’m successful in developing a theoretical framework I’ll need their help in the necessary experimental testing.’

  ‘Ahhh.’ Philippe finally understood where this was going. Chayka continued.

  ‘My work to date suggests that true mass PHASEing will never be possible because there will still be genetic constraints on the process – but it may be achievable for the majority of individuals. I need to know if I have access to such individuals and for that I will need fully analysed DNA samples.’

  He looked expectantly at Philippe, who was feeling distinctly ill.

  ‘You want me to obtain DNA samples from the team without their knowledge?’

  Philippe knew this was not only a violation of protocol on every level, it was also illegal. If caught, he would probably get a custodial charge.

  Chayka was watching him.

  ‘The samples would only be a screening tool. If nobody in the team has the necessary DNA markers there’d be little point in carrying on because there’d be no suitable test subject. I’d only continue if one or more of our colleagues had the necessary markers, and then, at the testing stage, I’d inform the team of my progress and ask for voluntary DNA samples. They’d never know what you’d done so there’d be no risk to you.’

  Philippe pondered this, going over the scenario in his mind. It would be fine – providing he wasn’t caught. The benefit to him was a fast-track to the professor’s esteem. He made his decision.

  ‘I’ll do it, Professor.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Chayka seemed to have expected nothing less. He went to a cabinet and brought out two small plastic containers. ‘These will get you started. They’re DNA samples from Dr Dominguez and myself. The rest you’ll have to obtain using your own initiative. Thank you for your help. Please keep me informed of your progress.’ He went to the door and held it open. Philippe was dismissed.

  Philippe began to have second thoughts the moment he left Chayka’s cabin. Had he really just agreed to steal his colleagues’ DNA for a secret project? This wasn’t him at all. Then he looked at the two plastic containers in his hand and realised that this could be something truly revolutionary. Lost in thought, he walked straight past Tirzah’s cabin and continued on to his own.

  Chapter 3

  The ftv parked up in the vehicle compound of the Marseilles Bureau Office and Deira and Adam stepped out. The trip back from the warehouse hadn’t taken long – their ride wasn’t called a Fast Transport Vehicle for nothing – and the effects of the smoke and chemical fumes were still very obvious. Both agents had a persistent rasping cough and Adam couldn’t shake off a nasty wheeze. Deira felt a couple of days sick leave would be good at this point, with Adam having a day or two more, but she knew that was a triumph of hope over experience – the Bureau didn’t have a reputation for being soft on its agents. Sure enough, following a peremptory examination by the in-house medics, they were pronounced operationally fit.

  ‘Now there’s a surprise!’ Adam said.

  Deira laughed. ‘If you wanted feather-bedding you should have joined Interpol.’

  ‘Or GCHQ perhaps?’

  ‘Touché!’

  ‘Come on – we’d better get our reports filed before we fall asleep on our fee
t.’

  Deira made a face. The paperwork! The bit all agents hated. The Bureau demanded contemporaneous reporting – all reports written and filed immediately after completion of the mission, while memories remained fresh. Fair enough, except that was precisely the time when the adrenaline surge from the mission was dissipating rapidly leaving a profound weariness. It wasn’t unknown for agents to fall asleep halfway through their report.

  Thankfully, that didn’t happen on this occasion though, after half-an-hour completing the relevant forms and filing their reports, they both felt utterly drained. They headed for their rooms to get some sleep for what was left of the night and it was turned 03.00 by the time Deira finally hit the sack. She was out almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.

  She was roused from a deep sleep by the persistent beeping of the “call” signal on her wrist console. She groaned and looked at the time – just past seven o’clock. She’d been expecting a bit of latitude to sleep in late this morning but it obviously wasn’t to be. Grumpily, she accepted the call and stared at the virtual screen. It was a recorded message ordering her to report to the Bureau Director of Operations at Brussels HQ – at 09.00 today. She rubbed her eyes and stared again, with disbelief. No, she hadn’t misread it – it really did say “Director of Operations”. Fully awake now, she climbed out of bed. Then she began to worry. Why would the DO, of all people, want to see her? She had to be well below his radar and if she’d really screwed up something it’d be Adam who’d give her any bad news. It didn’t make sense.

  Anxiously, she showered, dressed and had a quick coffee. Usually, she’d have a decent breakfast too, but her appetite had suddenly vanished as she contemplated the worst-case scenario of a future outside the Bureau. She packed a small bag and hastened down to the local PHASE terminal, keen to get to Brussels in good time and well aware that there was sometimes a queue of agents waiting for transfer. This morning she was lucky – the terminal was empty except for the PHASE technician, who seemed pleased to finally have a customer. Deira had a brief chat with him then stepped into the chamber and lay on the couch, clutching her staff tightly.

  She hated this waiting bit. She still remembered her first day at the Academy, one of six new recruits sitting in the small lecture theatre, excited and a little anxious at the prospect of joining the Bureau. The senior tutor had explained that they were there because they were special – one-in-ten-million special to be exact. They all possessed the extremely rare gamma mutation which enabled them to undergo a process called PHotonic Algorithm-Sequestered Engram transmission – colloquially called PHASEing. This meant they could be transmitted to a trouble spot in almost no time at all, making them extremely valuable assets.

  Their first reaction had been to be immensely proud to be one-in-ten-million special people -then they found out what PHASEing was all about and the doubts crept in. The established Special Agents reassured them you got used to it and they were right, you did – it was just better not to think too much about what was actually happening as you went through the process.

  The techie spent a little time adjusting his controls before glancing briefly in her direction.

  ‘Good to go?’ he asked through the chamber comm.

  ‘Fire when ready,’ Deira replied automatically.

  ‘Transmitting now. Tight Beam, Agent.’

  The chamber powered up, the low hum always making Deira feel slightly nauseated. Her fingertips tingled as her staff uploaded and stored a sub-quantal copy of her memories through nanodetectors in her skin. In spite of its name, memory loss had been a troublesome side-effect of PHASEing just a few short years ago and this backup was still a Bureau requirement even though the problem had apparently been resolved with the introduction of the new generation PHASE chambers. Deira tensed up, anticipating the next stage of the process – then everything went black as the electronic neural inhibitor came on and her neural activity ceased.

  The hum changed to a high pitched whine and the transmission process began. Deira’s body was ripped apart into its component atoms and analysed at the sub-quantal level. The data gathered was then used to generate a stream of so-called “information-rich photons” which were processed into a highly coherent, densely packed laser. Finally, this was fired out of the chamber down a fibre-optic cable to a receiving station, where the process was reversed.

  At light speed, Deira covered the distance from Marseilles to Brussels in a matter of milliseconds, materialising in a PHASE chamber that was, to all intents and purposes, identical to the one she’d just left. The chamber discontinued the neural inhibitor and she regained consciousness. She climbed off the couch, thanked the local techie for his attention, and made her way out of the PHASE terminal and up the stairs.

  At the top of the stairs a door opened into the main concourse of Bureau HQ – a hugely impressive, brightly-lit atrium, filled with noise and bustle. This was the first time Deira had been here and, coming as she was from the relative calm of the PHASE terminal, she was briefly disorientated by the sudden sensory overload. She took a few moments for her body to adjust and gazed round, trying to get her bearings. Over by the far wall was a pair of receptionists, so she weaved her way across the crowded floor and waited until one of them turned to her.

  ‘Special Agent Deira MacMahon.’ She flashed her ID. ‘I’ve an appointment with the DO at 09.00. Can you point me in the right direction.’

  ‘Sure.’ The woman touched her terminal screen and a map of the building was transferred to Deira’s wrist console. ‘Take the elevator to the top floor and you’ll find the DO’s secretary immediately to your right. You can’t miss her – the entire floor’s given over to the DO and his staff.’

  ‘Thanks very much.’ Deira turned away and glanced at her wrist console. Her destination was highlighted in red on the schematic of the building and she could see it would take only a few minutes to get there. It was now – she checked the time – 07.45. That left over an hour before her appointment. She sighed. She had a tendency to arrive too early for appointments but she’d really overdone herself today. This could get really tedious.

  She wandered round the entrance hall for a while, enjoying the buzz of activity and taking in the various items of artwork. When she became bored with that she bought a coffee and read the day’s news on her wrist console. Finally, after what seemed like the longest hour in her life, she presented herself at the Director’s office. The DO’s Personal Assistant checked her in and ushered her politely into an adjoining waiting area – and there was Adam.

  ‘Okay, so what the hell do you think this is all about?’ she said, sitting next to him.

  ‘And a big hello to you too,’ he said, smiling. ‘Yes, I feel quite well today. Wheeze and cough have gone. Thanks for asking.’

  Deira coloured. ‘Sorry, I’m just anxious. I thought I might be in trouble.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure you’re not. I’ve no more idea than you what this is all about. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?’

  So they waited, and when the large clock on the wall with the irritating tick showed 09.15 Deira began to fidget. She crossed her legs one way, then the other, and finally got up and began pacing round the room. She noticed the look of amusement on Adam’s face and could feel herself blushing again.

  ‘I’m sorry. I pace. When I get anxious, I pace. I’ve always paced. I…’

  She shut up as the door to the office opened and the Director himself appeared. Thomas Cheatham, Operations Director of the European Bureau of Investigation, was a big man in every way. Six foot six tall and all of 280 pounds he exuded charisma and seemed to dominate the small waiting area. He was 56 years old and the product of a traditional British upper class education – Eton and Cambridge – followed by a lifetime of administrative posts in increasingly sensitive areas. As befitted his current role, he was a power dresser. His suit was jet black with faint pinstripes and, by the way it hung on his ample frame, it suggested many hours in the company of his ta
ilor. His hair was salt and pepper, pure white over the ears, and cut in a style that was slightly too long to be fashionable but which suited his image perfectly. He smiled at the two agents, displaying a set of perfect white teeth. Adam came rapidly to his feet and Deira, realising she was gaping inanely, closed her mouth.

  ‘Special Agent MacMahon and Supervisory Special Agent Clarke?’ He boomed. ‘Apologies for the long wait. Come in please.’

  He held the door open, and Deira squeezed past him into his office. She had to admit, it was pretty impressive. Positioned overlooking La Grande-Place, it benefited from the afternoon sunlight, which gave what could easily have been a bleak mausoleum of a room a magical lift as the rays bounced round the richly panelled walls. Three of the walls were hung with copies (at least she assumed they were copies) of late renaissance masterpieces while the fourth, behind the huge mahogany desk on the far side of the room, contained row upon row of framed certificates representing the Director’s significant achievements.

  Deira waited for Adam to join her and they stood rather awkwardly while the Director made his way to his desk and sat down, the springs in his chair groaning in protest.

  ‘Please be seated, both of you. I don’t bite.’ He indicated the two chairs in front of the desk and they both sat. There was a pause while he gazed intently at his desk console, then he looked up and smiled again.

  ‘I’ll come straight to the point. The reports you filed last night referred to an unknown agent who helped you out during your fight in the warehouse. Could either of you add anything to your descriptions of this agent?’

  Deira experienced a great desire to pace again. They’d only filed those reports a few hours ago yet the DO already had them in front of him. She knew all reports were initially scanned by software looking for specific words or phrases – so-called “red flags” – and they must have hit the jackpot. Perhaps they’d stumbled on something they weren’t supposed to see. She looked to Adam for support. He was sitting ramrod-straight and staring directly ahead, eyes unfocused.