Don looked at the ancient moukalla musket the bodyguard was carrying. It was as tall as the man himself, and the silver work and ivory inlay had been beautifully done. He figured it was mostly for show, until he looked more closely – and drew a sharp breath. It had been heavily modified, and all the signs suggested it had been made a lot more deadly.
He reached out to touch the scroll work, then dropped his hand. The bodyguard looked at Izem, who nodded, and then handed the weapon across. Mosha came up beside Don, and experienced his own moment of wonder. There was nothing commercially available that came close to this.
"It's so light," said Don in wonder.
"Barrel's been rifled," said Mosha. "Large bore, even for a musket."
"Got a magazine track hidden in the stock," said Don.
The bodyguard lifted a magazine from somewhere inside his robes. The cartridges were slid half past each other, and they were a strange shape.
"The bullet isn't jacketed," said Don, pointing, "and I don't think it's lead."
Ridha Izem nodded approvingly. "Tungsten alloys, nearly twice the weight of lead, and many times the stopping power. The other end isn't gunpowder either."
"This thing is out of this world!" said Mosha admiringly, and Don saw the two Berber men look at each other sharply.
"Made in this world," said the bodyguard curtly, and Don wondered at that.
"We have a deal with a German manufacturer," said Izem.
Don stood stunned for a moment. "You have a deal . . ."
"There is a lot for us to discuss," said Izem quietly. "Let us drive to Taghit before it gets dark. The roads are atrocious by headlight."
Don nodded, and then remembered the pilots and the technician. Izem listened quietly to his request, and sent a runner for the old man. His people would see the three men got to Algiers safely.
And so it was that a handful of Berber men made room for Don and his team on the back of a flat-bed truck. Two bone-shaking hours later they were in the small town of Taghit – or what was left of it.
24
Tangiwai caverns
North Island, New Zealand
Doug and Cathy paced along beside Cal. They were somewhere on the lower slopes of Mt Ruapehu. The trip from the car park to the cavern ahead was a short one, ending at a huge blast door. A smaller door to one side was already opening. It was impressively thick, bevelled inward to resist any sort of shock wave.
"Does me a power of good to get out of that damned office!" said Cal, stretching his arms as he walked. "Can't wait for you to take over, Doug, so I can concentrate on our armed forces. And don't even think about saying no!" he added, as Doug demurred.
Jeannie and the kids were back at Waiouru, which was currently a massive construction site surrounded by a tent city. At least the family had a tent to themselves. Jeannie had been slotted into administration, and the kids sent to join a surprisingly large cadet core. A lot of Doug's questions about Cal's operation had been answered in the last week, but there were still surprises, like the cavern ahead of them.
Cal kept around two thousand people stationed at Waiouru – the same number the camp traditionally housed – because he "didn't want activities to look any different to the usual". Who might be looking at those activities was now clear to Doug.
He refused to call them aliens. For one thing the whole invasion might be automated, and for another, calling them 'aliens' gave them an air of superiority, of inevitable technological advantage.
Doug had decided they were an invasion fleet similar to the Japanese in the Pacific during WWII. Outlandishly different, and because of that truly frightening, but ultimately stoppable.
Cal stepped through the open door, and into a long passage. The others followed him through it, and into a large open area. It was Cathy who spoke first. "Goddamn!" she said, in a whisper.
A smooth concrete floor stretched away in all directions. Something like lamp posts had been placed in a grid pattern, maybe fifty metres apart, with four directional lights on each one. The soft glow of pilot lights showed the extent of the cavern. Cathy looked up into an inky blackness. There was no sign of a ceiling.
"Multi-purpose area," said Cal, and she could see office cubicles along one side of the cavern, people at computer screens visible through open doors.
"Assembly area for military sorties or groups collecting food in season, rec areas for people off duty, that sort of thing. A generator for the lights runs off an underground stream.
"Steel nets above, to slide rockfall into pits at the sides. The system worked during the quakes – and we were bloody lucky there was no major collapse. Staff took two days to deal with the dust and grit that came down."
That was it, thought Cathy – why it looked so strange. She wasn't used to an inhabited area that wasn't mostly rubble. Lights were uncommon too.
"There will be eight thousand people living here, in time," said Cal, "plus the two thousand at Waiouru. That doesn't include a small detachment at the Lake Moawhango site."
Doug was up to speed on that one. Smack in the middle of the Waiouru military area, the lake had emptied when the dam creating it had failed. The dam itself hadn't been breached, but the water had found ways around it during the violent quakes. The porous pumice beds in the area had made it easy.
The loss of the lake wasn't a problem, but damage to the silos buried in the pumice beds was a setback. Much of the camp's survival equipment – food, weapons, ammo and workshops – was currently inaccessible, but Cal had people working on it.
"You were going to bring me up to date on the world situation," said Doug, as they approached two large doors at the other end of the cavern.
Cal stopped short. His connections with military groups around the world, particularly those that operated without government knowledge, gave him access to what remaining intel there was. It was all satphones now, and they were heavily regulated.
"We have an SAS approach to disaster that you might want to consider," he said quietly. "If you don't know about it, you don't have to grieve it. Anything outside your immediate situation is just going to stick in your mind and reduce your effectiveness."
He paused. "However you're the new boss, so you can over-ride that if you want."
"I'd like to know," said Doug, after a moment's thought, and Cal nodded.
"India pushed into the Kashmir area and claimed it as theirs. Pakistan nuked two of their cities in retaliation. After that cooler heads prevailed – and the growing realisation how fucked humanity really is.
"Russia pushed through Georgia to take control of Turkey. They wanted to guarantee access to the Mediterranean. Syria joined in, and claimed parts of Turkey so they could wipe out the Kurds.
"Idiots all of them. Half their populations are dead and the other half starving. Troops who could be building shelters, keeping order, and tilling the land for next year's crops are tied up in this madness.
"One billion of the world's population live in cities of a million or more," he continued, "and we can write off most of those. Then it's a wait and see game for which rural areas are going to stabilise under a subsistence farming regime.
"The more unstable governments have already fallen. Most of South America is now lawless, with factions from the old military bases and the drug cartels dividing up the countryside."
"I get the picture," said Doug, raising a hand to stop the chilling flow of information. His call to Jimmy at Civil Defence in Wellington the previous night had been just about as depressing. The call had been courtesy of Cal's comms network.
Civil Defence was barely making a dent in the problems down there. Jimmy had said it felt like waiting for a plague to burn itself out. He hoped the survivors would realise the extremity of their situation, and start trickling in to the designated sports fields and stadiums in more than ones and twos.
Doug had admired the mental toughness, and ability to solve problems, of his countrymen and women in the past – though many of the younger generations
had sold out to instant gratification and mindless entertainment. It was hard to see how rebuilding a society with such a greatly reduced population could be achieved.
Cal guided them toward a door ahead of them. When he opened it the noise level went up dramatically, and there were people everywhere. Cathy was uplifted by the intent and purpose all around her. They were standing in a cave the size of a large hall, with four tunnels leading off it.
"From here on it's all man-made!" shouted Cal over the noise, as he led them onward. "That first cavern was a natural formation. All we had to do was pour a floor, make it watertight, and do something about rockfalls."
Doug was astounded at the man's long-term planning – and how he'd managed to keep this site a secret. Then he remembered that Cal had stopped doing anything 'official' a long time ago. They followed Cal through a door and passed into comparative silence. Three people in white lab coats looked up from sophisticated equipment as they entered. Cathy recognised some seismic hubs.
"Last member of your team!" said Cal, pointing toward Cathy, and they broke into smiles. Cathy was pleased to see one of the three was a woman.
"You've got a week to get ready, and then you're off to Fiordland," said Cal, turning to Cathy. "This is our top science team. They completed an SAS endurance program months ago. You've got seven days to get fit enough to join them."
Then he and Doug were gone.
Cathy's smile vanished. One of the men laughed, and came to her side.
"Did you know there are four alien citadel's in New Zealand?" he asked gently. She shook her head. "Rather a lot by world standards, but we're the only land mass along this side of the Pacific plate, and we think that's got something to do with it.
"Anyway, one of them is in the middle of Lake Adelaide, just along from the Homer tunnel. Cal thinks we can get into it from another tunnel in the Hollyford valley. That man has so many cross-referenced files, going back so many generations, he can put his finger on anything."
Cathy didn't look reassured.
"We're not the only ones going in for a closer look," he said. "There's another team in the Atlas mountains, would you believe."
At this stage, Cathy would believe just about anything of Cal.
25
Moroccan border
Atlas mountains, North-west Africa
The flat-bed truck had gone south to Taghit, where it stopped at a patched-up barn as dusk was falling. Several families were re-building on the one site, all related to Izem in some way. Don watched as diesel was pumped by hand from a drum into the truck's tank.
Jo was welcomed by the women, and she took the opportunity to go native. With robes and a headscarf she looked more androgynous, not too different to a young Berber male. It was a smart move.
The next day the truck headed west across the desert, bypassing Abadla and Hammerguir to the north. The main roads had once been sealed highways, but the quakes had ripped the unstable sand and gravel from under them. They were dangerous now, chunks of tarmac poking up at odd angles.
The Berbers kept to themselves during the journey, except for Izem's bodyguard, who seemed to have been assigned Don's liason.
Udad talked about waves of sand that swept across the giant dunes, burying whole villages where underlying rock sloped up out of the desert. Survivors had been haunted by the way their families had been entombed by the sand.
At some stage the truck crossed the border into Morocco. Later it headed north, climbing most of the way, until it pulled into the ruins of a small village called Fezzou. The place was deserted, and Izem's men found food and firewood where they could. After a cold night they climbed higher, arriving at a remote valley by the middle of the next day. The truck lurched along animal tracks into a settlement at the heart of the valley.
Don figured they had to be at 2000m now, well into the Atlas Mountains. His research had told him some of the peaks hit 4000m.
He looked around. They were in a strange, broken landscape, surrounded by vertical cliffs hundreds of metres high. There must be water somewhere, because the low-lying areas were covered in lush green crops. The rest of the valley was high country scrub, grazed by the herds of goats he had seen, and smaller groups of camels. Don noted they were dromedaries, the one-hump kind.
The truck stopped amid scenes of chaotic activity. Some of the houses were being torn down to restore others, and the same thing was happening with the barns. There seemed to be too many people for the size of the place.
Then Don realized why Fezzou had been deserted. People from the outlying villages had been told to strip their houses of food and essentials, and head here. Building materials and heavier equipment would be scavenged from the villages over time. This was an extremely well-organised Berber tribe.
People were already gathering to meet the truck. Their clothing was a little more subdued than the bright warrior dress of Izem's men, but just as varied. Most of it was robes, headscarves, and elaborate twisted headdresses. Some of the people had been working, and were down to simple tunics and bare shins, men and women alike. Don had expected veils across faces, but it was not so. It looked like these people set themselves apart from mainstream practices.
Izem was surrounded the moment he stepped out of the truck, to an instant babble of voices. Don figured the Berber leader had been away for most of a week, making the trip to Taghit and waiting for the flare that signalled their arrival. By contrast Izem's guests were kept at a respectful distance. Don wondered how often the people here saw outsiders – or what Izem had told them about him and his team.
Despite a promise of more information at the airport, Izem had sidestepped further questions. Apparently the 'High Council' would decide what Don was to be told, and he would have a chance to meet the council that evening. For the moment they were fed, shown rudimentary showers, and taken to a large room to settle in.
Don took Jo aside and asked her if she wanted a separate room. She shrugged, and said she'd been in situations like this before. She would change in the showers, or when the lights were out. The men would have to wait until she was out of the room to change, or she would promise not to look.
Don caught the hint of a smile, and was surprised at the strength of this newly-qualified Richmond cop, thrown into such extreme circumstances. Part of him figured she knew the safest place was not far from him, and she was probably right.
He also thought Izem might have web access, and he wanted to get Jo back onto the military network. What was happening out there in the wide world?
Later there was a welcoming ceremony, involving several hundred of the villagers and a meal. Then Don, and Mosha as his bodyguard, were shown into a beautifully ornate room that must have been something special before the quakes hit. Much of the debris lay pushed against one wall, and a tarpaulin covered damage on one side of the roof. Guards with surprisingly modern weapons stood either side of the door.
Don and Mosha were seated at a long table, and introduced to six men on the other side of it. Izem was one of them, and he was by far the youngest. Udad stood behind Izem, and acted as a translator. There were no preambles.
"For why does your High Council wish to know of our secrets?" translated Udad, as one of the Berber High Council spoke. It was a more formal English than the bodyguard had been using on the truck.
"Our High Council has been destroyed by the earthquakes," said Don slowly, meaning his government. He could see some cultural differences coming up.
"One of our military men," he continued, "the one who contacted you, is showing his people how to rebuild in the high country. It is very similar to what you are doing here."
This started several minutes of discussion that Udad didn't bother to translate.
"Our leader, Cal," said Don, "knows that visitors to this planet made the earthquakes. When the people have recovered their strength, he wants to destroy these invaders."
This time the discussion was more prolonged.
"What makes you think we had anyth
ing to do with the Gaddafi column?" said one of the elders. The others waited expectantly.
"I don't know anything about a Gaddafi column," said Don. "I was told to keep an open mind. I was told to report to Boudghene airport, that is all."
The oldest man on the High Council, at least by appearances, spoke above the others. Udad translated. "Your leader is a very wise man."
There was a moment's silence, and then the same man spoke again.
"Leave us now," translated Udad, "and we will discuss your request,"
Don didn't know what Cal had requested, in fact he knew too damn little about this whole situation, but his instincts told him the momentum was slipping away from him. Maybe the High Council thought Cal was a one-man band, and dictators were rife in these parts. He had to do something to recover the situation.
"Thank you," he said quickly, "but there is one thing you need to know."
The room did not feel exactly friendly, but he plunged on.
"Cal is a prince among men. He goes into battle with his troops, and considers the least of his people to be as important as his own life. He has saved men and women who are now commanders around the world, and sometimes he has taken a bullet for them.
"Cal is an essential part of bringing our forces together, so we can fight this new enemy. Through his friends he has access to the most advanced technology this planet has to offer, and he will weld us all into a fist that can punish the creatures that have done this to us."
Don figured the 'prince among men' speech would resonate with the tribal Berbers. The mention of technology wouldn't hurt either. He signalled to Mosha, and the two of them left the room.
At first Don thought he'd muffed his chance with the Berbers. He and his team were left alone that night, and well into the following day. Finally, just before the simple midday meal, he was called back to the same ornate room.
"There is a lot for us to discuss," said Izem, alone behind the long table. A smile played about his lips as he repeated the words he had said when they first met.
Struggle for a Small Blue Planet Page 11