Free Rogue Command (The Kalahari Series) by A J Marshall Page B

was a dimly lit environment and outside the myriad of reflective white specks shimmering against the consuming blackness of unending space contributed little to the effect. On the instrument panel a number of lights flashed – green, amber and some red – and on a central computer screen schematic layouts of the ship’s engineering systems flipped every few seconds. All the while, there was the muted background hum of electronics. Richard Reece felt the momentary increase in cabin pressure on his eardrums as the external door closed and the seals inflated. In response, three red lights on the panel turned green.
    “It is about fuel, Yannick, and don’t think otherwise,” Richard said, in an explanatory tone. A smile jabbed his lips. “But I’m needed in London, urgently apparently, and an S2 is the quickest way – indeed, the only way – of getting to Earth tonight. Evidently I’m the exception, it seems. Now, run the checklist and call for start. The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back. This terminal will re-open at seven tomorrow morning. My wife will be fuming, but at least we will be in time to open our presents . . .”
    “Aye aye, sir. Commencing pre-flight checklist.”

    “I’m on my way, Peter. In your electric Jaguar – a ‘Double X’ model. It’s nice, very impressive I must say. Clearly you’re moving up in the world.”
    “Yes, and had you stayed in London after your marriage and taken up the appointment you were offered, you would probably have one too.”
    “Oh, come on, not that one again – after what, four years? I’m a pilot, Peter, remember . . . not a pen-pusher. Anyway, this is the last place I’d like to work, fancy job or not.” Richard grimaced as he looked out through the vehicle’s dark-tinted windows and scanned the passing buildings. People hurried along the walkway, much as always in town, although he thought they were fewer in number and everyone here had the ubiquitous umbrella. He stretched his neck to look up to the skyline, which was dank and dismal with a low, opaque cloud base that engulfed the tallest buildings; they simply disappeared into the gloom as if decapitated. Droplets of water ran down the glass. The depressing grey of an early morning here on planet Earth, he thought, who needs it? He breathed in deeply and shook his head despondently. “Albeit only a shuttle pilot,” he whispered to himself. But Peter Rothschild picked it up over the intercom.
    “What’s that, Richard?”
    Richard was wrested from his thoughts. “Oh, um, I think London’s looking shabby. I suppose it’s the rain – the council can’t get anything done. Now, where am I going and what’s the rush?”
    “The driver knows, so you don’t need to worry – but I suppose you will anyway . . . Whitehall ! There’s an emergency cabinet meeting at eleven o’clock this morning; the Prime Minister’s chairing it. Plus a scrambled digital relay with our allies. Washington, Beijing, Moscow, Strasbourg, Bangkok, the ISSF cabinet and others – highest security level. We have suffered a setback and that’s putting it mildly. Before that, at nine, there is a key-brief: scientific, energy, threat, risk assessment and a few other topics on the agenda. The PM is expecting me to correlate the information and present him with our recommendations by ten-thirty at the latest. Are you using an earpiece or hands-free?”
    “I’m on speaker!”
    “Where are you now?”
    “Kennington Oval, passing the Palace of Saudia – shame about the cricket ground . . . ? Vauxhall Bridge next, and then Millbank.”
    “No, not quite. There’s some activity by the river we want to avoid. You are routed through Marsham Street and Great Smith Street. Preparations are in hand. You’ll get a full brief soon enough. I’ll see you in twenty minutes. If I can I’ll meet you at the door, otherwise you will be escorted to my office. Security is high, so be prepared.”

CHAPTER 3
    The