The Greater Game Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Dedicated to Leire and Xabier, who hold the keys to preventing this pandemic

  CHAPTER ONE

  ON A SMALL promontory overlooking a green-blue sea, Marcus Reynolds strolled over to a faux wood bench and slowly lowered himself onto it. The bench was positioned to allow a clear view over a sandy bay across to a second jutting headland, on which the planet’s main spaceport was situated.

  Reynolds directed his gaze across the shallow bay and up the sandstone cliff opposite, to the flat expanse of runway and a collection of two-story terminal buildings. At present, there was just a single shuttle upon the runway – fat-bodied, glistening white. Various mobile gantries and support vehicles clustered around it. As the man watched, a large, wide-tired transporter carrying an oblong container trundled onto the runway from an unseen warehouse. Reynolds knew what was in that container, and he also knew that anywhere else in the human universe it would have been escorted by armed guards and mechanical sentinels. But this was Durre Menthor – the planet taking the Arabic name for its parent star, Tau Ceti – the sole possession of GalCorp. Every one of the twelve thousand humans on the planet was either a member of company staff or of their families, intensely vetted and supremely loyal. There was security, of course, but this was in orbit or at the customs and immigration stations on other worlds and their waystations. Few external contractors, and even fewer visitors, ever made it to this planet’s surface, although one such visitor was due shortly.

  Reynolds had come here, his favourite place in the small, occupied area of the planet, to think and to wait. Behind him – set back from the cliff edge – were various one-story buildings, occupying just eleven square kilometres: uniformly white, broad-windowed, topped with solar panels from which they received their immediate energy needs. The nearer buildings were laboratories, in which the company’s biologists, biochemists, geneticists and virologists experimented, analysed, and produced their enhancements… or detriments, in the case of the bioweapons team, which was situated in a secondary compound. Beyond this was staff housing in buildings of roughly similar design that had been rapidly constructed by replication automatons according to a slightly different programmed template. Some of these dwellings bore touches of personalisation, such as dashes of colour or exterior ornamentation. And a little further beyond these were a number of larger buildings in which the colony’s social functions were served: a school, a couple of refectories, an entertainment complex, and the main retail outlet, which sold everything anyone could want, with 3D printers available to quickly manufacture items that weren’t in stock.

  Pathways ran between the buildings, connecting everything to the main transport station at the rear of the complex, from which electric vehicles could be taken to other places of interest – of which there were currently few. One road led around the bay to the spaceport on the opposite promontory, with its warehouses and workshops; a second led in the opposite direction, a few kilometres further down the coast, to the colony’s microfusion reactor and support buildings; and a third led perpendicular to these roads, in a straight line for about two hundred kilometres, right into the heart of the continent. This third road, which Reynolds had rarely taken, led through jungle-like terrain to the Far Point station, half-way up the slopes of the ironically named Mount Everest, from whence company xenobiologists ranged out to collect, classify and study the native flora and fauna. And surrounding everything was tall fencing, y-shaped at the top, shielding every human element on this world – for though Durre Menthor was a planet that now hosted humans, it was certainly not, at least yet, a human planet.

  Reynolds didn’t have to look behind to remind himself of the totality of his planetary experience: he had been here for nine years, during which time little had actually changed, or at least, little that was visible. There had, though, been sightings over the last few months of ships descending to the south, beyond the Sundstrom Archipelago, leading to rumours of a second, secret spaceport in that direction. Indeed, Reynolds had observed such descents on more than one occasion and appreciated that this made little sense unless the craft were landing somewhere and for some reason. Whatever was going on, it was clearly extremely sensitive: Reynolds’ Alpha 2 rating gave him access to almost all company intelligence, though clearly not as much as the twenty men and women with Alpha 1 clearance, most of whom were company board members. Yet what could be more sensitive than his current business with the Martians? Perhaps, he mused, success in his current task might yet allow him to scale that final professional summit and learn about the mysterious activities to the south.

  As Reynolds mulled these issues and awaited his guest’s shuttle, his attention was drawn to a waterspout out in the bay, rapidly followed by a second and then a third, each jet blasting some twenty metres into the air. After a few seconds of calm, the trio of aquatic eruptions repeated, slightly further out into the bay. Reynolds knew these were signs of Menthor ‘whales’ out hunting, using powerful jets to stun columns of aquatic prey into insensibility. Such weaponry was fairly common amongst the planet’s sea life, especially amongst species that lurked in the shallows, which used the ploy to concuss paddling terrestrial creatures before dragging them into deeper water to be devoured in relative peace.

  The problem for the world’s human inhabitants was that their alien nature in no way inoculated them from a role as potential prey, to creatures that would usually taste first and fatally before realising after that they had made a mistake. And this problem was not confined to the sea life: it was typical of indigenous life on this planet (hence the fencing surrounding all human artefacts and roads), as well as to that on most habitable planets that humanity had yet encountered. Perhaps the only surprise about this matter, Reynolds thought, was that this had been such a surprise to so many zoologists and biologists in the first place. Habitable worlds needed sufficient oxygen for humans to breathe, which required the presence of lifeforms that produced oxygen as a by-product, which inevitably resulted in vast and variegated biomes that had in common this universal feature: that they contained lifeforms that existed by killing and feeding upon other lifeforms, and that had, furthermore, evolved over many millions of years to be rather good at doing this. There had
seemed to be a common thought before the first new world had been encountered that human beings would be sufficiently unfamiliar that they would somehow be excused the attentions of native wildlife, which would simply look upon them with confusion or fear. But creatures came in many shapes and sizes in the dozen-or-so inhabited worlds, many of which were analogous in some way to humans physically, or at least behaviourally, particularly in the propensity to run away from other creatures. Thus, most predatory beasts could not help an evolved urge to bring down things that were smaller than them once they turned to show their back. Humanity had rapidly learnt that Xeno-Nature was also red in tooth and claw and that harmonious co-existence was unlikely to be feasible in this universe. Some societies had attempted to take an ethical stance on this issue, limiting their impact upon their new world through self-isolation in closed habitats, but others – often out of clear view – took more vigorous steps to ensure the safety of their new realms, using the torch to create areas where terrestrial life could then be seeded. Reynold knew that although Durre Menthor appeared more like the former than the latter, this was only due to practicalities and happenstance, and that a more strident approach would undoubtedly be taken if and when it was needed.

  A sonic boom brought Reynolds back to the present. As he looked up, he caught the slowing shape of a shuttle gliding out of the northern sky, rapidly growing in size as it headed towards the runway across the bay. Reynolds got to his feet and strolled towards the buildings behind him. It was a gentle twenty-five-minute walk to the spaceport – just enough time for the shuttle to land and for necessary release procedures to be completed.

  ***

  The man who emerged from the shuttle and gingerly made his way down the steps from its hatchway was clearly a third or fourth generation Martian. He was tall, but he walked in a slightly stooped manner, struggling with a planetary gravity that was more than he was used to. Most of his features were hidden behind outer clothing that was made of a dense artificial material, olive-green in colour, and he wore sturdy green-and-black boots. The man’s eyes were completely obscured by a pair of opaque goggles, which prevented any solar radiation from getting to them, and his hair was covered by a hood that projected a couple of inches over his brow so that his face was in shadow. Yet for Reynolds, of much greater interest than the man’s external appearance was what lay hidden in his genome…

  Reynolds patiently waited several metres from the foot of the hatchway. The Martian reached the bottom of the short stairway, made a perceptible effort to straighten, and then slowly walked six paces to his host. Here he stopped: he raised his gloved hands and gently lowering his hood. This revealed thick blonde hair, black skin – even darker than Reynolds’ own, though the company man knew that while his African ancestry was certain, the Martian’s origins were more complex – and a serious, straight-mouthed expression. Reynolds bowed his head and broke into a slight smile, resisting the urge to push a hand forward to shake that of his guest, knowing the Martian dislike of unnecessarily making skin contact with ‘aliens’.

  “Welcome, Representative Schilling. I hope your journey was not unpleasant.”

  The Martian gave a slight nod, though his expression didn’t change. “It was tolerable. Thank you. And I hope you have had a productive day thus far.”

  Reynolds could not help but smile at this. The Martian reputation for being both direct and work-obsessed could not have been more clearly demonstrated. “Not really, though I expect the next hour or so will more than make up for my earlier unproductivity.” Reynolds’ eyes sparkled with some humour. Then he half-turned and gestured towards a low building a short distance away. “Although I expect I know the answer already, would you care to join me inside where we can have some refreshments while we conclude our business?”

  The Martian followed the direction of his host’s gesture and then slowly fixed his hidden eyes on Reynolds. “Thank you, but no. I am keen to progress.” He saw the white oblong container sitting on its transport off to the side, awaiting instructions to be moved into the hold of the newly arrived shuttle. "Please, let me inspect.”

  “Certainly. Follow me.” The two men walked side by side to the cargo in silence – the Martian making visibly more effort just putting one foot in front of the other. At their destination, the Martian raised a hand and gently placed it against the metal side.

  “Everything is here, according to contract,” said Reynolds. “Naturally, I can’t open this up – it has been prepared for your journey and includes certain defensive safeguards to expunge and sterilise the contents should it be intercepted by other parties. However, I have an inventory and schematic of the interior here…” and with that he reached into a jacket pocket and produced a small information stick. “The information is encrypted. I believe you have the key.”

  The Martian took the small device in his right hand and carefully inserted one end into the socket of a dark oblong device that covered his left forearm, and which blended in with the dark green of his clothing. The oblong came to life, revealing a small keypad on its right-hand side. The Martian tapped a code into this with his right index finger, at which the screen changed to provide a representation of the container’s interior. With practised ease, the man touched the screen and manipulated the schematic – elongating aspects, then compressing them; rotating the 3D representations to allow views from different angles; tapping on icons to reveal further details on content characteristics. Reynolds watched in silence for a minute or two, until he felt a need to summarise.

  “As you can see, all of the external sections contain unproblematic materials. As requested, we have improved your earthworms and modified a number of novel insect types, which should help enrich your biome without damaging crops. The seeds include some new forms, including carrots and peas. We believe the former may be viable under natural conditions, but we would advise that you proceed cautiously and save most of the stock for your greenhouses initially. Further adaptation may ultimately be necessary.”

  The Martian nodded curtly. “All good. And this opaque interior section…?”

  “You will need to use your second level security key to access that.”

  Again, the nod. The Martian focused on one section of screen and used thumb and forefinger to expand it, identified an icon, tapped this, and used the keypad on the right to enter a longer code. At this, the opaque area became translucent, revealing details of the contents at the very centre of the container. Reynolds noticed the left-hand side of his guest’s mouth give an inadvertent twitch, suggesting a supressed smile of satisfaction.

  “And here,” continued Reynolds, “is the more contentious component of the cargo.”

  And this time the Martian did look up and break into a thin smile, though there was no particular humour in it. “You mean, the seeds of our freedom, the basis of your wealth, and the source of our disagreements with those Stone Age cretins on Earth?”

  “Well put.”

  “The full sixty thousand?”

  Reynolds pursed his lips. “Of course, our science and skills are not perfect, but there are well over fifty-six thousand viable embryos. In your documentation you will find the parentage of each and every one – so that you can avoid any incestuous mishaps down the line. They are safely stored and can be thawed and implanted at any time over the next twenty years. Generation Six.”

  “Generation X?”

  Reynolds shrugged. “Perhaps, though probably not. There is only so far we can push bioengineering in so few generations. Frankly, the progress we have made with this batch has astonished even our own scientists.”

  The Martian frowned slightly. “Howso?”

  “We have altered the germline to include genes from several new extremophiles. These future-Martians should have far greater DNA-repair capability than your generation, allowing them to cope much better with radiation. This generation should significantly exceed current life expectancy. I suspect cancer will be rare in your offspring, unlike now. There are som
e here who are even thinking of using these adaptations in their own lines. On top of this, we have further enhanced the capacity of the lungs to cope with low oxygen levels and atmospheric pressures.”

  “How long will they be able to survive outside?”

  Reynolds shrugged. “On Mars? Now? We can only speculate, but perhaps five minutes… a considerable advance on your own generation? Naturally, everything depends on when your terraforming efforts achieve atmospheric pressures above the Armstrong Limit.”

  “I once endured about three minutes, but of course we don’t advertise such facts. We cannot let the primitives into our secrets.”

  Reynolds nodded. The big limiting factor for life on Mars was the planet’s low atmospheric pressure: below the Armstrong Limit, water boiled at the temperature of the human body. An exposed human would die rapidly and unpleasantly as their saliva, tears, urine, blood, and the liquids wetting the alveoli within their lungs, boiled out. If the Martian had survived three minutes in the open this was… suggestive. “Exactly so,” he continued. “But they must suspect. Why Earth hasn’t acted is a mystery. It wouldn’t take much to get some Martian DNA, no matter how carefully you guard yourselves…” Reynolds waved a hand towards his guest’s gloved hands and general attire.

  Schilling suddenly snarled in anger. “It is a secret as dangerous to them as it is to us! They are a divided rabble, whereas we are united. Some want war and others will do anything for peace. While this balance remains, we can continue towards our destiny – as long as we are cautious and do not provoke them.”

  “Maybe they will change. They cannot deny the future forever.”

  The Martian snorted. “They have too many people and too few who would benefit from our technologies quickly enough. One day this powder keg will explode. We need to be entirely self-sufficient before that happens.” He looked down quickly to his forearm computer and turned it off with one vigorous tap. Then he looked at his host again, his mouth once more firmly set. “I thank you, Dr. Reynolds. I see all is in order. Your fee sits in our shipyard – and has already been inspected and approved. Once we emerge back into the Solar System, I will send permission to release it.”