Aftershock (18 page)

Steph worked her way through the material she had collected from the wreckage of the Silverback. Very little of it was useable. Almost all the components of the aircraft were sealed units and highly specialised. They did not lend themselves naturally to being cannibalised. What she had salvaged lay on a rickety table close to the fire. Howard was cooking up some food in the kitchen just a few metres away. It smelled surprisingly good.

On the table lay a bunch of different coloured wires, a power pack from a coolant unit, a solar power cell and some parts from a shattered communication console. Beside the pile of smashed equipment stood Howard's old radio.

Using a miniature screwdriver from the toolkit she had found in the wrecked plane, Steph prised open the back of a small metal unit. Inside lay a deceptively simple array of wires and plastic rectangles placed in a regular arrangement. Although it looked no more complex than the sort of device a young techno enthusiast might build with his first electronic design kit, it was a machine with the computing power of a TV station.

The CARPA eggheads who designed the module used components so small that they had reached the effective limit for miniaturisation at which a fundamental principle of quantum theory called Heisenberg's Uncertainty began to interfere with the functioning of the device. This meant that the innards of any form of processor could get no smaller unless, that is, quantum computing mechanisms were used. (This was how Sybil operated and it gave the Base One computer extraordinary processing power. Unfortunately, this could still only be achieved with a large machine such as Sybil – a computer that took up a huge room in the lowest level of Base One on Tintara. Even the scientists at CARPA were a long way from building miniature quantum computers.)

Steph studied the inside of the module and suddenly felt overwhelmed by the task she had set herself. A surge of anger erupted inside her and she slammed down the metal box, rocking the old handmade table so that it almost toppled over.

‘What're you hoping to achieve?' It was Josh. He was pulling himself up on some animal skins that had been rolled up to form a pillow.

‘Hi,' Steph responded. ‘How're you feeling?'

‘I was fine ... until the alarm call,' he declared, glancing at the box Steph had brought down on the table.

‘Sorry about that.'

‘I'm actually feeling a million times better.' He went to move his legs. ‘Ow!'

‘Easy tiger.'

‘No, it's just pins and needles, Steph. The knee is feeling ... well almost bearable,' he said and grinned. ‘So, you going to tell me?' And he nodded to the muddle of objects on the table.

‘Howard lent us his radio. Says it's no good to him as it is. It's actually working fine. It's just that any signal it could pick up is jammed.'

‘So, what good is it to us?'

‘It occurred to me that if the range of the interference is limited, then we might still pick up a signal from Tom. Or we could send a high frequency signal to him. E-Force comms work on ultra high frequency radio waves, remember.'

‘So you're hoping the Chinese jamming won't reach such high frequencies?'

‘Exactly.'

‘But then, if the Chinese jamming signal doesn't reach that part of the radio spectrum, why haven't you been able to pick up anything from Base One?'

‘Because this dear old thing,' and she patted the wooden casing of the radio affectionately, ‘... would not be able to operate at that range, unmodified.'

‘Hence that lot.' Josh nodded towards the pile of salvaged components. ‘Anything I can do?'

Steph ran her fingers over her chin. ‘I'm not so sure either of us can, Josh.' She lifted up a metal box about 5 centimetres square. It had three red leads coming from its underside. Apart from that it was featureless.

‘A comms modulator,' Josh said.

‘Yeah, found it in this piece of console.' Steph pointed to a length of shattered plastic about 30 centimetres long and 15 centimetres wide to which three similar metal boxes were attached. ‘It should boost the signal to cover either end of the range of the old radio.'

Howard walked in, wiping his hands on an old rag. ‘Ah, how's the patient?'

‘Feeling much better, thanks.'

Howard shook his head. ‘Steph was trying to explain about the nanowhatsits. I know I've lost touch living out here, but that's pretty amazing.'

‘Yes, it is,' Josh said, nodding. ‘I wouldn't worry. I still find it incredible.'

‘So, what are you trying to do with my old radio, Steph?'

She repeated what she had told Josh.

‘That's good ... isn't it?'

‘Would be, except I can't power the modulator.'

‘What about my generator? It's as ancient as the radio, but it has a fair old kick.'

Steph smiled. ‘I'm sure it does, Howard, but it has to be a very precise power signature, or the components will fry – assuming the modulator is still working, of course.'

Howard sat down in the only other chair, close to the end of Josh's bier.

‘God! How dumb am I?' Josh said suddenly. ‘The cybersuit. We could use its powerpack.'

‘Nice idea, Josh, but it won't work. The suit has an entirely different modulation system.'

‘Damn it, I knew that.'

‘You're forgiven,' Steph said with a smile.

Howard stood up and walked over to a pair of shelves cut into the wall close to the exit. He rummaged around for a few moments, mumbling to himself. Steph turned back to the pile of components on the table. Josh closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, Howard was walking back towards them. ‘Will this help?' On the table, he placed an ugly-looking mess of wires and bulbous clumps of insulation tape that sprouted from a small, lidless wooden box.

‘Er ... what is it?'

‘A transformer, of sorts.'

Steph stared at it. Josh was leaning up on one elbow peering over towards the table.

‘Made it from bits of the original Toyota and other odds and ends I've found over the years.'

‘But why?'

‘I'll have you know it's extremely useful.'

Steph and Josh looked at him doubtfully.

‘Almost every electrical device I brought with me has long since gone the journey,' Howard said. ‘Any replacements I've managed to procure have been by bartering with nomads who pass by occasionally, or from the market in Fung Ching Wa. I discovered quite early on though that only rarely do two devices work on the same voltage. Most of them are Chinese, Russian, American and a few European products, and by the time I get them they've almost always been mauled by the locals. So, I built this.' He looked down at the contraption with pride. ‘A transformer. It can handle most voltage changes. You could hook it up to its operator and get the power signature you need'

‘Well, I don't know what to say,' Steph said looking up from the box of tricks Howard had placed on the table. She studied the man's face. ‘You really are a most remarkable man, Howard.'

‘Why thank you,' he replied with a bashful smile and went off to the kitchen.

It took Steph another half hour of wire-fiddling to rig up the circuitry for the modulator on the kitchen bench. The generator stood at one end of the room. The equipment was an amorphous heap of metal boxes, wires, relays and lengths of plastic. At one end was the modulator looking totally incongruous among the piles of homemade electrical gadgets and devices that belonged in a museum. Steph had soldered together most of the components, but some wires were wound together and covered with insulation tape. The final step was to connect the leads to Howard's ancient generator. She uncoiled two rubber-sheathed lengths of wire, clamped one end to the output pads of the transformer and the other to electrodes on the generator.

Howard came into the kitchen as Steph was finishing off with the connections and checking everything through. Josh was sitting up in bed nearby, watching with interest.

‘How's it going, Steph?' Howard asked. ‘Looks horrendously complicated.'

‘Well, it looks worse than it is,' she replied. ‘I've just connected the generator to the transformer and from there the power goes to the modulator. I've hooked up the modulator to the main transmitter in your radio. If we can get enough juice from the generator, we should be able to push the radio frequency range beyond the interference region, and maybe, just maybe, get a message out.'

‘Fingers crossed,' Howard said and stepped back.

‘You want to do the honours?' Steph asked, pointing at the switch close to the modulator.

Howard had his hands up. ‘No ... Your machine. You do it.'

Steph shrugged and leaned over the bench, held her fingers on the switch for a moment and then clicked it to ‘on'.

At first, nothing happened. Then the modulator began to hum and a dull green light appeared inside it and started to pulse. Steph leaned towards a slider close to the main switch. ‘I'm going to gradually increase the power to the modulator,' she said. ‘We need to get the transmission signal up to at least 102 gigahertz, the bottom end of the range E-Force operates in. If we make that, we just have to pray the interference band doesn't go that far.'

Steph moved the slider slowly. With each increment, the hum shifted to a higher pitch and the light inside the modulator pulsed a little faster. With the slider halfway along its groove, Steph stopped to check the frequency. It was at 30.3 gigahertz. Good, but still nowhere near the frequency she needed.

Josh appeared in the doorway. ‘How's it going?'

‘You should be in bed,' Steph said, without taking her eyes from the mess of tangled electrical components on the kitchen bench.

‘I'm feeling much better.'

Steph pushed the slider to the three-quarter mark, and the hum increased in pitch again, turning into an irritating squeal. She checked the frequency. 57.8 gigahertz. ‘Damn it,' she exclaimed.

‘What?' Howard asked.

‘Should be 75 to 80 gigahertz by now.' She shook her head and sighed. Then she adjusted a couple of the controls on the radio. ‘Ow!' she exclaimed. ‘That's hot.'

‘Perhaps, we should...' Howard began quietly.

Steph ignored him. ‘So close...' she announced and tapped the slider, nudging it a millimetre. Glancing at the frequency meter, she cursed and went to nudge the slider again. There was a loud crack and a spark flew from the modulator. At the same moment, the generator started to crackle where the leads had been attached to the electrodes. A wire connecting the radio to the modulator snapped, burst into flames, flew up into the air and hit the low compacted sand ceiling. It rebounded and shot back to the bench, missing Steph's hand by millimetres. A low fizz emanated from the radio and the whole arrangement of components shut down as though a switch had been thrown to ‘off'.

‘So, you can't reach Pete or Mai in Dome Alpha?' Tom said. An image of Mark at the controls of the Big Mac filled the screen in his quarters.

‘No. Comms between here and the hotel are completely down. You got anything on your monitors?'

‘I lost the link at the same time as you, Mark. BigEye has traces for each of them on infrared. Mai had just separated from a small group, leaving Pete behind. Their traces show they're still in Alpha, but infrared doesn't mean much.'

Mark knew precisely what Tom meant. Both Pete and Mai could be dead, but they would still have some residual heat in their bodies. For a while at least. He pushed the thought aside and focused. ‘Tom, I want you to make a detailed scan of the structure of the three domes.'

‘What're you thinking of doing?'

‘I'm going in.'

‘But how're you going to dock?' Tom asked, surveying Mark's face on the screen.

‘That's why I want the information on the structural integrity. I'm going to have to cut my way in.'

Tom nodded.

‘Anything more on Steph and Josh?' Mark asked.

Tom looked pained. ‘Oh, I've narrowed it down ... to an area about the size of New Jersey,' he said, and looked at his control panel. ‘BigEye 17 is sweeping the area in a standard search pattern. I'm due an update in a few minutes.' He looked up. ‘If they are alive I'm sure Steph and Josh will make their presence known somehow.'

‘Okay, Tom. Let me have those stats on the hotel asap, yeah?'

Tom set to work straight away. He had the most recent BigEye images of the stricken hotel on his screen, ones taken after the second tremor that had broken the comms link with Pete and Mai.

‘Sybil, can you bring up the stress pattern for each of the domes? Start with Alpha.'

The image focused in on the most westerly dome. It filled the screen and rotated slowly to show all angles. A series of coloured lines appeared. They looked like the lattice work of veins in a human body, or the filaments of fat in a side of meat. The top of the dome was shattered and closely packed fissures ran from the cap along the west side almost to the second floor. The clearest region was on the first floor on the east side.

‘Dome Beta please, Sybil.'

An almost identical picture appeared. Dome Beta. It rotated slowly on the screen. The west side had fewer stress lines, and they were less closely packed than those for Alpha. The cap was holding up well, but this would be the worst place to try to enter the hotel. The glass was at its thickest and under the most stress from tension.

Tom ran his hand over the virtual keyboard on the top of his desk and the image shifted to the east side of Beta. This was severely damaged, the stress lines packed tight and running halfway down the side of the dome. He took a deep breath and exhaled through his nose. ‘Gamma please.'

Dome Gamma appeared on the screen. The top of the structure was such a mess of fault lines, Tom was amazed the cap had not given way. The fissures ran down the dome in every direction. But, below these, the structure was remarkably undamaged. Tom closed in on the image, following fault lines from the top of the dome until they petered out. Then, moving down to the base of the structure, he could see that a small section at the east end of the linkway was still connected to the west side of Dome Gamma, but the corridor was completely unusable. The other end had snapped away from Beta.

Tom shifted the image again to study the most easterly side of the dome. Here the structure was the most stable of any section of the hotel. If any part could sustain Mark's effort to cut into the glass, this would be it. He turned to the control panel and sent the information over to Mark in the Big Mac.

A signal sounded. It was the update from BigEye 17. Tom span his electric chair round and leaned over the plastic top of the console, not daring to hope the satellite would deliver some positive news. He flicked the signal to the main screen. The image was clouded with lines of static. Tom waited for the image to clear, but it would not shift. All he could see was a background of orange covered with streaks of distortion and jagged white bands. From the speaker came nothing but white noise.