The Hercules transport plane from Wiltshire arrived at the far edge of the airfield at Larnaca with its specially optimized cargo. It taxied without ceremony to a strip at the edge of the most secret area where even the mainstream Military Police were excluded from observing the airside arrangements. The enormous hold held eighteen giant cubes notable by the age of their wooden exteriors and the tattered flecks of paper gummed to the outside. The loading ramp lowered slowly at the back of the heavylift plane, and, within seconds, a small set of automated pallet-shifters scuttled up the ramp into the hold. Waiting at the bottom, a black-bereted U*N*I*T commander watched the procession of crates, then returned to the low office building and picked up the phone.
"Tower? This is Rapace. The T2 pick has arrived at Point L. The pilot says there are forwarding issues with the overall payload deadweight. I would like to request permission to optimize the contents."
The voice at the other end of the line was garbled, but emphatic.
"Affirmative, Colonel, but noone is to know what is in the crates. This appears to include you and I. Can you check over the items with as few people as possible knowing?"
"I'll make it work," said the commander. He pressed the phone receiver to disconnect the call then dialled the five digits to get the extension he required.
"Price?"
"Colonel? I'm busy. Call back later." Colonel Rapace liked this young man, but felt that some of the new graduates got the wrong idea of their own importance when they entered U*N*I*T training school. A degree in game theory did not necessarily entitle you to save the world, or indeed oblige you.
"Get down here, Price. It's what the Army calls 'an order'. We need some keen eyes on a bit of a science project."
"I'm working on my own project right now, thankyou, and the reactor has just enough spare capacity to make it work."
"Price, it's a T2. We need it off our hands as quick as we can."
"God, that lunatic Bruce? I would have thought that we would have been far enough away from his mad schemes. I'll be down in a minute."
"Go straight out to the strip. We'll keep everything airside."
Price arrived wearing a pristine white labcoat as his badge of honor and holding a small tablet computer to show he knew what he was doing. The eighteen massive crates had been unloaded and stood only a few metres from the tail of the aircraft. While Rapace stood behind him, Price redrew the crate layout by tapping squares on the screen.
"It's not difficult, Colonel, sir. The pilot could have worked it out for himself."
"Herself. The pilot's a lady, Price. Just redo the layout and get this thing off my airstrip."
"Hard to tell under those big flight helmets. Maybe she'd leave me her email if I smiled nicely? Look, the eighteen crates were originally arranged in two long rows of nine to allow the smaller items to fit along the side. This has caused the plane to be stiff along the middle and it's rolling a little in flight. If we just shift everything a tiny bit, we get three rows of..?" Price looked expectantly at the colonel.
"Arithmetic is your job, Price. Security of the site is mine. Of course, the answer is 'six', but as the science officer you have to signoff on the reconfiguration."
"Correct. The stubbier shape of the three-by-six arrangement will fit in better with the core of the plane. The smaller boxes can just go at the front and the back." Price stabbed the redrawn plan with a decisive index finger.
The handful of tiny little tow-motors trundled forward and began to reload the cargo hold. The job took several long minutes during which Price repeatedly asked if he could go and Colonel Rapace repeatedly ordered him to remain still.
As the last few crates motored up the ramp, the co-pilot appeared at the top of the ramp and waved to get Rapace's attention. "Do you want this in there too?" She seemed to be holding a thick plastic bag containing what could have been a small regulation football.
"What is it?" shouted the Colonel, lifting his chin up. "I've had lunch. I don't need someone else's sandwiches."
"It was too big for the hold. According to the computer anyway. The warehouse guy in Wiltshire persuaded me to put it in the locker up there in the cabin." Despite the giant dark visor, she looked pleased with herself. "Same plane. Same weight. Different location."
"I can't hear everything you're saying," the Colonel replied. "If it's not on the manifest. I don't want it."
But the noise of the plane was still inconveniently loud and the co-pilot tossed the packet casually from the top of the ramp. The plastic-wrapped sphere bounced on the uneven grass, then spun oddly to the side as if it had bounced off a magnetic field.
"You idiot!" Although Rapace was shouting, the noise of the plane's rotors still drowned out his voice. The spherical package turned like a spinning top where it lay in the mud, then bounced up in a slicing arc striking the side of the last crate with a crash. The crate began to shudder like a heavy motor was starting up inside. The sphere stayed stuck to the side of the crate, buzzing and crackling with energy.
Price looked up from the tablet alarmed. The co-pilot had retreated back into the Hercules and the loading ramp started to close. The crate rattled again and the sides began to flex in and out.
"I've done the maths, Colonel. Now you can do the security bit. If you don't mind, I'm going back to my nuclear reactor."
"Price!" shouted Rapace as his scientific adviser turned to run.
Price turned back to the commander, wondering how much his career relied on this minor element of the U*N*I*T hierarchy.
"Is this your doing?" Rapace shouted. The crate burst open at the side, wood splintering outwards, a dark bulky arm emerging. The sphere started to float, attempting to enter the crate. Rapace drew his service revolver from the holster under his arm and aimed at the giant limb. It was hard to tell if it was part of a giant animal or a heavy dark metal. Some kind of robot?
"No, not me, commander. Might be an electrical fault? A residual programming error?" Price ventured, a nervous smile curling around his lips. He was fascinated to find out what was in the crate, but he was still ready to flee.
Rapace turned his aim from what they could see of this robotic monster and pointed his gun firmly toward his scientific advisor.
"Make it stop!" he ordered quietly.
Price raised his arms, partly placating, partly excusing. "I only work on energy supplies. Robotics is a whole other person's job."
"Dammit, you're right. We'll just have to shut everything down." Rapace lowered the pistol and brought out his radio. "Tower? Degauss Point L. Please. Now." He turned to look at Price. "I would try to hold your breath for the next minute or two." Then everything went dark.