Nomen Luni

Nomen Luni

Chapter 1

  The day after his thirty-first birthday, Martin Forrester stepped into a small but lavishly appointed office. He was dressed in his best suit (which had been bought specifically for occasions like this), and had spent over an hour preparing both physically and mentally.
  “Please have a seat, Doctor Forrester.” The man who had spoken was sat behind a gleaming desk, and was flanked by two colleagues, male and female.
  “Thank you,” said Martin stiffly, and did as he was asked.
  As was the case after most of his birthdays, he felt rather ill. However, for once it wasn’t excessive drinking but rather jetlag that had produced this undesirable effect. His eyelids felt slightly heavy, and there was an unsettling churning in his stomach.
  Naturally the delightful flight attendants in first class had done everything to make him comfortable, and at one point he wondered if they might offer to fluff his pillow. They had offered him drinks in their cultivated American accents, suggested he might like something to read. But despite all this attention, jetlag was something which was inescapable, at least by him.
  The man now sat across from him (in his mid-thirties by the looks of it, and wearing an even more expensive outfit than Martin) said “first of all, we’d like to thank you for flying all the way here for this interview. I trust you had a good flight?” The man’s voice was pleasant, and seemed sincere enough.
  “Yes,” lied Martin, “it was a good trip.”
  “I’m glad,” continued the man who was clearly the most senior of the trio he was now facing. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m James Elkwood, a presentative for my company. This is Doctor Enrico Reyes, and to my left is Lisa Blackman. I’d just like to say, we’re had our collective eye on you for some time.”
  “Oh?” said Martin, and his surprise was genuine.
  “How could we not?” intoned the man who had identified himself as James, and Martin couldn’t help but smile slightly at the flattery. “Born in nineteen-seventy six, you quickly demonstrated a strong aptitude for mathematics.
  “You graduated from Cambridge University with a degree in Higher Mathematics, and then returned to get a masters degree in the same discipline. Since then, you’ve been working for a prestigious software company based in London. And three years ago you were awarded the Fields Medal for your contributions. Am I correct so far?”
  “Yes,” answered Martin, although it was clearly a strictly rhetorical question.
  James Elkwood nodded sombrely. “And it is your work of the last seven years that had brought you to our attention. Tell us, do you find the problems posed to you at Peterson-Andrews Technology challenging?”
  After a brief pause to consider the question and potential answers, Martin answered “sometimes.”
  James smiled from his comfortable position across the table. “If you had merely replied with ‘yes’, or ‘definitely’, we would’ve known you to be lying. Someone of your calibre isn’t truly challenged by much, are they?”
  “Well, that is to say…”
  “No need to be shy,” said the woman also sat on the opposite side of the table, “hiding your light under a bushel, if I may temporarily degenerate to clichés, is one of the worst things a person can do. If you hadn’t been the best in your area, we wouldn’t have offered you this interview. You are the best at what you do, aren’t you Doctor Forrester?”
  “One of the best,” said Martin cautiously. All this flattery was making him feel more nervous and unsure of himself, rather than pleased.
  “I’ll be as direct as I can with you,” James said, although Martin got the feeling this man (or his friends) were rarely blunt and direct. “We need someone like you on the project. Or more to the point, we need you. But first we need to ask you a few questions.”
  “Okay,” replied Martin. He had been to a fair few interviews in his lifetime, but less than five minutes in, this one was definitely the most unnerving. Usually he was all confidence, but there was something about these people –
  “First off, the role we want you to play would require you to be with us for a six month period, possibly longer. Can you make that kind of commitment?”
  “Yes,” was the quick answer from Martin.
  “You’ll also be required to leave your home in England, and live on our facility for the duration of your tenure with us. Is that okay?”
  “Yes,” said Martin again, warming up slightly now. These seemed like pretty regular questions, and ones that he was well-equipped to answer.
  “What would you say, if I told you we were currently working on decrypting a mathematical code so complex and sophisticated, that our best minds can barely scratch it?”
  “I’d like very much to have a crack at it myself.”
  Martin thought he saw a flicker of a smile on James’ face at this, but couldn’t have been completely sure.
  “Are you religious, Doctor Forrester?”
  “I’m sorry?”
  Lisa Blackman elaborated with “do you believe in a supreme being of some kind, Doctor?”
  “I’m not sure how that’s relevant to joining your company as a mathematician.”
  James smiled engagingly. “All the questions we are asking are relevant, in one way or another. We need full and honest answers to each of them, if we are to offer you a position.”
  Martin considered this briefly. Right from the beginning, right from the moment he received that letter in the morning post, something didn’t quite seem right about this company.
  They named themselves as Nomen Luni, a group purported to be engaged in advanced and highly secretive scientific projects. And yet when searching for them on the internet, and asking amongst the mathematical community, he had found barely a trace of their existence. It just didn’t add up, which is rather troublesome for a mathematician.
  His interest had been piqued however, so he resolved (for now) to go on with the interview. “No, I’m an atheist.”
  Enrico (a hispanic man, appearing to be in his late twenties) shot a brief glance at James at this, but the main question asker didn’t bother to return it.
  “Have you ever been involved with any extremist group of any kind?”
  Martin laughed slightly at this, wondering if it was a joke, then replied “no.”
  “Are you in favour of or opposed to capital punishment?”
  “Opposed.”
  “Are you in favour of or opposed to the ideals and philosophy of capitalism?”
  “In favour, I guess.”
  “You guess?” James’ eyebrows furrowed together. “Either you are or you aren’t, surely.”
  This time with as much certainty as he could muster, Martin said again “in favour.”
  “Are you pro-life or pro-choice?”
  Never having had to personally deal with the subject, Martin hadn’t given it much thought. Some, but not much. “Pro-choice.” He almost added ‘I suppose’, but thought better of it.
  “What is your sexuality?”
  “I’m heterosexual.”
  “Do you have any children, or any children on the way?”
  “No.”
  “Some people believe there to be intelligent life on other planets. What are your views on this opinion?”
  This interview was getting stranger and stranger, the questions increasingly esoteric in nature. And yet, part of him wanted to see where this was going, and exactly what this mysterious company was all about. Could they be working in partnership with, or for SETI?
  “I neither accept nor deny that view,” he said levelly, “I haven’t seen any strong evidence for or against. Why, am I going to be working under a martian?”
  James (and the other two) either didn’t recognise this as a joke, or chose to ignore it. “I think you’ll find the director of our main project to be quite human.”
  There was a brief pause in the conversation, as James Elkwood glanced over at the clock hanging on the far wall. Next to him, Lisa moved her head slightly which causes her long black hair to sway. James’ eyes were then on Martin again, digging into them.
  “Do you have any experience with personal defence?”
  “You mean, ‘do I know any martial arts’?”
  “Yes.”
  “No.”
  “Would you be willing to learn some self-defence, if you were employed by us? I’m not talking a three month course, just a few simple lessons.”
  Martin shrugged slightly. “Why not?”
  “Do you have any previous experience with firearms? Pistol, automatic weapons, that kind of thing.”
  Martin looked from James, to Lisa, to Enrico, and then back to Martin. All of them looked grave, and all of them were patiently awaiting his answer. He became aware of his heart rate increasing, thumping louder and louder in his chest. A small amount of sweat had gathered under both armpits, slick and sweet beneath the fabric of his suit.
  “No, of course I don’t. What kind of a question is that?” The time for playing this game was over, he wanted answers right now, or he would walk. “I’m a mathematician, not a soldier.”
  It was James’ turn to shrug. “We already have security personnel who work for us, some of them ex-soldiers. What we need is a mathematician. I ask again, do you have any experience with firearms?”
  “Not unless you count the water pistols my brother and I used as kids.”
  James scratched briefly at his short, dark brown hair. Even seeing this very human gesture, Martin couldn’t help but wonder whom James really was. Under the two thousand dollar suit, and the calm corporate exterior.
  “Would you be willing to learn some limited gun usage? Again, it would only be a few lessons, nothing too fancy. Before you answer, I should point out that everyone who works for us learns both basic martial arts, and simple firearms skills.”
  Enough!
  Martin now pushed his chair back from under him, and it made a soft brushing sound as it ran along the plush carpet. He was feeling more and more – something – and this interview was getting more bizarre by the minute.
  Aware that his face was reddening slightly, he said (or in retrospect, may have shouted) “I demand you tell me what all this is about now, or I’m going to turn and leave through that door behind me. These questions certainly aren’t run-off-the-mill stuff, and very few seem to be relevant to the job you’re offering me at all. If I really am as valuable to you as you claim, tell me what’s going on.”
  Despite his outburst, the three people before Martin stayed seemingly completely relaxed, and unperturbed. Either they were simply good at masking their emotions, or…they had gone through this a number of times before.
  After exchanging brief glances with his associates, James Elkwood said “if you’ll sit back down Doctor Forrester, I’ll explain.”
  “You will?”
  “I shall,” confirmed the pale man.
  Martin began to feel his anger and indignation ebb away, and his curiosity was creeping back into his mind, slowly. He sat down again.
  “I know this seems strange to you now, but each and every one of these questions really is relevant to your potential job role. And what I said at the beginning of the interview, about us needing you, was no lie.
  “The work we’re doing is special. Not just advanced, or highly profitable, but special. No other word for it.” Martin listened as placidly as he could, wondering just how much he would now be told – and how much would be true. “If we can successfully complete this project we’re doing, it could potentially change the human race forever.”
  “That big, huh?” asked Martin in what he hoped sounded like a casual, indifferent tone.
  James smiled, and it wasn’t the usual small, careful smile that appeared from time to time on his face. This smile was broad, and full of intensity, almost a grin. “Bigger. If you’ll please just answer this last question, I think we will be ready to make you an offer.”
  Another pause, and then Martin said “I can’t guaruntee that I’ll be any good at shooting stuff, but I’d be willing to do the firearm training, if it’s required of me.”
  Now James really did grin, showing even white teeth between full red lips. “Good!” he exclaimed, and although Enrico and Lisa didn’t say anything, it was clear they felt the same way. “Very good. I guess all that remains now is one more yes or no question, and one we think that you’ll say yes to.”
  Martin thought he’d say yes as well, but he was starting to wonder if it was such a fantastic idea. If he accepted this job, what would that mean? If he was signing a six month contract, if things didn’t turn out well, there was no going back. But this whole company and their vaunted ‘project’ intrigued him, and his mind couldn’t fight something like that easily. It had never been able to, which occasionally got him into trouble. Besides, his current job really wasn’t that stimulating at all.
  “We want you to join us with our research, and we’re willing to pay you money that reflects your abilities.”
  He carelessly scrawled something on a piece of paper he produced from a drawer in the desk, and then slid it with a single finger across the table to Martin. Picking it up with his right hand, Martin examined it.
  “Five hundred thousand dollars for a six month commitment? That’s just over a quarter of a million pounds sterling. Sounds pretty good to me.”
  “If you like, you can sleep on it, Doctor Forrester. There’s no need to answer now. It’s a big commitment: we want you to be completely sure.”
  Martin suspected that James might well be using reserve psychology on him, but if he was, it was working.
  “I don’t need to think about it. Give me a contract to show to my lawyer, then you’ll have it signed in a few days.”
  James stood up, and on either side of him, his subordinates did the same. Martin followed suit.
  “Welcome aboard,” he said, and extended a hand. Martin quickly took it, firmly and without doubt. “We think you’ll have a very memorable experience working at Nomen Luni.”

Chapter 2

  A steady stream of noises came from outside Martin’s hotel window: honks and roaring from the cars down below, the shouts and screams of children in the streets, not to mention the occasional sound of distant music.
  He listened to it distantly, as he laid on his bed thinking. It was five days since he had flown over the Atlantic, four days since he had arrived in the Connecticut town of West Springs, three days since he had attended his interview, and twelve hours since he had submitted the signed contract. And now, it was less than a day until he went to their offices, and began his new job.
  A pad of paper lay by the side of the bed, with a list of names written in pencil upon the first sheet inside it, with all but one crossed out with neat lines. Martin had called almost everyone he needed and wanted to.
  There was his mother in Exeter, his father in Bristol. He had phoned his brother in Edinburgh; he had contacted his sister in Plymouth. A few good friends had also been accepting long-distance calls from him, not to mention a real estate agent to put his house back on the market.
  All of them had been both interested and surprised to hear what he had to say. Almost as shocked, in fact, as he had been when he had first heard it. His new job wouldn’t require him to relocate to North America as he assumed, but rather to Asia.
  James Elkwood, the man who had lead the interview he had attended, mentioned that almost as a careless afterthought, just a few seconds after shaking hands with him. They had an office right hear in West Springs, but their main facility was a long way away.
  A perfectly good question was ‘why is your main research facility in Asia?’, and it had been one that Martin had asked. The response had been ‘don’t worry, you’ll find out everything you need to know when you get there’. It was a half-answer, about as vague and dismissive as you could get, but Martin had no choice other than to accept it.
  The other shocker was that Martin would not be able to (or perhaps, not be permitted to) communicate with anyone in the outside world for the six months. That was also something he had agreed to.
  The sounds of April continued out the bedroom’s open window, oblivious to the twists and turns of Martin Forrester’s life. There wasn’t much to do now, to be honest: he had packed his suitcase (mainly clothes, a few personal affects) and made most of his calls.  Quite against his will, he found himself drifting off into his personal hall of memories.
  His life up until now had been a reasonably happy one. In the earlier years of his existence, he had done well academically, and then had made him friends at school. This continued as the years went on, with his masters degree and more significantly, his Fields Medal. Receiving that at the awards ceremony had been both nerve-wracking and exciting, a true double-edged sword.
  He had spent over half a decade working for a respectable software company, putting his (considerable) mathematical abilities to good use, toiling away on one problem or another.
  Perhaps most importantly he had met Tessa there, a fellow mathematician. They had dated for three years in total, but perhaps that was irrelevant in view of how it ended. But that was a whole other story.
  Flipping his body over onto its side, Martin looked at the digital clock in his comfortable room. It was only just gone three in the afternoon, and he really didn’t have anything to do between now and tomorrow at all.
  Picking himself up off his bed, he walked over to the full length mirror that was stretched against the wall. He thought now what others had said to him over the years: he was neither attractive nor ugly, pretty much just in the middle of the road.
  Almost two meters in height, he had tidy brown hair, eyes of a matching hue, and a clean-shaven face. He was neither fat nor thin, tall nor short. For followers of the pseudo-science of judging people’s personalities by their appearances, he was a painfully average individual.
  But he was intellectually gifted enough to know that looks weren’t everything: most certainly not. It was his brain that had allowed him to get as far as he had, and perhaps it would carry him a little further. But right now, he wanted information.
  Arriving in the hotel’s computer suite, Martin logged in at a terminal as a guest. If he was going to work for the group known as Nomen Luni, he at least wanted to know some more about them.
  Quickly bringing up their website for the second time that month, he perused it. Given the apparent magnitude of their success and capital, their online presence was very low-key indeed.
  The company name was in dark blue at the top of the page, and then various links were scattered about further down. Clicking on the Company History link, Martin was whisked to another page, with a few large blocks of data on it.
  He had scanned over it before the interview, but now he looked at it more thoroughly. The company was dedicated to cutting edge scientific and mathematical research, but as hard as Martin tried, he couldn’t decipher or deduce what kind of research. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising, with corporate espionage at an all-time high these days. Probably the same reason they hadn’t told him where they’d be taking him.
  Nomen Luni had been founded seven years ago, by two individuals known as Cain O’Quinn and Madeline Parker. Again, the webpage was strange: there was no further information on either of the founders, not age, not training, not nationality, and there were no photos either. Most peculiar.
  As Martin continued to read on, he realised this corporate website was a lot more clever than first appeared. Whoever had designed and written the information on it, had been tricky enough to use a hell of a lot of words, but say very little at all. Whatever this group did, whoever they answered to, they valued their privacy greatly.
  What awaited him in Asia?
  There were a lot of hard things one was expected to do in life, but possibly the hardest of them all was waiting. You couldn’t do it well or badly, you could only do it.

  The next day, just before one o’clock, Martin pulled up to a fenced off complex in a taxi. Giving the cabbie a generous tip, he walked with his suit and with his carry case up the gentle slope to the main gate. He could’ve asked the taxi driver to wait, but he had no doubt that his new employers would be here, waiting for him.
  He wasn’t disappointed.
  After communing briefly with the young security guard in the small construct by the gate, it opened up and James Elkwood appeared once more, walking briskly towards him.
  “Doctor Forrester!” he called, both his expression and voice full of bonhomie. “You’re right on time. I’ll walk with you up to the front door. Did you have a pleasant night?”
  Nothing to write home about, Martin thought. “I slept well. How long until we depart?” Even as he asked the question, he saw a black helicopter parked (if parked was the correct term – perhaps landed would be more appropriate) on top of the building, presumably resting on a helipad.
  Answering both the asked and merely thought questions, the friendly looking man said “about ten minutes from now, we’ll be taking our helicopter to the primary site.”
  Martin frowned. “I assume you mean we’ll be going by chopper to an airport, and catching a private jet to your research facility?”
  James smiled amiably. “Not at all. We’ll be making the entire trip by helicopter. I trust you didn’t have any trouble getting here?”
  “No,” answered Martin, “the taxi drivers in this city are quite efficient. Less friendly than the ones back home, though.”
  There was brief laughter at this comment, followed by “he’ll probably be the last cabbie you see for a long time. Everything at the site is within walking distance of the main building anyway.”
  Stepping inside the complex, Martin was a little crestfallen. Judging from the mysterious aura and almost complete lack of information that permeated this company, he thought the building might be…different. But it was a generic facility, with beige walls each carrying a thin green line upon them, shiny and slippery yellow floor, and a sterile feel.
  James Elkwood led Martin down a series of corridors and pathways, which were devoid of human life. Must be a slow day at the office, thought Martin wryly. Eventually, they found themselves in a first floor lounge.
  “Please sit,” the senior employee said cheerfully, “make yourself comfortable. We’ll be leaving shortly.”
  The chamber was elegant in its simplicity, two small sofas facing each other, a glass and wood table between them, and a couple of glasses of water on it. Martin sat on one sofa, while James sat on the other.
  “Glorious weather today, isn’t it?” remarked James, looking directly (but somewhat distantly) at the other.
  “It definitely is,” returned Martin. This fellow who was showing him around was clearly a grand master of small talk, and surprisingly interested in trivialities for such an allegedly intelligent person.
  “You’re probably a bit parched from your journey here, so have a drink.” He gestured to the twin glasses sat unobtrusively on the table.
  “Thanks.” Martin wasn’t thirsty, but etiquette demanded he at least take a sip. He raised the glass to his mouth, and took a sizable gulp, and then another.
  James seemed to have lost interest in the latest addition to the company he worked for, and was looking at the clear sky out a window. Martin was about to say something, when a wave of first dizziness, followed by a surge of nausea came over him.
  The final and quite sudden stage of this was blackness.

Chapter 3

  “Wake up, Doctor Forrester, we’re here. Doctor Forrester?”
Disorientated and confused, Martin began to come around. His head was slightly woozy, and his balance wasn’t optimal, but gaining consciousness was a good start.
  He opened his eyes, and became aware of an object held fairly tightly across his upper body. It was a restraining belt. Still not fully aware, he pawed at it futilely with his hand.
  “Let me help you with that,” said another voice, and after a distinctive click and then a whir, the device no longer made contact with Martin’s body. He blinked, and looked around.
  It seemed that he had missed out on quite a lot in his slumber. He was sitting in the front passenger seat of a helicopter (possibly the one he first spotted on the building’s roof), and next to him was a man with a ginger beard. The pilot.
  “Are you with us, sir?” he asked carefully.
  “I – I think I am.” Martin turned his head now to the left, and stood just outside the aircraft was James Elkwood, smiling genially at him.
  “Mister Elkwood?”
  “No need to be so formal now we’re here,” he said patiently, “just call me James.”
  “Here?”
  The man grinned, and it was that same human, quite genuine grin he had used at the interview. “Yes, here. We’ve arrived, so when you’re fully recovered, please climb down out the helicopter.”
  “And you?” asked Martin, looking at the nameless pilot, “are you coming with us too?”
  “Sure am!” agreed the man, who was slightly chubby, and had a round face. “No place like home.”
  Before getting out of the vehicle as he had been instructed to do, he tried to recall what his last memory was. He had been riding to the building…the one in America…in a taxi. And then he had gotten out, and walked indoors. And then –
  “Hey!” he exclaimed, “you drugged me! My drink!”
  James continued to smile, that same dangerously smooth smile. “It was quite necessary, I’m afraid. I now apologise on behalf of the company. The tranquilliser works best that way. I’d explain further, but I’m sure you want to get on with your tour. Right?”
  This isn’t over, thought Martin, but James was correct. He did want to see just where he had been brought, the hallowed primary site of the Nomen Luni corporation.
  Both he and the anonymous helicopter commander got out into the open, and for the first time Martin really looked around him. He was in a forest, possibly a large one. Trees with moderately thick trunks stretched up all around him, varying in height from thirty to fifty meters. He wondered what kind they were, but had no idea. He was a mathematician, not a botanist.
  The only break in this part of the jungle was the clearing for the helipad (he now noticed the murky grey tarmac, and the bright orange ‘H’ on it), and he couldn’t help but hypothesise about what else lay around here.
  Slowly approaching the calm man who had been his liaison thus far, he said “well then James, what now?”
  “The landing area is about six hundred feet, or two hundred meters if you prefer, from the main building. The woods aren’t too dense, but it’s quickest to stick to the path. If you’ll follow me?” It appeared to be a question, but the undertone of his voice made it sound like an order. Either way, Martin wanted to see his new work area and home.
  The three of them moved at a fair pace through the foliage, occasionally blatting away either over excitable plants and weeds, or small insects that patrolled this region.
  James was at point, Martin in the middle, and the pilot taking up the rear. The ‘path’ they were following was no more than a simple dirt track, created from months or perhaps years of people walking this way, to and from the facility.
  Martin had perhaps a dozen questions he wanted to ask, but he thought it better to remain quiet – at least for now. There would be time for queries later, and it would be more prudent to ask the leader of the group rather than James, these things. Overheard, the turquoise sky was punctuated with the odd cloud, some grey, some pure white.
  “Here we are, Martin,” explained James unnecessarily, “this is where you’ll be working for the next six months.”
  And just as he stated, there it was. Stepping out into a second clearing, they were at ground zero.
  Martin stopped walking, and took it in. It was a large cream building, plonked right down in the middle of the remote jungle. The design was a simplistic and uninspired rectangle. It was composed of two tiers, with the uppermost one slightly smaller than the lower floor, creating a kind of integrated balcony halfway up the building. Darkened windows were present on both floors, evenly spaced out along the side that Martin could see.
  The only other feature of note was what appeared to be a large satellite dish on the roof of the complex, grey and circular in design. It pointed up at the empty sky at an angle of about thirty degrees.
  “James,” Martin began to say with a mixture of consternation and mild anger, “you told me that this facility didn’t have any communications with the outside world.”
  The man in early middle-age also stopped walking, and took a few steps back toward the new arrival. “And so it doesn’t.”
  “But, the dish!” Martin gestured vaguely in its direction.
  A strange kind of twinkle now made itself known in James’ eyes, perhaps them catching the strong sunlight from up above. “That’s not a communications dish, Martin. Come on, we don’t want to keep the director waiting.”
  The area immediately surrounding the snowy building was well-kept, to the point of being pristine. It was completely flat, quite plainly artificially altered. The grass was very short, and dark green in colour. Either this place got a lot of rain, or they had invented some kind of wonder conditioner for the grass.
  “Is this the main door, up ahead?”
  James saw where Martin was pointing, and nodded. “Yes, although there’s a second door around the back.”
  As he approached the structure, Martin could hear muted voices. He couldn’t see anyone outside with them, but there could’ve very well been people just around the corner.
  The air inside the facility was quite cool, but rather than being uncomfortable, it was rather pleasant after being outside in the heat, and made the hair on Martin’s neck rise up. The pilot who until now had been trailing the two men, now turned off and walked in another direction.
  “This is the megaron, or lobby if you prefer. The door to the right leads to the residential wing, the door to the left is the offices and work areas, and the passageway at the back is the main stairway to the first floor.”
  Martin observed as best as he could, although his attention kept coming back to the beautiful water feature in the centre of the expanse, where sparkling liquid cascaded down over grey and purple marble.
  “It’s quite lovely, but this is a bit elaborate for a field research station, isn’t it?”
  “Some of the people have been living here for years, we want them to be comfortable and relaxed. As I’m sure you will be.” There he goes with that smooth PR-talk, Martin thought, always putting a good spin on things. “If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you directly to the executive office.”
  True to his word, James led Martin (not Doctor Forrester, anymore) through a corridor. The walls were grey, with a blue line on each one. A soft carpet of similar colour was underfoot. Strip lighting was the preferred method of illuminating the area.
  Turning a corner, a line of people were running towards Martin and James, their faces flushed and their breathing heavy. In each pair of hands was a weapon, some kind of machine-gun by the looks of it.
  James moved to one side without hesitation, and a second later Martin did the same. The column of individuals jogged past, seven in total. Some were male, some were female; some white, some black, some asian.
  When they had passed by, Martin asked with a tone approaching alarm, “what was that all about? Who were those people?”
  James raised his eyebrows expressively. “Just a squad of the base’s security personnel. Probably doing a training exercise, so they’re ready.”
  “Ready for what?”
  “Any trouble that might arise. You’d have to ask the chief of security himself, if you wish for a more detailed answer. The director’s office is just up ahead. We’re already slightly behind our schedule, so if you wouldn’t mind?”
  Martin did mind, but he thought he better comply anyway. Actually being here at the facility was even stranger than the interview which had precipitated these events. A thought suddenly occurred to Martin, out the blue.
  “What happened to my suitcase?”
  “It’s already been taken to your room, while you were catching forty winks. We thought it was best to leave you in the helicopter until you came around, so you could better get your bearings. Here we are.”
  They were stood quietly outside a metal door, next to which was a black panel with glowing green keys on it. “I’ll be waiting for you outside, and will give you a tour when the director had explained things to you.”
  Saying no more, James reached out and pressed a button on the access panel. A few seconds later, the door slid open noiselessly.