Chapter 7: Bitter Sweet Symphony
Well I never pray but tonight I'm on my knees
I need to hear some sounds that recognize the pain in me,
I let the melody shine, let it cleanse my mind, I feel free now
But the airways are clean and there's nobody singing to me now
"We have to go back! We can't just leave Alan in there!" Burke shouted as he shrugged out of Zeke's grip.
Eliana moved next to Josh, between Burke and the door. "Negative! He's not in there, Pete! And we don't know where they've taken him. We'd be fumbling blindly in the dark. Right now we need to fall back and make a plan."
Burke pressed his lips into a thin line as he looked around at the rest of the group. Gabe leaned against a well, his hands on his knees, while Jed checked him over. "What happened?" Burke asked him.
Gabe winced as he straightened and took a deep breath. "They came out of nowhere while Alan and I were examining the console. A swarm of men. Alan shoved me away. I... I ran—" he trailed off, his voice heavy with guilt.
"You did fine, Gabe. They would have gotten you, too," Eliana reassured him, then stepped closer to Burke. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck to ground him. "We need to find a secure position to make a plan. We can't defend a hallway."
The immediacy of the safety of the others broke through his haze. His shoulders slumped. "All right, all right. Let's go."
As they cautiously withdrew down the hallway, Eliana said to Josh, "Talk to me, Josh. Why didn't your sensors pick up any life signs?"
"I don't know. There was nothing, I swear. But I can track Alan using the transmitter signal from his link. We can find him," he looked at Burke, "but we won't know how many of these guys will be with him."
"So, an enemy we can't track on our sensors, holding one of our people captive surrounded by an unknown number of hostiles." She paused, her eyebrows raised. "Outstanding."
They all fell into a troubled silence as the quick retreat demanded all their energy and attention.
Virdon woke slowly, suppressing a groan at the sharp pain lancing through his forehead. The surface beneath him was padded, but not enough to be comfortable, and he had a multitude of body aches making themselves known. His body armor was gone, as was his link bracelet. Keeping his eyes closed, he tried to assess whether he was alone, abandoned to sleep off the blow that had subdued him. After listening carefully and hearing nothing, he peeked from beneath hooded lids.
"He's awake," a voice said nearby. He opened his eyes fully and raised a hand to rub his temples. Sitting up, he leaned forward with his heads in his hands as the room spun and the pain in his head flared again.
A man wearing a uniform covered in a mottled pattern of varying shades of tan, gray, and blue stood on the other side of a clear barrier. His sleeve bore an insignia of three chevrons overlaid with a silver star—a senior airman. His black hair was cut in a traditional "high and tight" that Virdon was used to seeing on military enlisted men. The square set of his jaw and bland expression were unreadable.
He stared at Virdon. "Provide name, rank, serial number."
Virdon resisted the impulse to blurt out the information, which had been drilled into him as his first and only response to interrogation. His foggy brain couldn't think of any good reason not to give them the information. He was still trying to process that the base was still occupied by an active military force.
He swallowed past a dry throat and lifted his head gingerly. He blinked a few times to try to clear his thinking. His interrogator repeated, "Provide name, rank, serial number." There was no trace of annoyance or impatience in his voice.
"Why?" he managed to croak.
The man eyes scanned over Virdon's face, searching for something. "Information needed to assess status." Every word was clipped.
Virdon considered a moment, then sighed. "All right. Virdon, Alan J. Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Zero-zero-eight-five-one-seven-seven-nine-four-nin e."
"Serial number format invalid." He said over his shoulder to the other soldier, "Guy says he's a light colonel, Sarge."
"Yeah, be sure to salute the man, Mauser," the Sergeant said from his position behind a console. Virdon couldn't see the insignia to guess what level non-commissioned officer. The Sergeant tapped a rapid sequence of buttons on a keyboard. "Accessing database of known personnel."
Mauser returned his attention to Virdon. "You are out of uniform, Colonel."
Virdon smirked at the irony. "You have no idea, Airman."
The Sergeant whistled, long and low. "At ease, Mauser. This guy may be legit. But if he is, he has a lot of explaining to do." He walked around the console toward the cell. His brows knit together. "I have one record for a Lieutenant Colonel Alan Virdon. He was a NASA astronaut. Went MIA and declared dead," his icy blue eyes locked with Virdon's and narrowed slightly, "in 1980."
Virdon stood and approached the barrier, tilting his head to one side so he could see the man's insignia. "Look, Tech Sergeant..."
"Hudson."
"Sergeant Hudson. I think you should let me speak to your commanding officer."
Hudson crossed his arms over his chest. "When my C.O. decides you are worth his time, he'll be here," he declared mysteriously. "Meanwhile, I need to figure out if you are the real deal or just a whacko." He glanced at his companion. "What do you think, Mauser?"
"He's telling the truth, Sarge."
"You sure?"
"All physical indicators say he is. Which doesn't rule out crazy, but I don't think he's that, either."
Hudson nodded. "All right, Colonel. Tell me a story. If it's the truth—and Mauser here is a crack lie-detector—we'll see about letting you out of that cell."
Virdon considered his options carefully. Hudson and Mauser seemed to be just what they were—soldiers in the USAF. The uniforms looked different from his time, not unexpected after a thousand years. They certainly acted the part as well. He was a little surprised that no officers were present for the questioning of what had to be a significant person of interest, but he had no idea how big the company occupying the base might be, other than the dozen or so men he saw briefly when he was taken.
Still, they had access to some very old and extensive database, if they were able to call up his service information so quickly and easily. He could feel the hope swelling in his chest—hope for a working human government, that some remnant of the United States had survived despite what the Alban's historical records said. Maybe the entire country, or even the world, was not as primitive as what they'd seen so far.
He tried vainly to push that hope down.
That Mauser somehow had the ability to detect lies, on the other hand, didn't really surprise him. Not after some of the innate abilities he'd seen among the residents of Alba. But he filed it away as an interesting fact.
"Could I have some water first?" he asked with an apologetic shrug.
Hudson turned to Mauser. "Get the Colonel a drink."
Virdon watched Mauser go to the opposite wall and operate a panel that looked similar to the servitors in Alba. He glanced around the rest of the holding area. Off of the main room, two other empty cells took up the walls adjacent to his. The fourth wall contained a heavy door, currently closed. Other than the computer desk, the room contained no other furniture.
Mauser opened a drawer through the barrier and deposited a canteen inside, then pushed it through to Virdon's side.
Once he'd drunk his fill, Virdon began, choosing his words judiciously. "My ship got caught in a temporal wormhole as it was nearing the Alpha Centauri system. It travelled to this time and crash landed back on Earth. The area where it crashed, somewhere in California at my best guess, is controlled by talking apes who have enslaved the primitive humans that remain. They've been hunting me ever since as an enemy of the state."
Without taking his eyes off Virdon, Hudson asked, "Mauser?"
Mauser snorted. "All true, Sarge. Although I might want to revise that 'not crazy' assessment." He paused. "But he's holding something back."
"No shit. Doesn't take a psyops to figure that out." He addressed Virdon again. "What about the others? Those humans aren't primitive."
"We came here to explore; they don't intent any hostility. They are helping me search for a way to get back to my time." The thought came to him that his friends may have already engaged the base company in a rescue attempt. "Let me talk to them, let them know—"
"Who are they, Colonel? Where are they from?" Hudson interrupted, his face turning stony. "Was your mission a solo, or are there other astronauts from the past here as well?"
Virdon's lips pressed into a tight line as he chafed under the continued interrogation. Something felt... off. Something in his gut made him hesitate to tell these soldiers everything about his friends. But he didn't have a lot of leverage at the moment. "One of my crew died in the crash—Major Steve Jones. Major Pete Burke survived and is in the party out there." He pointed toward the door. "We befriended a chimpanzee named Galen who has been travelling with us. The rest of them are from an underground city in the desert."
Hudson was about to respond when the door to the main room swung outward. A group of four more soldiers entered. Hudson and Mauser both snapped to attention when the lead soldier entered.
Like the others, he was dressed in a camouflage battle uniform, but he wore a flat-topped black beret over his tawny crew cut. Virdon caught the insignia—Chief Master Sergeant, the highest non-commissioned officer rank.
"At ease." The Chief nodded to the others, then approached the barrier until he was only inches away. Virdon could feel the air of command that the man exuded. "Thank you, Colonel Virdon, for your cooperation. We've had the rest of your group under surveillance, and you've confirmed what we already know about them." He turned to Hudson. "Let the Colonel out, Hudson."
"Yes, Chief," Hudson barked, then touched a button on the console. The barrier slid to one side.
"Chief Master Sergeant Schwartz," he snapped a salute once Virdon took a step forward. "Temporary C.O. of Kirtland Base, Sir."
After a moment of confused hesitation, Virdon returned the salute. "You are in command here?"
"Yes, Sir. Since the death of our last ranking officer."
Virdon's heart began thumping a faster beat.
"As soon as we get you settled into more comfortable quarters, Colonel, we'll initiate transfer of command to you."
Virdon's link bracelet was returned to him, and he immediately opened a channel to Burke as he followed Schwartz to a different section of the base. "Pete, come in."
"Alan!" Burke's excited voice came back. Virdon could hear the undercurrent of concern. "Are you all right? Where are you?"
"I'm fine, Pete. I've made friendly contact with the locals. Sit tight for the time being until I can arrange to meet you somewhere."
Burke sputtered, "Wait. What—"
He knew Burke has as many questions as he did, but he didn't have many answers yet himself. "I'll contact you again in an hour, let you know where to meet. Just tell everyone to stay put until then." He closed the channel.
The quarters they led him to were spacious, befitting the position of the base commander. The outer room was dominated by a large conference table, obviously meant for meetings with senior staff, but also had a smaller personal desk and two comfortable-looking armchairs. In the bedroom, Virdon wished for a quarter in his pocket, because he was sure if he dropped it on the covers of the bed, it would bounce. A neatly folded uniform in the same camouflage pattern as the others lay on the bed, along with a pair of charcoal gray boots on the floor. Silver oak clusters were already pinned to the collar. The final item on the bed caught Virdon's attention, and he picked it up to examine. The device was a fairly flat rectangle, about four inches long and a couple of inches wide. The dark gray metallic surface had several inset buttons, and the opposite side, when he turned it over, was shiny with a strange texture.
"That's your personal communications controller, Sir," Schwartz informed him. He took it from Virdon. "You won't be able to wear the other link, it will interfere with the function of the commcon. You can tune the this to the same frequency to talk to your friends." He held out a hand to take the Alban bracelet and put it on a table when Virdon handed it over. "The commcon will form a molecular bond with your skin that will then be keyed to your DNA. No on will be able to remove it but you. But when it's removed, the components will fuse, rendering it useless to prevent it from falling into enemy hands."
"Where—"
"On the underside of your forearm." He gestured toward Virdon's right arm. "With your permission, Sir?"
When Virdon nodded, Schwartz took his right wrist and turned it over. He centered the device on his forearm and gently pressed it into his flesh. With a hiss of suction, the communicator molded itself to the slight curve of his forearm. The skin began to tingle, but not unpleasantly. A moment later, though, Virdon swayed as a wave of vertigo and nausea crashed over him. Schwartz locked an iron grip on his shoulder to steady him.
"Sorry, Colonel. Some people have difficulty adjusting to the neural connections."
"Neural?" Virdon gasped. "You said it was a communicator."
"Yes, Sir. Two-way communication with all the systems on the base. You'll be able to access information from the central database on a visual overlay. Any discomfort will pass quickly."
"Does everyone have one of these?" Virdon massaged his temple as his vision blurred then cleared.
"No, Sir." Schwartz shook his head. "Only commissioned officers. Which right now, means you. Sir."
As Virdon steadied, Schwartz released him and gestured toward the door. "Once you are changed, the senior staff will brief you. Then we'll arrange for the rest of your party to come in." He saluted, with an air of anticipation.
Virdon returned the salute, then realized what the Chief was waiting for. "Dismissed, Chief." He rubbed absently at the arm now bearing the commcon as the door closed, leaving him alone.
It felt like a lifetime had passed since he'd worn military fatigues. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand over the fabric of the uniform. Everything was happening too fast. He couldn't... he couldn't even begin to formulate all the questions he had.
How had these soldiers survived all this time? How many generations had been born, grown old, and died in this base since they were cut off from the rest of the world? Somewhere else in the base that he hadn't seen yet, there must be families. And why were there no officers? How many people were now living in the base?
He yelped when text flashed before his eyes, scrolling across the bottom of his field of vision. Current base complement: 101.
So that's a visual overlay, he thought. Despite being startled, his head felt clearer; in fact, the aches and pains he'd felt when he first woke in the cell were gone. He felt good. Really good.
He donned the uniform, then turned his attention back to the device. The hour when he had promised to contact Burke was just about expired. Let's see what else it can do.
He picked up the link bracelet again and opened a channel to Burke. "Connect to this channel," he said, then closed the link again. The commcon beeped. "Pete?"
"Alan!" Burke's voice rang clearly. "What the hell is going on?"
"I've been talking to the soldiers occupying the base. Regular USAF, Pete! Things are moving at Mach two right now, but I'll explain everything when I see you. Bring everyone to the control room where I saw you last, at twenty-hundred hours. That'll give me a few hours to get things settled here."
"Settled? Is everything really okay, Al?" His voice took on a sly edge. "Give the word, and we'll intercept the ball and head for the end-zone."
Virdon smiled. Burke's football code. He wanted to know if they needed to rescue him. "No, Pete, everything really is fine. Better than fine. But you aren't going to believe it until you see it. Virdon out."
He returned the link bracelet to the table, no noticing the indentations in the metal where his fingers had gripped it. Then he went to meet his new command.
Burke exchanged a look with Eliana as he signed off from Virdon again. "So. Trap?" She asked with an arched eyebrow.
"I don't think so. I gave him a chance to say he needed help. But I think just two of us should go until we know for sure." He pointed at Zeke, who hovered nearby. "Me and Zeke."
Zeke's eyes popped open with surprise, but Eliana was already shaking her head. "No, I should go—"
Burke talked over her objections. "If it is a trap, they," he gestured toward the others gathered around them, "are going to need you to lead them out of here, figure out what to do next. Besides, Zeke will be able to tell if Alan is acting under duress. And I have to go because he's expecting me."
"He's expecting us all," she emphasized with a finger jab to his chest.
"And if it's on the up and up, we'll all be there soon enough. Look, Eliana, he's... if he's in trouble... I have to go." He turned to Zeke. "It's your choice, pal, but I'd really like to have you with me."
"Of course I'll help," Zeke replied.
Galen, who listened with increasing agitation, broke in. "Alan would never knowingly betray his friends, even if he were being threatened."
Burke clasped the chimp's shoulder to reassure him. "I don't think he would, either, Galen. But something about his voice sounded... off. Better safe than sorry."
A smile twitched on Galen's lips. "Now that saying, I understand."
"All right," Eliana said. She was back in command, making a new plan. "Pete and Zeke will go to the control room. The rest of us will wait nearby for the all clear." She opened the small pack sitting on the floor next to her. "Meanwhile, rest up and chow down, people. I have a feeling it's going to be a long evening."
Burke and Zeke approached the hatch to the control room, which now stood open again. Light spilled from inside the room. They both carried their rifles slung on their shoulders, to appear less threatening. Pausing outside the door, Burke called, "Alan?"
"We're here, Pete. Come on in."
Burke stepped through the door first, followed closely by Zeke. The room now had enough light that Burke could see the layout clearly, as well as its dimensions. His eyes quickly scanned around the large screens one wall, the bank of computer controls on another, and the rows of desks, but were drawn to Virdon and the half dozen men standing behind him. Burke frowned.
Virdon wore a strange uniform, some sort of camouflage fatigues. What concerned Burke more, though, was the look in his eyes. They darted back and forth—a look he had seen too often on the rough streets of Jersey City as a kid. And even as Virdon stood at parade rest, Burke could sense the restless tension that thrummed through him. A feeling of unease settled coldly into his gut.
"Something's not right," Zeke whispered. "Almost like that's not Alan."
Burke nodded just as a big smile broke on Virdon's face. The older man started forward, his arms flung open. "Pete! Look at this place! It's still an operational base, has been all this time. They needed someone in command, and I'm the ranking officer now."
The crease between Burke's brows deepened. "Just like that? You show up and they just hand over the keys to the city?"
Virdon pulled up short, his expression darkening. "Yeah. Just like that. These silver clusters," he tugged at the insignia on his collar, "aren't just for decoration, you know."
"This is nuts, Al—"
"Pete," Zeke clutched Burke's arm, his tone low and urgent, "I'm not getting anything from the others." He was staring past Virdon at the half-dozen men behind him. "There is nothing there."
Burke did a double take from Zeke back to the soldiers. "What—"
One of the soldiers wearing a black beret called out, "Colonel!"
Everything erupted. Virdon grabbed Zeke, eliciting a cry of pain from him as he was pulled away from Burke. As Black Beret strode forward to join Virdon, Burke brought up his rifle and fired a single shot into the soldier's chest.
A white fluid spurted from the wound, and after missing a step, the solder closed rapidly on Burke. He wrenched the rifle out of his hands and struck him on the side of the head with its butt. Burke crumpled to the floor.
Zeke tried to pull out of Virdon's grip; his eyes when wide with surprise when he couldn't budge his arm. Virdon snatched his other arm as Zeke tried to strike him and held him tight.
"Don't make this any harder, Zeke," Virdon implored in a flat voice before Zeke lost consciousness.