(Verstand tanzt)

Dances of the Mind

Bourrée: Hot Stepping

Chapter 8:

Revealed

Begin Message

***For Your Eyes Only***

Date: November 6, 2076

Source: Deep Throat

Text:    They've compromised the drop zone again.  I managed to get this message to you with a minimal hassle, but remember to thank our allies for the bail.  They may be coming on to me.  I think I can keep it secret, but I'll have to lay low for some time.  There's much more to the cloning projects than I expected.  Cant' give you any details—they might be listening.   I need to get closer; the circles are getting much tighter.  I'll need authorization to go "above and beyond"—trust me, this one is important enough.  I hope the citizens back home can forgive me for what I'll have to do. 

End Message

            The door burst open to Colonel Gage's office as the colonel led in his guest.  "This better be good," the colonel said while buttoning up his uniform.  "It's the middle of the night and my bed's getting cold."  He offered the lean man a seat and sat down behind his desk, folding his hands on top of it.  "Now, Mr. Henley, what do you have that is absolutely dying for my attention?"
            Jack Henley pulled out a huge brown envelope stuffed with notes.  Pulling out some papers and plopping it on the desk, he stared the colonel in the eyes.  "Colonel, we've been infiltrated."

            The colonel stared back for a few moments, then waved his arms.  "I suppose you have details for me?"
            "Is this room secure?" Henely asked.  When the colonel nodded, he continued, "Well, here's the story.  Are you aware of Project Inside-Out?"

"Enlighten me."

"Allied intelligence is currently investigating reports of decepticon human cloning projects under the code name Project Inside-Out.  All you need to know is that we've ascertained that the decepticons are using human units of sorts to infiltrate high security areas and positions in our government and military.  Our source on the inside has shown us detailed evidence that the decepticons are using cybernetically altered humans, cloned in a secret lab on Cybertron, to accomplish this.  That's as far as it goes, for now."

            Gage nodded gravely, cueing Henley to continue.  "Now this," Jack said, pulling out a folio, "is the report on the murder of Jack Artley.  The main suspect is Bruce Martin.  Now I've done some interesting diggings on Martin, but all the facts checks out.  All but one, that is.  It says here that he was born on March 18, 2040, at the Metropolitan Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas.  I called the hospital, and they do have a record of his birth, and even the doctor that delivered him.

            "However, when I talked to a few other people, I came upon a passing reference to some big fire.  After a bit of poking around, I found out that on March 14, 2040, there was a big fire that burned down half of the west wing.  The hospital was closed for an entire week to clear out the char and to investigate—even the undamaged wings were closed because of the ash.  So then, how could this mystery man be born in a closed hospital?"

            "Clerical error?"

            "Not likely, with everything computerized and mostly automated."

            Gage rubbed his cheeks in deep thought.  "So what your saying is that…"

            "Martin wasn't born on Earth."

            Hearing it like that made Gage lean back in his chair and pinch his forehead.  "Colonel, that's not all."  The colonel looked up wearily.  "Sir, this is a recording from the security monitors shortly after the murder."  He pulled out a small LCD screen and popped in a memory card.  The video came to life, showing a man dressed up in security clothing entering the front gate.  "This is the front gate, as our strange visitor enters at 2 AM.  Watch this."  He pressed a few buttons and a small window popped up with a zoomed on a small patch of floor.  He played the video again.

            Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then the door opened and the officer walked through.  "Did you see that?" Henley said, playing it back again.  This time, he hit pause.  "There," he said, pointing to the little window.  "What do you see?"

Colonel Gage squinted.  "Nothing."

"Right.  Watch again."  He backed up one frame.

Colonel Gage's eyes widened as a dark blotch appeared.  Henley advanced the frame again, then backed it up several times.  The blotch blinked on and off.  Henley explained, "When I examined the area covered by the security camera, I noticed a bloodstain on the floor.  However, if you look at the footage of the video just as motion begins, the bloodstain is gone.  What does that mean?  The footage of the security guard entering was made before the murder.  Whatever happened in those few seconds had been covered up."

The colonel sighed heavily.  "So what's the worst case scenario?"

Henley shrugged.  "We have had an intruder in the base for more than twenty-four hours but less than forty-eight."

            Shifting his chair, the colonel began to flip through a rolodex.  "I'll call the chief of security myself.  We'll have to go to high alert.  Also, we'll need to double guard shifts for the next…"

            "Uh sir?"

            "Yes?"

            "Just one more thing.  I was looking back on the other assignments that Bruce Martin had on the day of the murder.  Is there anything important in Annex H?"

            "Annex H?" the colonel repeated, frowning.  "Now why does that sound familiar?"  He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed a number.  "Security, have we had any new arrivals in Annex H?  Mmmm.  I see."  The colonel put down the phone with a shaky hand.  For a few silent moments he rubbed his temples.  Then he looked at Jack Henley.  "The president is visiting."

            Magnatron smiled to himself in self delight.  It was so much fun to toy with the planet, especially without the problem of resources that so plagued his predecessors.  Indeed Megatron and his army had been rather naïve with his strategy of massive accumulation of war materiel.  What did Magnatron do when the continuing costs of maintaining an army were high?  Why send them into battle, and make sure that none return.  It delighted him to send massive hordes of mechanized mayhem rumbling into the humans, and to watch them recoil at his might.  It amused him even more to survey the battle scenes afterwards—the death and destruction, the rotting heaps of organic flesh that would, in time, become more useful hydrocarbons.  Indeed he soaked in the essence of the apocalyptic scenes, and it refreshed him.

            The humans were too easy to beat.  There were a number of ways in which he could bring about their destruction—the only struggle was to chose which one (or ones).  First there was nuclear holocaust.  The United States and Russia together own tens of thousands of active and inactive nuclear warheads, very easy for the pickins.  The task was so easy that he had even considered only using US warheads against the US and Russian warheads against the Russians.  But that was such a waste of valuable energy and firepower.

            The second option was biological warfare.  The thought of disrupting Earth on the ecological level absolutely thrilled him, and the amount of effort required was so trivial.  Perhaps a few grams of an engineered biological agent, and then all he would have to do is wait for results.  From the estimates he received, he could have the entire human race wiped out in less than a year.  The humans were so vulnerable in a number of ways that it amazed him that they still continued to exist.

            Of course, there was always the conventional method.  He could destroy them in head-on battle, which was somewhat more satisfying.  The physical act of beating down the human race to the very last individual being seemed like a project worthy of his skill, but it was too tedious.  And utterly inefficient.  Unless, of course, he could enslave the human race.  But they made such ill-qualified slaves.  They required far more attention than drones, and produced work of much less quality and quantity.

            Yes, the humans would be easy to conquer, if not for those blasted Autobots.  And the Maximals.  Yes, they would have to be dealt with, too.

            But they, too, could be done away with.  There was no way that they had enough power to pre-empt every one of his plans.  In numbers, at least, Magnatron was superior, and he intended to play the cards very well.  In the end, he supposed that he would implement all three pans – at the same time.  He intended to keep the Autobots so busy that they would break down from wear alone.

            In any case, he could have something prepared for them.  Transformers were vulnerable to viruses, just of a different kind.  And the Maximals…well they would be just as easy to rid of as the rest of the planet.  You are only as strong as your weakest component, he always reminded himself.  The Maximals were unfortunately hampered by their organic parts, so they had the wonderful pleasure of being vulnerable to both biological and technological agents of war.

            "Sir."  A voice interrupted his musings.

            "Yes?"
            "He is here."

            "Good."

            A shadowy figure strolled in the room, but Magnatron could smell his stench even before then.  The humanoid walked to the center of the dark room and stopped to kneel.  At least he remembers his dues, Magnatron thought, fighting back the revulsion.

            "Reporting, sir."

            "Deepshot, it is?  The scientists tell me that you are the pride of their work.  Are you?"
            "I am, sir."

            "So then, what have you to report?"

            "Just that arrangements have been made for the new president of the United States.  Would you like him alive, like the other?"

            "Yes," he responded, waving a hand in the air.  "I'm sure I'll think of something to do with them."

            Without looking up, Deepshot smiled.  "Might I have a suggestion…"

            "Up."

            The door swung wide open and a blinding light shone into the room.  The haggard figure cringed away from the brightness.  A metallic foot found its way into the human's stomach.

            "Up I said!"

            Climbing obediently to his feet, the comforting darkness was returned to him when a blindfold was placed over his eyes.  He was led down so many twists and turns that he could hardly even tell down from up.  Finally, he was thrust upon a chair in reclined position and strapped to it.  The blindfold and his bindings were removed, leaving the captive to adjust to a setting much brighter than he was used to.  Finally, though, his vision resolved, and he took a look at his surroundings.

            He was alone in a room that looked very much like a dental office.  Behind him, at the periphery of his vision, he could see a surgical bed, and a cabinet of sterile cloth.  Nearby was a platter of shiny steel tools, each which seemed to have its own nasty characteristics.  Looking at his own clothes in the light, he seemed surprised by what he saw.  He was not aware that so much time had passed—after the first few weeks you lose track of time—but when he looked at himself, it was apparent that he had been locked away for a long time.  His clothes were in shambles, and his slacks resembled summter shorts more than anything.  He couldn't imagine what his face was like.  Thinking to himself, quite a plight for the president of the United States.

            The then door opened with a crash and in stepped a gray shadow of steel.  It closed the door and locked it behind him.  The man in the chair looked up at the husky transformer with a certain amount of fear, but he did his best to disguise it.  The transformer casually removed a fist and replaced it with a drill attachment.  Testing it with a series of whirring sounds, he disappeared behind his patient momentarily and returned with a syringe.

"Hold still now.  This will, how you say, hurt like a mother."

            Jack Henley and Colonel Gage ran down the hall as fast as they could.  People stared at them as they whisked by in the middle of the night.  "Yes, arrange a detail.  Make that two!  Get there as soon as you can!" the colonel shouted on his cell phone.

            "Do you think…" Jack began.

            "Don't think.  Just run."

            They passed through the hallways of the G corridor adjacent to the H annex, and then finally through the connecting doors between the two buildings.  All was quiet.  Jack Henley followed the colonel up a flight of stairs and down a brightly lit hallway.  A security detail was rushing up the stairwell on the opposite end.  The pair of guards who stood watch at the double doors in the middle of the hallway looked first left then right in confusion.

            The two groups arrived at the same time.  "Is the president in?" the colonel asked, out of breath.

            "Him?  Oh yeah sure," one guard said with a southern drawl.  "Should be."

            "Has anyone been here in the past twenty-four hours?" Henley asked.

            "Well now, let's see here…not on my shift.  Carl, you reckon someone come in earlier?"
            "Hmmm…" the other guard replied slowly.  Jack and the colonel fidgeted impatiently.  "Well," he finally continued, "I don't think so."  The two breathed a sigh of relief.

"Now wait," the first guard said.  "What about that character in them blue jumpers, say?"

"Oh yeah," the second guard said slowly.  "The janitor guy right?  Round ten o' clock he came."

"Hooeeyyy.  Didn't have a pass but wanted in.  Didn't let him in, nope."

"Now Dan…"

"Oh yeah—don't yell at me sir, but I let him in to change the towels.  Reckon the president would like a good shower."

The colonel and Jack looked at each other for a second.  "Open the door!" they both shouted.  The guards glanced at each other for a dubious moment, then opened the door.

They flipped on the lights to the room to reveal a layer of tranquility.  The bed sheets stood wrinkled on the edge of the mattress where someone might have sat down for a time.  A coat sat on a chair behind a desk, where a laptop was open with a blank monitor.  Henley wasled over to the desk while looking around.  "Mr. President?  Are you here?"

            He touched the laptop and it hummed to life.  On the screen was a half-completed letter to the Senate.  The other men surveyed the room, looking here and there, but nothing was disturbed.  "Either he is a very meticulous man," Henley muttered, "or he brings everything from home."

            "Jack?  Take a look at this."

            Jack turned to where the colonel was standing by the window.  A small scratch mark—a trio of parallel lines—marked the wood of the sill.  Jack stared at it for a moment, then looked out the window.  Outside, floodlights lined a paved path through a grassy lawn, with a nearby fountain in clear view.

            "Sir!" a voice shouted from outside.  They turned as a security guard ran in.  "Some workers just found a pair of bodies in the dumpster.  Secret service agents!"

            The colonel nodded gravely.  Then he looked at the laptop and back to Jack.  "Prepare to inform Congress that we have another missing president."