001
Somewhat Damaged
By Sir Sweetwater
Anthology One
Chapter One
The Emissary
Canto One
The Beginning
April 15th, 2002
Indian Ocean near Burma (Bay of Bengal), Earth (1:30 AM)
The waters near Burma were calm, for the first time in several months had the giant deep blue calm its rage and let Earth's gravity smoothen the ocean's surface out, of course, this could rapidly change, and for those who were interested in the condition of the Indian Ocean this probability was a thorn on their side. But, for right now, the ocean was peaceful, the waves no more than small mounds in a valley of water. There were no clouds, and the black heavens were adorned with many bright diamonds, the only thing missing was the moon. This didn't matter, had it been a night with a full moon would have made it even more risky; thankfully, DARPA had funded programs that dealt with seeing in the dark. Nevertheless, the wait was still on but they knew they have only a small window of time to act upon before it was too late, but the conditions were still not right, there was one element that needed to subdue before the operation could continue, the wind.
Zephyrus, the god of the west wind, must have heard their prayers. Their success or failure could determine the lives millions of people who have just started recovering from a recent act of terrorism. So, it seemed, as by a miracle, the winds had slowed to a modest five knots; now the conditions were set and they could start the operation.
------------------------------------------------------
December 28th, 1996
Area 88 Underground Military Research Facility inside Death Valley National Park, California, USA
Page 812 of Dr. Otto Kirschner's Journal
We finally did it! We finally have managed to out do God! No longer are humans simple creations of God, who ever that may be, but master of life! No longer are we humans at the tyrannical acts of God but at the grand salvation of science! And science will, inevitably, bring us closer to our creator and beyond our second-rate, god-made bodies!
We are now at the apex of the start of a revolution, we, not God, control the gift of life and our own destiny! Oh, if only Emma was here to see this.
See, them. They are beautiful children who are not plagued with the varying attributes of natural selection and randomness of genetics, no, not them! They are built on specifications that were well thought-out and planned. These two children are blessed by science and baptized by us, the scientists. They are godless, they are powerful, they are perfect. Their lives may be wrapped in damnation, but they hold the key to this revolution.
Science is their mother and I am their father!
But, work still must be done.
Otto Kirschner
--------------------------------------------------------
April 15th, 2002
Indian Ocean near Burma, Earth (1:35 AM)
Beneath the great blue of the Indian Ocean, a massive mammal of black steel rose up from the abyss slowly as to not disturb the natural harmony of the ever changing sea. It glided, slowly upwards to the surface of the ocean, not a sound was made, nothing, not even the humming of the engines or the creaks and clangs of metal loosening from under days of intense deep sea pressure. Steady the ship ascended foot by foot until its murky shadow under the surface of the ocean could be seen in this moonless night. But it's apparent that this submarine is no ordinary nuclear sub, no, not by any standards. It did not bore a conning tower that most, if not, all submarines were designed with, nor any type of periscope or any visible outcropping on the ships hull.
The black ship's back broke the water's surface as quietly as it has been; sea water ran down the monster's dorsal and back into the ocean. The visible top was shaped oddly, a semi-flatten, wide dorsal of smooth blackened titanium-alloy, no insignia or number to identify it origin. Truly, uninspiring if not for its colossal size, this at the moment, was dwarfed by the massiveness of the Indian Ocean.
The submarine was the USS Coverthound, the world's most highly advanced, nuclear, tactical aircraft carrying submarine with ballistic strike capability. At an astonishing one-thousand eight-hundred fifty-two feet in length this aircraft carrier could carry over eighty-two fully loaded fighter craft, one-thousand eight-hundred and sixteen crewmembers including their living quarters, one-hundred thousand cubic feet displacement for anti-aircraft and cruise missiles, and two parallel one-thousand one-hundred foot runway with four main elevators and one large elevator in the back, twelve eighteen-inch cannons in four three-barreled turrets retracted inside the submarine on the left side, thirty twin 50-caliber turrets, twelve MK 96 turrets, eighteen turrets with four five-inch cannons a turret, twelve Phalanx Two CIWS and many other self-defense and assault weaponry hidden inside the ship's hull. The ship was equipped with enough weaponry to take on an entire army and then some. Of course, the weapons have never been used in actual combat, the Puppet Wars along with the Cold War ended before its completion date in 1990.
--------------------------------------------------------
USS Coverthound
Specifications
Builders: General Dynamics Electric Boat Division/Naval Research Port Haer Maigas, Alaska.
Power Plant: One S9GC nuclear reactor
core reloaded every nine years
sixteen geared steam turbines,
4 shafts, output of 220,000 hp
Length: 1852 feet ( meters)
Displacement: Submerged 483,764 tons
Speed: Official: 35+ knots
Actual: 45+ knots submerged speed
Operating Depth: Official: "greater than 2,000 feet"
Actual: less than 1,600 feet
Crew: 50 Officers, 840 Enlisted (not including pilots)
Project Total Cost: $120, 700,000,000
Unit Price $14,500,000,000
Unit Operating Cost
Annual Average $60,000,000
Date Deployed November 2, 1990 (USS Coverthound)
Date remanufactured December 8, 2001 (USS Coverthound)
--------------------------------------------------------
December 30th, 1996
Area 88 UMRF, Death Valley NP, CA, Earth (1:45 am)
Page 845 of Otto Kirschner's Journal
The subject D-001 is stable, alive, I cannot write any more at this time. My mind is somewhere else, on him.
Otto Kirschner
--------------------------------------------------------
April 15th, 2002
Indian Ocean near Burma, Earth (1:50 AM)
USS Coverthound lay calmly in the darkness of the night, most of the submarines body was underneath the waves but a good portion of it was above the ocean. The ship did not initiate any movement, nothing, for the longest minute ever, only the low ups and downs of the hull as the waves pass the submarine.
And then the beast awoke with a great mechanical roar! The advantage of secrecy had diminished, for now on the submarine would be exposed. Slowly, the flatten upper hull began to rise and open up in the middle into two section, slabs to be more precise, parallel to each other. Of course, it wasn't has smooth, the sections at least weighed several hundred tons causing the hydraulics to struggle and shake the sections of the hull into a low vibration. Slowly the two pieces of the hull began to descend on each side of the submarine until they were perfectly straight forming a flat deck on top of the massive submarine. The flat top was the submarine's two lane one-thousand one-hundred foot runway made up of a special aluminum alloy and coated in a black hard synthetic rubber and aluminum-alloy composite compound that provided extra friction for takeoffs and landings, the composite compound also was used to strengthen the light aluminum-alloy frame that made up the structure of the runway. Red runway lights mechanically appeared from the flattop's landing strip, the lights formed three long rows on the strip's surface. The massive elevator in the back of the sub was retracted down.
But not for long, as it quickly pulled itself up carrying a very strange aircraft. The elevator stopped as it aligned itself to the runway. Now the details of the strangely design craft came to view, the craft was a bit bigger than a F-14 Tomcat, it was oddly shape and was missing a vertical stabilizer, the fat wings were folded on the craft's sides.
The aircraft quickly sprang to life and slowly move towards the runway strip, the fat wings slowly unfolded themselves. It was clearly blended-wing type airplane, like the B2 bomber, only not as wide and a bit chubby. The craft had no cockpit or windows, no doubt, an unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV). The craft seemed to have a strange hump in the back; probably a cargo bay, for there was no other reason for it to be there on the craft. The plane's top was painted a desert camouflage and its belly a solid sky blue coat. So it seemed the craft was ready for a daytime mission.
The craft finally made it to the runway, there it stopped. The craft stood silently at the back of the submarine were the runway began.
The craft opened several hatches on the bottom of the craft's wings aided by hydraulics. Four slots of identical size opened up around the craft on the runway, they were straight and parallel to each other, underneath the wings of the craft. Mechanical arms rose up from the open slots, each had their own propose, the two robotic arms near the fuselage provide the airplane with aviation fuel and large caliber rounds for the craft's hidden rapid-fire cannons, and other armaments. The other two robotic arms were at the tips of the crafts wings, they loaded air-to-air missiles inside the chubby wings, and once they were finished they fell back into the ship only to come back up with two more objects. Both arms seemed to be holding what appeared to be strange looking white objects. They were two small UAVs with folded wings and with an array of weapons, movable cannons, and missile launchers sticking out from all around. The robotic arms placed the smaller UAVs on the wing tips of the blended-wing aircraft, as the craft ignited its two massive prototype jet engines that where on the crafts wings.
The plane slowly crept forward, as the noise of the engine grew louder, and louder, and louder. The thrust burned a heavy blue which made craft move faster, and evermore faster, it rolled down the runway, and faster the thrust pushed it. One-hundred feet...one-hundred fifty feet...three-hundred fifty feet...five-hundred feet... eight-hundred feet and at last the craft lifted into the air. The engines worked hard so that the craft's heavy body could get altitude, there was no fear of running out of fuel considering that the prototype engines were so efficient that, given to its fuel capacity, could stay in the sky with out refueling at nine hundred miles an hour for forty-eight hours. Slowly, the craft disappeared into the darkened skies. The cold, blue glow of the twin afterburners disappeared from the submarines view as it gained altitude.
Slowly, as the afterburners of the craft's engine faded into the sky, the submarine screeched and trembled as it made loud mechanical noises, the runway lights disappeared, and the two section of the top hull of the submarine slowly came back to there precise position. After a minute or so, the ship was intact and back to its original form, the sub no longer made a sound. And steadily, the USS Coverthound returned to the ocean's great depths where it disappeared.
Canto One: Part II
December 21st 2001
En Route to Secret Training Facility "Frozen Fortress" in between Barrow and Kaktovik, Alaska (12:20 AM)
"Frozen Fortress" Experimental Training Facility has always been wrapped in mystery and fear ever since it's reconstruction during the early 90's when artic combat was no longer a real possibility, due mostly to the Soviet Union's collapse in 1991. It no longer had a purpose; the Cold War had ended, so why is the government spending fifteen billion dollars an year keeping the "Frozen Fortress" operational? What are they hiding? Are they testing new technologies? Are they experimenting on aliens? These questions seem to be an alluring hobby to Roger Mayberry, newly appointed Assistant Director of Maintenance for Alaskan Testing and Technology Facilities. From what he had acquired, he knew the US had nothing serious to hide in most of its top secret facilities. They were mostly experimental training sites and top secret proving grounds for testing the latest technology, for the most part, they tested improved version of current weapons and vehicles, they were first classified to prevent the KGB from spying and stealing advance technologies from the US, they are now kept secret to prevent the Chinese and the EU from stealing said technologies. But "Frozen Fortress" was different; it was neither a proving ground nor a hardware testing site either. It was simply known as a training facility, but for training who? And for what propose?
For Mayberry, these questions of the purpose of the "Frozen Fortress" will soon be answered. This reality dawned on him, for the first time in his lifetime he will be inside the infamous "Frozen Fortress", he couldn't believe this was happening and so quickly. Well, not really, ever since he was recruited into the Internal Government, life has been a long, agonizingly boring experience or so it seemed, he couldn't really tell, he was too tired to remember much. He did remembered the strict and punishing training he had to endure for thirteen months when he started working for the IG, and the constant paper work he did for the past eight years, it all seemed easy and unchallenging and dreadfully boring. Really unchallenging as he look back on those day, he remember that, for the most part of his desk job days, reports were written more like mementos than actual reports. Hell, most reports were barely a paragraph long, and you didn't even have to be grammatical correct. But than again, the Internal Government was not a bureaucracy and the only red tape was with Central Command, CentCom.
But now...
Ah crap! I'm in Alaska! And I was barely getting use to the hot, humid weather in Georgia!
Mayberry slammed the back of his head onto his seat, which was bolted down inside a 737 that was owned by the Air Force for non-military use. The sudden back force that came with hitting the seat knocked his loose glasses off his head and slid down to his legs. Roger did not try to pick up his glasses, he was too tired.
Roger Mayberry was once an outsider, an untouchable that lacked any understanding of human interaction. A computer nerd, he saw computer has his only way out from society's harsh comments and strict, empty values. With computers, he felt a sense of freedom; he could be himself and not have to worry what anybody had to say. As far as he was concerned, they didn't exist. And computers don't judge, not like those bastards in high school.
He was now in his mid-thirties, he wore a heavy, blue cotton, button-down short sleeve shirt and a pair of khaki pants that were a bit high-water with his favorite worn-down, black snickers, he also wore socks, one black and other dark purple. His clothing fit loosely over his malnourished pale, small frame. He's face was sculptured by his long facial bones and lack of fatty tissue. He had a full set of hassle brown hair that was poorly groomed and no facial hair, 'cept for those embarrassing nose hairs in his long nose. He saw through a pair of dark brown eyes, that from afar, blended with the blackness of his pupils. He hated his eyes, they were not pretty nor like everyone else's, theirs' were big, bold, colorful, and full of life, his were the opposite: small, dull, lifeless dots.
Mayberry's only form of enjoyment and reason to live, in his mind, was to work on computers; developing software, playing PC games, internet, building high end PCs and servers, hacking, anything that dealt with computers. This obsession with PCs and electronics was the sole reason he got himself into the Internal Government, even though, they approached him first. The offer to join the IG seemed the perfect opportunity for him to use the government's highly advance super computers. But, his dreams were shattered before they got off the ground, the IG did not want him at the beginning for his computer know-how but because of his lightning-quick typing.
He spent eight whole years typing "reports" and documents, and minutes, and agendas, and inventory, and anything and all that could be typed. But, all that has changed because of the recent lack of IG personnel, which reminded him...
As I remembered, there were about a million personnel back in 2001's first quarterly review and in the forth quarter review there were only four-hundred thousand personnel. Strange, were did they all go?
This wasn't much of a question, since in his mind he "knew" the answer.
Poor souls...
But what he "knew" was solely based on gathered indirect information on the IG. During his thirteen month training, Mayberry had considering quitting his involvement in the IG. But, that changed when he went to see Mike Henway, Executive Director for Personnel Training (sounds important, it's not).
Flashback
Mayberry was finally out of computer engineering class, god, he hated that class, everything they're trying teach him he already knows. Mayberry was either in a class or at a workshop for half of the day for the past ten months, he spends half the day working and the other half the day studying, there was no end to this misery. All that time, he never got to see any of the advance technologies that the government had in its possession. He had to get out now, there's no way he can endure this torture.
Mayberry was being trained inside the underwater deep-sea facility El Castillo del Mar (Facility C-123 "the Sea Castle") two-hundred miles from California's coast secretly in international waters. The whole facility was made out of shiny metals, every cramp with little comforts. It didn't bother him much but he wanted out of this place, anyway. And the only way he "thought" he could get out was through the Executive Director for Personnel Training, Mike Henway.
Henway's office was pass the sleeping quarters, pass the recreation center, up two level, through a long hallway, left through security, through several areas and finally inside Hallway C-8 Level 2, the Executive's Hall.
Roger walked at a steady pace, it was nine o'clock, and curfew starts at nine forty-five. He stepped into the Executive's Hall at around nine fifteen, the hall was a creepy-looking place. He walk through the hall slowly, it was quiet, which magnified the creepiness of the long hallway. The hall had some decorations that the rest of the facility did not: the floor was carpeted and the walls were plastered and painted, red steel doors on the right and large painted portraits of the sea and people on the left. The lights were dimmed down so much that he could barely see the other side of the long hallway, there was no windows, of course.
Roger reached the door of Henway's office at the end of the hall, the door was made out of stamped sheet metal, textured to give it a bumpy feel. It was painted in a sickening burgundy red, a plastic plate was glued on the door, "Mike Henway: Exec. Director of Personnel Training" was written on it.
Roger made three light knock on the door, "Director? May we speak?" Nobody answered.
Roger knocked again but this time a little harder on the burgundy door; he hoped that the director had just taken a nap on the job. He heard he was quite old, some of his fellow trainees told him that he severed in Vietnam at age thirty as a Forward Flight Coordinator for naval aircraft for close air support. Got shot in the ass by a VC sniper, well that's the story around here; he could have just shot himself accidentally.
Mayberry looked around the poorly lit hall again and notice a door opening on the southern end of the hall. A woman with dark brown hair wearing a dark blue, female officer suit and matching beret, who looked important, walked through the door entrance and into the hallway, heading his way; they made eye contact but no reaction on both sides. He ignored the lady and knock on the door again. No answer. At last he went for the door knob.
"Stop! Don't Move! Don't Open the Door!" The yell came from inside Henway's office.
"What! Why!"
In a low creepy voice, "My door is booby-trapped with two kilos of C-4 plastic explosive and M18 Claymore mines"
Mayberry was shocked! Definitely not expecting that, "What! Why the hell do you need that for! You don't need that shit! This is a secret underwater installation; if anything, you're going to punch a hole in the place! And we're all going to be shrink-wrapped because of your ass!"
"I neeeeed--- to protect myself from Charlie!" saying it in a psycho, as-matter-of-fact annoying ass hiss.
The dark haired, Caucasian lady that Mayberry previously spotted, was minding her own business when she stopped to take a drink from the water fountain near by, she got up from her kneeling position and walked away without looking at Mayberry, as doing so she said, "Hey, relax kid, that "C-4" his no more dangerous than my son's playdo, in fact...", she turns around and walks back to the director's door
"Hey, asshole! My son wants his clay back!" The director quickly opens the door partially, and with his paranoid eyes looking around. His face was wrinkled, with big bushy eyebrows, and buzz cut gray and black hair. Underneath the sag, Mayberry could tell the director had a muscular face but he looked malnourished. "Is that what I'll look like in fifty years, yeesh! Memo to self, never get a buzz cut and trim down the brows."
"Yeah, really", the director looks her straight in the eyes, seeing if he could out "look" her. A big no-no, since the one he was "looking" at was a mother of four boys and a wife of a fat slob. The director had no chance, she had the "look" and the duration and the experience. The director took his eye away from the lady and gave a defensive, sadistic laugh. And then he stopped and looked more serious.
In a low voice, "He can have his C-4 but I'm keeping the C-3"
"Which is?" The lady said, a little annoyed
"The brown one." His eyes move to Mayberry, who was now on the floor, head first. The lady exhaled tiredly,
"Alright, keep the brown playdo"
"You better watch it lady, when CHARLIE! Comes bustin' in and starts killin', you'll be dead! You'll be dead! Like everyone else! But when he's lookin' for me and walks in this office--- BLOOM!"
She had no time for amusements, "What? You're going to do him a favor by blowing yourself up?", not really a question, though, "Give me my son's toys back that you stole from the daycare, he's only five! You Bastard!"
"Here!" he throws the three or four plastic containers of Playdo at the lady, "Bitch!" he hissed.
The lady was furious, she backed off a little and raised her right leg and kick the director's door hard. Poor director's right fingers were in between the slightly opened door and frame at the time.
"GARHahahahahahahahahahahhahahahah!", he cried.
"Don't you ever call your supervisor a BITCH! You understand, bitch!", and did a second kick at the door, no fingers were harmed, and walked way.
Mayberry got up and look at the door that was now shut, "strange".
He called the director's name and slowly walked towards the door.
"Sir?" The door swiftly opened fully, good thing Mayberry had kept his distance. No one was behind the door, strange, but he had to talk to the director.
The room was void of light beside that of the dimmed fluorescents in the hallway. Mayberry cautiously walked into the room scanning for any "booby traps" he might encounter. He search for the light switch at the side to the door and flicked it on. He didn't see the director but he notice that the room was uber impressive; WWII relicts, such as the weapons that adorn the room, lugers, B.A.R.s, M1s, .45s, 38 specials, he even saw a SturmGevehr-44. There were also well-detailed aircraft models that hang from the roof, and pictures of military people he didn't know, and pictures of an aircraft carrier. The floor was made of steel, like all rooms in this facility, but it was mostly covered in an old afghan carpet. The room was furnished with very well-made Italian walnut and Carolinian-made mahogany furniture.
Comfy, but a bit tacky...
"Who's there!" the director said crawling out for under his work desk.
"Um, sir, may we speak--- you okay?" a little concerned.
"I'm fine! Nothing more than a bruise", the director garbed a white cotton cloth on top of his work desk and start wiping the blood off his right hand. He wore a worn grey officer's suit with visible moth holes and stains, probably from busted pens, there seemed to be a dozen broken pens lying on the director's desk.
He looked at Mayberry who was looking at his bloody hand and smiling, "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing more than a bruise, right--- ah sir, I'm here to speak to you about quitting the IG", Mayberry said in a more formal way with arms on his side and body straight up, at least, he thought, if he acted normal than maybe, just maybe, thing would get a little less crazy.
"Quitting the IG!" the director burst into laughter, "Oh boy, oh boy, my lucky day!" he walked away from his work desk and pass Mayberry. He stopped and stared at the gun-lavished wall.
"Okay, boy! I'll be fair to you, I'll let you choose," eyeing the wall still, "It's been a while since I used one of these, how 'bout, will a Colt suit you?"
"W-what! What do you mean?" Mayberry backed off a little to the left, moving his eye back and forth from the Director to the door. This guy's psycho! Okay, if he reaches for the wall I'm out of here!
"What gun do you want to be shot with, sunny", Henway turned his head towards his left catching Mayberry by his peripheral vision.
"I don't what to be killed!" he slowly walks back towards the door keeping his eye attached to Henway's every move.
The director tiredly laughed and walk to the steel shuttered sea window and opened the shutters slowly, of course, a real sea window would have been too dangerous so instead a HDTV sat in its place, imitating a tropical sea with exotic fish, he pause for a moment, "That's your name, kid?"
"Ah, Roger Mayberry, trainee, sir", relieved
"Listen here, boy...," turning his face toward Mayberry, "guess no one told you, there's only one way out of the IG.", he lifted his clean left arm and formed with his fingers what look like a hand gun and placed it next to his head, "bang!"
"Well, now that's downsizing, all right."
"No, that couldn't be!", he thought, why would the Internal Government mass murder three fifth of its members in less that a few months yet increase it's research productivity and increase the spending and budget by twelve billion dollars? Something about it didn't make sense; it's not like the Internal Government was restructuring, that couldn't be he would've been informed. The more he thought about it the less it made sense.
I could understand getting rid of a few hundred-thousand after the end of the Cold War but now? So late? Mayberry just didn't understand, the complexity of it all made it more difficult to process. The War on Terrorism? No, why would the IG be concerned.
Roger yawned and stretched his arms far enough to pull his muscles, he was tired. It has been thirty-seven hours since he first woke up from his bed in Atlanta, George. Now he is somewhere over northern Alaska waiting for his first facility inspection, on the job training for the most part.
Mayberry looked at his watch on his pale left hand, it was six o'clock PM, he saw that it was night outside, "Must be the time difference", he closed his eyes and "combed" his hair with his fingers. "But shouldn't there be daylight right now; it's only two o'clock here."
Roger scanned the cabin section he is on, like the civilian 737; the airplane was divided into two sections. The back section of the craft was for people of low rank or position, like janitor or technician and the front section of the craft, which in the civilian model is for first class, was reserved for officers; Roger was an officer. Mayberry notice that the cabin was quiet, beside the hum of the planes workings, which he has become accustomed to, it was also dark and cold, a few people laid scattered throughout the sparse rows of seats. Most all were asleep, few slept in a sitting position, while others used up entire rows, either laying flat and using the seats as a bed, or putting their feet on adjacent seats, curled up with there small travel blankets and resting their heads and upper bodies on the back rest of their seats. Roger also close his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
Mayberry awoke to notice the cabin lights were on and the captain was informing the tired passengers of there arrival to Derrick Airfield. People were wakening up around him and packing up and fastening their seatbelts.
"...the time is 3:25 PM and for those who have never been inside Alaska's artic circle, please notices that it is still dark outside. The sun won't be out for another month. The good news is that reports indicate clear skies and a cool temperature of only minus 55 degrees Fahrenheit and humidity at zero percent, of course... We will be landing in Derricks Airfield in about five minutes, for those going to the city of Barrow there will be a two hour delay, and for those going to the "Fortress" please remember to go inside Building 8 located near terminal 3, there will be a Frozen Fortress Liaisons waiting for you there..."
The plane landed and everyone exited out of the plane, including Mayberry. He joined a group of people who were also going to the "Frozen Fortress" and had a small chat with them while walking toward Building 8. There he saw a few well-dressed men wearing, of course, black suits who escorted him and the small group into a secret tunnel inside Building 8; there was a small, open top, tracked kart that they took to reach the "Frozen Fortress".
They finally reach the end of the tunnel into Frozen Fortress's terminal. The material of the tunnel walls were solid granite, they were definitely inside a mountain. The terminal was about forty meters underground. He left the terminal and into another building through a reinforced cement tunnel where he was met by a tall, blond male officer.
"Welcome, you must be the new "Assistant Director of Maintenance", Roger Mayberry. My name is Harvey, Harvey Taylor, Master CPO, the boss around here. Come with me, please." Harvey seemed quite young, maybe the same age as him. No doubt of Scandinavian descent. He wore a clean, crisp, dark blue uniform with distinct insignias on his coat, probably meaning Master Chief Petty Officer or "look here! Someone important", whatever, Mayberry didn't care what it meant.
Roger followed him through a long, white hallway that ended near a computer terminal. The commander placed his hand of the computer terminal and typed some sort of code and place his head on a chin rest while his eyes were wide open for a retina scan. A thick metal door opened that led to an elevator; they got into the elevator and descended downwards.
The elevator finally stopped after quite along while and the two walked out, they entered a narrow hall that led to a very, very large, circular room.
It's amazing, truly amazing how such a structure could be built. They must have pass a mile underground and barely the highest level reached. What technical feats, Mayberry had only entered the first facility in the "Frozen Fortress" and it already impressed him. The structure was spherical, he could see from where he was standing at least two kilometers. There were many people here, and stores and a small garden, and water gushing out of an artificial waterfall on one of the side of the roof into a small lake. This structure must be a recreation center for the facility's employees, hell, he saw a movie theater, a basketball court, an ice cream shop, a food market, an arcade, a park, and everything and anything, "Mr. Mayberry", Taylor spoke.
"hm" that's all Mayberry said, the excitement drained him of the little energy he had left.
"This large room is called Nexus One Central," Taylor spoke, "this room connects to all the other sections of the Fortress and the only way out of the Fortress for most employees. The fortress is divide into one hundred and twenty large spherical rooms carved out from inside a large, metamorphic rock mass, granite, which is the mountain you probably saw from outside."
Mayberry didn't see a mountain, it was too dark to see anything from outside. He figured Taylor had been cooped up inside the fortress a little too long to remember the sun angle patterns of the artic circle.
"Damn, it's like a city", Man, I'm tired. All I want now is a nice bed to sleep on.
Taylor looked at Mayberry with a stolid expression, "I see that you're not in shape to start working, if you would like I'll show you to your room."
"That'll be great commander" Finally!
--------------------------------------------------------
December 22, 2001
HEAD Research Facility, Western Sector Level 10 inside "Frozen Fortress" (9:00 AM) (72 miles underground near the asthenosphere)
Some sleep and a good hot shower was all Mayberry needed to be fully awake for today. He had to report to the base level were Taylor told him he will receive further orders from Mayberry's new CO.
Mayberry reached the base level two hours from then he started off, this place was a bit confusing and huge, but at least he was on time, barely. The "Frozen Fortress" was composed of over a hundred and twenty individual spherical facilities, each 2 miles in diameter, connected by a labyrinth of tunnels and elevators; the lowest room was over 74 miles underground.
There he was joined by Harvey Taylor, who escorted him through what seemed to been a lab, or a medical facility. There were many people with white lab coats going every which way, a few sentries, too. The facility was large, the walls were painted white and the fluorescents were at their highest setting, very bright. They reach another elevator and went down it, they were in another place inside the facility, but it was much darker and the walls here made of cold aluminum and grey concrete.
They walked to an office at the end of the main hall; they went through it with out knocking. Mayberry saw a middle-aged man at the desk working.
"Sir! This is the replacement you've requested." Harvey spoke.
The man at the desk sat quietly, gazing down at some paperwork, undisturbed by the brute interruption by Harvey and Mayberry, "Continue", the middle-aged man said with out strafing his eyes way from his work.
"Sir, CentCom has requested that you immediately instruct Mayberry on the materiel he will be working on"
"Very well", the old man said. Harvey left the office leaving Mayberry with the man at the desk.
The old man looked towards Mayberry and made a disappointing frown. His facial features were very distinct; Mayberry could tell the man had aged before his time. Permanent wrinkles of years of fatigue, hard work, and military service; though, he didn't look a year past fifty. High cheek bones were more distinct too due to the lack of fatty tissue and a generic nose; his lips were small, dull pinkish-red with visible signs of chapping. His face was stolid. He had no facial hair but under his wore-out beret Mayberry could see dark brown hair and scattered grayness, "So, you're Roger Mayberry?"
"Yes, but I'm afraid I don't know who you are?" Mayberry said.
"Commander Matthew J. Newman, I lead the research group in charge of project HEAD. Several higher-ups have recommended you to fill an empty position on my team."
"What? I was told that I was going to be the new Assistant Director of Maintenance?" Ah fuck! Fucked again! Mayberry knew what was happening and there was nothing he could do about it. He either adapts or dies, literally.
Commander Newman got up from his sitting position from his desk; he wore what every other non-commissioned officer wore, some sort of blue military officer getup. He moved to a filing cabinet next to the right wall of his office and opened the top drawer and pulled out a manila folder. "That was a simple cover up, Mister Chief Analyst of Special Projects."
"Chief Analyst? I think there must have been a mistake, I – wasn't informed…" Shit! Mayberry knew something like this would happen, but Chief Analyst? What the hell is that? "Did CentCom authorize this, sir?"
"I'm a commissioned officer. I have the power to allocate people to where they're needed most and do what needs to be done. No mistake, Mister Mayberry, you are the replacement CA I requested, though, the Broad of Internal Affairs has offered me a more experienced person to fill the job but I'm sure you'll do just fine." Commander Newman handed the manila folder to Mayberry, who hesitated to grab the folder but when relaxed a bit and garbed it from the Commander's hand.
Mayberry opened the folder and view the contents briefly. He looked back at the Commander and waited for further orders. He didn't understand what the contents said but didn't want to make a bad impression.
"Are you ready?" Commander Newman said to Mayberry, who nodded, "Good, follow me, chief analyst."
They both walked out of the office and back of the elevator and went inside a tunnel he had not seen before.
Mayberry was now a bit curious of what he had to say, "Commander, sir, I don't understand my position in your group."
"You are to be the main data analyst for Project HEAD, I'll explain what Project HEAD is later. It is a very difficult job position that you must fill, you see, you will be in charge of a very complex machine, the machine is self-operating but you will be need to monitor and adjust it during operation. Basically, you will receive continuous real-time feedback on the machine's performance and determine the proper actions base on the feedback and mission objectives."
The commander stopped walking and faced Mayberry, "Now, this is very important, you'll answer to me, the commander of this base and the Master CA and no one else, understand?"
"Yes, sir!" Mayberry said hastily. The IG was real serious about information leaks, real, real serious. Secrecy in the IG was more important than life; hundreds of thousands of people have been sacrificed for its maintenance.
They reached the end of the tunnel and into another spherical facility; the place looked like innards of a futuristic medical facility. Nice and clean, with painted walls, white of course, and sliding doors. Mayberry saw very few people here, most of them seemed to be working on computers while others carried out scientific experiments.
Mayberry and Commander Newman stopped at a door near the main hall of the facility. Commander Newman looked at Mayberry and spoke, "You will be responsible for its well being, also."
"Its well being?" Mayberry was a bit surprised to hear him say such a thing, "What kind of machine is it?"
"I think it would be better explained if I show you." Commander Newman pressed a button on the security console on the side of the sliding door and the door slide open and they both walked in.
--------------------------------------------------------
April 15th, 2002
Tain Shan Mountains Air Space, China (2:35 AM)
The black sky was thin and warm forty-five kilometers above the desert plateau, far beyond the reach of the clouds. The superficial air of the stratosphere lacked much oxygen, if there was any. It mattered not.
The ozone-rich stratosphere bounced and absorbed the intense ultraviolet radiation emitted by yesterday's sun and had kept the night warm.
And through such perils the blended-wing aircraft, the Hyperion III, made its voyage pass Chinese intelligence gathering network undetected. What a marvelous piece of technology the craft was, No doubt the builders of the craft were satisfied with the end product. And so were its owners.
--------------------------------------------------------
March 9th, 2000
Wilhelm Point Fields, Alaska 12 miles south of "Frozen Fortress"
It was during twilight, two figures walking through the freshly settled snow stopped near a mountain ridge overshadowing a frozen lake, they were dressed in black and it seemed that one was quite taller than the other. Even in twilight they wore sunglasses; large black boots, and black long trench coats with black gloves. This form of dress would be considered suicidal in this climate, it was thirty-five degrees below zero, after all, and it was only getting worse as the sun set. But it did not bother them, it seemed.
They stood there, watching the twilight sun set over the southern mountains.
"You know – it won't set for another month, Northern Alaska is strange that way" The short one said in a motionless undertone. He appeared middle-aged, with brown and gray hair.
The tall figure stared at the sun setting over the mountain, he lacked emotion in his face, "This-this is my first time outside."
"Of course, and you'll be seeing it a lot more soon – if there isn't any complication"
"Commander, I have – I ask for your permission to find her, Sir"
"And how do you propose we find her? We lost her signal, she's probably dead. The odds against finding her are enormous." The older man said.
"This is not a matter of probability," said the tall one, "I have to try."
"Permission denied, and that's absolute. Now, report to PH-Lab."
"As you wish, Commander"
End of Episode One: Canto One