15: Dark Mountain
The far eastern mountains of the nation-state of Kelowna were often rain-drenched at this time of year. And when winter fell, these mountains would be covered in snow, the dirt roads that wound through them becoming impassable in some places. As it stood, the muddy trails proved tough going, even with the machinery at their disposal. The truck was bogged down more than once during the long journey to the Kelownan frontier, and it was close to sundown by the time the group finally arrived at their destination. Some of the soldiers had ended up tired and dirty, their uniforms covered with mud.
Even Gorum Kavul had gotten his hands filthy, and as such his trousers were smeared with the stuff. Sometimes, even the man in charge had to get down and muck it with his subordinates, who in this case were half a dozen separatist soldiers. Some had military experience, a couple were civilian volunteers who had joined the separatist movement for whatever reason, be it personal revenge or patriotism for their otherwise unrecognized constituent state.
All of them had found themselves under the command of a new leader, a leader who had made his name known during the Ori occupation, and before that Gorum had been a demolitions expert within the Kelownan National Army. And after the occupation had ended, Gorum's loyalties had found their way to the separatists of the northern frontier, where Kelowna kept a tenuous hold on the constituent state of Chevoka. For now, that region was firmly under their control, but that would change soon enough. As would the entirety of Langara, as predicted by the angel who watched Gorum's every move. He had been chosen for a great purpose, one that went beyond simply gaining the independence of some small, insignificant state. It was that purpose that had brought him out here, far from any semblance of civilisation.
The mountain before them was steep and rocky and surrounded by heavy forest. In the dying light of day it appeared gloomy, the shadow brought on by the setting sun behind the mountain itself casting darkness upon the land. Rain clouds lingered overhead, offering the occasional drizzle. The truck the group rode in, a sturdy and battered model with an engine seemingly held together with duct tape, came to a halt upon a large patch of gravel at the base of the rocky face of the mountain's southern side. There was evidence of there having been something man-made here, among these the rusted hulk of a squat, rectangular structure by the dirt road and a rusted, mostly fallen fence that did little but encourage creeping vines to grow along it. A guard tower had been here, but even that had fallen down, the mostly timber structure having crumbled under the often violent storms that wracked the region during the colder months.
Gorum stepped out of the truck, and the driver switched off the rumbling, groaning engine. Silence fell upon the mountainside, broken only by the rustle of the underbrush as the wind swept through. The soldiers with him climbed out of the truck's rear compartment, checking their weapons and readying themselves for trouble. Gorum was confident there would be none, however, and he started past the fallen guard tower and the empty shell that had been the guardhouse. Beyond it, set into the base of the mountain's rocky face, was a large metal door that had remained closed for many years. For a time, this place had served as a covert research facility for the Kelownan government. A sign by the guardhouse, battered and faded with age, still bore somewhat readable text: REPUBLIC OF KELOWNA, SPECIAL PROJECTS ADVANCED RESEARCH FACILITY #9.
There had been a similar such place towards the country's centre, wherein the naquadria project had been undertaken. They had refined that element to the point it could be deployed in devastating ordnance. Here, at this particular and far more remote facility, research of a very different kind had taken place. And, from what Gorum had learned, the few within government who had known of this place were just about all dead. Old age, illness, or the Ori occupiers had rid Langara of those people. One had survived, and it was this one whom Gorum had shared a cell with for a time. That one had been an old man then, and he had died in his sleep one night but not before Gorum had learned a great deal from him.
The angel had only confirmed his suspicions. He could almost feel its guiding hand upon him now, and it spurred him on towards the heavy bulkhead doors that served as the facility's entrance. The soldiers with him followed at a distance, wary of the place and what it represented. They were even wary of him, this notorious terrorist and former heroic resistance fighter who had thrown his lot in with the separatists. That wariness was compounded further by the simple fact that he had killed their previous commander. And yet, they were drawn to him, some more than others. There was no mistaking the quiet, calculating confidence that was apparent in Gorum overall, be it in his pale blue eyes with their piercing nature, or in the way he seemed to know of things that no one else did. How had he known this place was here? He had not shared that set of information with any of his subordinates, he had simply ordered a handful to follow him on the long journey north. And now they were here, faced with a foreboding door set in the base of a mountain and no idea what lay beyond it.
Gorum paused by a small hatch upon the wall, just before the door. He pulled on the hatch's small handle, the rusted hinges creaking and grinding. Beneath was a keypad, comprised of large plastic buttons that were scuffed and dirtied. He punched in the code he had been told and immediately an alarm sounded, alerting anyone nearby that the main door was being opened. However, save for him and his subordinates, there was no one else in the vicinity at all. The alarm sounded twice more before it ceased, and the bulkhead door gradually groaned and scraped its way open.
Red lights flashed as it moved, and a grungy corridor lay ahead, leading further underground and to another similar door. A reinforced window was to the left, interspersed with wire. This being the airlock, the security and science personnel responsible for the comings and goings of this place would have observed and checked any visitors through that window, from within the security station beyond it. The place was empty now, the furniture scattered and the lights switched off.
Gorum walked on ahead, the soldiers following. As they neared the inner door, something sounded through the facility's announcement system. A groaning noise of some sort, tinged with static. And then the groans formed into words, yet they were warped and incoherent, as if someone was trying to speak to them over a bad connection. The soldiers with Gorum appeared worried, no doubt unsettled by this place and the noises they were hearing. Yet, as soon as Gorum activated the inner door, the noises stopped. Silence once again fell across the facility.
The main power was barely functioning. It had laid dormant for far too long, although with the activation of the inner door the old generators automatically kicked into life. They struggled, of course, sputtering on what little fuel might have been left within them. With the first surges of electricity flowing through the deserted facility, the large open space beyond became illuminated by various yellow fittings, some of which flickered sporadically. Others did not switch on at all. This initial space served as a receiving area, not only for visitors but for cargo as well. Containers of various sizes were stacked to either side of the room, whilst a set of steps led up to an overlooking office. Signs directed visitors to this office, although it was not so much there that Gorum was interested in. Rather, it was the corridor further ahead, one that started at the far-right corner of the room and went further into the underground facility. A metal gate blocked the way, and it was joined by another security room with an observation window. Again, it was a bare room, the paint on the walls peeling, light fitting inside flickering.
Gorum started for this security gate. As he moved, he motioned for those soldiers following to fan out and secure the area. There was unlikely to be anyone in here, but one could not take too many chances in a place such as this.
Gorum stopped before the security gate. He was followed by two of the soldiers, both of whom looked nervous. The corridor went on for some distance, a mostly drab grey length of linoleum floor and plain, sterile walls. Warning signs were dotted about the place, instructing science personnel and visitors as to what protective gear they should wear and in what parts of the facility such measures were necessary. Another keypad was here, and the code came to him as if it was something he had known since childhood. The gate opened slowly on its hinges, allowing him access to what he knew would be the more interesting parts of the facility as a whole.
The corridor was lined with bare offices, with a common area and a kitchen among them. It was through another security checkpoint that they came upon the research area. The power had come on in this section, revealing mostly cleaned-out research spaces bereft of any of the equipment that would have been necessary in such a place. Nonetheless, there were still items of value to be derived from here. Gorum found these buried deep within the facility, specifically the main laboratory space that was at the facility's very heart. Here, pods lined either flank, some empty, others with the remains of some unfortunate test subjects. And at the far end, contained within a sealed room that had not been opened for more than thirty years, was the item he had come for.
It was innocuous, really, little more than a box containing a half dozen vials. Each vial housed a yellow-tinged liquid.
There was another metal pod in this room, the window set within it clear. A desiccated corpse sat within, the last test subject and, presumably, the only successful one. Gorum, with the box of vials in hand, paused before the grey metal pod and peered at the hollow, eyeless sockets set within the unfortunate victim's skull. It seemed that this success had not granted the test subject better luck. If anything, it had opened him (or her) to further experimentation.
One of the soldiers sidled up alongside him then, following the older man's gaze and frowning at the remains inside the pod.
"What happened to him?" The soldier asked.
"The next step in our evolution," Gorum answered, his eyes still fixed upon the hollow sockets of the body in the pod. "Of course, that does not make one immune to death. Not at that stage."
"Is that what we came here for?"
"The remains?" Gorum shook his head. He held up the small black case. "This is what we came here for. Our salvation, and the destruction of our enemies." The angel had once again granted him what it had promised. "Only the strong will survive what is to come."
"What do you mean, boss?" The soldier frowned, unnerved by the older man's statement. Gorum offered him a smile. There was something malicious in it, an impression furthered by the wide-eyed look he adopted.
"The people of Langara will be elevated above all others," Gorum continued. "Of course, those who oppose us will be swept aside. We have what we need to begin our crusade."
"And this place? What is it?"
"A den of misery, in which innocents were experimented upon," Gorum explained. "And from that misery comes a joyous future." He stared further into the empty eye sockets of the corpse. The soldier behind him walked away, intent on putting as much distance between him and this laboratory as he possibly could. Gorum remained where he was a minute longer, and he spoke again in a much softer voice: "Thank you, my Watcher. I will not fail you."