by Michael Todd
“Well,” Director Terry Hall began, “from what you’ve told me, the mission was largely a failure.”
“Affirmative,” Wallace replied, deadpan. “Aside from the fact that Kemp failed to acquire Dr. Lin as her ally. Both parties lost. Nobody got what they wanted.” Hall had not at any point displayed much concern or regret over the deaths of almost forty American soldiers. The two wounded Wallace had summoned Glassner to pick up were the only survivors aside from himself and Chris.
“This is very disappointing…” Hall went on, adjusting his tie and running his fingers back and forth over the surface of his desk. “We spent weeks planning that mission, gathering both the intel and the funding, and we came back empty-handed. We even pulled strings to allow you to command above your rank—technically—but even that somehow failed to produce the results we wanted. Pity, Sergeant.”
Wallace said nothing; Hall had neither asked him a question nor given an order.
“Very disappointing,” the man said again in his deep, soft voice. “Dr. Lin has gone AWOL under rather mysterious circumstances, and we weren’t able to get a sample of this new and very interesting fruit either.” He shook his head sadly. “And with Kemp’s little ploy having failed… it would seem there’s no longer any reason for the Zoo to continue producing that fruit. That robs us of the opportunity to synthesize our supercharged weed-killer, as we’d hoped. There’s very little that can be salvaged from a…fiasco like this.”
Wallace’s jaw muscles tightened. “Sir, I apologize,” he began. “Although the deck may have been stacked against us from the beginning, it has always been my honor to produce results regardless of the difficulties involved. Since all of this happened under my command, I hereby offer up my resignation.”
Hall chuckled as though someone had told a barely-funny joke and he was laughing only to be polite. Wallace’s eyes narrowed a bit; that wasn’t the reaction he had expected.
“Nonsense,” said Hall. “We’ve suffered a setback, but not a defeat. I still have big plans for this place, Sergeant Wallace, and you are, in fact, the key to those plans.” He pointed at him with two fingers.
Wallace had been looking at a point in space a bit past Hall’s head, but now he focused his eyes on the man’s. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I’m confused…”
“The world is changing…” Hall explained. He leaned back in his comfortable leather chair and steepled his big, thick fingers. “This operation is no longer something we can keep quiet and treat like a project for the high-school science fair since it’s making international headlines. Planet Earth won’t ever be the same again. One way or another…”
Wallace had to agree with that, at least. He nodded.
“Moving forward, I’ll need someone I can trust. Not only trust with delicate information, but whose abilities, courage, and resolve are beyond reproach. You failed this time, but it wasn’t entirely your fault. You’re still highly valuable to me, Sergeant. You realize what we’re actually dealing with here, and what the Zoo really is. What we can… take from it.”
“I’m afraid I still don’t understand, sir,” Wallace replied. “Without the weed-killer, we won’t be able to stop Kemp’s plan to use infusions of biomass to grow the Zoo. We won’t be able to contain it—short of going straight to firebombing or even nuking the whole place—let alone profit from it.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Hall reassured him. He smiled, seemingly comfortable and confident with all that transpired before and around him. Then he looked down at his desk, where there was a picture of Emma Kemp. “I’ve come up with a new plan.”
Author Notes - Michael Anderle
January 6, 2019
THANK YOU for not only reading this story but these Author Notes as well.
(I think I’ve been good with always opening with “thank you.” If not, I need to edit the other Author Notes!)
RANDOM (sometimes) THOUGHTS?
So, my mind at the moment is mush. I’ve been trying to adjust to multiple time zones and traveling between the US, Australia and Indonesia. My normal wake up time is now between 4:30 AM and 6:30 AM (I woke at 6:30 AM and then stayed in bed a while this morning.)
I was thinking “what the hell am I going to write for my author notes?? I finally decided I would go on to the Internet and find things that would make you ponder.
Then, my author notes would be written for me and all would be good. The only problem is I frittered for at least twenty minutes reading these stupid things to make you ponder, realizing that if I would have just typed up some random thoughts—they would be better and I wouldn’t have wasted twenty minutes. However, in order to make sure those minutes are NOT wasted, here are a few items to ponder:
•If poison expires, is it less dangerous or more?
•Do you realize you eat pizza from the inside out?
•If you get scared “half to death” twice, does that kill you?
•Which letter is silent for ‘scent’. The S or the C?
•SWIMS upside down is still SWIMS
•We pass the anniversary of our death every year without knowing it.
See? Complete waste of time.
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AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS
One of the interesting (at least to me) aspects of my life is the ability to work from anywhere and at any time. In the future, I hope to re-read my own Author Notes and remember my life as a diary entry.
I’m at the Bali Hilton on the south side of Indonesia. The view is spectacular, there are monkeys and iguanas, and I feel like I have a hangover, although I didn’t drink.
Oh, and the Coca-Colas are like R13,900, which is about $1.00 US.
Maybe I’m wrong and they are twice that amount. I’m willing to go buy another can and drink it for research purposes. (Editor’s note: keep drinkin’ – that’s a dollar. You could get them at the local store for like $0.20)
Because that is how I roll.
I can actually say that I’ve “done Coke” all over the world now, and it was cheap cheap cheap. (Editor’s note: Except in Paris) Totally less costly than the white stuff, but damn near as addicting.
Here in Bali, one needs to drink bottled water (not what is on tap, since the little invisible bugs…I know there is a proper name for them but I am too tired to think of it) don’t sit well with a small but noticeable percentage of the population.
I have used the water to brush my teeth, and I think I’m fine.
My editor (who will have to make heads or tails of these notes) has lived here sometime in the past for a while—maybe she can guest in here and explain what I can’t think at the moment??? (Hmmm Lynne?)
Editor’s note: Tap water will get ya Bali Belly (aka Montezuma’s Revenge), but the ice is government-controlled so you can chew it with impunity! Sama-sama = you’re welcome)
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Ad Aeternitatem,
Michael Anderle
Ambassadors and Scorpions
Apocalypse Paused Book Four
Prologue
A man walked along a sidewalk that edged a park in a city. Double-decker buses drove past, signs advertised shops’ wares in multiple languages, and slim, fashionably-dressed men and women walked past. Migrant vendors hawked their wares and a mother played with her children. Eyes were everywhere, and the stranger knew he would have to be careful. At least he wore a hooded jacke
t against the cool, damp, and grey weather.
According to a sign near a trail leading into the park, the section where a particular bench would be located was only about half a kilometer farther on. Good. The man did not want to spend too much time on this, even as important as it was. There was other work to be done.
He looked around as he walked—nothing too obvious or suspicious, of course. Merely an individual taking in the sights on a stroll. A broad glance to the left and a sweep to the right with the perfect bemused facial expression. It was a lovely park, full of gently rolling green slopes and broad flowering trees and statues, some of which dated back to the sixteenth century. A significant number of people walked here, so no one would pay them any heed unless they had a specific reason to do so. The agent had experience at this sort of thing, after all. While no trouble was expected, it was good to be alert. One never knew what might happen.
Soon, the bench came into sight and another individual sat on it as planned. The man even wore a big, heavy, dark-brown trench coat. That was a good sign. But of course, things could have been compromised. Anyone could put on a particular coat and sit on a park bench, after all.
The man—it was definitely a man, as expected—looked intently at his cell phone as he plunked away at it. As the agent approached, he looked up and said, “Excuse me…”
He stopped and turned partially toward his contact but without revealing his face just yet. “Yes? May I help you?”
The man cleared his throat. “Something seems to be wrong with my phone. Do you have the time and the weather forecast?”
So far, so good. The operative took two steps closer, pulled out his phone and brought it back to life, and tapped a few quick buttons. He reported the time and informed the man that temperatures were projected to remain decent although more rain was expected.
“Ahh,” the man said. “I get a pain in my knee when it gets this damp. Not to mention I always seem to slip on my porch.”
“That’s a shame,” he replied. “Do you mind if I sit down?”
“Not at all.” Before he moved over to make room, the stranger in the coat rubbed his left ear with his left thumb.
The agent nodded and took a seat. Although they both occupied the bench now, neither looked at the other. “It seems like no one comes to this park anymore…such a shame,” he said after a few minutes of silence.
“True,” his companion responded, “but some people have far worse things to worry about.” He produced a manila envelope thick with papers of some sort from within his trench coat.
The operative accepted the envelope without comment, opened it, and drew forth the documents within. He examined the contents quickly and nodded his head. Impressive. Most impressive. “This is manageable,” he said.
“I do have to remind you…” the man in the coat said in a low voice and glanced around quickly to ensure, once again, that no one else was around. “This mission will be dangerous. You are going for more than simply a walk in the park, my friend.”
“Oh,” he replied, “I am not worried in the least.” He returned the papers to the envelope and made it disappear as if it had never been there. “Is the intel good? You can confirm and verify its source?”
“It comes from the very top,” the handler said.
The agent leaned back a little on the bench for better comfort and smiled broadly. “Have no fear, then,” they said. “These American idiots will hardly know what’s hit them.”
1
In addition to the usual swarms of deadly mutated locusts, the Zoo had spawned another river. In the middle of the Sahara Desert. Someone had to deal with it according to entirely sensible orders which the people in charge, in their infinite wisdom, had issued.
“All right.” Sergeant Erik Wallace sighed and tried not let even a trace of his tiredness and exasperation into his voice. “I know that the installation of a drawbridge over a magically-appearing moat isn’t exactly what most of you thought of doing when you signed the papers that made you soldiers in the United States Army. But as soldiers, we all have to do our duty.”
As he made this speech, he gathered a large box of rivets and a massive drill, intending to help with the task itself—troops resented these sorts of assignments slightly less when their commanding officers pitched in. “Ultimately, we have all surrendered our individual decision-making process to Uncle Sam. He might not always make a hell of a lot of sense, but his ends are just, and by following our orders and doing our jobs, we advance toward those ends.” As Wallace had been augmented by a cybernetic partial-exoskeleton, he had an easier time carrying the rivets than some of the others might have.
Most of the team muttered and grumbled, nonetheless. They had received only the vaguest of briefings before all of them had been hustled down the path that led into the jungle, a little less than a mile in, where the new river had appeared overnight.
“Wait a minute,” said Corporal Gunnar Åkerlund, “that almost reminds me of something. Hmm…wait, yeah, that’s it!” His long, morose face almost seemed to light up for a second as he continued. “‘The Lord works in mysterious ways.’ I knew that Uncle Sam was actually God Himself in disguise. Who else would be so great and wise and all-knowing? Or so merciful to send us out here at 1300? He sure does have a nice beard, though.”
Several of the other soldiers reacted in barely-audible ways, although Wallace heard all of them. Some chuckled while others were offended.
“Advancing toward ends…” chimed in Private First-Class Monica Pérez, better known throughout the base as Private Peppy. “Yes. All of us, one day at a time, advance toward the end. The days slip by uselessly, like lemmings that shuffle mindlessly toward a cliff, knowing that the final plunge will at last bring a reprieve from meaningless tasks.” She waved a hand vaguely toward Gunnar. “And useless comments.”
“Peppy could take a plunge off this cliff,” Gunnar suggested and indicated the short drop into the brown waters of the river below. “Then she’ll be spared laughing herself to death from me being so fucking funny. Think of how much it would hurt to vomit up her own lungs—”
“Shut up, Åkerlund,” said Wallace. “Everyone, get to work and we can have this done with plenty of time for supper. On the double.” He plugged the drill into their generator and started counting out the rivets.
Months had passed now since Erik Wallace had first been assigned to the Zoo. Yesterday evening was the first anyone had seen or heard of a river flowing through this particular portion of it. Wallace wasn’t at all surprised. Once a man got past the initial shock of seeing a vibrant green jungle sprouting directly out of the sands of the Sahara, accepted that this jungle was the result of a failed experiment on some kind of alien fertilizer that had come to Planet Earth from deep space… Yes, after a man accepted those things, the rest got easier. Sort of.
“Imagine all the bugs and spiders we’ll put out of their misery,” Peppy droned on in her flaccid monotone, “by destroying their habitats with all this construction material. Most of them probably had no chance to mate or perpetuate their DNA anyway.”
“Hey, Peppy,” some guy shouted, “want to perpetuate some of our DNA?”
“I don’t see the point.” She sighed.
“Well, I for one am always happy to destroy some bug habitats,” Gunnar interjected and used the tone of voice he always used when it had been too long since the last time he’d been able to shoot anything. “Especially if it means the spiders also starve. Arachnids in general should all be rounded up and used as targets at a firing range.” He shuddered. “I’d even donate a few guns.”
“Somebody gonna donate a scorpion to your pants if you don’t shut up, man,” another soldier said.
Wallace looked up. “Åkerlund, this time, I order you to keep quiet.”
“Darn,” Gunnar said and pantomimed a zipping motion across his mouth. He produced a cigarette from somewhere within his uniform. It seemed to be already lit, and he took a long puff of it and blew the smo
ke out with a look of great satisfaction. Wallace supposed that, if the man hadn’t been able to shoot things, he at least got off on provoking a reaction from his comrades. Sometimes, they thought it was funny. At other times, it merely annoyed the hell out of them. In any event, he was an NCO now and ought to behave more professionally.
Wallace himself had been a sergeant for a long time. Terry Hall, the director of the base overseeing the Zoo, had temporarily granted him the powers of an “Acting Lieutenant,” but had then—officially—rescinded them after the failure of the last major operation Wallace had commanded. In practice, though, he continued to have more authority around there than his rank should technically allow.
Not that he had the slightest interest in abusing it. He was a soldier, and soldiers followed orders. As the noise of their tools and the metal pieces of the would-be drawbridge filled the forest, Wallace nevertheless found himself wondering how wise these orders had actually been.
Over the course of the months, the personnel at the base beyond the wall which surrounded the Zoo had gradually carved out a fairly reliable “main road” which went about two miles into the forest. This made it easier and safer for them to launch quick missions in and out.
Then the river had appeared. Wallace’s former teammates, Lieutenant Doctor Emma Kemp and Doctor Christopher Lin, claimed they had run into another river themselves in the eastern part of the Zoo, but Wallace hadn’t seen it himself. He certainly saw this one, though.
“Sergeant Wallace,” Hall, the Director, had said to him, in his weirdly soft yet deep and powerful voice, “that river hampers our entrance to the Zoo.”