Redemption: Area 51, #10

by Bob Mayer

  PRIVATE ISLAND, PUGET SOUND

  The vault door was easily opened from the inside. And since the Level 4 BioCube had been put in the vault, it could be taken out.

  Not easily, but the Engineer had had his people preparing for that while the Chemist had been focused on getting in the vault. Winches, pulleys, cranes, block and tackle were in place. Walls had been taken out and doorways widened.

  It went better than the Engineer had hoped. He was informed over the radio that the BioCube was finally on the lawn in front of the mansion. The Engineer looked in the vault one last time, wondering who would come here after they were gone and see the nuclear weapons along with the other riches they were leaving behind.

  It seemed a waste, but the payments already placed in his untraceable cryptrocurrency accounts negated his regrets. There was no need to be unnecessarily greedy. He walked through the mansion, following the path of expediency the BioCube had taken. He walked out the great front doors and paused at the top of the steps. “What the hell?”

  There was no sign of his men. Heavily armed men surrounded the BioCube. A man in a white lab coat waited at the bottom of the stairs, flanked by two mercenaries who had their weapons aimed at the Engineer.

  “Spectacular job,” the Virologist said. “Truly. I can’t begin to imagine what it took to retrieve this gem from the bowels of that place. You deserve a reward.” Something was scrolled on his lab coat, but it was too far away for the Engineer to read. He thought the coat a bit pretentious.

  “It was difficult,” the Engineer said, sensing movement behind him, but not bothering to turn. He heard a helicopter in the distance.

  Then he heard the shot, which surprised him since he expected the instant darkness of death.

  His left leg felt like it had been punched from behind in the thigh and he spun, falling down the wide stairs.

  He lay there, stunned.

  The Engineer looked up as the Virologist leaned over him.

  “Does it hurt?” the Virologist asked.

  “Not yet,” the Engineer said.

  “You speak from experience?” the Virologist asked. “You’ve been shot before?”

  “Yes.”

  The Virologist knelt, checking the wound. “Now I can honestly say we shot you. As long as the person doing the questioning isn’t too specific, that should pass. This is your reward. Life. Doesn’t look like an artery has been severed. You’ve got a few days to figure out a way off this island. You seem industrious given what you’ve accomplished here.”

  “Why?” the Engineer asked.

  “’Why’? Why what?”

  “Why aren’t you killing me?”

  The Virologist seemed puzzled. “Why should I? I’m paid for the BioCube. Killing everyone was tagged on. And you did such a good job. As I said. A reward. Besides, one day I might be in your position and one can hope what goes around, comes around. Fare well. And I mean that.”

  DREAMLAND, TEXAS

  If it weren’t for one or two problems, Mrs. Parrish might be as close to being happy as she was capable, despite the inbound Swarm. However, those problems outweighed the smoothly running enterprise of the Strategy.

  The appearance of the Swarm was, well, unfortunate. However, the Strategy had always predicted that to be the likely eventuality given the two Scouts that had been destroyed, although the computer estimates had placed it farther in the future.

  Nevertheless, it had been planned for, the junction of decision passed, and the updated Strategy implemented. Things at Area 51 were progressing, although there would now be a sixteen-hour delay for the Swarm adjustment.

  She checked another critical component of the update. That was going to be tight, given the distances involved. It all depended on how soon the Core arrived at Earth. It was slowing and there was the possibility it might even pause at Mars, giving more time. Too many variables.

  But all of this would be for naught without a critical component that kept slipping through her grasp: the Fynbar. Now there was a second essential piece: a ruby sphere.

  “Maria.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Parrish?”

  “Anything about the plane bringing Professor Leahy?”

  “No, ma’am. It was tracked on course here. However, it never landed. It’s overdue beyond fuel capacity. So it’s down somewhere. Either crashed or—“

  Mrs. Parrish cut her off. “Or landed somewhere else by Leahy.” She looked at the right flexpad displaying the Strategy, her finger scrolling. Leahy treason. It had, of course, been considered a possibility. Even Mr. Parrish turning on Mrs. Parrish, or vice versa, had been calculated and planned for.

  No possibility ignored. It was the perfect Strategy.

  But not if it wasn’t implemented perfectly.

  Mrs. Parrish tapped the ‘Leahy traitor’ junction and followed the projections. The lines blurred and she shook her head. Closed her eyes.

  “Mrs. Parrish, are you all right?” Maria asked, taking a step toward the command chair.

  Mrs. Parrish slammed her fist on the flexpad. “Where would Leahy go?” She nodded, knowing the answer. “Colorado. And she helped Turcotte.”

  “There’s no indication of that,” Maria said.

  “She helped him,” Mrs. Parrish said. “I know it. I know it. Either she’s been planning this all along or something happened during the Mars mission to change her allegiances. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.”

  Heads were turning in the control room at this unprecedented display.

  Mrs. Parrish took a deep breath. “But now she needs me as much as I need her. She didn’t plan on that. She’s been one step ahead on Turcotte, but that is all. I control everything else. Leahy should be ready to talk. Turcotte should be ready to deal.” She hit a button and the cone came down, isolating her.

  She tapped the flexpad in the left arm.

  TESLA LAB, CHEYENNE MOUNTAIN, COLORADO

  “A third one?” Turcotte said. “On Mars? There was a green crystal in the center of the array on Mons Olympus, but that was destroyed. Cydonia?”

  Leahy nodded. “That outpost has been in existence for over ten millennia. It was the site of the original Airlia FTL array before Artad destroyed it when he arrived to find out why Aspasia had gone silent. When my grandfather infiltrated the master guardian he learned quite a few things.”

  “Where in Cydonia?” Yakov asked.

  “Underground,” Leahy said. “But it has to be accessible. Whatever is put in place can be retrieved.”

  “Are you sure it’s the same as the ruby spheres that were power for the FTLT drives of the motherships?” Turcotte asked.

  “Sufficiently sure,” Leahy said.

  “What does that mean?” Nosferatu demanded.

  Leahy turned to the Undead. “It had better be or there are no survivable options.”

  “What if she’s still working for Mrs. Parrish,” Mickell objected to Turcotte.

  Leahy answered. “If I was, why would I stop her people from grabbing the Fynbar?”

  “To get it here,” Mickell said. “As you said, this thing you need isn’t on Earth, right?”

  “He’s got a point,” Turcotte said. “Why should we believe you?”

  “Oh please,” Nekhbet said, her face flushed, looking up from the pale corpse of the co-pilot. “Humans are so boring. Are we done here, my dear?”

  Nosferatu indicated Leahy. “She’s telling the truth. I don’t know what lies she’s told in the past, but what she says now, she believes is true.”

  “How do you know?” Turcotte demanded.

  Nekhbet stood. “He knows. He’s met more liars than all of you combined. Haven’t you, dear? Are we done?”

  “I know when someone is lying,” Nosferatu said to Turcotte. He shifted to Leahy. “Why did you drag us into this? Because of the Swarm? What do you care about our fate?”

  “I ‘dragged you in’ as you put it,” Leahy said, “before I knew the Swarm was inbound.” She pointed at Nosferatu. “You’
re here because of Vampyr’s legacy. You know that. But that isn’t the most pressing issue at the moment given the Swarm is inbound; in fact it’s no longer important. We don’t have much time.”

  “Okay,” Turcotte said. “Say we—“

  He was interrupted by Leahy’s flexpad emitting a low buzz.

  “Priority one call,” Leahy said. “Which means Mrs. Parrish. She knows I’ve betrayed her by now. We’re going to have to deal with her. She has the Mothership and Area 51. We, you,” she amended, nodding at Turcotte, “have the Fynbar. But we can’t trust her.”

  “And we should trust you?” Yakov muttered.

  “I know Parrish,” Leahy said. “Let me talk.” Before any of them could respond, she tapped the flexpad. “You’ve seen the Battle Core?” she said as Mrs. Parrish’s face appeared on the screen.

  The others crowded behind Leahy to observe. Except Nekhbet who sat down, her tongue slithering over her lips, savoring every last drop.

  “I’ve seen,” Mrs. Parrish said. “I’ve already adjusted the Strategy. We must put aside our differences and work together. That includes you, Major Turcotte.” Her eyes narrowed as she spotted Nosferatu. “What is he doing there?”

  “Not important,” Leahy said. “I agree. We each have something the other absolutely needs. You have to guarantee a place on the Mothership for all of us. That’s non-negotiable.”

  Mrs. Parrish laughed. “Seriously, Leahy? You think this is a negotiation? I have forces heading to your location right now.”

  “We’ll leave in the Fynbar,” Leahy said. “You’ll never catch us.”

  “Yes, yes, you’ll run,” Mrs. Parrish acknowledged. “But where will you go once the Ancient Enemy arrives? Off planet? STL drive? The Swarm will have you before you get far.”

  “You’re in the same predicament with the mothership with no ruby sphere,” Leahy countered. “So this is a negotiation. And the decision isn’t yours or mine. It’s Major Turcotte’s.” Leahy turned and addressed him. “What do you say, Major? Will you go to Mars and get the ruby sphere powering Cydonia? It’s the only chance we have.”

  “’We’?” Turcotte said.

  “Humanity,” Mrs. Parrish interrupted. She looked at Leahy. “You haven’t told him, have you?”

  “I haven’t had time,” Leahy said.

  “Told me what?” Turcotte demanded.

  “About the Facility,” Mrs. Parrish said. “You see, my husband and I, the Myrddin, we’ve had a plan. A Strategy long in the design. Long in the executing. We are prepared for this. We are going to save humanity.”

  “Not that prepared,” Yakov commented. “You don’t have a ruby sphere.”

  “We didn’t need one until the Swarm showed up,” Mrs. Parrish said. She pointed. “And I blame you for that, Major. Your detonation of the ruby sphere in the mothership is probably what attracted the Swarm.”

  “Bullshit,” Turcotte said. “And what’s this Strategy? What are you talking about?”

  Leahy cut in. “I’ll have time to fill him in on the Strategy and the Facility while on the way to Mars. Going to Mars is all we have to decide now. You need to decide,” she amended, turning once more to Turcotte.

  Turcotte bowed to the reality. “Yeah, I’ll take the Fynbar back to Mars. Seems we have no choice. But how do we get in Cydonia? How do we find the ruby sphere? What if the Airlia surviving there aren’t in a giving mood?”

  “I can help with that,” Mrs. Parrish said. “A Niviane class rocket is taking off in eight minutes from our launch facility. Its payload is a large pod. Inside the pod are thirty highly trained men. They have been fitted with TASC-Suits. They will be your assault force. They have two Tesla cannons.

  “You tow them to Mars; the pod already has the rigging. You can use the pod to carry the sphere back once they seize it for you. I’m sending Professor Leahy the transponder information for the pod. You can rendezvous with it—“ she looked up, then back down—“in fifty-two minutes in orbit. I suggest you get moving.”

  The screen went blank.

  “She didn’t wait for an answer,” Yakov said.

  Turcotte shook his head. “She knows we have no choice.”

  “Wait,” Leahy said. She went and put her hands on a small black pyramid which shimmered to silver. Closed her eyes briefly, then opened them.

  “What is that?” Turcotte asked.

  “A Tesla computer,” Leahy said. “My grandfather built it based on what he learned about the master guardian in the Ararat mothership. I just made sure Mrs. Parrish can’t listen in. And,” she indicated the Tesla computer, “it has allowed me to infiltrate the Ethos, which is her own world-wide-web.”

  “Whoa,” Turcotte said. “Hold on. Anyone who comes in contact with a guardian gets subverted. Becomes a Guide.”

  Leahy shook her head. “My grandfather was one of the smartest humans ever. He made Edison look like the tinkering fool that he was. He figured out a way to study the master guardian, to infiltrate it, via electronic waves, without having to physically touch it.”

  “Too many damn secrets,” Turcotte said. “Where were you when we were fighting the Airlia and the Shadows? We could’ve used some help.”

  “You could have,” Leahy agreed, “and I did help. Remember?”

  “I’m talking earlier,” Turcotte said. “When we went after the Mission? Other times.”

  “Because of the same reason you don’t quite trust me,” Leahy responded. “I didn’t know if you were acting out of your humanity or had been corrupted by the Airlia and their Shadows. You could have been a Guide for all I knew. And Duncan was always a wild card. She did use you.”

  “So you trust me now?” Turcotte was incredulous. “Unbelievable.”

  “Clock’s ticking,” Leahy said. “Doesn’t matter who believes who. The Swarm is inbound.”

  Turcotte looked about. “We can fit six uncomfortably in the Fynbar. Five would be better. Four optimum. I’m flying it. I want Yakov as co-pilot.” He looked at the others, trying to decide the rest of the crew, but Leahy beat him to it.

  “You don’t need all of us and there are things that need to be done on Earth to prepare for your return. We can’t trust Mrs. Parrish. She will betray us and she is more powerful. She is ruthless in the pursuit of the Strategy. And you, my friends, are not part of it. I am no longer part of it. So we must make our own plan. I will need help to do that while you are en route to Mars.”

  “I thought you were going to explain this Strategy to us,” Turcotte said.

  “I can do that via flexpad,” Leahy said. “I could use you, Colonel,” she said to Mickell. “And you and your partner,” she added to Nosferatu. “I have my own version of the Strategy which I think you will find much more appealing.” She turned to Turcotte. “Given no one can track the Fynbar except visually, and it’s fast, we’ll need you to give us a lift before you head into orbit to rendezvous with Mrs. Parrish’s pod.”

  SVALBARD GLOBAL SEED VAULT,

  SPITSBERGEN, NORWAY

  The target wasn’t hard to locate, even though it was in one of the remotest corners of the planet. Norwegian law requires that any government-funded construction over a certain cost must include art. Even here, near the top of the world, on Spitsbergen Island in the Svalbard Archipelago, midway between Norway and the North Pole, Norwegian law says there must be art. Thus an artist was commissioned when the Svalbard Global Seed Vault was being built. He settled on panels utilizing highly reflective steel, mirrors and prisms, indicative of the Northern Lights. These were installed on the roof and top front face of the entrance to the Vault. During the long summer days they reflected sunlight and during the long winter nights, they were lit by several hundred fiber-optic cables. The entrance was visible at long distances, either way.

  It’s called Perpetual Repercussion.

  The greenish-turquoise lighting showed clearly in the night-vision goggles of the pilots of the approaching aircraft. Not that they were sneaking up on the base. They were Norw
egian Air Force planes and many of the pilots had flown here on various missions over the years.

  The lead C-130 held a squadron from the Forsvarets Spesialkommando, the most elite unit in the Norwegian military, the equivalent of Army Special Forces and Navy SEALs. The back ramp on the 130 opened as it approached the inlet where the Seed Vault was located.

  Originally it was the Nordic Seed Bank, founded in 1984 to store native seeds from Norway. They were put in an abandoned coalmine not far from the current Vault. The wisdom of such a project caught on and drew more interest, first in Norway, then internationally. Realizing the need for a more permanent and better-prepared facility, work was begun on the current Vault and finished in 2008.

  It is 120 meters into a sandstone mountain facing the inlet. The seeds are well-protected inside three-ply foil packets which are heat sealed. The location had been chosen because it was considered stable in terms of tectonic activity and year round permafrost. The former was geological. The latter climate based, and, unfortunately, that was a factor that was rapidly changing. It is located at 130 meters above sea level, so the Vault is protected even if both polar caps melt. But the temperature, here in the Arctic, is rising. In 2016, for the first time, some of the permafrost surrounding the Vault melted and there was seepage into the facility.

  This was one of many indicators which Mr. and Mrs. Parrish had noted and added to their long list of evidence the planet was destined to become uninhabitable.

  There are no permanently assigned personnel to the Vault, given its remote location. At the moment only 3 people were there, one of which was on duty. Thus the Forsvarets Spesialkommando might be faulted for overdoing things when the Squadron parachuted in. But the orders from UNAOC had been relayed through the Norwegian government with the highest priority. Given the uncertainty in the current worlds situation, the commander might be forgiven for his concerns that this mission was in response to an action by a hostile power trying to take over the Vault.

  The commandoes landed, rolled up the stick, and moved to the entrance. Given it was intact and there was no sign of enemy activity, one of the soldiers rang the doorbell. Which was answered by the lone duty person. Meanwhile, other C-130s and a pair of C-141s, were landing at the local runway, filling its available space to capacity.