“Ah, yes, I didn’t want to ask about this given the circumstances,” Mr. Carpenter sympathized, “But the deadline was approaching. I’m glad you’ve chosen to join us, here and only here you will reach your full potential.”
With that pressing matter behind him, Jacob thought ahead. He always knew he was watched, or at least he could be watched almost anywhere he went in the ‘Haus. The few exceptions were restrooms, sleeping eggs, decontamination rooms, and department headquarters. I wonder what happens behind those walls. The fact people were eavesdropping on conversations was new to him and caused him to raise his suspicions even more. Every Wiper, every Med Tech, everyone in Engineering, Recycling, and all the other departments were in his scope. Paranoia is the only way to stay alive.
I always wanted to be just like my father, now I am in so many ways. His quirks now make sense. Mr. Carpenter walked with him before stopping and standing face-to-face, his hands on Jacob’s shoulders before he finished their conversation while gently consoling him, “Jacob, we are glad to have you, but we need your head right. Take all the time you need to clear it.” Then Doyle looked both ways before he leaned in, whispered to him once again, “Stay safe.” And when he pulled away, he patted him on the shoulder and winked one final time before walking away.
PART II:
Riding the Storm Out
Present time…
Control room aboard the Infinity Ship Saturn
The screens in the room, usually only half of them broadcasting at any given time, were all going crazy. Red lights flashed above each screen and chaos enveloped the room. There was a mad scramble for headsets so that each could get caught up to date.
A man in his mid-sixties, standing at an elevated station in the center of the room, answered the buzz on his com line in a voice heavily laden with aggravation. “This is Marshall, go ahead.”
“Sir, it’s Stonewall, with an update. An unexpected twist,” he explained, panting heavily on the other end.
“Slow down and catch your breath, son. Then give it to me nice and slow,” Marshall instructed as he listened to heavy breathing on the other end. To kill the time, he stared out the thin tinted window that made a 360 degree band around control room. His eyes scanned the horizon, starting with the shimmering metallic breakwall to the west and continuing east, where the wall merged with the natural rock formations that shot up out of the sea.
A similar rock formation, hidden in the shallow water, had grabbed hold of the bottom Marshall’s Infinity Ship, rendering it immobile. The stranded ship’s close proximity to the island inhabited by a resistance group caused Marshall constant stress, even though his opposition was clueless about his recent misfortune. He popped an antacid and chewed it, waiting for a voice on the other end.
Stonewall finally caught his breath. “The secret is out, sir.”
“Well, the manual is very clear on how we handle these things, correct?” Marshall asked as he rolled his eyes.
“That’s just it, there is nothing in the manual to cover this, sir,” Stonewall explained. “The programs have been discovered, we are sure of that, but…”
“I’m pretty sure you know what to do next.”
“No sir, I don’t. Let me explain. Code name The Golden Nail has slipped our net. Code name The Professor and his personal escort are giving chase.”
“The Golden Nail? The Professor and The Ruby Slipper were supposed to reset him. What happened?”
“The Ruby Slipper,” Stonewall paused, his voice dropping, “she’s dead. We have eyes on her chip, but her body is not there. It must be outside somewhere. But sir, that’s not the worst. One of Medical’s own, the one tasked with resetting him, has escaped with The Golden Nail. And sir… she didn’t come back Inside.”
The light bulb exploded in Marshall’s head. His problems were mounting and he pounded the desk at his station. “I see, so the secret really has gotten out,” he said. “That’s all I need. First, the servers with the launch codes were destroyed. Then our ship ran aground. And now this. Things are falling apart.”
“That’s not all, sir. It appears the last squadron we sent out has gone rogue and could be responsible for recent attacks.”
What else could go wrong, Marshall thought, while grumbling into his headset.
“Sir, there is more.”
Of course there is. “Go ahead,” Marshall sighed.
“Someone has broken into the yard and stolen some of our toys. The theft and the attacks could all be related, but we just don’t know yet.”
Marshall rubbed his temples while his blood pressure rose. “Stonewall, after we are finished here, extract every soldier stationed at Headquarters and ready them for a march. I’ll send instructions. Keep this line open, but patch me into Franklin’s headset.”
A click opened another line, a slight buzz filling the blank air while the connection was made.
“This is Franklin.”
“Franklin, this is Marshall. What’s your location?”
“Chasing ghosts, sir, halfway to Colony One.”
“Are you alone right now?”
“Affirmative. In caravan, but alone in a Beebe.”
“Here are your instructions, Franklin. Seize the ghost, and then eliminate all non-military personnel.”
“Uh, sir,” he paused, unsure of his instructions. “Maybe I should clarify. I am in caravan with The Professor, and we are going to see The Hammer. Chasing The Golden Nail.”
“I understand. Stonewall has filled me in. The Professor’s time has come to an end. He and his team have made great progress and could be close to the breakthrough that eliminates the need for the launch codes entirely, but unfortunately for him, he has run afoul of the rules. Like any other cog, he can be replaced. Make him disappear, is that clear?”
“Affirmative. Any specific directions for the rest, sir?”
“Put the Hammer in the tank; he’s becoming too much of a threat. The Golden Nail has to be reset. We’ve got to get those damn launch codes, and he’s the only one that knows them. We can’t count on the doctors. They say the breakthrough is close, but they’ve been working on it for three hundred years. I don’t have three hundred more to wait once the bots run out of power. You know what happens then, right?”
“I do, sir.”
“Are you clear on what needs to be done?”
“Affirmative, sir.”
The line went dead. The eyes in the control room were all trained upon the man in the middle. “What are you all staring at? The Professor got sloppy and went off the rails. He must pay the price, just like anyone else,” Marshall informed them. “Minds can’t be completely controlled, you know. Not with brainwashing, drugs, or any other means we have at our disposal. Free will is always part of the equation. Use it to stray from the script and develop your own agendas and you, too, will be dealt a similar hand, regardless of your rank. Everyone is replaceable. I programmed the Professor, I can program another like him. Now get back to work, you lazy bums,” he commanded in a booming voice with spit flying from his mouth, “before I replace some of you.” Marshall’s face had turned red. He paused, and took a few deep breaths to settle himself. “I want eyes on the other missing chip. Release a couple of decoys at the normal spot. I’m sure the little escapee is with the other outcasts by now.” He turned his attention to the screens before him before barking out one final order. “Sherman, take care of their village for me. They mustn’t discover our current location.”
A giddy voice from below replied, “Can we test the fire on them?”
“I don’t care what you use. Fire, water, wind, or a good old-fashioned ground invasion. We could all be in a great deal of danger if they knew how vulnerable we are.”
The people below him scurried about. Several landed at work stations and donned headsets. From every corner of the room, men barked instructions. Marshall checked the system’s inventory, looking for a replacement for the Professor. Hundreds in the freezer fit the physical description, b
ut only a half dozen or so of those had the mental capacity and emotional stability to match the demands of the job. He closed his eyes, twirled his finger in a circle, and randomly selected a number from the list.
Specimen 05101994 popped onto Marshall’s screen. He skimmed the profile, skipped the statistics screen altogether, and landed on the specimen’s training page. Marshall dragged and dropped the proper training modules for the Department of Medicine’s next leader and added a few extras, altering the specimen’s original personality to more closely match the previous holder of the title. Selecting a meal plan came next, and he tinkered with dosages of C24 and C26, hoping to find the right balance of chemicals to control the emotions and limit the desires of the latest in a long line of candidates to assume the stressful and demanding role.
The final step now complete, Marshall set the process in motion by clicking the ‘Finalize Order’ button. Then he repeated the process to replace the Hammer, though the candidate list was much shorter. Only two names were left that could fill the role before an entirely new profile would have to be created for the job.
The most difficult decision—where to place The Golden Nail after his ninth reset— Marshall saved for last. This was the biggest decision he had ever made, one with far-reaching implications that could potentially affect every living being in the system. If he couldn’t trigger something in the Golden Nail’s mind that would recall the codes, they’d have to rely on Medical to save them.
The Golden Nail was entering his final episode, adding stress to the situation. For some unknown reason, after the ninth reset, the mind turned to mush. My last chance. Sweat beaded on his brow as he thought about his next move. Something with numbers might be best, something far away from his previous lives and any triggers there that might cause harm.
He pulled up the available positions within the entire colony system. He filtered out every job in the five colonies the Golden Nail had visited or lived in. Based on the profile Marshall wanted for the Golden Nail after the reset, he focused on two departments.
It hit him like a ton of bricks. I’ve got it. I know the perfect place. His eyes zoomed in on the job that he hoped would trigger something in the Golden Nail. Something that would help him to remember the codes. Then, and only then, could the raw materials that had been piling up be sent to the International Space Station and traded for Aginex, the volatile superfuel that could only be processed in space.
Aginex had many uses. It not only powered the nanobots that kept him ageless, but could also power the boosters that could get his Infinity Ship back into open waters. For these reasons, Marshall couldn’t worry about how close Medical was to a breakthrough; their work was above his head anyway. His focus had to be on extracting the launch codes.
Marshall’s finger touched the screen a final time to complete the process. The wheels were set in motion, the pieces in his game moved around the board. Time would remain on his side, and he’d remain sixty-five as long as the machine hummed along as it had done for nearly three centuries.
The system was very close to coming to a grinding halt and it was up to Marshall and the rest of his team to give it a kick start. Otherwise, he would wither away and die like everyone else, becoming nothing more than a drop of rain in the storm of humanity.
All he could do now was sit back and watch as the only man alive who knew the codes entered the final episode of his existence. If this didn’t work, Marshall and his team would have to try different tactics to extract the info. Thinking back, he regretted deciding not to put the codes in print, opting instead to trust the untrustworthy, unpredictable mind of man and the recently destroyed servers as the storage vehicles.
Approximately one year ago…
Chapter 12 (Ella Storm)
Ella and Jeremiah walked out of the tent, arms interlocked to indicate unity. A group waited outside the tent, a mix of people from both sides of the table. Approval of the gesture seemed nearly unanimous, but Ella thought the coming announcement would surely ruffle the feathers of some.
“We’ve reached a decision,” Jeremiah announced amid the thick tension. “In return for the safety and stability of this fortress,” he paused as the members of both camps waited anxiously. “Those formerly of the Blood camp will now report directly to Ella Storm as their new Elder.” Those who were in the tent with Jeremiah pounded their fists, grumbling. Some stormed off. “This here is a peaceful merger and all new positions will be handed out when the decisions are made.” The loudest protests came from Swifty, who was Jeremiah’s number two man, based on their positions while in the tent. Jeremiah hushed him and all the rest. “Now, now. I understand your concerns, but rest assured I will be workin’ closely alongside her in the plannin’ of our next move.”
Ella wasn’t sure why Jeremiah refused a leadership role. He was large, possessed a booming voice, and his people hung on his every word, seeking reassurance in his commanding presence. Ella responded to the resistance she heard from his camp. “I understand the concerns of those who see my age, my gender, or my size as a detriment. Do not view these things as weaknesses, for I see them as weapons and soon, so will our enemies.” Clearly not yet winning over her new subjects, she added, “With your own Jeremiah Blood as the man at my right hand, the leadership in this camp is strong. We will make history.” That provision was never discussed, since Jeremiah had blindly agreed to her terms without even hearing them. He was visibly shocked when she made the announcement, but it had the desired effect on his followers.
The discontent in his camp was mostly silenced. Jeremiah continued, “Elder Storm commands a camp four times the size of ours. Look.” He spread his arms, and his eyes scanned the surrounding area. Snipers along the wall watched the Blood camp’s every move. Guards blocked every exit. “With them we can make a stand, together, here in this fortress, when the walls are opened up. On our own, we will not survive long. Many of us were lost in our last attack and the subsequent journey north. We have no food and no other means to find any.”
He stopped speaking and the courtyard was quiet, except for the whipping winds and the moans of those in the fatal grip of the Sickness. Jeremiah finished, “The Beast punctured the wall down south, but at what cost? We didn’t have nearly enough firepower for what waited for us on the other side of the glass. Those that escaped were just lucky. And their luck would have run out if we hadn’t come across these folks. Empty bellies now have grubs and cold tuber soup in them. All thanks to the Storm camp inviting us in. We owe her.”
This was not entirely true. Ella knew that. But she also knew the Blood camp was ignorant of her history. Her fortress was large and could provide more protection than open country, where they would be easy targets for Rangers or other camps. Her snipers had more ammunition now, enough rounds that everyone would be equipped. No more decoys with empty rifles. Her grub and roach farms could be expanded and more tubers could be planted to feed the increased population. The population in the camp was over a hundred again and there appeared to be no dissension, no one plotting against her status as sole Elder of the camp. Slowly, but surely, Ella planned to switch their focus from attacking to sustaining life.
This was everything Ella always dreamed of. The large camp was at her command and full of soldiers ready to battle the Rangers tirelessly. The available firepower could breach the walls and bring the troubles of the Masked to those inside Glass City. It was perfect, except for one thing; something she once considered a dream scenario now felt more like a nightmare.
Part of her still remained vigilant in the pursuit of the retribution she once viewed as a birthright, but that part was shrinking as time ticked away. The bulk of Ella’s being no longer wanted to go through with an attack. Maybe these were the feelings that Elders Ashe and Stone had when they were in command, and the reason they delayed attacking.
Knowing an attack could be the end of the entire camp was a powerful realization. All future generations would be wiped out as well. Ultimately, Ella was starti
ng to believe, their mission was futile, the struggle of the Masked unending.
Jeremiah’s story certainly did nothing to indicate that an attack was her most prudent move. The Rangers were a formidable enough foe, but the mysterious White Army he spoke of seemed invincible. In all her time as a spotter, she never once spied these soldiers in white on the Inside, and wondered if their origin was someplace other than the city of glass and steel.
Even if her personal resolve to attack was fading, she nonetheless felt a duty to those that had named her Elder, to represent their voice above her own. She felt they all owed a similar debt to those who had died for the cause, the uncountable number of generations that had come before her, those she did not know by name or acquaintance, but shared a fate with all the same. She would go through the motions, as she felt was her duty, beginning with Jeremiah’s words. “This is where we will make our final stand,” she started. “This is where we will finally breach Glass City, not just with this Beast our new friends have brought to us, but we will breach glass and steel with our own flesh and blood,” she continued, each statement louder than the previous one. “This is where we finally give the Rangers a taste of oppression. We will fulfill our destiny, we will take what is rightfully ours, what has been kept from us. We will eat from their stores and sleep in their beds. All will feel the wrath of the Masked!”
The power in her voice belied her wispy frame. She seemed to win over the final members of the Jeremiah’s camp. From her perspective, the words were hollow, but they had the desired effect on her audience. Unite them first, and win them to my cause second. The momentum of the camp had changed. Cheers and shouts erupted as the crowd grew excited. Weapons were pounded in rhythm on the ground and into the metal all around them.
Greenhaus:Storm Page 11