The Last Nukyi: Fear Cosmic Annihilation

by Paul Bagnell

  *****

  McBridle pulled up to Carravecky’s gate and waited impatiently. An armed guard stood watch in front of his post while another guard approached the vehicle on the driver’s side window and looked in. “Ms. McBridle, what is your business today?” the guard asked as if looking through Tom.

  “We have a scheduled meeting with Doctor Carravecky, and we’re late so please expedite the entry process,” McBridle replied with brass armour on her sassy tongue.

  “One moment,” the guard ordered; then he occupied his station quarters. Tom saw the guard talking on the radio. The soldier returned wearing a reserved smile. “Sorry for any confusion, Ms. McBridle; you and your associate are cleared; please proceed.”

  Tom felt a grumble of relief in his empty stomach once the guard signalled for the road to be open. The employee who operated the gate controls stared at them as they drove past. Tom peered into the side-view mirror; the guards were steadfast with their weapons in a fixed position like fearless, twin, plastic green soldiers. Tom thought maybe they knew something he didn’t, but it was too late into the game to worry or care.

  McBridle parked; then they high-tailed it through the main complex doors. She showed her security clearance card, the visitor’s registration paperwork was pre-processed.

  The main floor elevator doors opened, and a guard accompanied the Doctor’s guests to the sixth floor, a highly secure location where special conference meetings were held. The floor was equipped with the latest advancements in communication security equipment including signal relay transmission detection and listening/disruption technology--all conversations conducted behind these walls were scrubbed clean and safe from interception.

  Within the secured perimeters of the soft-blue conference room walls were about twenty people who resembled crafty, high-priced lawyers. They waited silently for the meeting to commence.

  McBridle and Tom entered and the solid door banged tight, sealed to form a perfectly secure communications’ barrier.

  McBridle sat next to Doctor Carravecky; it was the last vacant seat at the long oval board table so Tom stood with a handful of others along the wall next to an older gentleman who wore a wrinkled plaid suit and appeared very anxious about the meeting.

  Doctor Carravecky (stretched to his feet), a big-boned, heavyset man could be ugly and mean when he wanted to be, and this was one of those occasions. “According to the accounting department, this is the last meeting for our fiscal year. There are a number of committee representatives who would like to voice their suggestions and concerns so let’s not waste time,” he said and turned the floor over to the first brave speaker.

  “Good morning, I’m Harry Snell. I represent Space-Tech & Investments; our group holds thirteen percent of Carravecky Class A Common Shares so I think we have a strong voice when it comes to matters concerning our investments” as he flipped open his briefcase. “The information that was on the TV news last night isn’t sitting well with us,” Snell addressed the room. “My company wants to know what’s going on; and if this explanation isn’t forthcoming, I recommend we unload the shares before the bottom falls out of them. I think if you don’t come clean, chances are that the price will drop like a ton of bricks.” His eyes searched about the room seeking support. “We’re all in business to make and protect our money; technology is a vicious industry, but we know nothing about this extremely expensive military gun. If we did, it’s questionable if we would support such an illegally destructive program. Now, I want answers for those whom I represent.”

  “We all want answers; it’s just going to take a bit of time,” Doctor Carravecky said as he stood. “There’s an ongoing investigation being conducted as we speak, and I’m hopeful this matter will soon be resolved. Then all your questions will be answered. I have my best people working on this problem; I reassure you that all is fine, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Tom watched Harry Snell brewing over the mound of documentation that he was referencing and addressed each issue one by one.

  The older gentleman who stood next to Tom gently nudged him. “I’ve been to about five of these crazy meetings. Sometimes they heat up and tempers flare.”

  “Is this one of those meetings?” Tom asked quietly.

  “Far from it,” he chuckled with a wheezy breath. “I find it quite interesting how people get all bent out of shape over money.” He introduced himself as Doctor Alvin. “You are?” he asked as they shook hands.

  “Tom Bronze. I’m here with Celia McBridle. She’s sitting next to Doctor Carravecky.”

  “Yes, I’ve had the pleasure of making her acquaintance. She’s a fine lady... known her a long time. I was a good, long-time friend of her father.”

  “Oh, when was that?”

  “We went to military college together, many, many years ago.”

  Their hands locked in a shaking motion that lasted longer than normal. Tom noticed a small, crude-looking tattoo, (like a navy anchor) over Doctor Alvin’s right thumb. Before Tom could wink an eye, the powers of the mind-crash swallowed him into the future where time was skewed; five minutes there was five seconds back on earth.

  A thunderclap echoed from the sky as Tom broke through the dimensional barrier that held space and time together. He stood on what appeared to be foreign soil. The buildings were all destroyed and lay in twisted rubble, streets were turned upside down; and the people, who were still alive, were in desperate need of medical attention.

  Black smoke rose into the unbreathable atmosphere, but Tom recognized where he was by the Belk Tower’s triangular-shaped building logo plate that protruded up through the scorched unearthly crust. “This is my own world, my own country, my own home,” Tom whispered in disbelief; “what ungodly master could have caused such chaos?”

  “Hey you,” a man clothed in a soiled medical garb cried out. His hands crooked with bloodstained latex gloves. “Hurry, help me stable the injured,” he shouted.

  Tom approached with caution.

  The man tossed the visitor an unsterilized-looking towel. “Quick; hold it on my patient’s wound while I extract foreign matter from his shattered parietal bone.”

  Tom did his best to comfort the patient, but the body was already cold and lifeless.

  The medical man screamed into the burnt heavens, “It’s always too late; hell has washed over us and will soon defeat our wish to live.” He ripped off the gloves and balled them into the pocket of his stained medical smock.

  The makeshift hospital tent was a flimsy, plastic tarp yet the only recognizable structure which stood in a wasteland of demolished commerce. Concrete and steel that once formed the impressive elevations lay in a pile of unimaginable ruin.

  “What happened here?” Tom asked, looking in all directions for any signs of normalcy.

  “This is all that is left from the great world we dominated for thousands of years.”

  “Are you saying the planet is destroyed?”

  “I don’t know. I only know what I see. It’s all gone, gone because of what knowledge and scientific torment I unleashed upon planet earth.”

  “What was it you did?” Tom asked while looking directly at the brainsick scientist.

  “They said it would only be used for world peace.”

  “They. Who are you referring to?”

  “I don’t remember,” the scientist replied, as he wiped his hand over his face in hopes to restore his memory.

  “You got to remember and tell me the details,” Tom said, with his hand bound into a loaded fist, “or I’ll give you pine-box pain” and grabbed the scientist by his smock.

  “I vaguely remember that my name is Alvin.”

  “Doctor Alvin, the Doctor Alvin employed at Carravecky’s?”

  “That’s right, Doctor Alvin,” he said with a soar mouth.

  “Get a hold of your senses,” Tom demanded, and tried to stable the scientist’s weakened balance.

  “Yes. He said that I would be cosmically admired by scientists fr
om all over the world.”

  “Who said that! Doctor Carravecky?” Tom snapped.

  “Yes, and by those scientists whom I’ve chosen to forget. Instead, I have cast the world into an inferno for all eternity.” The doctor stepped out from beneath the weathered canopy and looked into the incinerated sky. “Tomorrow there’ll be more death and more the day after that. It will never end. Each yesterday wears a different face. Today they all look and sound hellishly alike.” He walked to the far side of the plastic drape to visit his dying patients.

  Tom wasn’t prepared for this future carnage. Even the great skills of a Nukyi Salient didn’t make it any easier on his frayed nerves.

  Eventually, Doctor Alvin led Tom to a concrete structural slab which lay in ruins in front of the dusty tent cover. He held his hands outstretched with his face into the atomic wind and cried out, “Beyond nuclear destruction is all around me. I can’t escape the results of this torture. Our world will never stand strong and live for freedom.” Suddenly the doctor turned toward the visitor; his face grew grotesquely blistered and burnt from the effects of swirling radiation. His voice hardened, “This is what living death looks like. Take a good, hard look and remember what tomorrow will look like. If you can derail mankind from this hideous fate, you will have saved all of us from this unbearable destiny.”

  “I’ll do everything I can, but I’m just one simple man against a hell-raiser’s army of swords,” Tom replied.

  “You must do everything and more. You must save yourself from this torment if you are to save mankind. The world is counting on you...”

  As the mind-crash died without warning, Tom was sucked through the dimensional tunnel from which he had come. The sounds of energy buzzed in his ears as he released Doctor Alvin’s sweaty hand.

  “Are you all right young man?” Alvin asked.

  Tom’s eyes had to refocus. “I think so,” as he shook his head, “nothing to be concerned with; at least, I hope not.” The images were still fresh in his mind as he placed his hand into his pocket and touched the protective box that would change world events. He asked the doctor politely, “I noticed you have a small tattoo on your hand.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Just that it’s in an odd place--just above your right thumb, I’m just curious where and why you got a tattoo pinned there?”

  Doctor Alvin didn’t reply but, seemingly, wanted to.

  “I’m just guessing from when you were in the military; right?”

  Alvin stared harder at Tom.

  Tom sensed his words had created a feeling of uneasiness.

  “I was once involved in that line of work. Those who don’t actively participate, call it war. It’s a dirty big business where deadly conflicts always last far too long, and too many innocent people die without explanation. If you would, please excuse me,” the doctor said in a shaky forward motion.

  Tom touched Alvin on the arm. “Was it what I said?”

  “No, of course not,” Alvin replied and stopped to explain. “It’s been a long time since I had memories of those horrible battle days. They’re hard to die in your mind; and they’ll never, ever let you go. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some air.”

  The guard opened the conference-room door and Doctor Alvin left.

  The meeting didn’t last much longer and Doctor Carravecky wrapped things up; the room soon emptied except for Carravecky senior, McBridle, and Tom.

  He grabbed a sat next to Celia. “Why are we still here? What’s going on?”

  “There’s still another meeting scheduled; it should start soon, but first we’ll have our coffee and snack.” She leaned over and whispered, “Our auditing case concerned the security breach, and not the finalized matters of this next meeting so don’t jump to conclusion about what I told you.”

  Tom’s face drew blank, but he didn’t poke her for an elaborate explanation.

  Robert Carravecky entered the room and sat next to his father.

  A security officer wheeled a breakfast tray into the room and served the table.

  A half-hour later and more security checks, three military officers with spit-shined shoes entered the room--each carried a shiny new-looking metal briefcase. Doctor Carravecky greeted his special guests while Robert passed out the agenda pertaining to their new weapons system.

  The white conservative-looking cover page was titled PROJECT RE-FIRE.

  “We apologize for the absence of Doctor Alvin,” Robert said from the head of the table. “He wasn’t feeling well and had to leave.” He waited for everyone to get settled and then continued. “Imagine possessing a system as powerful as that illustrated on page two.”

  Everyone in the room flipped open their file folder and followed along.

  “It’s a monumental victory for advancing technologies. The finished project, as you gentlemen are fully aware, has taken over ten years and billions of investment dollars (yours and others) to develop. Later tonight, you’ll be able to witness the skid’s amazing sky capabilities. As you gentlemen are aware, this evening will be our last test flight conducted under our joint control. After that, it’s all yours to enjoy.

  “So, gentlemen, ask yourself what’s so unique about this craft and why we committed so much financial resources to it? For one reason, the propulsion delivery system is not your typical rocket thrust. This system uses an extremely new technology discovered and refined by Doctor Alvin.

  “Now that Russia has begun secretively selling their resources to the highest bidders, there’s an abundance of weapons-grade plutonium on the Black Market at the present time,” (Robert slung a military joke at the concrete-faced echelons) “but we don’t need to buy those discarded reserves to satisfy our fuel demands.” He cleared his throat and got professionally serious. “Doctor Alvin’s theory does concern itself with the decaying process of radioactive metallic chemical elements and the scientific complications of quantum physics; but in a highly scientific consumption manner, a little bit does a whole lot.

  “Basically, gentlemen, the flight power is generated in the craft’s electromagnetic gravity inducers. On a quantum level of simplicity, it’s complicated; positrons are collected during an accelerated beta decay process; then they encounter an electron in a magnetically designed particle collision ram. That’s what Alvin would describe as a matter-antimatter annihilation chamber; the magical result is lots and lots of pure high-energy lift. Doctor Alvin called the energy output Uroccium, the power source used to drive the craft’s special gravity propulsion system.

  “It’s not a thrust; just as the name describes, gravity motors give the skid its vast mobility and unbelievable capabilities to skip across the stratosphere over the earth’s surface easily exceeding recorded hypersonic speeds unimaginable for today’s known technology. It’s the fastest, the most powerful, and most expensive propulsion delivery system in the world, and the most secretive.

  “With such speed and power the craft requires an exceptionally durable exterior shell moulded with a new hi-tech sheathing that is many times stronger than steel and substantially decreases the overall weight of the craft, which makes its skyward ability a modern day reality.

  “We consider this craft one-hundred percent dangerous. It’s controlled by ground or satellite, a system which was developed by a team of our top information engineers.”

  Tom watched Robert performing his executive sales speech, and it sickened him. He must stop the transfer of his doomsday device. What Remmie said: ‘do you love your country?’ That was possibly what he meant. Tom leaned over and said softly, “Celia, I have to use the washroom because my stomach is really, really bothering me.”

  Her face went suspiciously blank as he stepped out from the meeting room.