“Zenny! Zenny!” Ruthanne shouted, hands excitedly outstretched to the darkness. She whirled here and there until the sound of footsteps arrowed her toward the approaching couple. She spun at her brother and grabbed hold of him as though she would never let go. The other three occupants hurried behind her. Soon, all had joined in with hugs and greetings. It was a wonderful sight. And although Gracie stood aloof, she cried with excitement for this long awaited reunion—the Five had finally rejoined.
“We were so worried that they would not allow you to leave!” Jacob said first thing, his eyes wide with anticipation.
“They fought my request for leaver aggressively,” Zen replied. “But I suffered a nervous breakdown, you see,” he smiled wily at Gracie “when I heard about the accident at Los Alamos. The death of my sister and colleagues was psychologically shattering. I shut down completely, and became useless to them.”
“I didn’t know you were such a good performer!” laughed Ellen.
“I’m not!” Zen admitted. “But I had the best coach in the world.” He reached and pulled Gracie next to him. “This is my wife!” he introduced cheerfully. “This is my incredible, Gracie!”
Gracie held out a hand, but the gesture was met instead with immediate embraces, hugs and kisses to her cheeks. She beamed, and instantly understood why Zen had ached for the rest of his group.
“Thank you, Gracie,” came one voice.
“Yes. Thank you for helping our Zen,” came another.
And then Ruthanne took hold of Gracie’s hands and kissed them, her tears evident under the glow of starlight. “I will love you forever, dear sister-in-law.”
Gracie spilled a few more tears of her own. “Don’t let him fool you,” she finally sniffled, hugging Zen proudly. “He’s the one who pulled it off.”
Zen shook his head. “No. I could not have done it without my Gracie and her influential uncle, Chief Justice Benson. Unfortunately, in the end, it required his involvement to procure an administrative discharge. But you are now looking at a free man! The United States Government no longer has me on their strings . . . has none of us!”
“Then we are all free!” cried Ruthanne, profoundly. “We can begin again.”
“Yes,” replied Zen. “Now tell me of Los Alamos,” he segued, excitedly. “All went as planned?”
“Better than we could have dreamed!” hooted Eli. “Because of the radiation—of course there is none—the lab will remain as an untouched tomb for a thousand years. There will never be an investigation, or an attempt to extricate the bodies.”
“Especially bodies that aren’t there,” tossed in Ellen, humorously.
“And the records, the documentation?” Zen pressed, anxiously.
“Don’t worry, brother,” Ruthanne reassured. “There is nothing accessible to anyone. We made sure of that. We no longer exist, and our work at Los Alamos has died with us. All is well.”
Zen breathed a long sigh and bound his emotions. He felt the peace of a weight—heavy, ugly and burdensome—lift from his shoulders. He closed his eyes, and nodded gratefully.
For the next hour, the quiescence of the secluded spot boomed with chatter and laughter. Soon, a soft glow on the east ridge gave way to a brilliant full moon.
It was Jacob who, having moved casually to the edge of the plateau, finally brought the group back to the moment. “So this is where it is going to happen?” he stated solemnly, gazing out into the vast stretch below.
“This is it, Jacob” answered Zen. “Beneath that smooth layer of salt and sand, lies our underground vaults. They are interconnected, like a city. A city of salt cathedrals! It is spectacular!”
“I wish all of you could have seen it, “ added Gracie, as she wrapped her arms tightly around Zen’s waist. “They exist nowhere else in the world. And now they are ours, ours to use as a base for redemption.”
“Fantastic!” exclaimed Ruthanne, clapping her hands together.
The great sand basin rolled outward in what seemed like an infinite dark sea, ending only where the west range rose majestically upward, cutting deep into the bowl of stars on the horizon.
“Then there, in that underground city of salt, we will create HOPE and repair what we have done,” said Jacob, his voice resolved. “We will stop the technology we foolishly let loose on the world.”
“We were fools, yes,” Zen amended. “But we were fools in our desire to help all people. Fools in our dream for a better world. And finally, we were fools in our need to be needed.”
“Do not forget, Jacob,” put in Ruthanne. “We were deceived.”
All paused as the word, deceived, penetrated with the force of a dagger. It was an ugly emotion, and all had been tainted by it.
A warm breeze suddenly ascended from the baked flatlands below and hugged them in a pleasant scent of young sage and lavender. It soothed their apprehensions.
“But we will make such a restitution,” Ruthanne boomed, her fist to the stars. She stepped forward and felt for Jacob’s chin. Finding it, she smiled into his worried face. “We will undo what was done. It will not be easy, but we must succeed. I cannot live with the regret if we fail.” Her voice trailed off.
“You should not feel such blame, Ruthy,” added Zen, resting his hand on her shoulder. “It was never intended to be this way.”
“Should I not?” she countered. “From the highest pinnacle, we released a stone.” She reached out with an accentuating hand, pointing toward the vast shadows below. “It has already begun its tumble downward. In time, and left unchallenged, this small stone will grow into a landslide, monolithic and terrible, one which will thunder down in a crushing wave of destruction—none will survive it.” She stared gravely into darkness.
“No Ruthanne!” Jacob cried out, suddenly. “Your words are too hard! You speak as though we provoked genocide! We were ignorant of any machination. We were careful and discreet in what we shared of our knowledge and abilities. We proceeded in absolute unanimity and trepidation; every action was fueled by a desire to help humankind, not destroy them!” His voice boomed in the silence, yet trembled as it resounded against the surrounding eves of rock and sage-covered benches. His chin dropped despondently. But then a gentle arm wrapped consolingly around him.
Ruthanne patted him. “Were we careful enough?” she whispered at last. “We assumed they would see and comprehend as we do. But they are infants—even the most brilliant of them—and can only grasp one insignificant facet: that of dominion!” She spit out the anguished words.
“And we empowered them,” muttered Ellen. “We gave them just what they needed.”
“Enough of such talk!” Zen finally stepped in. “We will succeed!” He rallied in a voice full of conviction. “Let us stop such conversation and have faith in our plan. HOPE will vindicate us. The world will never know devastation by nuclear means. We can repair what was done and realign the succession of knowledge and technology.” His voice chased the apprehension away and brought smiles back to their faces. “We will force a new direction. Do not forget that people are inherently good—all people.” He eyed the group optimistically. “They will naturally gravitate toward peace and harmony.”
Eli sighed, catching a waning thought.
“What?” questioned Ellen with a jab to his side.
“I just wish,”—he shook his head in reflective contemplation. “We could have given them such an incredible world.” He looked more regretful than frustrated, “if only they would comprehend it.”
“Do not desire this, Eli.” Ellen reproached, cautiously. “This was our mistake from the beginning, brother. Do not forget that knowledge is power, both mighty and terrible. Wielding this power in the advocacy of moral ethics and altruism . . . now that is the true way of peace and happiness.”
Eli nodded. He knew Ellen was right, after all. But the thought of abandonment sickened him. The withholding of such incredible gifts of understanding and knowledge; it was nearly unbearable. Yet, he chastened himself, remembering too
well the metaphorical consequence of a popular children’s story: The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. A simple tale, yet how profound it was to their very situation.
“Someday,” spoke Ruthanne, her voice reeling Eli back from his reverie. “If they do not destroy themselves, humankind will progress naturally.”
“Well then,” spoke up Gracie, her profile tall and strong against the star-filled backdrop. “We have a lot of work to do.”
“Yes,” whispered Zen. He took her hand, and then Gracie took Ruthanne’s, and so forth until all hands were joined not only in love, but also in a cause so profound that nothing of earth or heaven could sway them.
They looked out beyond the moon-washed wastelands.
“And so it begins,” muttered Zen.
Chapter 11:
The HOPE complex, when complete, would be an interconnected web of tunnels and passageways, each leading to cavernous chambers where laboratories, monitoring stations, control centers, storage facilities, and much more, would be housed within a solid salt fortress. Every intricate piece of the massive labyrinth had been carefully analyzed for weaknesses in the natural crystalline structures. These tunnels and connecting vaults were to be HOPE’s cocoon of protection; her coat of armor. And not just to protect the essence of her purpose, but to protect what she was to become, and even more importantly, the technology that sustained her. But the secret complex would also need to be home to the Five, or at least four of the group—their intolerance to sunlight confining them, undisputedly, to the salt domain below.
Zen was not restricted to the underground realm. Unlike his young colleagues, he and Gracie would not be permanent denizens to the salt sanctuary below. They would still need to be onsite and working closely with their team, however. The pair had become the group’s vicariate parents, as well as their only real association to the sun-bathed world above. And besides, Gracie had made it very clear that she had no intention of raising a family . . . like a mole, as she had put it. Zen had laughed. For living like a mole was never the plan for his Gracie.
It had been decided from the start that a housing structure of some kind would need to reside topside—a conventional edifice whose construction would serve a dual purpose: a secret entryway to the HOPE underground; and home to Zen, Gracie and their future family. But the construction of such a building, particularly in the center of a desert wasteland, would stand out like a lone pine on a barren mountain—it would certainly attract unwanted attention.
The group didn’t fear such things as an orchestrated attack by government mercenaries—they could engineer precautions for this type of threat. No, what they feared was an even greater foe: inquisitive eyes and local gossip. Curiosity and speculation would be their first hurtle.
The designs for the topside (visible) portion of the complex would need to be as conventional as possible, yet comfortable—a pueblo-style motif with a stucco face, perhaps. But this was not to be, for Gracie had a very different vision for the place she was to call home. Something nice and elegant. An oasis in the desert, she had chirped, fondly.
Zen had simply put on his accommodating smile and kissed his idea of a less conspicuous establishment right out the window. It would be a difficult compromise to be sure, one he did not look forward to. But Gracie was his love and life. She would get exactly what she deserved—anything and everything she could possibly want.
After it was decided that the underground facility was to have her head above ground, the question of security became absolute. Above ground, the elusive project was vulnerable. The structure, as well as the entire grounds, would need to be impenetrable. To accomplish such a task would require technology that simply did not exist . . . at least not yet.
Gracie’s oasis home, phase-two as it was called, would be constructed topside as soon as the underground complex, phase-one, was complete. Since she would be the matriarch of the entire facility, she was happily granted her request to be both facilitator, and project lead in the design and engineering of phase-two, her desert-home above ground. She was certainly qualified to do so. In addition to her Ph.D. in Biological Chemistry, Gracie held degrees in Structural Engineering, and Architecture—both of which had been corollary subjects at the time of her primary field studies. But these ancillary degrees had been shelved after graduation, Gracie assuming that her research in Biological Chemistry would always be her primary focus . . . but she was evidently wrong.
Designing her dream home came as a welcomed reprieve. She loved her work in Chemistry, it was her vocation, her life, and she swam in it brilliantly. And particularly now, with her life taking on a new purpose and direction, her educational opportunities seemed limitless. Her love for Zen had landed her among the world’s greatest minds—prodigies who accepted and loved her as family. Working at their side, she had been catapulted so completely beyond the realm of educational accomplishment that the intellectual academia of her time had simply fallen flat. And truth be told, for some time now, Gracie had longed to separate herself, just for the interim, from the Periodic Table and into a personal indulgence—a hobby of architecture.
She would have her chance to galvanize skills set aside and wipe off the dust of her architect’s cap. She would throw herself into this task, absolutely. After all, this was to be her home, the place where she and Zen would live and raise their family.
Gracie wasted no time. She set to work with paper in hand designing the establishment of her dreams. Sketching out renditions—each more elaborate than the previous one—only to rip the paper from her pad and start anew.
Gracie never expected to spend so much time underground in the avenues of salt. But where the Five were, so then was she. She could often be found sitting patiently in a quiet secluded area, ruminating on the details of her small desert kingdom—her sandcastle, as she began to call it. And even though the construction of the HOPE complex kept her and the others hopping, she always found time to work on her designs.
As the work underground commenced, Zen decided that a staging area, above ground, was necessary to accommodate him and his wife—they were both starting to feel like the very moles Gracie had facetiously alluded to.
A simple home in Tooele City was soon rented, about an hour’s drive from the desert site. It was an older home, and quite small. But it was perfect as a temporary base—a place with a real address to stage and order equipment, as well as a useful dwelling for the group to clean up and assemble themselves each evening just before heading back to their desert underground to work.
At first, the group’s efforts in the salt caverns were primarily focused on the construction of a initial, provisional lab and temporary housing for those who were ultraviolet intolerant. It was a tedious and difficult time for all involved. They spent every waking hour laboring in the musty, salt-laced air of the tunnel-system. And although they had long since mastered the ability to work together as a team—a characteristic which had saved their lives while imprisoned in the Nazi clinic—they began to feel the effects of burning the candle at both ends. But optimism, coupled with an unwavering belief in a purpose set in stone, drove them like bees in a hive. Yet, to survive, even bees requires honey to nourish and subsist. And for the Five, it was lack of money and resources which choked their progress. Time was running out, and so were their funds.
The money tree so desperately needed to build the complex had not sprung from the sands . . . at least not yet. The HOPE complex would require a forest. Without working cash, the critical equipment needed to complete even the first rudimentary structures was difficult, and the group found themselves terribly limited in their abilities. Indeed, they needed a quick fortune—a goose which could lay golden eggs. And quite literally . . . that’s what they decided on.
Gold. This precious metal was to become their new financial umbilical. It had been decided from the beginning that working with banks—this intrusive monetary machine with its deposits, withdrawals, loans, interest, stocks, bonds, monitoring and paper trails—simply would n
ot work. Trading in gold would provide all the financial stability the group needed without all the unwanted red tape; a definite plus to a group who needed wealth, yet anonymity.
A nearby mine—The Falling Rock—derelict and abandoned, would serve as the perfect location for their scheme. The mine, long since void of any valuable ore, would once again proffer its deep yellow treasure. It would be a boon—a new pulsing vein of the purest gold ever mined west of the Great Divide. The treasure would be prodigiously discovered in a collapsed shaft, a portion of the mine never exploited during the outfit’s heyday. It would generate big news to be sure—a necessary evil the team would have to risk, and one which Gracie and Zen would have to brunt alone. But they had no choice. HOPE’s final stages would require expensive contracts involving other companies. Without cash, the Five were debilitated. And unfortunately, cash was not the only thing the group was short on.
It would take far more than the Five’s abilities—regardless of their advancements—to secretly quarry tens of thousands of square feet of salt, sand and clay; and to construct a facility more technologically advanced than any ever conceived on the planet. Indeed, it would take more than the Five . . . it would take hundreds. A massive collection of engineers, construction workers, equipment, supplies—the list was seemingly endless—was what was needed. But how to procure a construction industry capable of building a nonexistent sub-city? The answer to this near impossible impasse had already come . . . but like the gold, it required exploiting technologies the Five had deemed untouchable, until now.
No consortium of brilliant minds, nor the calculating power of a thousand supercomputers could touch what the combined efforts of the Five could yield—especially with Jacob. The boy had the most unique ideas, because he was a boy, his mind went in such different directions. His was a brilliance far beyond their own, and was the group’s key to success. The young prodigy had already laid out his schematics and designs for an army of workers—non-human workers—and the tools which would make their efforts seem . . . well nearly magic. But nothing of such great value and engineering could come quickly. Jacob was meticulous in his creations, and like the great artisans of paint and sculpture, he too, seemed to draw hard on the clock—two years hard, in fact.
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