The White Basin Lake was to be the first phase in a series of tests designed to accommodate the military’s newly acquired, HOPE 1 and HOPE 2 satellite weapon systems. The lake was Tanner’s petri dish, his cherished experimental arena. The massive EMR wave emitters onboard each satellite were thousands of times more powerful than any constructed on earth. Thanks to Jimmy Reitman’s prelaunch modifications, the two humanitarian orbiters had been effectively morphed into the most devastatingly capable ordnance the world would ever know. And now, with the WBLP finally ready, Tanner—like some spoiled child with a fancy new toy—wanted to tinker . . . to push all the buttons and flip all the switches; to bond with and master the abilities of these monolithic orbiters he had captured and chained.
--
Hundreds of miles above the earth, within the spherical layer known as low earth orbit (LEO), a hive of communication, observation, weather and even spy satellites streaked along their circular path, tethered, by gravity, to their planet prison below. Within this spinning web of artificial orbiters, two new bodies suddenly appeared on the celestial horizon, their massive hulls dwarfing all other objects against the cosmic backdrop. They immediately began an algorithmic roll in the vast weightlessness, as if two great whales dancing in a silent sea. As they rolled and pitched about their axes, their silver skins caught the sun’s reflection in a brilliant show of refracted light.
Within minutes, the HOPE 1 and HOPE 2 satellites had achieved synchronous status on all aspects. Moving now as one body, they edged to a near motionless hover, and waited—like two majestic eagles on a boundless updraft—for their next instructions.
Concealed below Utah’s west salt desert, the Mole Hole Control Center was alive in anticipation. Each military personnel sat anxiously at their station, their heads craned upward at the bank of displays crowding toward them from overhead. Amid it all, was Briggs, pacing the room’s length in a steady step, his hands clasped behind his back, his head erect in superiority. “Status, lieutenant?” he demanded, nervously. This had been his third query.
A subordinate figure turned from a nearby station. “We have full control, sir. Both birds are now in synchronous orbit,” he announced.
“And how long before they’ll be in position to fire their EMR emitters?” Briggs queried.
The soldier glanced back at his readouts. “Six minutes and twenty-two seconds, sir.”
“Very good,” Briggs replied. He turned to another of the astute operators. “Anything from NASA or the SSN (Space Surveillance Network)?”
The solder shook his head, confidently. “No sir. No chatter on any frequencies—Homeland or global. Our birds are effectively invisible.”
“Excellent,” he boasted, straightening himself. He picked up his stride and moved to a far wall. There, a large screen overlooked the entirety of control room like eyes through a microscope.
Tanner seemed even more intimidating when viewed through the monitor. He sat at his desk, his expression intense, his lips straight and emotionless. “Status?” he asked, his heavy eyebrows rising above hollow, dark holes.
“We are go on all levels,” Briggs replied. “Synchronization was near perfect. We should be in range at any moment.”
“And the test site? Are the remote monitoring stations primed and manned?” Tanner questioned.
“Yes. The WBLP site stands ready; all remote sensors are online.”
“Very good, Colonel.”
A uniformed figure inserted itself, uneasily, into the conversation. “We are in position, sir,” the station operator interjected in a whispered lean.
Briggs nodded to the screen.
Tanner reached for his pen and began the tick. “Let’s see what these babies can do. Proceed at your discretion, Colonel.”
Briggs turned to his team of operators. “Start the sequence.”
The sequence, as Briggs had called it, was so much more than words. It was a series of carefully selected, preprogramed tests specifically directed at the WBLP site. Matter would be altered, elements created; but the one aspect so different from any previous EMR tests, was a frightening one: for the first time, organic matter would also be targeted, the effects of which would unquestionably destroy whatever type of life the EMR energy touched. But then this was a modest price to pay for military supremacy, as human history validates so eloquently.
The amassing of data was paramount, and at the end of each phase, the HOPE EMR emitters were to be halted long enough to allow mobile data labs to move in and gather their treasure-trove of facts—empirical data untold, enough of it for the Los Alamos scientists to chew on for years. But above all else, Tanner wanted his evidence . . . his large scale proof that the HOPE satellites were, in fact, the technological crown-jewel he had so hoped for. He was about to be left doubtless.
--
The desert breeze teased through the grassy tassel which bordered the shoreline. The waters of the White Basin lake lapped peacefully against thirsty roots and hungry vegetation. Insects, birds and other desert creatures gathered at this plentiful oasis, this new life-giving sanctuary which had sprung from ruined land like cactus flowers after a desert rain. The water lilies, orchids, and other floating flowers were a rare gift to a small swarm of wild bees, and a pair of warbling songbirds. Frogs hopped from plant to plant, winking each eye and looking for an unsuspecting insect-lunch. Fish swam through the crystal clear water as though floating on air, their skins shimmering in ornamented colors.
At first glance, this was a desert Eden; a natural wonder of nature. But it was all as hollow as the lake built to harbored it. And like any truly good forgery, its inevitable end was dross and elimination.
A small dragonfly lifted from a leaf, its long, translucent wings rotating in perfect synchronization as if a helicopter hovering above ground. Then, suddenly, as though the sun had blinked, something changed. It was so fleeting, so instantaneous that the human eye would have missed the event completely. But the effect was none-the-less catastrophic, and witnessed by the web of electronic sensors, with their technology set to catch events within a millisecond. They would be the only eyes—uncaring, unfeeling—to observe such horrific things.
A shock wave, like a jet going supersonic, followed, rolling across the desert. It knocked rocks from ledges, snapped stems from sage and cactus, and spewed dust along its main amplitude like the first wave of a tsunami. The dragonfly, which had jumped to flight just seconds before, hit hard against the top of a solid slab. A strange surface which for hundreds of feet held the last instant of time in its hardened mold . . . the troughs and peaks of subtle waves. The insect, along with every other creature, plant, earth and water, now shimmered in an unmistakable hue . . . the amber cast of gold. The dragonfly’s tiny wings were bent and crushed by its own weight as it hit hard on the dense mass. Even the microscopic hairs on its tiny body were sharp shoots of shimmering yellow. In other sections of the lake, a similar effect had taken place, but with a different blaze of death: a cold metallic color—the glistening hue of the purest of silver and platinum metals.
“Phase one complete!” shouted an operator from his station. “Au79 (gold) targeted for quadrants 3, 6, 8 and 12, confirmed; Pt78 (platinum) targeted for quadrants 1, 4, 7 and 10, confirmed; Ag47 (silver) targeted for quadrants 2, 5, 9 and 11, confirmed. The wave emitters fired accurately!”
Briggs’ countenance breathed a sigh, and he nodded. “Confirm that both EMR emitters are now halted and offline, then send in the first of the mobile teams,” he ordered. “They have three hours to collect their samples and data. Then we move to the next phase.”
When the desert breeze finally swept through the perimeter, clearing the dust and debris away, all that remained was an eerie silence. Where the thriving lake had been, was a crater. It looked as if a meteor had slammed into the earth then boiled into a pool of alloy constituents, spewing strands of molten metal out in a silhouette of webbed fingers, shoots and myriad of other shapes and forms. The ecosystem was gone. All sign of l
ife—plants, animals and the liquid water which had supported them—had been casted and poured, as if over clay molds, into three of the most valuable metals in the universe.
This barren spot, White Basin, had been an ugly and unnoticed swath in the desert for a millennia. Yet strangely, in the utter aftermath, the earth seemed to exhale and shudder, pained by the loss of her ephemeral spot of Eden. There was no song of birds, no croaking of frogs, no rustling of leaves, nor grass in the gentle breeze. No lapping of waves against a quiet bank, and no splashing fish jumping to catch a meal scooting across the water. Yet, there was human wealth untold. Treasure such as the world had never seen . . . a gluttonous, unimaginable, trove of precious metals laid out like a titan’s golden footplate amid worthless sand.
From the distance, a trail of dust signaled a precession of vehicles on the approach. The line of unmarked trucks, SUV’s and even a large semi-trailer, hurried in toward the area like vultures on a dead carcass. They would need to be fast, for in just hours, an entirely new set of elements would again change the structure of every atom and every particle within the WBLP perimeter. This process would repeat through five phases. When the sequence was finally complete, a last transformation would erase all evidence of the site, leaving sand . . . plain, simple, lifeless sand, to again cover the surface of the dead landscape. The same mixture of silica-quartz, sodium chloride, and trace elements such as sulfur, magnesium, zinc, potassium, calcium, and iron. All of these elements and molecules would be returned in the same proportions as they had been before the unnatural oasis had sweetened the landscape. But what of the organic molecules which had made up the DNA and matter of the living tissue? What of the creatures who had lived so briefly in their oasis paradise? Could these be returned as they were? The answer had been as clear as it was frightening from the beginning. No!
When the Five had created the EMR technology those many years ago, they had feared this one scenario; this superseding of their failsafe technology. This was why the device had been engineered with such caution, to preclude the remotest possibility of it ever being used on living entities. Yet it had happened. Somehow, it had actually happened. And this was just the beginning.
It seemed so simple to kill by altering the organic substance from the intricate and complex to that of a single type of element. Yet nothing, nothing other than the hand of God, who created such life in the first place, could return what the EMR weapon stole away in milliseconds. The lake would exist only as an event on digital records, filed away in a sealed vault labeled Top Secret. And what of the future? Could there be other accounts, someday, to hide away in an equally dark, vaulted abyss? Proceedings detailing such events as entire cities and populations destroyed, turned into whatever choice of elements the predominant enemy desired?
There is no torment like that of justifiable regret. It is an eternal flame which consumes the very souls of those who must account for it. And for the Four, this agony was just beginning.
Chapter 57:
It was nearly dark now, with only a hint of dusk remaining as it kissed the froth of distant waves in a glistening hue of amber. Gracie had to wonder: what would it be like to sail amid these golden tipped swirls, far out to sea? “It would be heaven,” she spoke to herself in a whisper, the sound of her voice catching her by surprise. She glanced at her watch. Two hours. Two hours had gone by in a blink. And there she sat. Motionless for the whole of it, as if in some kind of stupefied trance. She sighed, disgusted by her feeling of helplessness and entrapment. This was no way to live. In the past, the ocean’s splendor had always brought a calming sensation; an awareness of the earth’s natural beauty, and the incredible vastness therein. Gracie had often longed for a view just this spectacular—a change to her endless white sands of home. But now, looking out through those thick, impenetrable glass windows, the vista was nothing more than a cruel mockery to her eternal confinement. Oh how she longed to return to those white sands.
They had drugged her for the trip, of course. She had planned on that. She had awoken, as before, in some elaborate condominium prison—one with a seaside view, apparently. Her wardeness, Miss Martz, had been the first face to see (not a pleasant way to awake under any circumstance). And to make things worse, the woman had characteristically started off as usual: moaning, groaning and threatening to do, and about, anything and everything she could come up with in that feeble brain of hers. Martz obviously did not want to be there . . . wherever there was, and felt slighted in the suddenness of the move. She had gone into her morning rant about how they weren’t paying her enough money . . . ordering her about . . . promised to get her more help . . . the list when on and on.
When she had finally finished her tirade, she had given Gracie a cold, superficial overview of the new rules and regulations, along with the rundown on the condominium: this place is equipped with elevators and ramps. You should get along fine. Don’t be calling for me every time you need to move about. Those had been the woman’s last words that morning . . . from a loaded finger tipped in scarlet polish. And of course, Martz had ignored all of Gracie’s questions. But there was one thing Gracie noticed about her new digs that was very different than the last: there were armed guards everywhere. Perhaps it was because this place was festooned in windows, and she could see more of the outside terrace and yard; or perhaps it was that she had just been wheeled, from the bottom floor to the top, and had been overwhelmed by the amount of shadowy figures standing aloof in corners and hallways like armored knights in a castle museum. It was as if these men had all come from the same mold—black suites, emotionless faces and fitted up with all their fancy communication devices; and of course, their sidearms, concealed under their perfectly pressed, wrinkleless coats.
Gracie had to wonder why. Why so many? They obviously weren’t there to keep her from escaping . . . from overwhelming them, first, with her superhuman strength; then her power-kick through a window and a grand leap down onto the terraced ledge before jumping into the ocean and swimming to safety. No. There was only one reason for the small army of black-suites: someone was trying to get to her. Someone with enough skill to be a probable threat. But who? That was the question of the moment, and in fact, Gracie was about to get her answer.
--
“No! I’m coming with you!” Jessie stood, her face flushed, her lips quivering.
“Jessie! If things don’t go well, someone has to fly the Sandray back to safety. You’ve got to think of Sam! Do you want to put him in danger?” Brant fired the question back so direct that it nearly knocked the teen off her feet.
“He’s right, Jess,” Teresa calmed. “You and Three-Of-Ten are the only ones who really know how to fly this thing.”
“Actually, I’ve got it down pretty—”
“You’re not helping!” she drilled back at Brant.
“Sorry.”
“And besides,” she continued, eyes converging back on the girl, “you must consider a worse-case scenario. One where we don’t make it back to the Sandray. You and Sam could still get out of here. You’ll find Brant’s dad, Mr. Stephens. He can help you from there.”
“You mean he’ll contact the DCFS,” Jessie shot back. “We’ll end up right back where we started . . . unwanted property of the state!”
Teresa paused, her response lost momentarily. “Look Jessie. I can’t say what will go down. But I can say for certain that you and Sam will live. You are kids. You can put all this behind you and get on with your lives.”
Jessie exhaled an emotional defeat. She turned a sideways glance at her brother.
The boy looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. “She’s right, Jessie. Stay here with me,” Sam whispered. I don’t want to be left here alone.”
Jessie nodded and her jaw clenched. What choice did she have, really? “Okay. Okay,” she submitted, eyeing both Brant and Teresa intently. “You’re right. Sam’s safety trumps everything. But that scenario?” She shook her head vigorously. “That cannot happen! Promise
me it won’t happen!”
“Hey,” eased Brant with his signature grin. “We have the metal-man here on our side; and we have these really, really cool new add-ons to enhance our dungy garb. We’re bulletproof, right?” he said, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. “—oomph,” he pulled at the belt. “So is this thing supposed to droop like this?”
Teresa rolled her eyes. “Like this, Hercules.” She readjusted his repel-belt, fastened it and then helped attached the portable EMR device correctly on his arm. “There. I feel like your mother.”
“What would I do without you.”
“Probably get killed,” she replied, matter-of-factly.
Brant gulped. Crap. She was probably right!
“Okay. I think we’re set,” Teresa said, her voice sounding far more courageous than she felt at that moment, what with her stomach in her throat and her heart drumming against her chest. “Let’s just get this over with before I pass out . . . or change my mind.”
Jessie hurried to double-check their EMR settings. She had hoped to have more time to explain and even demonstrate some of the features of this powerful, yet mysterious technology. “Now remember. These are set to stun. That’s the default. They’re useless on organic tissue in MR (mass-redistribution) mode, so the stun setting is the one you want, anyway. They pack a real punch so be careful!” she warned. “But, if you should encounter any of those—” her face contorted slightly, “those horrible metal thingies, you’ll want to switch modes, and fast. On the MR setting, the EMR is already pre-sampled for transformation to a mixture of oxygen, nitrogen—”
Of Salt and Sand Page 76