I should’ve kept us moving, he laments.
He zooms further, focusing on the door with the eagle emblem.
“Brick, lob smoke and kill your lights!”
Argo palms a grenade from his waist. He flings it past the bars and it skids to a stop just before the door. Copious white clouds belch from the hissing device, filling the end of the hallway and rolling back.
When the Brick’s lamps click off, Thompson’s visor shifts to infra red. Residual heat from Argo’s cutting illuminates the nearby bars; and at the end of the hall, the hot smoke grenade spins and rolls, washing the door in rays of reflected heat.
A series of metallic clunks sound from the large door. It shifts with a rusty groan. Thompson leans forward in his crouch and slides his finger against the trigger. Argo releases the safety on his cannon.
The door scrapes another few centimeters. Bright light filters past the edge, creating long beams through the shifting smoke. The door is shoved again.
“Redline!” a familiar voice yells before succumbing to a coughing fit.
Thompson gasps and lets the breath out slowly. He takes his finger from the trigger.
“Blueshift! Brick, move up!” The Gun pivots and resumes his watch of the tunnels.
Argo thumbs the safety on his cannon and strides up to the gate. Smoke rolls back toward the vault-like door, as if being inhaled.
Beckert emerges from the brightly lit smoke, holding his faceplate down. Once clear, he raises his faceplate and wisps of trapped smoke escape. He coughs harshly.
“Sergeant, good to see you,” Argo greets. “Where is that light coming from?”
“Sunlight,” Beckert replies hoarsely. “This place is blown wide open.”
Argo watches the smoke draining past the open door, imagines it becoming a vertical column in open sky.
“Close that door!”
Beckert runs back into the smoke and shoulders the heavy portal into its frame. The smoke halts its escape, floating slowly toward the ceiling. The Geek strides out of the swirling haze, carrying the deactivated smoke grenade.
“I don’t think it’ll be noticed, Lieutenant. There’s a steady flow of steam from the complex that goes up a couple kilometers. Reeks of sulfur.”
“Sulfur?”
“Yes, sir.” Beckert tosses the grenade back to his comrade.
Argo catches it absently and hooks it onto his belt. He ponders the significance of sulfur then yields to the more pressing issue.
“Is there a release for this gate?”
“One moment.” Beckert steps over the helmeted skeleton into a niche on the left side of the chamber, disappearing from Argo’s sight.
“I have a panel here…no power, naturally,” Beckert complains from the hidden niche. “Stand by.”
Argo hears what sounds like a metal cover being pried. The thin metal breaks free and flutters on squeaky hinges.
“Yes!” the Geek cries. Sounds of hammering mingle with Beckert’s grunts.
Argo’s eyebrows knit. “What’s going on?”
“Almost there, Lieutenant.” The hammering ceases, replaced by the grinding of gears. The grinding stops and Beckert’s head leans unexpectedly around the corner.
“May I borrow your torch, Lieutenant?”
Argo nods and passes the cutting tool through the bars.
“Thanks.” Beckert disappears again. A loud pop is followed by a flood of dazzling blue light and a deep hiss.
Argo turns from the brilliant light and looks far into the station. If Thompson is out there, he blends perfectly with the darkness. The Brick gives a “thumbs up” gesture, in case the Gun is watching.
The glare and hissing come to an end, punctuated by something heavy falling onto concrete. Argo turns in time to see a bulky electric motor make its last tumble across the floor. Beckert grunts again, and lets his breath out in a huff.
“Lieutenant, would you mind shoving the gate to the left?”
“My left or your left?”
“Uh, your left.”
“Say when.”
“Go ahead, sir.”
Argo hooks his arm through the bars and hugs his neck against them. He digs his toes into the compacted bones and pushes hard.
Beckert grunts with unseen effort, and the gate scrapes noisily into the wall.
“That’s good!” Thompson shouts.
Argo spins to see Thompson standing behind him.
“Get your gear, Brick.”
Argo complies, packing up his tools and replacing the rack on his back. He collects his weapon then slides sideways through the open gate. Thompson steps through after him and takes hold of the bars.
“Let’s close it up, Geek.”
“Ok, sir, give it a push.”
Thompson leans in with all of his strength. Loose bones fill the tracks, making the gate grind and catch. Argo steps in behind his comrade and puts his shoulder to the bars. Bones crunch and explode under the gate’s progress until it rams shut. Thompson releases his grip and faces his team. He points to the niche Beckert occupies.
“Brick, give me a motion sensing charge in this hollow with a three second delay.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Geek, come with me.” Thompson strides toward the large door at the end of the hallway. Beckert notices the emblem for the first time.
“That’s elaborate…”
“Sergeant, what are we looking at here?”
Beckert snaps out of his fascinated stare. “Circular complex, Major, roughly a kilometer in diameter. The core is blasted right out of it, and strangely, the deck plates are bent up at the edges.”
“Hmm, internal explosion.” Thompson pauses at the door. “Signs of the enemy?”
Beckert’s eyes bulge. “Yes, sir, many. There’s a great deal of activity in Washington, centered on the tower we escaped through. Hundreds of search craft are blanketing the outskirts. They’re avoiding this place, though.”
“Reason?”
“Unknown, sir.”
Argo’s heavy footsteps announce his arrival. His labset is clicking away in his hands.
“Might have something to do with the radiation.”
Thompson takes hold of the door. “Let’s go.”
Argo’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Gun, wait.”
Thompson turns with impatience.
“We’ve already been exposed to high levels of radiation,” Argo explains. “Whatever we do here, we need to be quick about it.”
The Gun considers the information.
“All right. We’ll spread out in our search. If Geek’s right, we may not find much here, anyway. Seal up and follow me.”
All three close their faceplates. The re-breathers start immediately and blow a gentle flow of air toward their nostrils. Thompson finds the door’s edge again, and he hauls on it.
Stiff hinges groan in protest, and long beams of sunlight stream into the hallway. The operators blink repeatedly until their visors adjust.
Beyond the door, Thompson finds another short hallway. Late afternoon sun shines directly upon them. Using a hand to block the sun, he strides to the end of the hallway and looks out across a circular chasm. As Beckert described, the far side is easily a kilometer away.
Overhead, the outer rim of what must have been a thick concrete dome shelters the perimeter of the complex. Metallic reinforcements droop from the broken edges like dead vines.
Thompson slides out toward the drop off and looks down into multiple sublevels. Each level is smaller than the one above, making the chasm resemble a terraced pit mine.
Fragments of concrete lay haphazardly from one level to the next, sometimes bridging them like stairways without steps. Long wires and cables drape across upturned floor joists at the inner edge of each level. Calcified deposits coat the surfaces, making the complex white as porcelain.
Clouds of steam occlude the bottom of the pit and billow skyward through the broken dome. Thompson follows the column up to a clear blue sky.
> “How did you get in here, Sergeant?”
“I’ll show you.”
Beckert strides into a dilapidated corridor on the left. He guides his teammates past many dark offices to one which is bright with natural light. Hard-packed sediment is spilled out from the open doorway. The Geek points inside.
Thompson peers through the doorway and looks into a spacious room. Sediments slope up toward a wide gap in the ceiling. Sunlight shines through it.
Beckert ducks through the doorway and beckons the others to follow. He stops at the open ceiling, pointing through it.
“This complex is sitting at the bottom of a huge crater,” Beckert explains. “One of the tunnels I followed led right out of the crater wall.”
Thompson follows the Geek’s finger. High up in the crater wall, a long section of concrete tunnel is exposed.
“I found a sealed tunnel marked, ‘Bypass under construction’,” The Geek continues. “The doors had simple mechanical locks, so I got through easy. All kinds of lifters and excavators in there.”
Thompson climbs the sloping sediments for a better view.
“The end of the tunnel was open,” Beckert continues. “When I looked out, I saw a huge crater with this place at the bottom. I just ran down from there.”
“In the open?” Argo nearly yells.
“No, sir!” Beckert replies. “I waited for the wind to blow the steam column in my direction, and I ran beneath it. I’m sure I was covered.”
“That’s fine,” Thompson states, turning from the cracked ceiling. “We need to get moving. You two, find a way down and start searching the next level. Mark the floor where you descend and I’ll follow.”
“Aye, sir,” Beckert and Argo reply in unison. They hurry through the doorway and head off to the right. Thompson follows them out and turns left.
The Gun follows the gently-curving corridor along the rim of the complex. The outer wall seems to have held up well, retaining its shape and much of its surfacing. The inner wall, with all of its holes, buckles, and missing sections, is more like the suggestion of a wall. Warm sunlight shines through the myriad gaps onto the sand-strewn floor.
Every twenty meters, he comes to an intersection. On his right, a corridor extends toward the center of the complex and ends at upturned deck plates. On his left is a doorway leading into a darkened office.
Thompson halts at every doorway and searches inside. He finds decayed furniture and workstations, hanging light fixtures, empty cabinets, and fallen ceiling tiles.
As he works his way into the shaded side of the complex, he notices the concrete dome overhang is shorter, and the surfaces have a white-washed appearance. The calcified deposits are thicker and hang in short fingers below railings and joists.
The Gun has nearly come full circle when he finds an arrow drawn on the sandy floor, pointing to a ragged hole in the deck plates. He smudges the arrow with a boot and drops through, finding two sets of footprints leading in opposite directions. He follows the larger set.
Roughly a third of the way around, he finds another arrow. He follows the indicator and descends on well-marked handholds.
As fast as Thompson moves to catch up, his team remains ahead. He passes ten levels before his boots hit solid foundation. Steam fills the lowest floor, and the area is slick with moisture. Mineral deposits are so thick, they form clay-like caricatures of the objects they encase. Green-tinged water stands in shallow pools.
A noise like static emanates from the center of the complex, reminding Thompson of the waterfall back in the mountains. He steps through the mists toward the sound. Argo’s hand reaches through the fog and stops him.
“Easy, there.”
The mists part and Thompson looks past his toes at a vertical drop of over a hundred meters. Halfway down, three culvert-sized pipes drain water into the cylindrical well. His visor shows tremendous heat rising from the depths. The Gun steps back from the edge.
“Melt-down,” Argo says, tapping his labset. “At least one, maybe two reactor cores.”
Beckert emerges from the steam, out of breath with excitement.
“Sirs, I found a vault!”
“Anything inside?” Thompson asks.
“Still sealed. I need your help getting in.”
“Lead on, Sergeant.”
Beckert guides them through webs of mineral encrusted cables and pipes to a vault door, two meters square. The center is chipped free of the calcified deposits revealing stainless steel beneath. The eagle emblem is etched into the door and the words, “COMMAND REFUGE” are engraved beneath it.
Argo stows his labset and strides forward. His hands glide over the surface and trace the edges. While the door itself appears solid, the framing has separated from the encasement of concrete. The Brick takes a pry tool from his rack and jabs it into the gap.
“Stand back.”
The big man jumps to the side, using his momentum to help pull on the pry tool. The framing grinds from its mounting, and the door tilts forward. Argo stabs the tool into the gap again and repeats the motion. The door leans farther forward, and gravity takes over. Hinges buried deep in the wall are torn out like tree roots from hard-baked soil, and the vault door slams down onto the solid flooring.
Thompson aims his rifle into the opening.
“Brick, get in there. We’ll follow.”
Argo stows his pry tool and grabs his cannon. Stepping over the fallen vault door, he ducks into a long, low corridor. Swirling mists follow him in, curling around his hunched shoulders.
The corridor extends far ahead of his visor’s night vision and the Brick clicks on his helmet lamps. Smooth plates on the floor, walls, and ceiling gleam as though new. The big man steps confidently down the metallic corridor, his echoing footsteps giving a better sense of the distance ahead than his lamps.
The corridor ends at a flat-black wall with a corridor to the left and right. More impatient than cautious, Argo looks down each path. To the left, the corridor ends at a sturdy bulkhead with a wheel at the center. Engraved above the wheel is the familiar eagle. To the right, the corridor ends at a floor-to-ceiling hatch labeled, “Escape”.
“Clear!” the Brick announces.
“Geek, take left. Brick, take right,” Thompson orders. He squats at the intersection and looks out toward the steam-filled entrance with his rifle raised.
Argo moves to the escape hatch and peers through its round porthole. Through the small window he sees a modest chamber with a circular tunnel cut through the opposing wall. Four cigar-shaped carts are suspended from the ceiling.
Beckert advances to the wheeled door. With a pistol clutched in one hand, he reaches out with the other and turns the wheel. The wheel squeals, yet offers little resistance, and the door swings heavily on pristine hinges.
Beckert flicks his pistol straight out and he follows it into the room. His helmet lights shine into a circular space with a high, domed ceiling roughly twenty meters across. Tall screens dominate the left side of the room. On the right, a high-backed chair sits atop a raised dais. Between are three semicircular rows of work stations, facing the dais like an orchestra.
The Geek glides through the workstations, his elation checked by the tattered uniforms and old bones still occupying them. The closer he gets to the dais, the higher the rank of each desiccated corpse; and in the front row, every uniform has two or three stars on its collar.
Beckert climbs onto the raised platform. From there, he looks easily into the wall screens and every seat of the twenty-four workstations.
The entire room focuses to this spot.
Reluctantly, he looks down into the large chair. The mummified occupant reclines against one side of the winged back, mandible dropped into its lap. Hollow sockets stare up toward the ventilator at the ceiling’s apex. On the collar, a four star rank insignia is amended with an extra star pinned beside it.
The Geek looks down to the unbuttoned uniform jacket. Over the chest pocket is a simple black and white badge, inscribe
d with the name, “Noromi”. Beckert turns away, recognizing the name from the video resignation—the soldier praised as being “dogged and relentless”. The young operator struggles to dislodge the melancholy rooting in his chest.
On his right, opposite the entrance, he notices three more doorways. The Geek hops down from the platform to investigate when light shines in from the entrance. He pauses and watches Argo stride into the room.
Black Hawks From a Blue Sun Page 17