The End of the Beginning

by Eichholz, Zachary

  “Each warehouse is ten stories high, and each floor has nearly five million square feet of storage space,” explained Andrew.

  Near the warehouses, a large white dome structure about four stories tall emerged from the trees. A concrete podium with a hole at the top grew out of the side of the dome, like a handle on a wheel. Construction crews were in the process of pouring concrete around the open hole. Even from 400 feet up, the dark blue writing on the dome was clearly visible. It read ISAF.

  Roger saw the dome and said, “ISAF stands for Internal Security Affairs Force. They are a private security firm. That dome there is their base HQ. They were hired by the UN to maintain all on base security. After the Rwandan Genocide of ‘94, the UN Security Council was heavily criticized for not responding faster by employing private security forces to the area to deal with the problem. They learned from that mistake, and the council now employs ISAF personnel at all nine bases.”

  William asked, “What about when off base? Do they travel with you guys to hot zones?”

  Roger waved his hand. “Yes, but only if the council deems the area's own military forces hostile or unstable. Otherwise, it's up to the host country to provide security for our teams.”

  “Captain,” said Andrew, pointing to a group of huge glass structures on the northern side of the BLOC Section, “that’s where we grow all of our food.” They were greenhouses, William realized - some square, some resembling small cylindrical towers. Open farming fields, with umbrella-like screens stretched over them, lay in front of these greenhouses in circular plots, like iconic fields from the American West.

  Andrew continued talking. “We have six, twenty-one million square foot greenhouses and six vertical farming towers, each one eight stories tall. All of them grow tons and tons of food, mostly rice and corn and some fish. We use smart irrigation, hydroponics, and genetically modified crops to keep food growing 24/7, 365 days a year. Collectively, we grow enough food a year to feed all of Sub-Saharan Africa. That’s over a billion people's worth. And this is just one of nine. You can check global hunger off the to-do list,” he said with an uncharacteristic grin.

  “We also collect all of our water through desalination at a processing plant across from the fields. The plant provides fifty million gallons of water a day, not only for our needs but for the entire county’s as well. We then treat our collected water through natural methods by straining it through an artificially created marsh that is several miles long. It also serves as a pedestrian bike and walking park. Blends right into the rest of the BLOC’s foliage.”

  “No smell either,” said Roger, pointing his index finger up.

  The Phoenix ended its easterly turn and was now flying straight out over the Atlantic Ocean again. Something to the south caught William's eye. It was miles down the coast but was still overwhelming compared to its surroundings. The Florida coastline abruptly swept outward and came to a point before it went back to its original straight line all the way to Miami. On this point was a flat wetland plain that held one of William’s long time desired fascinations, the Kennedy Space Center.

  He could see the giant square Vehicle Assembly Building over thirty miles to the south on Merritt Island. He could remember every detail of its infrastructure from his childhood when he used to read about the space center. It stood 526 feet tall and was the largest single story building in the world. Its vast interior space rivaled even that of the five UNIRO-built warehouses he had just seen. So tall and with so much interior volume, it was reported that rain clouds formed inside sometimes on humid days. It was the Notre Dame of the twentieth century, with ceilings that reached for the skies, just as the rockets did that were assembled inside so delicately.

  Roger saw that William’s gaze had drifted from the base. “What’s so exciting over there?” he asked.

  “The Kennedy Space Center,” William replied. “I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course,” Roger said. “I almost forgot about our friendly neighbors. Well, you may be able to go there one day soon. We work closely with the Cape because one of our rescue vehicles is intended for space travel. Phoenix 3 is a reusable space plane that was built by a private company. There are a lot of people up there now and someone’s gonna need help some day. Plus, the UN would like a space presence of its own. The spacecraft’s builders and NASA will oversee the launching of it, whenever that time comes. That's what makes this base special, as it's the only one with this Phoenix and due to our proximity to the equator and water, it's the most sensible to launch from.”

  “I loved space travel as a kid,” William sighed and looked down to the floor. “I always wanted to see a moon landing for myself.” The Phoenix turned back to the west and began to truly enter the base's airspace.

  “You mean, you missed them landing on that asteroid a few years back?” Roger said, chuckling at his own question but fell quiet when William did not respond. The Phoenix dropped to within a hundred feet of the water and passed gracefully over the wind turbine laden seawall. Their blades spun rhythmically as the aircraft passed them, capturing the invisible energy of the firm breeze as they rotated.

  As the aircraft descended, its jet engines turned off and its four rotor blades emerged from the disk, spinning faster, until they became a hazy blur. They were at ninety feet now. Details of the base became clearer as they got closer to the ground. William could see that several areas were still under construction, filled with tower cranes and dig sites with workers and machines. On the tarmac below, were pallets of saran wrapped parts, and even a propeller bound for the Port Section.

  “Tranquility Tower, Phoenix 1-2. We are on final.”

  William looked over at the Airport Sections slender control tower after hearing the radio call. It had no windows but had dozens of antennas and satellite dishes.

  “Phoenix 1-2, Tranquility Tower. Landing pad zero-four prepped and clear.”

  “Understood. Landing gear is down. You miss us?” one of the pilots said cheekily.

  “As much as my vertigo, Sanson,” the tower operator replied.

  After those few words were exchanged in the cockpit, the Phoenix pilots fist bumped again and brought the plane to rest on the ground. By now it was late afternoon, 4:30 p.m. The side doors were slung open and the rear cargo bay door lowered. A rush of ground crew personnel descended upon the Phoenix, took William’s suitcase, and ushered him away from the plane. Roger and Andrew were close behind. An underground system of pipes and nozzles emerged from below the parked aircraft; one of the lines read H2. Ground personnel began to connect the various pipes to the aircraft.

  The landing pads around William were filled with other Phoenix 1 craft, all identical except for their registration numbers. Some were being tugged into a grass-roofed hangar a few hundred feet to the north. A large, hydrogen-powered pushback tug guided them into place with a universally attachable robotic arm. Water slowly dripped from its small exhaust pipe, the only emission produced from the hydrogen vehicle.

  It was quite a different feeling than the military bases William had been stationed at during his service. It was quiet, yet still busy, and there were no obnoxious fuel fumes dancing around his nostrils. They were picked up by an electric bus and ferried over to the terminal. A few men and women in business attire were also on the bus and gave William a look of shrewdness at his rugged appearance.

  As they made their way to the terminal, William asked, “How many aircraft are at each base?”

  “Each base has 255 aircraft, 136 of them being Phoenixes. The others are auxiliary. They come in after the main Phoenix fleet with support and more supplies.” Roger said.

  Once at the terminal, William, Roger, and Andrew went through security - an intensive process. It included a full body vertical MRI machine, fingerprinting, and a biometric pathogen detection system for any unwelcomed personnel of the viral variety. Four heavily armed ISAF security guards in slick white body armor watched as two other men took DNA samples fro
m William that were going to go on file with the rest of UNIRO’s staff for easy identification should something ever happen to him. The four guardsmen pompously showed off their white P90 assault rifles. One guard looked at William as though he were a terrorist or fugitive, not once taking his eyes off of him and keeping his rifle at chest height, until William passed through the checkpoint with no alarms.

  He was then given a necklace with a clear glass rectangle about the size of a traditional military dog tag. The second he put it around his neck, the glass rectangle turned itself on and displayed his personal information statistics that had just been learned through the security checkpoint. One of the ISAF guards fixed William with a stern gaze.

  “You are to keep that on you at all times,” the guard growled. “It’s called a glass tag. It’s your personal identification and for as long as you are here, you are required to wear it. Age, eye color, blood type, gender, rank, everything is on that. It's shatter proof, sweat proof, water proof, cold and heat proof. It could basically survive a nuclear blast.”

  William laughed at that. Roger and Andrew just looked at each other nervously, letting that subject slip by.

  “Okay. Cool, Air Force sure never had these,” William said.

  Roger and Andrew also received their own glass tags. Inside, the terminal was noticeably bare. No food courts or stores, no advertisements, just the basics. Aside from security checkpoints, there were baggage retrieval areas, medical stations, large video screens, seating areas and some closed shipping containers. The ceilings were high and vaulted with large windows. Scaffoldings full of workers and cleaning crews were putting the final touches on the interior of the terminal: painting here, welding a spot there, fixing a light.

  They walked down the terminal concourse until they emerged outside into twilight to the pick-up and drop off road. To the west, the sun hung low in the sky, drenching the horizon in color. Seagulls glided above, dodging palm trees and light poles. Before them was a lake about the size of a football field, surrounded by walkways and benches nestled into the northern most tip of the section. An automated taxi, looking like a white cube, pulled up in front of them. It had rounded edges, slightly bulged-out sides, and its wheels were partially covered. The automatic doors opened and the three men stepped inside, situated their belongings, and sat down as the taxi pulled away and drove up an on ramp to one of the transportation spokes.

  “From here,” Andrew plotted, “we will travel to the BLOC Section to your new quarters. Tomorrow, you can meet the mutual friend that requested you join this little endeavor.” Andrew sighed. “They made us swear we wouldn’t tell you who they were. More importantly, however, is training; you start in a week. You’ll relearn everything you thought you knew about rescue. You’ll be tested and evaluated after three months and, if you make it, you will officially join this organization and command your own team of fifteen, including yourself. I hope you’re up for that, Captain. Better not send eighteen months of searching for you down the drain.” Andrew gave William a cold look of uncertainty. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been in the hot seat. A lot has changed.”

  “I can understand your mistrust of me, sir. Look at me. I’m sure I don’t look very commanding right now, but let’s just let the tests speak for themselves,” William said with a smirk, giving Andrew a slap on the arm twice as hard as one would normally give. Standing behind Andrew was Roger, trying to suppress a smile at the exchange.

  William felt a sliver of his old rush return after years of repression. There was nothing William enjoyed more than a challenge. After all, his whole life had been one great challenge. Now, he had the chance to be the challenger once more.

  His sudden flare of passion took his mind back to Korea and he saw the nukes go off. He saw the bodies burning and the buildings collapsing. Grace. Harden. Jones. Young Connell. Kyung. His heart rate skyrocketed and he began to sweat. William began to shake and mumble. He tried to hide it from the others but it was hard in the confined taxi. Pain gripped his chest and sweat burned his eyes. Breathing became hard and his head hurt.

  “Stop!” he shouted. “Stop, stop, stop!”

  Roger looked at William, surprised, and unbuckled his seatbelt and moved towards him.

  “Captain? Captain? William!” Roger hit the emergency shutdown button for the automated taxi. The taxi swerved and went into an emergency lane off to the side of the road.

  “What’s wrong, Captain?” Roger asked, forcing William upright. “You gotta talk to me or else I can’t help.”

  William could not get words out; he only stumbled and mumbled some more. Andrew looked at William’s glass tag. It was colored a bright red and waved vital signs across its alarming glass screen.

  “Let's get him to the base hospital,” Roger said. He verbally entered their desired destination into the automated taxi, which soon began to move again.

  William gripped Roger’s arm tightly and would not let go.

  “I couldn’t, I couldn’t...” William muttered. “Ah, it's too bright, it's too bright.”

  “What’s too bright? Couldn’t what, Captain?” Roger asked, trying to figure out the problem.

  Pain filled him like an uncontrolled flood, drowning him from the inside out. Light and floating prismatic balls crisscrossed his field of vision, emerging out of the floor and the air, making reality into a circus show. Sweat leached through his clothing and his shaking was now so bad that Roger and Andrew had to restrain him. William remembered putting his face on Roger’s steady shoulder and then seeing nothing until he woke up to shouting.

  CHAPTER 14: Saving One is Like Saving The World

  “I told you this man was unstable,” Andrew said angrily. “He had one thought of commanding again and he had a panic attack right in front of us. He’s not fit to lead a rock. You heard what the doctor said; he is obviously suffering from PTSD. He’s got way too much baggage for this job. Do you want someone like that in this organization, helping others? He can’t even help himself, for Christ’s sake!”

  Andrew lowered his voice. “What if he is on a mission with someone’s life literally in his hands and he has a panic attack because a damn light is too bright and he remembers a freaking nuclear blast. I will bring up my concerns with the commander and the people in San Francisco. You know that, right?”

  Andrew continued to blast Roger, who just stood there waiting for him to finish his rant outside of William’s hospital room.

  “I don’t trust him,” Andrew continued, waving his hands about. “Emerson may have been a war hero and a great rescuer, but what is he now? A panicked ex-soldier who hasn’t done anything but hide for six years! You saw the place we found him in, a hut in the woods, alone and unwilling to do anything. I did some independent searching. He hasn’t held a job for more than twelve weeks in the last five years. How much commitment does that show?”

  “He came with us, didn’t he?” snapped Roger, annoyed with Andrew’s tirade. “Doesn’t that show that he wants to rejoin society, to do something with his life? Captain Emerson was the best of the best, and we need him, Andrew. You know what this organization is trying to do. It's trying to save the whole goddamn world. That’s not an understatement.”

  Roger pointed to the wall on his right. “Beyond those walls, things are falling apart. We need all hands on deck for this to work, even if they are the hands of an ex-soldier with unresolved issues. We have people that can help him with that. Now, he has the med-bracelet on so he’ll be treated and, in time, he’ll be okay. I know you will bring this up with our superiors, but I also want it to be known when you talk to them that the man in there was one of the first people this organization saved. We are giving him a second chance,” he spoke passionately. “We are giving everyone this organization touches a second chance. He will fight this; he’s not a quitter.”

  “Oh, please,” Andrew scoffed. “Stop with the second chance bullshit; it’s getting old. For all this to work, we need clear heads that can work under pressure i
n the field. I mean, Jesus, you saw how severe that attack was. I’d be surprised if he hasn’t been suicidal to boot; you know what he went through over there.”

  “Even more reason to help him then!” Roger yelled, causing Andrew to take a few steps back. “People that have been at the brink often make the best candidates for new beginnings because they have nothing left to lose. That’s William. It’s either this or that cabin in the woods, alone with his horrors. I’m pretty sure anyone is willing to leave that behind, even him.”

  Both men looked away from each other, catching their breath. Several people in the long white hallway were staring at them, overhearing their elevated exchange.

  Finally, Roger said softly, “Give him a chance. Andrew, I have known you for a long time. If you don’t trust him, trust me. You know, one day, billions of people will look back and judge what we did here, what we did wrong and what we did right. This will be seen as the right thing to do. Saving one is like saving the world.”

  Andrew pushed Roger aside with a huff as he walked away. Roger let out a sigh as he turned and entered William’s hospital room.

  ...

  William had awoken to the sound of Roger and Andrew arguing outside his room’s door. He could not really tell what they were saying but he heard enough to know it was about him. Embarrassed, he turned and looked to the north, outside his room’s floor-to-ceiling glass wall into the Florida night.

  The base was beautiful at night. Lights clung along the corners of structures and illuminated fountains danced in lakes around the hospital. Aircraft flew across the dark sky, their warning lights blinking away. The stars were not visible with the amount of sky glow though.

  Back in Canada, William had grown accustomed to the night sky being rich in starlight. Every night was a light show that would move across the sky, only to be seen again and again. Sometimes he could even see the Aurora Borealis. But here, only a few stars were visible and certainly not the aurora. He didn’t even see the moon. It made him feel lost, adding to his overall feeling of dread and embarrassment of letting himself succumb to his emotions and fears in front of his new employers.