Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven

by Dennis Chamberland

  “Fair enough, Retired Admiral Spencer!” Seven replied with a firm nod of his head. “But will you at least rejoin this new society as a civilian contractor?”

  “Of course!” Frank replied. “If you can tolerate the undeviating bad habits of a stubborn old fart like myself.”

  “Good! Frank, I have an immediate assignment for you,” Seven said.

  “Whatever it is, I accept!” Spencer said with a laugh. “Except, please don’t pair me up with Miss Allen again. I think we may have an ongoing conflict of personalities.”

  “No, I’m teaming you up with the Commander here. You and he are in charge of figuring out how to operate that Chinese nuclear plant and wiring it up to Pacifica as soon as humanly possible. No pressure, Frank, but I want it ready day before yesterday!”

  Spencer nodded. “You can consider it a done deal, sir,” he responded sincerely.

  “Good. I knew I could count on you. We need to get the Leviathan underway to make the Dutch Harbor rescue as soon as humanly possible.”

  Spencer’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh dear God,” he said. “I forgot something.”

  “What?” Seven asked immediately.

  “In my recalcitrance, I ordered that the frequencies to receive and transmit to Dutch Harbor be disabled in the communications protocols. We’ve been blind to them and them to us.”

  “Frank, as you know, we haven’t communicated with them for security reasons. But we thought they weren’t communicating with us for similar concerns. I need your opinion on something,” Seven said. “Now that the Jiang Zemin has been disabled, dare we risk an exchange of communications with Dutch Harbor and tell them the Calvary is on the way?”

  Spencer thought momentarily and then responded, “Well, we can give ‘em an update, but the Calvary won’t be on the way unless, and until, we can tap into that plant down below.”

  Seven nodded, then said, “Twink, get up to the comms center and open up those encrypted channels to Dutch Harbor . As soon as you can get Winsteed on the line, patch him through on my radio. I need to talk to him ASAP.”

  73

  Juarez pulled down on her seat restraint inside the VTOL as its engines sprang to life just outside the hangar door at Dutch Harbor’s sunset. Winsteed stepped up on a wooden box and looked inside, the cockpit illuminated by a myriad of multicolored displays and the last rays of dusk.

  “I’m allowing you to do this against my better judgment, you know that?” he said to Juarez and Leighter, leaning his frame against the edge of the cockpit. “As far as I’m concerned, this is a suicide mission, plain and simple. The only reason I’m permitting it is that we’ll all be dead in a few months anyway, so how you go out and when you go out becomes your choice. We’ll just call this, suicide ala carte.”

  “No, sir, if I may respectfully correct you,” Leighter remarked. “You’re paying off on a deal we made, remember? I smoked Fred and Ethyl, so you’re gonna let me borrow the family vehicle for the evening and go out on a hot date with your best black shoe aviator. Did I ‘splain it right this time?”

  “Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Winsteed said with a wry smile. “Now, remember the plan. Just in case they’re still around and listening, I’m broadcasting your trip itinerary so they have the platform out and ready for you when you get there. Just in case they aren’t listening - and I don’t believe they are - fly as high as you can as you make your approach so you can lock onto their line of sight receivers and give ‘em as much time as possible to launch your pickup. And one final thing,” Winsteed said solemnly. “Remember what we talked about in case you have to ditch at sea…”

  They both looked directly at him, staring back out of their flight helmets.

  Winsteed fought back a lump in his throat and the tears that were straining to leak out.

  Juarez apparently could see it coming. She leaned forward and jovially punched his upper arm. “Hey Boss, chill. It’s gonna go down just fine,” she said confidently.

  Winsteed nodded, afraid to speak, stepped down and backed away, motioning down with his thumb to lower the canopy.

  As Juarez lowered it, he stood tall and saluted. Five minutes later, the VTOL was but a tiny dot on the western horizon, and Winsteed walked slowly back into the hangar bay.

  gh

  The 12 remaining members of the Dutch Harbor crew were especially subdued. Winsteed sat at the communications console five hours after the VTOL’s departure, listening to its frequencies and waiting for his hourly status reports as they flew. As he did so, the computer console before him flashed: “PACIFICA COMMUNICATIONS CENTER INBOUND MESSAGE RECEIVED.” Winsteed sat bolt upright in his seat, grabbed his microphone and toggled a few switches.

  “Pacifica, this is Dutch Harbor ,” he said quickly. “Can you hear me?”

  “Roger that, Dutch Harbor . Is this Commander Winsteed?”

  “Yes! Yes! We have vital information for you,” Winsteed said excitedly as his people ran to gather around him.

  “I’m patching Aaron Seven onto your line,” responded the voice.

  “Aaron Seven?” Winsteed asked, confused.

  There was a brief moment of noise – a crackling, hiss and popping from the speaker.

  “Kevin, this is Aaron!” said the voice from the radio.

  “You’re supposed to be dead!” Winsteed replied. “Hell, man, I already extracted considerable revenge in your name! What about Luci?”

  “Alive and well. Alive and well… Kevin, I need to let you know something right away. Is this channel secure?”

  “Yeah, but I get to speak first,” Winsteed insisted.

  “Go ahead, but hurry up,” Seven retorted. Both men seemed to have life and death messages and both were almost desperate to get their messages unfolded as quickly as possible.

  “Aaron, you have an inbound VTOL coming your way – ETA six hours and some change. Please deploy your platform before sunrise and be ready for ‘em, they’ll be short of time and fuel when they get there! It’s piloted by Juarez and your own Karl Leighter!”

  “Holy crap!” Seven shouted.

  “Thank God, thank God man!” Winsteed interjected. “When you didn’t answer our broadcasts, we thought you guys were fish food for sure.”

  “We’re trying to mount up a rescue for you as we speak,” Seven replied. “We had a few problems or we would’ve been there by now, I can promise you.”

  “I knew it, I knew it!” Winsteed said, sitting on the edge of his seat. “But, I’m sorry to report we lost half our crew to a little war we had here. Leighter will explain it all to you later today. There’re only 12 of us left to pick up. But I don’t think you’ll have any resistance when you get here, as far as we know right now.”

  “There’re two plans in the works for your pickup. One will require about a week, the other three months, worst case. If you had to, could you hold out that long?”

  “Yes, barely, but we could make it work, if that’s the only way.”

  “Kevin, hang in there. We’re working overtime to figure this out, I promise you. I’ll let you now as soon as the VTOL’s safe.”

  “Roger that,” Winsteed said.

  “Pacifica , out,” Seven responded and cut the transmission.

  Commander Kevin Winsteed stood up and looked at his people standing together, overwhelmed by emotion, embracing one another as a family. His heart swelled with pride, renewed energy and hope as tears streamed down his face and onto his beard. He realized he could not have loved them more had they been his own children.

  And to them he was much more than a leader. He was the stable and consistent force that they had always trusted and who was, despite the odds, about to pull them all through.

  74

  Kevin Leighthouser was the man of choice to pilot the landing platform to the surface to make the VTOL pickup. Aaron Seven and Serea insisted on making the trip as well as Professor Desmond and Frank Spencer.

  The moment Seven knew the VTOL was inbound he had the aircraft cont
acted to give them weather reports and instructions on landing. Pacifica was in its sleeping period at the time, but Seven ordered that a call be made to everyone’s quarters, waking them and letting them know of the impending arrival.

  They loaded the landing platform and rose to the surface an hour early so that any mechanical glitch that might occur could be repaired. But there were none, and LP1 ascended to the gently heaving surface without a hitch. During the pre-dawn hours, Leighthouser opened the platform’s doors and allowed his passengers to walk onto the deck under the brilliant canopy of North Pacific starlight.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Serea said, her eyes drinking in the splendor of the starlit sky on the gently bobbing platform.

  Seven inhaled the slightly humid, warm sea air. “I kind of miss being outside,” he said. Then he nodded and smiled.

  “What?” Serea asked, obviously seeing his brain in motion again.

  “I think we need to allow the whole crew one evening a month up here,” he replied. “We can have the platform rise to the surface once a week and carry a group of our people up for an evening of R & R topside!”

  “That’s a fantastic idea!” she answered, stepping over and embracing him. “It’s so nice to know that we may even be able to live just a while longer.”

  Seven looked and saw Spencer and his father-in law speaking together on the other side of the platform.

  “It’s good to see them getting along again,” he said.

  “Yes. Father always had so much respect for Frank. They grew up in the same town and their fathers were close friends, you know.”

  “No! I didn’t know that!” Seven admitted.

  “Yes. And father values loyalty to a fault. I think the conflicting loyalty problem added to his depression.”

  “We’re receiving the VTOL on our line of sight receivers,” said a voice from a speaker being transmitted from the Pacifica communications center.

  “Fantastic!” Seven responded. “It won’t be long now.” He could also see that the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten just behind the aircraft. It was going to be close, but not a nail-biter by any means.”

  “How’s their fuel?” Seven asked into his lapel mounted microphone.

  “Wait one,” the watch officer reported. “Nominal fuel. No issues there. Easy landing.”

  “Good!” Seven said, his eyes straining for a view of the aircraft.

  Five minutes later, Serea pointed to the sky. “There! I see their strobe!”

  Seven squinted, then picked it up as well. “There it is!” he said.

  “I’m patching the cockpit voice to the platform,” the Command Center stated.

  There was a slight hiss, then Juarez’s distinctive voice. “Pacifica, this is Dutch Harbor inbound; we have a visual now.”

  “Roger that, we see you as well. Be advised the wind is from 045. You’ll be landing on vertical thrust from 320 true. Adjust your altitude to 1200 feet. Nominal VFR landing is authorized.”

  “Roger that.”

  With agonizing slowness, the squat, black plane made its approach, dropping down to the approach altitude. Then the craft dipped lower, apparently slowing.

  Seven could see the VTOL as it advanced and slowed for a landing. He watched as Juarez expertly angled back its wings, transitioning from horizontal to vertical flight, then pirouetting into position above the deck and lowering the vehicle down to a perfect landing.

  Juarez cut the vehicle’s engines and popped its hatch as Seven and company raced to the side of the craft.

  “Awesome landing, Lieutenant Juarez,” Seven shouted as she rose up in her seat and looked down to him as if she were seeing a ghost. Then she crossed herself and said with no trace of emotion, “We heard you was dead.”

  “Rumors and lies,” he responded smiling.

  “Then why didn’t you come and get us like you promised?” she snapped in anger. “You got half my people killed waiting around for you!”

  “Let’s talk about this down below,” Seven replied, lifting his hand up to assist her from the craft.

  “I can handle this myself,” she spat with contempt, stepping out of the craft and onto the ground. As she removed her flight helmet, Leighter walked around from the other side of the craft and approached Seven, his face beaming.

  “Aaron, we were told you were lost at sea!” he said, then unashamedly walked up and embraced him in a bear hug.

  “You mean you’re not PO’d at me, too?” he asked sincerely.

  Leighter laughed loudly, his eyes shifting over to Juarez. “No way. My fiancée and I have frequent arguments about this subject!”

  “Your fiancée?” Seven asked, surprised.

  “Yes. As a mater of fact, I asked her to marry me on the way over here. I figured if we died on the trip, that I at least made it official.”

  “Congratulations!” Seven responded, smiling broadly at Leighter and pumping his hand. Then he looked to Juarez and said, “Congratulations, Lieutenant Juarez.”

  “Jam it,” she responded with contempt.

  “You just have to get to know her a little better,” Leighter replied smiling, almost with pride.

  “Got to get moving,” Leighthouser said as his hands furiously worked the controls that were already lowering the VTOL down inside the bowels of LP1. “You folks need to get below and take your seats. We’ve only got fifteen minutes remaining until this is a lethal zone up here.”

  “Follow me,” Spencer said, leading the way to the door that led down into the bowels of the submersible platform.

  Five minutes later, Leighthouser entered the compartment and spun the wheel that locked them all into the inner room of the platform. Quickly he mounted his chair at the controls.

  “Pacifica , we’re ready to submerge. All lights are green; we’re flooding tanks now.” While it was normal procedure to have a crew of three, this trip was organized in an emergency mode and Leighthouser was furiously operating the entire board by himself, like a man with four hands, skipping all the normally required reportage.

  “Roger,” acknowledged the Command Center .

  They could hear the rumble as the main ballast tanks of LP1 quickly filled with seawater. Seven could see the waterline appear at their windows then disappear as the platform began to sink lower and lower undersea.

  Finally, Leighthouser announced, “We’re fully flooded; engaging winch.”

  While the platform was only slightly positively buoyant, the winch cable was needed for positive control as well as to safely prevent it from drifting away in the current in the event the thrusters failed for any reason on descent.

  “Dammit!” Leighthouser swore.

  “What is it, Kevin?” Spencer asked, stepping up beside him.

  “The winch isn’t responding.”

  “Are you sure?” Spencer asked, obviously alarmed.

  Seven unsnapped his seat belt and walked to the console followed by Serea. “What’s happening?”

  “The winch isn’t responding,” Leighthouser replied, “and it has to work for us to get back down.”

  Seven looked at his watch. They had less than 10 minutes remaining to get away from the surface of the ocean which would soon be cloaked in deadly radiation. He looked outside the window toward the surface - the ocean was already glowing blue.

  “Switch to your backup winch,” Seven ordered. “Do it now.”

  “It doesn’t have one,” Serea said. “What’s the nature of the problem, Kevin?” she then asked, analytically, in control.

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Seven. It just doesn’t respond.”

  “Kevin, unlatch the compartment door and the topside door. I’m going out to look at it,” Serea said. “Ballast up 20 percent.”

  “Serea! The winch is on the bottom, down there!” Seven responded, pointing at his feet.

  “I know that, dear,” she said smiling. “I put it there, remember?”

  “How are you..?” he asked, following her into the stairwell leading up.
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  “Aaron, stay put, I’ll be right back,” she said confidently.

  “No! I’m going with you!” he stated firmly.

  “Fine,” she replied, tossing him a diving mask and pair of black rocket fins she had just pulled out of a locker in the passageway. “You’re going to get wet.”

  “Skinny dipping?” he asked impishly as they quickly climbed the stairs.

  “Suit yourself. You’re the boss.”

  In just two minutes they were sitting at the edge of the bobbing platform that’s surface was now just a few feet from the ominous void of the inky black ocean.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Serea asked with a smile.

  “Lead on, angel!” Seven said, anticipating the excitement of the moment.

  Unhesitant, she held her mask firmly onto her face and dropped into the water below, gripping a brilliant underwater light in her right hand.

  Seven dropped in just behind her and followed the beam of light down under the platform. His ears ached as he struggled to keep up with Serea, obviously an expert diver. But soon he was able to equalize the pressure just as she slid under the end of the platform and along its bottom.

  Serea stopped at the juncture of the cable and the bottom of the platform. Her light revealed the worst – the cable was horribly tangled, off the drum and wrapped around the shaft. She looked to Seven and shook her head slowly, then pointed up.

  His lungs were already screaming for air and he needed no encouragement. Their heads broke the surface together. They quickly scrambled up the ladder to the platform where Desmond and everyone else were waiting.

  “We’re in some real trouble, Aaron. We have about five minutes left and no time to fix this.” Serea said with an involuntary shiver.

  “Kevin, call down and get a transfer submarine up here on the double,” Spencer ordered.

  “They’re already prepping it sir, but it’ll be at least 45 minutes until they can get her underway!”

  “What?” Spencer cried. “We won’t last 45 minutes!”

  “I’m sorry sir,” Leighthouser responded, “but they had the batteries stripped out to use for emergency power of other critical systems.”