"Captain, if that’s the case, you and your crew are going to have to act accordingly. When the ship went up, retina scan identification technology was not yet widely used by artificial intelligence systems such as on the Hideaway."
The captain shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The men around him stopped working. The room became quiet like the ominous empty view of space before them.
"Palm scans were required for ship ID at that time. Provided their hibernation systems are still intact, you should have no difficulty disengaging signature controls with the palm scanners. They haven’t hibernated long enough for deterioration to have set in. At least not enough that a palm scan would be unrecognizable."
"And if the pilots are alive? How do we convince them to do the palm scans?"
"Captain, they are not. They died a long time ago. Do a systems check. If they did signaturize the controls, raise the temperature on their hibernation units. Bring them up just enough so that their tissue will be usable. And then make the removal."
"With all due respect sir, what if during the reanimation process we find signs of life?"
"Jesus goddamn Christ!" the War Minister's voice became wickedly short. “There won’t be any goddamn signs of life. If the controls are signaturized, go to the hibernation units, raise up their temps and have one of your men cut their fucking hands off. Do you goddamn got that? Take their hands to the pilot controls and disengage the signature controls.”
Faulken’s upper lip had curled into an ugly snarl. His tone made the hair on the back of the captain’s neck stand straight on end.
The captain absently rested his hand on the large knife blade strapped to his leg next to his sidearm. His fingers nervously worked the snap that held the blade in place.
"If you find signs of life, do them a favor and put a goddamn bullet in their heads. Engineers on this project have already confirmed that the lengths of hibernation as seen on the Hideaway mission have been far too long. Full cerebral recovery is not a possibility. Brain damage will be severe. They will be nonfunctional. Catatonic. Of no use to themselves or us. Their families have grieved. There would be no desire on their part or reason in this universe to bring them back now.”
The captain sat forward. His body shook slightly.
"Saving them now would not be humane, it would be horribly cruel,” Faulken’s tone lowered a bit in fervor and pitch. "If the Hideaway has been signaturized, shut off the oxygen supply during the hibernation process. It will be the easiest way."
“We have become as awful as this war,” the captain said quietly. There was no tone in his voice.
None of the men around him now even pretended to work. All eyes focused on the captain and the man he addressed on the faint blueness of the holovid screen.
"Program the navigation computer for deep space once your mission on the Hideaway is complete," Faulken said his dark expression returning. "You’ll only need one of the pilots to disengage the signaturization. However, you’ll need both palms for the identification system to process entirely."
“Jesus,” the captain said softly again.
"This is war, Captain. After what has happened, this should be the least of the worries….of an informant,” Faulken said this last part softly so that only the captain himself was able to hear. “Causing the deaths of those on our side should no longer cause you concern.”
The captain’s back stiffened in his seat. His stomach and spirit felt instantly sick.
“Follow your orders and get this done."
"Understood War Minister," the captain’s eyes dropped from the holovid and settled across the floor.
"Good. When you return to Earth, I'll meet you personally at the landing coordinates and give you a debrief. Until then, this will be your last outward ship communication."
"Yes, sir."
"Good luck to you and your crew, Captain."
And with that the holovid blinked out.
The captain of the Hideaway retrieval mission rubbed his head and stared out the viewport. The ship they were after still floated out there in the dark. Its hull was only a small visible speck in the distance of space.
* * *
Back at the source of the holovid transmission, War Minister Peter Faulken hurried around his personal quarters and prepared to leave.
His time as a governmental minister within the U.S. Dome of Administration had long since passed.
Chapter 15
"Is there any chance those pilots might be alive and able to bring that ship in?"
"Hard to tell, sir," Baldwin stepped away from the President's desk and took a seat on a large couch in the middle of the presidential meeting room. "All information on Project Hideaway has been kept secret within the confines of Science Dome 15 for more than fifty years. Only the personnel directly involved with the project know much about it. For obvious reasons, the lid on it was kept extremely tight."
"And right now you're telling me most of those that were personally involved are now dead," the President paced around the room.
“Science Dome 15 was reported overrun about twelve hours ago,” Baldwin answered softly from the couch.
"Taken over and most everything within destroyed. That’s what you’re telling me."
President Ford stopped along one of the walls to stare at one of the rare instances of art that interrupted the maddening drab of white encompassing the mostly barren room. There was never the chance for his wife to help him improve the decor, and he had never felt the need to appoint an aid to handle the responsibilities.
Right now, he wished he hadn't let this type of thing go. Actually the President wished for a lot of things. He looked for anything to occupy at least part of his mind while he dealt with the crisis now at hand.
"The J.G.U. have been pouring into the facility by the hundreds since that time," Baldwin spoke stolidly again.
The President walked further away from where Baldwin was seated and gazed down the length of the wall.
"And the Hideaway Project?"
"Frankly, there isn’t much we know, sir, at this time."
The President turned around and gave Baldwin a look of almost helplessness at what he had just heard.
"So what do we know?"
"We know that so far planet surface sensors have not picked up any indication of the Hideaway. They haven’t initiated or acknowledged any attempts at contact. And neither have we."
"Which means that either it has already been destroyed or it’s just floating up there without a command crew. Up in the dark, in space, just waiting for someone to find it.”
"That is not necessarily true. To avoid detection by the J.G.U., we haven’t initiated a full sensor or communications burst. The pilots could be awake and deciding not to risk the same. They could actually be sitting up there trying to figure out what the hell to do."
"You know that ship is our last chance don't you?" the President said tiredly pointing at Baldwin while he spoke. He walked over and stood next to where Baldwin was seated at the center of the room.
"I quite agree, sir," Baldwin replied softly. "Every update, every single scrap of information relating to the beam cannons has been backed up and hidden aboard that ship. There is a large amount of prototype technology that has already been constructed and stored…”
“I’m not even talking about that,” President Ford interrupted morosely with a wave of his hand. “I’m not even talking about winning the war. Redemption is what we’re racing for now.”
“Again I agree, sir,” Baldwin answered more strongly back. “Be that as it may and regardless of how it came about, morally or ethically, that doesn’t matter now. We are at war. It is here. And we mustn’t lose sight of that.
“Anything of importance the J.G.U. may have obtained in the SD15 overrun is not completely lost,” Baldwin continued. “Most likely there are data backups or partially or fully constructed prototypes onboard that ship. The only thing we may have lost is exclusive rights to this information.
“The hardware could take decades for the J.G.U. to figure out how to build and utilize should they come to possess any of the technical information. And the technology already constructed and sitting up there, they won’t know how to operate it or even really know what it’s for. And least not at first.”
"We think everything is still up there?" The President brushed past Baldwin without looking at him and addressed his thoughts into the air.
"There’s no reason for the J.G.U. to even begin looking up there. If they had, we would have known by now. Their armies seem content with merely pillaging the countryside to find the technology they need. Their thinking has not always been grand in scope. And I think that is the case here. They haven’t given us any reason to suspect that they have even remotely considered the possibility of us storing assets up in space."
"Let's not dismiss this so soon as such a serious threat. Our defense plan has been hardly effective against their armies," the President sneered while dropping heavily into the cushioned seat behind his desk. “They’ve easily made their way into almost every part of this country. The Vulture detonations did little to thwart their overall attack.”
A quiet tone of rage and bitterness colored the President’s voice. He pulled a worn set of glasses from his sweaty face and rubbed between his eyes.
"I don't think we should be as confident in the security of the Hideaway as you think. They could be heading there right now for all we know. A lot of information may also have been compromised via traitorous informants and the brutal interrogations being inflicted on our men. These stories are starting to come in.”
"I know that, Frank. I’ve heard the same things. But let's say they did successfully obtain Hideaway location information and did find it. They could bring the entire ship back to Earth, but they still wouldn't know how to use it.
“And if all this happened or was about to, don’t you think they would be in contact? It’s why they are here. If they possessed it and were able to understand and operate the technology, this war would be over. And they would be gone. It’s what they’re looking for. If they had it, there would be no more reason for them to be tearing up the countryside and wasting more of their men and resources. Their country is not healthy enough to afford it.”
"And we would have surrendered by now."
"Sir, with the losses we have sustained in terms of manpower, facilities and ruined land territory, as your chief advisor, yes, I would have advised a surrender a long time ago. The Hideaway is the only reason that we should continue to hang on and put this country through this."
Ford did not acknowledge this comment. He stared into the air past Baldwin’s shoulder and for the moment remained silent.
“There’s actually still more, Mr. President.”
The President’s eyes centered again on Baldwin.
“Vulture explosive teams are reporting civilian survivors. Some of them are getting out. Some have witnessed the actions of the teams.”
The President turned abruptly to fully face him. For the first time in the meeting, his face showed absolute attention and utmost concern.
"Outsiders?"
"Yes, sir."
"From what I understand, there shouldn't be any outsiders. They should all be dead."
"That is correct sir. Their elimination was a necessary element of the plan," Baldwin said dropping his gaze. "But teams are reporting them, sir. Actually, some have been brought out."
"Some have been brought out? What?”
The President walked to the front of his desk. He leaned against it and folded his arms across his chest. He looked incredulously at his minister of state and chief advisor. "Who brought them out?"
"The J.G.U. have been rolling us pretty fast in certain cities. Civilians have been assisting and even rescuing injured or trapped Vulture squad members. And some of the squads have been bringing them out with the retreat."
Sweat beaded across the President's brow, and his tongue felt dry. The back of his body was also freshly damp with sweat. "Do they know by whose authority those men have been setting up and bombing their cities and towns?"
"How can they not, Frank?"
The President reached his arms out to his sides and gripped the edge of his desk tightly within his fists.
"A domestic revolt at this stage would most certainly cost us this war," he said unevenly.
"Reports of this type of thing are few at this moment, but more are bound to appear."
“God help us,” the President said while standing and dragging his sagging frame away from Baldwin to the other side of the room.
He pushed a button near another table desk making two clear cabinets appear from the wall. The President turned the handle on one of their small doors and pulled out what was stored inside. He didn’t say anything or even look at Baldwin as he poured the dark liquid into a glass.
Baldwin blew out a loud breath and shifted his hands in his lap. He pushed away the papers on the desk in front of him.
The President remained on the other side of the room.
"Are there factions forming then? Underground movements? Anything that will further heed us along the way?"
"It doesn’t even matter, sir. If we did detect such occurrences, we don't have any manpower available to put them down. Not anymore."
"Who said anything about putting them down? I just might go out and find one to join."
Baldwin set his jaw and straightened his back. He stared at the President as he now again walked towards him from across the room.
"The blame. For all of this. It’s going to fall on me. I’m the one the world is going to come after. I’m the one that’s going to be held ultimately responsible for what has been done here.”
"Yes, Mr. President. It will fall to you. It’s not something now possible to avoid."
Baldwin’s response brought a surprised look from the President silencing him for a moment.
"I swear, I’ve never known much about this. What I did, was shared only after I took office. Before then, I’d never heard of anything like Plan Zero or the Vulture program. And I was a commander in special operations military. Three tours of active intelligence gatherings overseas. Foreign dome espionage. Nothing during that time ever caused me to think anything like this existed.
“After the election, I was briefed by an outgoing advisor. Nothing formal ever came across this table,” the President said pointing his drink at his desk. “Nothing describing the planned scenario we’ve set in motion.”
"No, nothing ever did,” Baldwin confirmed.
The President sat back down, closed his eyes, and took another long sip of his drink.
"Presidents aren't what they used to be, Frank. Be glad you haven’t known much until now. It’s been kept at a distance from you on purpose. It was the only way this would have been able to happen.
“Once you retired from special operations military and decided to run for political office, you were identified as an extremely viable candidate. Not to be the President per se, but to be the President that would lead us into a new age.
“You were perfect. Pure, just, strong and clean. It was decided almost immediately that you were ‘the one’, and the plan could begin seriously moving beyond just being hushed whispers in the dark. You were primed and all but placed into this office by the real ‘powers that be’. They are the same powers that finance and operate facilities like Science Dome 15 and sent up the Hideaway Project.
“You were the perfect family man. Seeker of truth. Someone innocent and ideal to run the country. A perfect front for the underground powers that were plotting questionable and immoral national policy and illegal antagonistic global strategies."
"And when my family was dead?"
"There was still no reason to bring you in. Not even after the assassination attempt. If anything, that diverted the public eye. With national attention focused on you, everything else was able to keep moving forward without scrutiny.
“When dealing with an en
emy suspecting the worst from us, we needed to keep the person dealing with that enemy from knowing that the worst from us actually does exist. We needed to keep you innocent and ignorant. You would have been a victim of your own conscience. It would have been the first thing to betray."
Ford walked behind his desk. He sat down again and swirled his drink around in his glass. He turned in his chair and stared out the large window behind him.
"After that day, my image changed. I changed. The whole world knew that. And I didn't try to deny or stop it. Why not then? Why was it not brought to my attention then? My ‘innocence and ignorance’ so to speak was lost. The person that I used to be died that day with my family."
"In regards to your presidency…,” Baldwin started to speak carefully. “The attempt on your life and the death of your family made you appear stronger. You say the person you were was lost. I’m sure you felt that to be true. I cannot begin to comprehend the severity of your loss.
“However, the strength of your Presidency was elevated beyond belief. Your grief brought you closer to the people. They mourned with you. They prayed for you. They embraced you as a leader and as one of their own.”
The President stared down into his glass. His gaze was so intense, Baldwin thought that it might actually break.
“Your presence at the execution showed you were not afraid to use every means at your disposal to get what you wanted done. You showed defiance to the world. You demonstrated your strength, and you established dominance over death.
You couldn’t change what had already been done. But you brought swift inescapable justice to those that you felt deserved it. You became a strong leader of a nation and a man of great power in the world. You became someone to be feared.
“No one wanted to disturb that. It was perfect."
"Who didn't want to disturb that?"
Baldwin didn't answer.
Ford turned back to face him. He let out a deep breath and held his glass tightly in his hands.
Overrun: Project Hideaway Page 18