Slaves of Pangaea: The Second Nick Wolfe Sci Fi Adventure (Nick Wolfe Adventure Series Book 2)

by Ross H Henderson

  Chapter 3

  The car ride was comfortable and quiet. Wolfe and Taylor knew everything about each other they needed to know, and under the circumstances both decided that a quiet car ride would be better than trying to catch up on old times. The driver tried to break what he thought was tension a few times with small talk, but finally gave up. Atlanta still had the old grit in places, but it was a beautiful city to behold, especially at night when everything was lit up. This skyline was visible day or night.

  Wolfe kept his hair shorn in the flat top he wore when he was a soldier, and later when he was a mercenary. His brown widow’s peak was a little more pronounced, and the slightest bit of gray was creeping in at the temples. His eyes had a slight squint of concentration, and burned with intensity more often than not. Wolfe was a driven man.

  Taylor advised Wolfe as he left the car, “I know you have your complaints too, but now is not the time for them, you hear me?”

  “I don’t have anything to say to him,” Nick replied.

  The two waited in the living room of Tristan Evans’ Atlanta mansion. The house itself was part of a compound in what used to be a College Park community of mansions. Most of these buildings were razed and their former owners—athletes, pop music stars, and their lawyers—were paid handsomely for their property and trouble. Evans liked the combination of seclusion and proximity to the airport, plus the infrastructure was already there for the houses he wanted to build. This was more of a consideration for speed than necessity.

  It was an impressive place, completed after Wolfe had left BioMek’s unofficial division of mercenary/weapons-testers. The room Wolfe and Taylor sat in was cavernous, with an all-wood floor covered mostly in giant Persian rugs. The sofa was black leather, making a large semicircle around an oversized coffee table.

  One of the walls was a full LCD television, capable of showing realistic scenery from a recorded source or from a satellite feed from many locations around the world of varying climate and environment. At the same time, additional screens with TV channels, clocks, and PC-type screens could be shown simultaneously. For now it was just a Caribbean beach by moonlight with waves in surround-sound. As Wolfe leaned back, he caught his former employer’s wild red hair out of the corner of his eye. He thought to himself, “The man has billions and he can’t find anyone to comb his hair.”

  “Nicholas J. Wolfe,” started Tristan Evans as he walked out, making Wolfe’s name his own introduction, “You have caused me a great deal of trouble in the last year.” He continued, sauntering down in a slow, lazy stride. “I spent the first few months wondering what I had done to deserve this before realizing Mr. Vincent was a friend of yours.”

  “What are the odds?” Wolfe asked dryly.

  “Exactly,” continued Evans, unabated. He pretended not to pick up on Wolfe’s obvious sarcasm. He had a point to make and he wasn’t going to get baited into an argument before making it. “Not only that one of your best childhood friends would be chosen for that project, but also that I had no idea about it until seeing the two of you walk through my lobby in New Seattle. You could have just come to me, you know.”

  “Unlikely,” countered Wolfe. “Look at it from my perspective: you used my friend as your guinea pig, making him your spy and weapon without his permission. He didn’t want to be your puppet. Given the nature of your project, I wasn’t about to trust you and your team of ghouls. I promised Tom I would make sure he could live his life in peace.”

  “But he had a substantial dollar value attached to those eyes!”

  “He didn’t ask for them. Your people called him, remember?”

  “He could have said no.”

  “If he’d understood the cost, he would have. You didn’t give him that chance. Do you know how many times he gouged his own eyes out in an effort to have his freedom? He would rather be blind than your slave. You people want every last bit of someone you do one of your favors for. You soak up all the PR glory for your little medical miracle, you run your tests, and you develop your technology. All these things are expected and probably a small price to pay to have one’s eyesight back, but you want more. You want to make his eyes your eyes, you want to use him to kill your enemies, or maybe those your friends would like to see disappear for a price. Don’t sit here in your ivory tower and complain about what else should belong to you. There are some things in this world that are off limits, even to you.”

  “Because you say so?”

  “No, because God says so.”

  “In this world I am God.”

  “So what am I doing standing in God’s own house? If you wanted me dead you could probably have made that happen tonight.”

  “I have a proposal for you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “My son Stephen has been gone for months. He signed on to become a terraformer with KronosKorp. I know he’s still there and is alive and well, but he doesn’t call, write, or return messages, not even once since his first two weeks at the island where they train. I know they are training to do a job, but it seems as much like a cult as anything else.”

  “And you want me to break him out.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re God. You break him out.”

  “I’m a master of circumstance from 30,000 feet up. Down on Earth, face-to-face, I’m afraid I’m only human. Kronos doesn’t make himself reachable directly, if at all, and he has a small army surrounding his island. It might as well be his own country.”

  “What if this is what Stephen really wants?”

  “If it is, I’d like to hear it from him. I’ll respect his decision. I don’t want him to be a grown man acting like a spoiled child. If you don’t know how to be its master, money can ruin everything around you, including your family. I just want him to be his own man, and being one of Rik Kronos’ zombies is no better than living irresponsibly off my fortune.”

  “Why should I help you?”

  “If you do this for me I will consider us even for New Seattle; I will not try to find Mr. Vincent, nor will I look for you after this is over.”

  “Have you given any thought as to how I will do this?”

  “You won’t be alone. Josh is coming with you.”

  “Okay,” Wolfe agreed, “At this point you’ve probably spent more time planning this than I have. How do you propose we go in?”

  “It’s all been arranged. Josh will get you up to speed on the plane.”

  Josh chimed in, “Jeez, Nick. That’s a lot of talking for having nothing to say.”

  Tristan added, “It’s not his fault, Josh. I’ve always been able to push Nick’s buttons.”

  Chapter 4

  Taylor accompanied Wolfe, boarding one of Evans’ well-appointed private jets for the journey to the artificial island in the South Pacific that served as Richard Kronos’ base of operations and training center for his terraformers. The plan was for Wolfe to pose as a journalist, and Taylor to pose as his bodyguard since his reputation as a soldier of fortune and head of security for BioMek Horizons preceded him almost everywhere. It would have been foolish to try to conceal his identity. Once on the island, they were to find out what they could and get Stephen Evans out, with or without his cooperation.

  “So we have a little time. What are we up against?” Wolfe asked.

  Taylor did his best to fill in the blanks, “I know you’ve heard of Rik Kronos. He runs in many of the same circles as our esteemed employer, but is not usually a direct competitor. He deals in space exploration and mining, while Tristan is content to conquer this world. Both are extremely wealthy, but generally stay out each other’s sandbox.”

  “So there’s no ulterior motive that you can think of?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. If a sudden need opened up in space mining, now that the trail has been blazed, I doubt Tristan could pass it up, but is it something he’s actively seeking? Absolutely not.”

  Taylor continued as they buckled up and settled in for takeoff, “The terraformers’ train
ing facility is just one of many on the island. There are centers for mining, space travel technology, science, surveying, farming, and other trades. The island is artificial and not on most maps, but it is huge. It’s about 400 square miles…”

  “That’s about twice the size of Guam!”

  “…and it’s all usable land. No mountains. We believe it has a fairly deep subterranean complex as well, which would effectively double its usable space.

  “Guaranteeing total privacy,” Wolfe added.

  “Yes, which I believe is the primary reason we’re not stopping in the Mojave Desert. Why else spend the money to build your own island? It would be cheaper to just start digging somewhere.”

  The overhead speakers informed the men the plane was about to take off.

  Wolfe continued, “Tristan said it was like a cult. What drives the people there to be so devoted to Kronos?”

  “He’s made some pretty wild promises, but seems to be keeping them.”

  “Like what?”

  “I suppose first and foremost is the promise to be a part of something big, to be important. You know, something you could be here on Earth.”

  “That doesn’t seem too unusual. Lots of companies offer prestige and space travel as part of their incentive packages.”

  “There’s more. There’s…immortality.”

  The plane started its takeoff run and roared into the sky. The interior of the plane was secure and relatively quiet, yet still loud enough during takeoff to make talking difficult. But Wolfe was anxious to have an answer, so once the plane was above the clouds, he resumed the conversation as if it hadn’t been interrupted.

  “What do you mean, ‘immortality’?”

  “I mean Kronos has the best doctors, scientists, and geneticists. He says that no one on his team will ever have to worry about growing sick, growing old, breaking bones, anything—as long as they stay committed to Kronos’ cause to start as explorers and end as citizens of the worlds they and their children will inhabit.”

  “Ones ruled and controlled by KronosKorp,” concluded Wolfe.

  “Ones owned by Rik Kronos,” corrected Taylor.

  “Feudalism has returned with a vengeance. We’ll have immortals working the land forever for an immortal.”

  Taylor chuckled, “Way to take all the appeal out of living forever, partner.”

  “Seriously, it sounds like hell on earth to me. I’d rather be dead.”

  “You know, they’re not exactly working the land, right? The technology is there to make their jobs easier, and free up lots of leisure time.”

  “For now, but what if Kronos needs more from his people later? What’s to stop him from withholding his magic immortality potion from those who don’t give it to him?”

  “He can’t kill everyone. Someone needs to stick around and mind the store.”

  “No, but he can kill enough of them to put the fear of God into the ones who are still there. They think they’re escaping a bad world, but I say they’re signing up to be slaves, and if you’re right about the whole immortality thing, there’s not even going to be an end to look forward to. Men like Kronos and Tristan Evans created most of the problems they rail against, and yet they’re trusted to provide the solutions, time and time again. It’s a testament to the laziness and desperation of people. If they had a little faith, they could put the same intensity and energy into their own enterprises and make a nice living.”

  Both men paused to think for a moment.

  “So Josh, if we happen to discover the secret to eternal life, would Tristan be willing to pay us a little extra?”

  “He doesn’t believe the rumors about it. He’s certain there’s some kind of trick. But you know how he is: despite all his other faults, he’s always been happy to spread the wealth.”

  The jet was racing the sun as it sped westward. Wolfe was still on Atlanta time and was tired. Despite the persistence of the sun, he pulled down his shade. Wolfe felt strongly about living free being more important than living forever, but he was tired of talking about it. He wrapped up the conversation by steering it back to how it related to the mission, to the here and now, “At any rate it doesn’t sound like force would be a factor right now. Most of them are willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals without using force.”

  “True enough,” agreed Taylor, “Their motto sums up their philosophy: We are all Kronos.”

  “We are all Kronos,” echoed Wolfe with a smirk, as he leaned back in his seat and drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 5

  The plane touched down on the island that served as KronosKorp’s base of operations and its training center for hundreds of hopeful interstellar travelers: miners, scientists, farmers, doctors. Professionals of all types were here, eager to prove themselves, train, and find their destiny in space. The island did not appear on most maps and atlases, and those who knew of the island simply referred to it as Kronos Island.

  But those who lived there called it Pangaea, after the prehistoric land mass believed to have split up into seven continents and spread across the world with the shifting of the earth’s tectonic plates. This Pangaea was designed to stay in one piece, but its people would divide and spread across the galaxy. Until then they were all as one, a Utopian community.

  As Wolfe and Taylor exited the plane, they were impressed with the modernity of the airport. From here it was not hard to believe there was a launching pad somewhere on the island, or nearby. It was a small airport, just 12 gates, with most of the trappings one would expect at an airport, but without the government-funded artwork or gift shops.

  Shortly after landing, the two made contact with their handler and tour guide, Gretchen Brooks. She was about 5 feet, 5 inches with shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair. An unusual beauty with deep-set green eyes and a strong nose, her heart-shaped smile and relaxed demeanor reflected her confidence and competence. She was able to be charming because she knew everything else had been taken care of. Nothing seemed to surprise her. She carried a digital tablet that held dates, events, speeches, and anything else essential to staying organized, but she didn’t look at it often, let alone rely on it.

  Gretchen was usually the first point of contact to visitors to the island, whether they intended to stay or not. She made everyone feel welcome, and was often thought of as the unofficial mayor of Pangaea.

  “Mr. Wolfe, I presume?” she extended her hand and gave a surprisingly firm handshake.

  “Yes, and I believe you have met my traveling companion, Josh Taylor.”

  “Only by phone so far, but it’s nice to finally meet you in person.”

  “Likewise,” Josh said. He didn’t say anything else, but he smiled warmly and looked into Gretchen’s eyes for a split-second longer than either expected. He recognized that her tranquility in the middle of a chaotic environment mirrored his own.

  “As happy as I am to meet Mr. Taylor, I can assure you there’s no need for a bodyguard here.”

  “I know, but my employer insisted on it. It’s probably as much to keep me on task in an island paradise as for any protection.”

  “Are you easily distracted, Mr. Wolfe?” Gretchen asked with a smile.

  “Not usually, but I’ve been looking forward to this trip for a while.”

  “And he does spend too much time indoors,” said Taylor. “I doubt he’d have any focus at all if not for me.”

  Wolfe smiled, glad to see his old friend joking and competing with him for the attention of a lady. It was much like old times. With that, he attempted to steer the conversation back to business and confirm the time he was to interview Gretchen for “his” magazine, Future Perfect, a technology magazine owned by Tristan Evans. Evans had not intended to break into media, but the publication was his favorite. It had fallen under bad management and was on the verge of collapse. Evans took it upon himself to save the magazine with infusions of cash and leadership—he kept the writers, researchers, and editors, but replaced everyone else.

 
“I’ll stop by your room at 9 and we can start the tour.”

  “Sounds good,” Taylor grinned, “See you then.”

  Chapter 6

  The night was uneventful. The two travelers were tired from their flight and slept a little more soundly than they normally would outside of their own homes. It was late and there wasn’t much to do anyway. There were computers and books, but there was no television of any kind. The rooms were the same type lived in by the inhabitants of Pangaea: small, neat, and utilitarian. They were meant for sleep, study, and the occasional meal. The quarters, though basic, were better than many the men had slept in throughout their travels.

  Gretchen met with Nick and Josh the next morning. They had breakfast in a drab but well-stocked cafeteria. Gretchen looked pleased as she asked, “Are you enjoying your meal? All of this food was grown on the island by farmers who hope to do the same on other planets.” The tour had begun, if informally.

  “Yes, it’s really good,” Wolfe replied. “Will we have a chance to look at the farming facilities?”

  “Certainly.”

  Taylor broke in, “I didn’t see any farmland from the plane.”

  “The facilities are all underground. We have to simulate the environments on the worlds our people are going to, and we must do so in different stages of the terraforming process. The best place to have that control is underground.”

  “I guess there’s no better way to learn farming. Fail and no one eats!” joked Taylor.

  Gretchen gave a light laugh, “Well, they do have training before they start and guidance along the way.”

  The tour continued through mid-afternoon at various sites: space travel simulation, weightlessness training in a large swimming pool, research labs, and finally, the subterranean farm systems. Wolfe and Taylor were surprised at the usable space underground, but were reminded that the island was man-made. Until that moment they took it to mean dirt and stone had been moved here to create an island. Now they realized steel and aluminum figured into the mix, and that Pangaea was essentially hollow, and might have levels going close to the floor of the Pacific.