Project U.L.F.

by Stuart Clark

  Driving to work always seemed the attractive option, a novelty, but it infrequently was. Fortunately there was an alternative. Chicago city congress had at least had one good idea in recent years.

  The skytrack had been completed over eight years ago. It took the form of a chain-driven monorail suspended some forty feet above the road and was a compromise between road vehicles and the hover vehicles.

  Hover vehicles were developed three decades ago and had become incredibly popular in a short space of time. They provided a much-needed escape from land-bound transport and cut traveling times in half. However, aerial traffic could not be controlled by the tried and tested methods that worked on the ground, and as the skies became more densely populated with the new vehicles, accidents became more common. The problem with aerial collisions though, was that the drivers were not the only victims of the accident. Debris had to fall somewhere and pedestrians were, more often than not, seriously injured or killed by these mishaps. The problem became so bad that the city congress was beseeched to provide an alternative. Hover vehicles could not be banned outright and the roads would simply not withstand the increase in the volume of traffic should hover vehicles be restricted to land use only. The skytrack scheme was proposed and accepted. With slight modification, hover vehicles could utilize the skytrack.

  Wyatt let his head fall back against the headrest. The traffic was moving intolerably slowly. He sighed heavily.

  “Would you like me to prepare the vehicle for the skytrack?” the onboard computer asked.

  “Yeah, that’d be good,” he replied. From somewhere above and behind his head he could hear modifications being made. The roof of the car was changing above him, a portion being retracted to be replaced by another with a large claw like hook attached.

  “Modifications complete,” came the voice again. “Vehicle is ready for hover and skytrack use.”

  “O-kaaay.” Wyatt checked the monitors on the dashboard. The track was empty above and for some distance behind him. He grasped the control stick next to the parking brake and depressed the button on its tip. The turbine under the car began to whine and leaves began to fly up and around the vehicle, caught up by the disturbed air that now swirled viciously outside. Inside the car the steering wheel dropped away from Wyatt and lay flush with the dashboard.

  Wyatt pulled back on the stick and watched the vehicle in front of him disappear under his hood as his transport lifted off the street. He felt the familiar thud as the wheels folded under and into the chassis. With his left hand he slid a lever up the armrest, adjusting the stabilizers outside which had appeared like stunted wings from beneath the doors. The vehicle began to move forward, picking up speed until it matched that of the skytrack chain above. Wyatt leaned forward, looking up out of the windscreen to ensure that the track was roughly lined up in the middle of the hover vehicle. He pulled back gently on the stick and the car rose slowly and smoothly until finally the hook on the roof engaged the skytrack chain and the car was carried away, rocking gently under the rail.

  When Wyatt approached the staff entrance of the IZP the gates slowly swung open in front of him. Even traveling the short distance overland from the skytrack drop-off point to the zoo had been slow and frustrating as the minutes had ticked by on his watch. His vehicle glided into his bay and he shut off the power with the press of a button. He paced across the parking lot and into the nearby building through a set of glass double doors that slid aside at his approach and returned with his passing. He navigated the maze of lifts and corridors, following a well-practiced route before eventually arriving at his office.

  “Messages?” he asked, although there was no one else in the room.

  “One only,” came the reply, “Sender. Mannheim, Douglas. IZP managing director.”

  “Play message.”

  Mannheim’s voice filled the room. “Wyatt, I’d appreciate it if you could take some time out of your day to come and see me, the sooner the better. Talk to you later. Douglas.”

  “Message concluded,” came the other voice.

  What scheme had Mannheim come up with this time? The last time he had actually called Wyatt up to his office was to propose Project U.L.F. And what was with this “Douglas” stuff? Since when had the two of them been on first-name terms?

  Wyatt set off for Mannheim’s office with a hundred different thoughts buzzing around his head.

  * * * * *

  Leonardson watched the bubbles on his coffee swirl aimlessly around, elbows on his desk, his hands propping up his head. “What have I done?” he muttered to himself. Realizing he had thought out loud he quickly raised his head. He need not have worried. He was alone.

  He was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he knew it. He hated the feeling. Here was where he should have been in charge: this was his domain. He was respected here but that…that…maggot, Mannheim. That wretched little man had a power over him that crushed him.

  The CSETI would dismiss him instantly if they suspected he was supplying information to parties outside the organization, but he had no choice. He had nowhere to turn, and he felt like he would crack under the pressure soon.

  He shouldn’t have told Mannheim about the mining ship. It was too risky. If Mannheim acted upon that information, the CSETI would know there had been a breach of security. No, he was underestimating Mannheim. They had never been discovered yet, and this had to be partly due to Mannheim’s discretion. It would be all right after all, he told himself.

  He took a sip from his coffee, holding the cup with a shaking hand. His nerves were not put at rest as easily as his mind appeared to be.

  What could he do? He had often thought about it and he always came down with the same two answers. He could admit to the cover-up all those years ago, but that would certainly result in his dismissal and disgrace. The thought horrified him. He was too proud for that.

  The other option was elimination. But how? If he took the task upon himself and was then caught and convicted, the outcome would be worse than if he simply admitted to the cover–up, which would surely be exposed during the following investigation anyway.

  Alternatively, he could hire someone. He still had contacts in the forces that could put him in touch with ex-military personnel now making a living as hit-men, assassins and bounty hunters. He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. While he did not doubt such individuals their expertise, the thought that the hit could go wrong bothered him greatly. Any attempt to eradicate Mannheim would have to be precise, without error, and impossible to link to himself, and that was something that simply could not be guaranteed.

  A new notion began to dawn in his mind. What if Mannheim was ousted from his post? Surely their secret would leave with him. God knows, there had already been numerous investigations into the management at the IZP. Something suspicious was going on, zoological parks were closing in all the neighboring states but the IZP was expanding all the time. People already suspected something underhanded was taking place; they just hadn’t quite put their finger on it. Yet.

  It was not as crazy an idea as it sounded. Certainly there were other people in management positions at the IZP who were hungry for the top job. People who had been denied the possibility of furthering their careers because of Mannheim’s long rule. Perhaps the most unlikely, and popular, of these pretenders to the crown was Wyatt Dorren.

  Wyatt never claimed to be interested in Mannheim’s position, but among the staff he was respected and considered suitable for the job. He already headed a division and had proved his ability as a manager. He had never forgotten his roots at the zoo, and his staff liked him. To him they were colleagues and not underlings.

  Leonardson had only met him on a couple of occasions, but he liked the man. He seemed to carry an air of authority that was well above his station but not out of place. He had watched Mannheim when he was in the presence of Dorren and it was obvious that Mannheim realized the real threat that the other man posed to his position. Your turn to squirm, you
bastard, Leonardson had thought. Now you get to see how it feels under pressure.

  What would Mannheim do with that information? Again the thought came back to haunt him. He wouldn’t send a team of trappers. No, he wouldn’t be that stupid. That was professional suicide. More to the point, what could he do with that information? If he sent any craft to the planet then the people in the know would not accept coincidence as a valid argument—he would be found out. The information was useless to Mannheim. He could do nothing. The realization eased Leonardson’s mind a little. Perhaps, this time, he was leading Mannheim on a wild goose chase to a dead end. He liked that idea.

  There was a rap at the door and a young man walked in. “First order of the day, sir,” he said, placing a small chip into Leonardson’s hand with a smile. Leonardson looked at it, his brow furrowing. “Er…memo…sir” said the other man, with the smile again, although this time not quite so convincing.

  “Oh right, thanks. Sorry, Corporal, I was miles away.”

  “That’s okay, sir. It’s early.” The original smile appeared again before the man’s head disappeared behind the door. “Have a nice day, sir,” came the call as he sauntered away down the corridor.”

  “Yeah, right,” Leonardson muttered. The bubbles on his coffee spiraled out of control and crashed into the side of his cup. He knew exactly what that felt like.

  CHAPTER

  3

  “So let me get this straight. You want me to head up an away team. Right?”

  “Exactly,” Mannheim enthused, pointing a stubby digit in Wyatt’s direction, the drink held in his hand sloshing precariously.

  “But why me? I head the division. I have plenty of work here at the zoo.”

  Mannheim let out a short chuckle and turned to look out of the window, his back to Wyatt.

  “Why, always why? Well, since you ask, I’ll at least answer your question.” He turned and began to pace slowly along the wall of glass.

  “You may not be aware that five months from now is the one hundredth anniversary of the occasion when Chicago Zoo became the Interplanetary Zoological Park as you and I know it. Myself and the other directors on the board thought this deserved some kind of…event. At present the shape and form of this event…” He etched quotation marks in the air with his fingers to emphasize the word, “…are undecided.” Mannheim stopped walking, as if this revelation had bothered him slightly, before continuing. “But we did decide on one thing. We decided we would send an away team on a mission and have them scheduled to return slap-bang in the middle of the celebrations.” He turned to look at Wyatt. Whatever response he was looking for, he did not see it on Wyatt’s face.

  “Don’t you see?” he implored, his hand stretched forward, palm upward as if his vision sat upon it in broad view. “We unload the new acquisitions right in front of the paying public. It would be the most extraordinary thing most of them will ever have seen. Think of it, can you imagine how privileged these people will feel, knowing that they are one of the first to lay eyes on these magnificent and strange animals? They’d pay for that alone.”

  “It’s a bit gimmicky, isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is! People thrive on gimmicks. Gimmicks break up the normality of their otherwise dull existence. They are an essential part of memories. Tell me that’s not true.”

  Wyatt thought on Mannheim’s comments for a few seconds, spinning his chair back and forth casually.

  “What about the animals? They can’t be put on show immediately. They need to be studied and given time to acclimatize and we need to identify those that have special needs.”

  “Wyatt, Wyatt, I think you misunderstand me. We’re not displaying these animals immediately. We will follow the normal procedures for transferring animals from the transport vehicle to the holding pens, it’s just that the public will be allowed to see this aspect of our work for the first time.”

  “But…”

  Mannheim silenced him with a raised hand. “I know what you’re thinking. Yes, there will have to be slight modifications. We’re already drawing up plans for the runs from the transport to the pens to be changed to a transparent strengthened polycomposite instead of the reinforced steel fiber runs we have now. This will allow everyone to see the animals as they pass and protect the public. Yes, we’ve thought of that. But I’m diverging from the point here. The point is I’m offering you the opportunity to be involved in all of this. Why you, you ask? Why you?” Mannheim threw his arms up in the air, “Who else am I going to offer this to but the man who heads up the whole division for unidentified life form acquirement. It’s a big event and I want the best man on the job and, quite simply, that man is you. What do you say?”

  Wyatt sat silent for a moment, his elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin clasped thoughtfully between thumb and forefinger. He thought until the silence in the room became oppressive. Eventually he spoke, “Well, you flatter me greatly, and it really is a generous offer…”

  “Well if it’s generous, then take it,” Mannheim interrupted, “Surely, someone who does not take up a generous offer is a fool. I thought you’d jump at it. Think of it, Wyatt, your chance to play a major role in the celebrations, no, in the history, of the IZP!”

  It seemed that Mannheim read his mind because he quickly added, “Oh, don’t worry about your work. I know you have a lot of responsibilities and it may be difficult to find someone who can do your job as competently as you, but if it takes two, even three people to cover you while you’re gone, we’ll do it. We’re a big organization, we’ll take care of it.” He sighed, “Still, if you don’t want it, I’m sure there are plenty of others whom I could ask who would like the job.”

  “Can I think on it?”

  “Of course. Of course.” Mannheim chuckled again, “Heavens, I don’t expect you to give me an answer on the spot. It’s a big decision and I appreciate that, but we want the mission off as soon as possible. The location, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate, is rather distant and traveling time will be about a month for the round trip. We want the mission underway in about two weeks. I think ‘sleep on it’ is the term I’d use.” Mannheim smiled, a huge predatory grin in appreciation of his own witticism. “Think on it over the weekend and let me know what you decide. Now, unless you have any other questions you wish me to address, I think that is all I have to say.”

  Mannheim spread his arms wide and gestured towards the door. Their meeting was quite clearly concluded. Wyatt rose and was escorted to the exit by the other man. As he stepped out through the doorway, Mannheim spoke again, “I do hope you give this careful consideration, Wyatt. It’s a big opportunity for you.”

  Wyatt nodded, “Yeah, thanks.” The last thing he saw as the door slid shut behind him was Mannheim’s face sporting the Cheshire cat grin again.

  * * * * *

  Mannheim stood staring at the blank back of the door for a long time after Wyatt had left. The grin had gone from his face almost immediately after the door had closed, as if the passing of the door had physically wiped it off.

  He had always thought that Wyatt’s habit of not offering his hand to be shaken was most rude, rebellious even, but for once he was glad of it. Both his palms were cold and clammy with sweat. Have I overdone it? he thought. Was I too pushy? Too insistent? Sales never were his forte.

  He replayed the conversation over and over in his mind, looking for errors in his technique, a flaw that would give the game away. He could think of none. It was not knowing what Wyatt was going to do that bothered him. He had laid his cards on the table, played his hand, but Wyatt was holding his close to his chest. Watching, waiting, thinking.

  He has to do it, he has to, Mannheim told himself. He strode back to his desk and punched in a number on his telelink keypad. There were calls and arrangements to be made.

  * * * * *

  After Wyatt left Mannheim’s office he wandered off down the flight of steps that spiraled down inside Reptile Mountain until he reached its end and stepped out thro
ugh the door he found there. How fitting that Mannheim’s office should be at the very heart of Reptile Mountain, he thought. Mannheim’s office was in fact there because the position gave the best view over the rest of the zoo, but it was not the first time that the irony of the arrangement had occurred to him. But was that really fair? Sure, there was no love lost between Wyatt and Mannheim, but then, Wyatt very rarely liked anyone in a senior management position, almost by definition. If it weren’t Mannheim then it would be the next man.

  Mannheim had always been straight with him, whatever their differences. When he had asked Wyatt to head Project U.L.F., he had told him there would be risks and he had said that he could not specify exactly what those risks would be. That was true. Perhaps Wyatt wanted someone to be held responsible for the deaths during those first U.L.F. expeditions, and he saw Mannheim as that person. But the truth was that all of the people involved in Project U.L.F. had the risks explained to them and they had all gone into the team freely, fully understanding the dangers they would be exposing themselves to. Even so, it didn’t feel right to Wyatt that some of these people, his friends, should have died. In retrospect, it was ludicrous to imagine that the equipment they had then could cope with the creatures they were going to face. Someone should pay, even if it was only for that lack of foresight.

  The door closed behind him, sealing the cavity in the column that housed the staircase leading to the offices high above. Wyatt stepped off the rim of concrete he found himself on, and set off on the path that led across the swamp in front of him. As he neared its end he spotted the back of one of the two Puglions, spined and scaly, breaking the surface of the stagnant water and prepared himself. On passing it, the Puglion leapt out of the water to snap at him, moving its twelve-foot length with alarming speed, and Wyatt, already expecting this, was a little surprised at the swiftness and the ferocity of the attack. Suddenly, much to his relief, blue sparks flew and the creature was repelled, falling back into the swamp with a splash. At least the safety shield still worked. He found it difficult to put his faith in something he could not see. When he reached the end of the path he ran a swipe card through a unit mounted on the wall opposite him. He turned and watched as the path slowly descended into the water until it was out of sight. Now the swamp dominated the huge dome-shaped room save for the visitors’ walkway that ran its circumference and upon which Wyatt now stood. He turned and headed for the exit, the clomping of his boots on the floor breaking the silence. The first of the day’s visitors would be arriving soon and there were still plenty of things to be done.