The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1)

by S. M. Nolan

  Maggie steadied herself on the sink, her side aching, “I don't know what made you decide to help, but I want you to know, I trust you'll do what's right when the time comes.”

  Reese looked perplexed, left without another word. Maggie turned to finish dressing. She zipped her vest, laced her boots, and strapped the Lash around her throat. She checked herself in the mirror a final time, satisfied at the new-age warrior looking back, then zipped her pack and shouldered it carefully.

  She emerged to a captivated stare from Russell, raised a questioning brow. He was stunned. Despite favoring one-side, her gait had a newly seductive sway and confidence. Her shortened, flat hair glistened wet, perfectly accented her emerald eyes. They doubled his pulse; even bruised, wounded, and pale, she was a knock-out.

  She met the others in the room's center, drew the TRP to check its breech. Russell shook off his entrancement as Reese explained, “Chopper's waiting on the roof. We'll head to a nearby C-130 bound for Tripoli. From there we'll have a chopper waiting to take us wherever we need to go.”

  “A C-130?” Maggie asked, recalling her last ride on one.

  Russell smiled, “It'll be different this time… probably.”

  “Yeah. Sure. Let's get moving.”

  Reese nodded, led them out and through a set of swinging doors. A doctor began chasing them toward the elevator, “Excuse me! Where are you going with my patient?”

  He waved his hands as they strolled past the OR and through another set of doors. They passed a final set of doors, stopped at the elevator. Russell pressed the call button. Reese turned to the doctor as he rushed up, panting.

  “What do you think you're doing?”

  Reese stiffened, “Your patient's under my care as per Colonel Hun's orders. If you have an issue, take it up with him. We're late.”

  “But you can't—”

  Maggie turned, “You're the one that saved my life?”

  “Yes, and I can't allow—”

  She extended her hand. He took it in confusion, shook it. “I appreciate all you've done, but we're needed elsewhere.”

  “But—”

  “Thank you, really,” Maggie said as the elevator opened. They stepped in. The doors closed on the man's confused stare.

  Reese looked sideways as they started upward, “That was diplomatic.”

  Maggie grinned smugly. The elevator deposited them on the rooftop, the helicopter's blades already kicking up dust and dirt in a high wind. They climbed in as it rose, gained altitude fast. Omega's compound grew smaller beneath them, and Maggie sighed relief.

  “How long?” She asked over the loud thumping.

  “Half hour. Tops,” Reese said.

  “And from there?”

  “Nine hours or so,” Thorne said, checking his wrist-watch.

  “What's our time-table at?” Russell asked.

  Reese replied, “Three hours once we make Tripoli. Provided we aren't held up between.”

  “Think it's long enough?” Thorne asked. Reese shrugged.

  Maggie's gaze turned out the window as the last of Tibet passed below in the rising sun.

  29.

  The “Native Son”

  October 8th

  8:30 AM

  C-130 bound for Libya

  The helicopter deposited the group in a clearing somewhere beyond Tibet's border. They crossed a dingy, dirt airstrip buffered for a mile by trees to the familiar drone of a C-130.

  Russell and Maggie found their way to the bunk area while Thorne and Reese double-checked the flight's manifest before joining them. Russell was finally able to tell Maggie of what had occurred during her lapse of consciousness.

  They drifted from conversation into thought while Thorne began a tedious search of the translations for any further references to the weapon. Occasionally he would grunt, growl, or smack the computer as it ran too slow for his liking.

  With a lull ahead, Russell chose a cot across from Reese and fell into a much-needed sleep. Maggie disassembled and cleaned her weapons beside Thorne on the bunk-area's rear-bench.

  Her mind drifted often to the shop; was it open or burned down? She thought to ask, but decided she'd rather not know. Focusing too heavily on the past might plague her mind.

  Instead, she tried to count the days since she'd left Nevada. The successive periods of rest and exhaustion made them incalculable. In fact, most everything since the attack in her apartment was blurred. She remembered it, but it was too mired in adrenaline to form a cohesive image.

  She reassembled her weapon, sat back to close her eyes, and sank her mind into the mechanical sounds beyond the air-frame. The frequencies were eerily similar to her machines; they pitched lower subtly, strained against heavy pockets of air as her machines would against too heavy a hand.

  She doubted anyone else would notice, but found an unexpected peace in the sounds. She knew her craft as any experienced craftsmen should, and even if no else recognized it, she did. Her previous fears of Jerry's tattoo and the competition were amusing given everything since. She drifted to thoughts of home, but Thorne sighed next to her.

  She opened her eyes to the exhaustion in his face. His lanky fingers massaged them above a pained frown.

  “You okay?”

  He blew a heavy breath, “Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded, but Maggie was unsatisfied. She edged toward him, leaned in. He glanced over, “What?”

  “Why are you here, Thorne?”

  Confusion overtook his face, “Huh?”

  “Why'd you come with us?” She asked innocuously. “Reese admits she has a reason, even if she won't tell me. So what about you? You didn't really have to be here. You could've finished the translation and stayed.” He hesitated, winced. “Don't get me wrong I didn't want to leave you, but… ”

  She trailed off and he looked her over, “Yeah?”

  “Why didn't you stay at the hospital, or take off in Lhasa?”

  He looked forward, dumbfounded, “I don't know.” He cleared his throat, voice cracking in reply. “I guess it's better than being scared. I mean, whatever you did to Steph would scare the hell out of anyone, but well, you're not an asshole.”

  “That's it?”

  Thorne tried to find his words. Uncertainty was out of place on him. “You're really going to make me say this, aren't you?”

  “What?”

  He squirmed a little, “Look, Maggie, I—well, in case you haven't noticed, I'm not much of a fighter. And I'm sure as fuck not the bravest person in the world. Thing is, Omega pays well, but they take advantage of that. I'm not the only guy that ends up with a fucking dick like West giving orders. It's happened with all the other tech-guys too, their teams. West's just the worst one I've met.”

  “Other teams?”

  He nodded, “There's a lot of 'em. Mostly clean-up crews that pick up after Strike; eliminate witnesses, cover-up the damage we've done, that sort of thing. All of them have someone like West and someone like me. They're all the same in both respects; dick-head commanders that rule through fear, and techs forced to do what they're told.”

  “So, you saw an out too?”

  He ran his fingers through his hair, “You could say that.”

  “But?”

  “But,” he began, his shoulders tense. “I'm just tired of being scared all the time. Being with you guys won't change that, but at least you're not the ones that're trying to hurt me. You're the closest thing to friends I've ever had.”

  Maggie was moved by his words, but a question she couldn't ignore arose. She tried to broach it without dismissing him. “Thank you Thorne, really. It… means a lot. I hope I can live up to that.” He shrugged, nodded. “Can I ask you something about Omega?”

  “I guess.”

  “Your family, do they know anything about it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She hesitated, wondering how to phrase it, went with her gut, “Omega's people don't seem to have much outside the O
rganization, but you do. Do they know about Omega, or are they involved in some way?” He shook his head. “Have they ever threatened you with them?”

  “You mean, tried to use them against me?” She nodded. “No. It's a lot easier to skip the middle man and threaten me personally.”

  “Do they ever go after other people's families?”

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably, but answered for her sake, “Not that I know of. At least, not in the sense that they'll hunt anyone down. We cause a lot of collateral damage though, like the temple. People go down in the crossfire.”

  “So, what, otherwise most people are immune?”

  He thought on it, agreed, “Yeah, you could say that. Most of the time we go—went, after people directly connected to the Protectorate. Most are like you, field agents, for lack of words. Some were like those guys in Oakton, high-rankers with Intel that presented easy targets when isolated. Most of the time it's people whose deaths would deal a blow to the Protectorate as whole. Some people we knew of were too high-profile to be taken down though. Their lives are simply too public, and their deaths would warrant too much exposure for the organization.”

  “So Omega needs to maintain secrecy?”

  “Yeah, makes sense doesn't it? A secret organization with powerful, well-planted roots. Any exposure beyond what's necessary risks them being weeded-out.” Maggie relaxed on the bench to think. Thorne interrupted her before she sank too deep, “Why'd you want to know? I mean, if you don't mind me asking.”

  She thought of She-La, “I guess I was just worried about people I care about.”

  “Well, unless Black ordered a clean-up in Oakton, I'm sure they're fine.”

  He tried to reassure her with a smile, but it fell short. She was grateful for it nonetheless. His eyes sank back to his laptop and she wondered at Omega's leadership.

  Black had been the only one confirmed, but it seemed clear someone was pulling his strings. Even Thorne believed it. If the leadership feared being uprooted, then they had a weakness. Unfortunately, exposing Omega was pointless without more information on Black's handlers.

  Her thoughts became broken at that recognition, and she sank deeper into the mechanical background to drift in and out of sleep. Neither had breadth nor width over the other. So it remained until she was suddenly jostled back to reality by Thorne.

  He stood over her with a grin, her mind quick to regain its footing. He was undeniably excited.

  “I did it, Maggie!” He rushed off to shake the others awake, “Russell. Steph. I did it!”

  Russell jerked upright, banged his head against a beam for the cot above. He swore, mumbled angrily. Reese, shoved Thorne away with a habitual, slow phrase, “Fuck off, Thorne.”

  “Steph, I—” Reese growled. “Oh fuck it. C'mon guys, I'll show you.”

  Russell rubbed his forehead and scooted from beneath the bed. Maggie rose for Reese's side, knelt beside her to whisper her name.

  “Reese. Reese, wake up.” She spoke quietly, a mischievous smile on her face. She placed a finger under Reese's nose, tickled the center of her top lip. “Reeeese.”

  She swatted unconsciously at the finger. It quickened. Reese swatted, growled. She shoved Maggie back without thought. Maggie yelped and Reese's eyes snapped open.

  “Oh shit.” She sat up. “Maggie? Are you alright?”

  Maggie doubled over, grunted between laughs, “My own fault. Oh fuck, that hurts.”

  “Are you alright?” Reese repeated helplessly.

  It took Maggie a moment to contain her fit, “That was so worth it. Thorne's got something.”

  She helped Maggie to her feet, “Are you sure you're alright?”

  “I'm fine.” She fought to stand, “But help me over there anyhow.”

  Reese lifted her onto a shoulder, helped her hobble to the bench.

  Thorne sat with the computer in his lap, “Okay. First you have to understand what I've been doing. I ran a quick word-find through the Chinese translations for words like weapon, location, device, legacy, etcetera. A hundred or more references came up. Luckily, we were right.” He became animated as he explained, “Each volume's a different interpretation, or version, of the original Cuneiform. Many references do repeat and are updated over time. The most recent Chinese however, has a passage that's never been expounded upon.”

  “What's it say?” Maggie asked, intrigued.

  Thorne's fingers flew over the keyboard. He began to read, “I believe my predecessors sensed the site was as once revered among common men as it is among our Order… no evidence can be found in its current state, but I believe its location has been hinted.”

  “Kind of cryptic,” Russell said.

  “It's the Reverberant's thought process,” Thorne said. “He was taking notes, considering what had already been discovered. His next entry reads:“My suspicions have been confirmed. By referencing old texts with the original, I have deduced the suspected African connection as the others had. This “land of pale Negroes” bears resemblance to northern Africa. The pale Negroes are most probably men of the Northern land whose skin is much fairer than those of their southern brothers.”

  Thorne's fingers bounced over the keys once more.

  “The next excerpt confirms the suspicions of the previous reference; The “Land of the pale Negroes” bordering the Mediterranean Sea, must have once been within the lands of the ancient Pharaohs…. In this land, they have buried a marvel in seeking to bury all of those whom came before them.”

  “The lands of the Pharaohs?” Russell asked, his mind mulling over a mental image of a world map. “Near Egypt and the Mediterranean? Libya or somewhere near it.”

  “So, we're headed to the right place at least,” Reese mused pointedly.

  “Yeah, no kidding,” Thorne replied. “Most of the other references seemed to place the site at multiple points across the world. Some even referred to “the Southern edge of the world, in a land of frozen water.” Antarctica. I don't know about you guys, but that's a bit further than I'm willing to venture.”

  “So you know where it is?” Reese asked. He nodded. “Then get on with it.”

  “Right. The next excerpts are compiled from all the volumes, but expound heavily on where the site is within Libya: “Three possible places… only one apart from the rest… The site at which a Native Son gave wealth.” Native Son's capitalized, now here's where the Cuneiform takes over; “Its secrets, buried from “God-man's” aggressors—back to the Reverberants; “In the land of the Native Son… no doubt it holds the secrets of their legacy… Alas, only a man with proper knowledge could use such information to find its final location. Of this, I am certain I do not possess.”

  “The Native Son?” Reese asked. “What the hell's that mean?”

  Thorne smiled, “Only a man with the proper knowledge could decode it.” The smile widened. “I did a search of an encyclopedic database I have on a back-up drive. It covers all of human history and then-some. Point is, the Native Son was a Roman emperor. Septimius Severus ruled from 193 to 211 AD, and was referred to as the Native Son for his love and commitment to his home-town, Leptis Magna in Libya. He spent a lot of time and money trying to stabilize the city until an economic depression strangled his funds. If the journals are right, the Native Son was a Protectorate sympathizer.” He looked to Maggie, “One of those high-profile people Omega can't touch.”

  Maggie nodded, mused aloud, “So, if he was part of the Protectorate, and knew the weapon's location, at some point he'd have helped bury it.”

  Russell agreed, “Makes sense. Use your power and wealth to protect it.”

  “It isn't really affirming anything though,” Reese interjected.

  Thorne sighed, “Alright, you want concrete?”

  “That would be helpful,” she said sarcastically.

  “Okay then,” Thorne said, looking between them. “Sometime before this it's suspected Omega first arose. Then, in 203, on no occasion and in a drastically depressed economy, Severus sudd
enly builds a massive monument that mirrors one in the Roman forum. Now check this, the monument bears his name.”

  Maggie was confounded, “It could be ego.”

  “Maybe,” Reese said, catching on. “Or—”

  “It was a ploy,” Russell said, crossing his arms. “He wanted everyone to think his ego drew the plans, but really he built it to hide the weapon. It's not a stretch to think he helped people believe that.”

  “And any rumors or real info would've died out since,” Maggie added.

  “But why wouldn't the Reverberants have kept some clear record of it?” Reese asked.

  “To help the process,” Russell said.

  Thorne agreed, “That's what I'm thinking. If the Reverberant volumes are all that's left, then massive sections of history are missing. It accounts for several thousand years. Why not keep the weapon hidden by destroying the few possible places it might be referenced?”

  Maggie considered the likelihood of the explanation, “It would make sense why some Reverberants wouldn't know the weapon's location and their volumes still exist. If the Cuneiform's the only one that would point to it, keeping the language contained to the Keepers was all they needed.”

  “So, what, someone might have the missing volumes?” Reese asked.

  Thorne shook his head, “No, I doubt it. It's almost as if the books reach critical mass on a certain topic, and then it disappears. Certain volumes contain information that in earlier ones is more apt to have been correct, but in later volumes is convoluted and back at square-one.”

  Maggie's brow furrowed, “How's that possible?”

  “Someone's controlling the flow of information,” Russell said.

  Thorne pointed a finger at him, “Bingo. Either the Protectorate's doing it, or Omega's consistently had spies managing to steal the information for generations. I'm guessing the former, because they've had their thumbs too far up their asses otherwise. Either way, there's a lot more going on with both sides than we know of. The history that's been lost could might even contain the emergence of Omega, which even they aren't entirely sure of anymore.”