The Guardian Collection (End of the Sixth Age Book 2)

by Col Bill Best

  Alvarez explained how their Chief Engineer, Program Manager, and friend had devised a near-impossible plan to intercept the warhead. And with unfeigned admiration and respect, he praised Roger and Justin for devising a final way to intercept and destroy the warhead when the rail gun missed.

  Alvarez told them that while there was a nuclear detonation, it was negligible due to the EMP circumventing the designed detonation sequence. What’s more, somehow the ion drive and Guardian’s EMP had strangely directed the warhead’s EMP out into space. And he concluded, truthfully, that they would all miss seeing Roger and the craft they had worked on so tirelessly for so long. But they could each know that Roger and their efforts had saved the lives of hundreds of thousands, eventually even millions of Americans.

  He reminded the team that what they had just learned, they would have to carry to their graves. And that due to a further worsening of international relations, Senator Matthews had strong-armed committee members to redirect funds and increase their budget to expedite production of System Two. They had six months.

  There was no mistaking the urgency of the time schedule. “Cliff, go to two or three shift operations, work overtime, holidays; our nation needs this capability on alert, fully operational!”

  In Justin’s opinion, Clifford Nesmith was harder to read than ever. Back from his cruise, Cliff was as dead-pan as he’d ever seen him. The man looked over his DPI staff for a full half minute after the General signed off. When he spoke, he had a major surprise for Justin.

  “Okay, team, you heard the man. We all depended on Roger for his wisdom, oversight, and leadership these years. He did well. You did well. He’s out of the picture now. Justin, your programming is virtually done. You’re our new Program Manager.”

  “Sir…?” Justin stammered. He’d expected Cliff would take the lead.

  “Responsibility, raise, and long hours. And Tamika,” he looked across the room at the intern, there by virtue of her interim security clearance. “I want you full time, as his deputy, or assistant, or what I suppose the military would describe as his Exec. Promotion for you also, and you can complete your master’s at our expense once we meet schedule. Meet with your approval?”

  Tamika only hesitated a second. “Uh, of course. Thank you, sir!”

  Cliff continued. “Note to everyone. You know we do things a little differently around here. We won this interceptor away from the SR-78 project when my third-generation additive manufacturing and other patents made typical facilities and manufacturing techniques obsolete.

  “We’re going to do this a little different as well. Justin will need…I am going to need…someone who’s smart, capable, and energetic to help him fill Roger’s shoes. She’s been studying Advanced Production Management, and that’s what we’ll need around here.” He gazed directly at Justin yet seemed to look beyond him. “Justin, I know you and Tamika have some chemistry going on. And I’m notifying everyone that I approve. I don’t care if they, or any of the rest of you, work together and sleep together. You do whatever it takes to get this job done.”

  The HR team was surprised, but just looked at each other and shrugged. Tamika’s lovely dark complexion deepened. Justin just raised his eyebrows and said nothing.

  “Make it happen, Justin.” And Cliff left the room.

  All eyes turned to Justin. Tamika’s were accompanied by a slight smile and her own raised eyebrows.

  Justin felt completely overwhelmed. For the first time in his life, he silently, sincerely prayed, “Why me, Lord?” He knew the team well. But to lead? Dude, I’m a programmer!

  “Okay,” he began. “Alright. Let’s scrub all remaining tasks for System One. It’s not coming back.” And no one could see it if it did. “Team Leads, re-baseline everything for System Two as far to the left as you can. Figure out what it’ll take to transition to full-rate production. For each Level Two task, I need to know what the best operations schedule will be. Do we go to six ten-hour days? Two shifts? Three shifts? We’ll likely need a hybrid schedule combining several plans. How will we coordinate? For now, Team Leads will meet with Tamika and me twice each day this week at nine and at three. Questions?”

  Sandra, in Quality, spoke up. “Justin, I mean, are we going to do anything for Roger’s family? Will there be a memorial service or something?”

  Justin was thoughtful. “He lost his family in that plane accident in 2020. I know he was close to the folks at his church. But his parents passed and he didn’t have any other extended family. I’ll check with General Alvarez and see what the official story will be, and let you know.”

  Sandra nodded slowly. “Just saying, this guy was a hero. I mean, it’s incredible what he did—and what you did.” Tamika continued her slight smile and knowing nod; she now understood what had happened. “Could we, maybe, have a memorial service here?”

  Justin hadn’t thought about it. He, Cliff, and the general knew that Roger was still alive, sort of. He didn’t know whether even Senator Matthews had been read in on the surprising transformation.

  “I think that’s a great idea. We’ll talk it over for the next day or so and let’s plan for something Friday afternoon. Anything else? All right, like the man said, let’s make this happen.”

  The DPI team was more than just co-workers. The requirement for significant expertise in at least two disciplines meant that each person was important, but nobody was indispensable. Still, Roger…

  On their way back to their work stations, many folks came up to congratulate Justin. Finally, he was face-to-face with Tamika.

  Wow! Justin was amazed. It wasn’t that the lovely Tamika Stewart, eight years his junior, was now under his direct supervision, and that she apparently was most pleased with the arrangement. What has happened to me?! In fact, totally out of character since his pre-puberty first girlfriend, he found himself not seeing her as a fling, a “Lady de jour,” a partner for a year or so. But she was a…a person who Jesus died for?!

  “Justin? Hey, are you okay?”

  “Uh…sorry, Tamika. I guess I’m so overwhelmed by everything.”

  That’s an understatement. And you don’t know the half of it.

  But there was something more. More than his huge increase in responsibilities. More than the massive challenge of compressing an eighteen-month schedule into six. More than having an imminently lovely, capable, and available young woman as his assistant. There was a strange nagging feeling that there was something he needed to be careful about. Very careful.

  + + +

  With everyone busy on their new assignments, Justin stepped into Roger’s office. He looked around for the thousandth time at Roger’s pleasant but functional blond oak furniture. In all the years he had known the man, that described everything about Roger; pleasant but functional. His home, his wheelchair-friendly vehicle, his clothes, his office. Roger lived in stark contrast to the elaborate, expensive and over-the-top solid mahogany furniture that adorned Cliff Nesmith’s office as President of DPI.

  Roger scanned the twenty-by-thirty-foot room. It was the second largest in the company, by reason of both Roger’s position and his handicap. There was plenty of room for Roger to wheel from his desk to his small conference table to his several bookshelves, each low enough so he could reach books from his chair. Roger was comfortable with tech but still liked referring to classic engineering volumes in print. The room was the only office with tile floors, easier to navigate a wheelchair over than carpet.

  The view out the large windows was spectacular, a back-to-nature look toward the Atlantic. Roger wasn’t one to over-decorate, and the truth is that too much would have detracted from the view. So, the walls only held a few certificates, his cherished painting, and a few underwater scenes from his SCUBA days. On his desk, a few family pictures; camping, basketball games, pageants...

  Justin took a deep breath as memories of their years of friendship and joint, hard work flooded over him. He had to admit that he wanted to one day occupy that office. But now was no
t the time. He decided to stay where he was and leave Roger’s office as it was, for now. Except…

  There was no one to claim Roger’s personal effects, and the painting on Roger’s wall now meant more to the young man than anyone could imagine. Justin carefully took the painting down and walked back to his office.

  Roger, your prayers for me were finally answered. I’d sure like to have us a long, private face-to-face.

  31. ALIVE?!

  Cliff had lied about being on a cruise during “the incident.” He felt it best to be incommunicado during what he expected to be the fall of the United States of America. He sequestered himself in his well-stocked survival shelter. Matthews knew where to find him for the Reconstruction, during which his technology would be a key factor. He would never lack for anything again.

  “The Incident.” A monumental non-event, thanks to his “friend,” Roger Brandon.

  At least Roger was no longer an issue. He and Guardian System One were history. Vaporized. That’s what he’d told Senator Matthews.

  An hour before General Alvarez addressed the team at DPI, he had called Cliff to a private video conference in the SCIF. That’s when Cliff learned that Roger had inconveniently invalidated several so-called “laws” of physics.

  He and the general would have a classified private conference with the esteemed senator later that afternoon, as soon as Senator Matthews could break away to a secure facility. Already, he’d experienced the veiled but unmistakable wrath of Jason Matthews, along with the certainty of serious consequences if he “failed again.” Then, there was the strongly worded “suggestion” that Justin take over the program, with Tamika assigned as his assistant.

  What in the world will happen when he learns that Roger’s alive?

  Back in his office, he dreaded each call that Stacey took at her receptionist’s desk. She was a huge asset to the company. Others at DPI might have multiple degrees, certifications, professional memberships, and lists of patents and accomplishments that would guarantee recognition in Who’s Who. But Stacey? She’d be Number One if there were ever a publication, “Who’s Not but Should Be.” No degree, no certifications, no patents. But the standing joke was that she had a black belt in common sense and a doctorate in diplomacy. The grandmother stood barely an inch above five feet, weighed no more than a hundred and twenty, and her once brunette hair was now more salt than pepper. She was close to retirement but had as much spunk as any of the team thirty years younger. She seemed to keep track of the very heartbeat of the company; who was doing what, who was where, what didn’t make sense, and whether an important document or email should be reworded.

  Pretty good for a non-engineer, Cliff thought. And always so pleasant, so respectful. Hiring her was one of my best decisions. And one of the few I’ve been able to make without “input” from the good senator. At that thought his scowl returned and his gut tightened.

  He had so looked forward to all their plans moving ahead. He would finally get the worldwide recognition he deserved, which was currently hidden by Matthews for the sake of the classified program. Cliff’s manufacturing capabilities would spread from DPI to the general purpose facility he was planning near Chicago with the senator’s blessing. Better yet, they would also spread to the one in South America that even the senator didn’t know about. Those would later be augmented with facilities in China, Russia, throughout Europe; at least one in each of the One World Peace Now—OWPN nation-states. And he’d live like a king.

  No more alimony. That was the other part he had looked forward to, that Annette and her live-in leech would both be vaporized under “Ground Zero.” The blast would do what the court hadn’t done; end her nagging, her manipulation, and her sucking off his success all these miserable years! But Roger…

  The phone rang again. Stacey answered, motioned to Cliff, pointed toward the SCIF, and held up four fingers. Be ready for your classified call in four minutes.

  Cliff let out a long sigh and resolutely headed down the hall.

  + + +

  “Gentlemen! That’s the best news I’ve heard since the successful intercept! How I wish we could have a parade for him. What a hero!”

  Cliff remained expressionless. The 4K ultra-high-definition wide-angle teleconference video would betray even the slightest twitch of an eye. It would be bad enough if the good general suspected anything, but Cliff believed deep in his gut that it could be fatal if the not-so-good senator did. Just go along with him, like you’ve done for years. He once again marveled at Jason’s ability to lie so convincingly.

  “General, you make sure Roger has everything, I mean anything and everything he might need. You need more budget, you let me know. See how soon we can do more testing with this marvel and let’s see what she can do now. Cliff, congratulations to you and your team. Incredible. Just incredible! And how soon will System Two be operational?”

  They talked programmatics, budgets, schedules, and a plausible story to share with Roger’s church that would paint his “passing” in a positive but unclassified light. General Alvarez had already “talked”—he was getting used to using that term for their email chat sessions—with Roger about needing a cover story. Roger suggested telling the truth, but not fill in the details: While supervising the test of a classified system, Roger had intervened to prevent a serious loss of life at the loss of his own. And his body could not be recovered. As Alvarez shared Roger’s recommendation, Senator Matthews seemed overcome with emotion. He strongly endorsed the story and promised to get the proper death certificate and paperwork to lock it down.

  After ten minutes, the video conference was over.

  Cliff remained in place, staring at the video screens’ unnecessary but beautiful screen saver that Roger had installed; an underwater coral reef off Marathon, Florida. The beauty was wasted on Cliff, who fully expected a private, scathing follow-up from the senator. When it didn’t come after twenty minutes, he went back to his office. He picked up his coat and walked to his car. The setting sun sprayed a kaleidoscope of purples, reds, oranges, and yellows across the scattered clouds to the west. That, too, was unnoticed by the man. Cliff’s thoughts were more in tune with the dark and foreboding thunderstorm building up over the east coast.

  Roger’s alive. He might be on alert soon if the plane can still perform intercepts in its altered state. He may eventually find the software I changed. System Two will be operational in six months. Jason says there aren’t any more clandestine “Soviet” missiles that can be launched. What can we use now to kick off the Fall and Reconstruction?

  Cliff wasn’t paid to have all the answers. But he knew that to hold his position and build his business empire under Premiere Jason Matthews—or whatever title he would choose—he needed to show he could be counted on as a team player. At least, until others knocked Matthews off his pedestal.

  A possible plan developed. He’d need to know what Roger and System One were capable of in their altered state. He’d work with the general, Justin, and Roger to set up an abbreviated test plan; maybe just two launches.

  System Two…Not an attack from Russia to the United States, but one that could be construed as a retaliatory attack against Russia from the U.S.?

  Cliff continued thinking through the various ramifications of every known fact of the situation. He mulled over how each one might be used to his personal advantage. He had to come up with a plan to assure he’d be in Jason’s good graces once the fecal matter hit the air ventilation system.

  Cliff wasn’t a dumb man. He fully believed that his 3D additive manufacturing processes were an order-of-magnitude superior to anything anyone else was doing anywhere. Not only did his system make most large manufacturing facilities obsolete; it had also cut typical manufacturing times by eighty percent while using far fewer people. And process control improved with tighter tolerances, less rework, and much less scrap.

  Nor was Cliff unaware of opportunities. His play to Senator Matthews years earlier had resulted in the technology remainin
g highly classified, but just as personally profitable. DPI was born, Cliff was fully funded, and the course of his life changed forever.

  But Cliff was a student of the international scene. He had figured out the goals and at least part of the OWPN organization.

  As Cliff approached his exclusive private community, the gate sensed his community-specific extended range radio frequency identification chip—SERRFIC—and swung the gate open. Arriving at his high six-figure condominium, he felt better.

  His door opened as he approached, the lights turned on, and his bar opened out from its cabinet. It was a good night for Scotch, Cliff decided. And Drambuie. He mixed the Rusty Nail and thought of maximum one-way ranges and possible recovery points. After ten minutes, he mixed another Rusty Nail and began planning. Twenty minutes later, Cliff was in a much better mood and mixed himself a third. Unlike Senator Matthews, Cliff didn’t have a strict two-drink limit. Or any limit, for that matter.

  Matthews.

  Cliff relished knowing that Jason wasn’t the only game in town. Or in the United States, for that matter. OWPN might have their plans for six or seven leaders, and Jason might want the entire hemisphere for himself. But Cliff believed that if Jason got knocked down a notch or two, there were three other key OWPN players who would likely split the hemisphere into four countries. He carefully studied the geopolitical scene and the rising stars. His expectation was that one would take Canada and Alaska and a second would take most of the continental United States. Texas, New Mexico, and Arizona would join with Mexico and Central America under a third leader, and the fourth leader would take South America.

  Four nations in this hemisphere. That’s what made sense to Cliff. And he personally knew two of those other three players. He poured another drink, reclined his chair all the way back, and smiled.