Project Brimstone

by Paul B Spence

  He knocked on the doorframe. "Colonel."

  "Come in, major. Have a seat."

  "Thank you, sir." Harrison settled into the comfortable chair and looked around the room. This conference room was a level down from the entrance. It was richly furnished with a polished oak table, leather reclining office chairs, and large flat-screen displays: definitely a room designed to impress visiting dignitaries.

  "I'm sure by now you've noticed that there's a lot of new construction."

  "You could say that, colonel."

  Colonel Jackson chuckled. "I wasn't trying to pull one over on you, son. I just didn't want to hit you with everything at once."

  "I appreciate that, sir."

  "The primary function of this facility is defend our country from attack by foreign powers in other universes." The colonel paused to chuckle again. "Never thought I'd hear myself say something like that."

  "No, sir." Harrison had served under the colonel for the last decade. They'd come to know each other pretty well in that time. "May I ask what the other functions of this facility are going to be?"

  "We plan to take the fight to the enemy, major," said Colonel Jackson. "One way or the other. Nothing against Dr. Dixon, you understand, but our scientists don't have a damn clue how this could have happened. The Pentagon has been pulling in scientists from MIT and Fermilab to take a look at the data from the captured computers. The portal device shouldn't be able to work – didn't work, back when the project originally got scrapped. Obviously it does, though. Dr. Dixon is heading the research team. We have to understand the physics involved if we want to be able to defend ourselves."

  "That's where I come in."

  "Yes. We need more data about the device. We can't get that here, but we know the enemy has a central base where they've done most of their research. It is that facility we want you to infiltrate. Dr. Dixon thinks he can put you on one of the upper floors of the main building. There should be a server farm somewhere in the building. We want you to recover the hard drives."

  "Nothing I haven't done before."

  Colonel Jackson smiled. "No, nothing new there. We don't have the kind of intel we usually have available, though. I hate to send you into something without it, but there simply isn't any way to provide that in this case. We hope that the element of surprise will carry you though."

  "Sir, there's something else that's bothering me."

  "What's that?"

  "I don't think Dr. Dixon is being honest about not testing the device. He knows too much about how all of this works."

  "You don't miss a thing, do you?" Colonel Jackson said with admiration. "Dr. Dixon isn't technically lying; he hasn't conducted any practical experiments with the device."

  "But someone else did?"

  "Dr. Reginald Craig from MIT was the first scientist we employed. He was the scientist who developed the device for the original program. He opened the portal only once."

  "What happened?"

  "His targeting data was off. He opened the gateway into a deep lake – flooded the room in seconds. Everyone drowned."

  "That's grisly."

  "Yes. Dr. Dixon assures me he has fixed the targeting error."

  "But he hasn't tested it?"

  "Not across universes, no. He has been able to use the device to send our rapid-response teams to places where we detected incursions. That was how we got to Ashland in time to capture personnel."

  "So he doesn't really know if it will work across universes."

  "He used the device to acquire targeting data. Just a small peek at lowest power for a fraction of a second."

  "Based on that, he thinks he can do it again?"

  "I trust him, major."

  "And I trust you, sir." Harrison sighed. "Right. So when do I go?"

  "We'd like to send you through later this afternoon. That should be sometime after midnight on the other side."

  "The time of day isn't the same?"

  "No. We aren't quite sure why. Another one of those things we hope will be answered by the data you bring back."

  Harrison glanced at his watch. "I suppose I should get geared up, then, colonel."

  "Major, I want you to know it means a lot to me that you haven't balked at this mission. You're really the only man for the job, but if you wanted out, I'd understand."

  "Like you said, colonel, I'm the only man for the job. I won't let you down."

  "You never have. I didn't think you would this time."

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dr. Dixon escorted Harrison to the special room where the transfer device had been set up. The room had a thick blast door, and a lot cameras inside. A small legion of technicians were crawling over and through the machines, doing last-minute checks.

  "What's the power source of the portal device, doctor?" asked Harrison.

  "A nuclear core powers the initial sequence, but to tell you the truth, we're not sure where it gets its power from. The core doesn't provide the power for the transfer; that comes from someplace else."

  "You're not sure where the power comes from?" Harrison said. "You expect me to do this, and you don't even know how the damn thing works?"

  "We know how it works, major," Dixon snapped. "We just don't know exactly why it works. The core initiates a power transfer from some deeper layer of reality. We think the device is fiddling with the Boltzmann constant, but we aren't sure. We know the core doesn't provide the power for the actual portal, but that is all. The calculations for how much power the portal takes are astronomical."

  Harrison looked at the collection of rods and spheres with a skeptical eye. "Great. So how's this going to happen?"

  "When you're ready, and we get the final green light from the colonel, we'll initiate the protocol to open a portal. It takes about six minutes to build up to full power. Then the hole will open. The portal will normally stay open for thirteen minutes, unless we terminate power from this side and close it down, which is what we're going to do. And no, we don't know why it stays open for only thirteen minutes, either. As soon as you are clear, we shut it down."

  "How am I going to get home if you shut it down?"

  "We'll reopen the portal twice: once in two hours and again two hours after that. If you aren't back by then, we scrub the mission."

  Harrison frowned. Two hours wasn't a lot of time for what he had to do. He 'd have to be a bit ham-fisted if he was going to do it in a hurry. There wasn't time for finesse. He was uncomfortably aware that scrub the mission meant scrub him.

  "Any more questions?"

  "Why was the air being blown out of the hole at Brownsville?"

  "The air pressure on the other side must have been different. The base containing their portal device is near sea level."

  "I'm curious as to why no one thought to send a bomb through to the enemy base."

  "That was before I came onto the project, but I was told they couldn't get an exact fix on the location of the portal device."

  "Hmm." Harrison wasn't convinced.

  "You ready to go, major?" asked the colonel as he entered the room.

  Harrison put on his hat. "I am now, sir."

  "Good man." The colonel clapped him on the shoulder. "Be careful over there, son. We want you back in one piece."

  "Yes, sir. You know I'll do my damnedest."

  "Just one more thing." The colonel pinned rank insignia on Harrison's collar and slapped the enemy flag to the Velcro on his arm. "Your double has the rank of colonel. You should look the part."

  "Yes, sir. I'll not let it go to my head. Not too happy about that flag, though. What all am I looking for, exactly?"

  Colonel Jackson handed the question off. "Dr. Dixon?"

  "If you can, we'd like to have the hard drives from their central computer servers. Also any additional hardware and equipment you find that looks like it might have something to do with the portals."

  "Where are you putting me?"

  "We'll send a remote through first, but the area we're sending
you to should be devoid of enemy personnel. We found information on the computers from Ashland that had maps and locations of their bases. It also had layouts of the bases, with targeting information for the portal device. In my tests, the data appears correct."

  "Why would they have that on their computers?"

  "So they could get back home if something happened, major."

  "Did they have some kind of portable device?" Harrison asked.

  "If they did, they destroyed it or took it through with them before we got there."

  A technician walked up with an isotope scanner and gave Harrison a once-over.

  "Well? Am I still ticking?'

  The technician ignored him and reported to Dr. Dixon that everything was nominal. No sense of humor at all.

  Harrison turned to the colonel. "Sir, before we do this..."

  "Yes?"

  "Am I back in Operations, sir?"

  "You never left, son," the colonel said kindly. "But, yes. You're officially to be considered one of my operatives again."

  "Thank you, sir. If anything should happen to me, make sure Delling gets the grand prize."

  Years before, the team had raided a drug compound in Nicaragua. There had been millions of dollars in cash there that didn't belong to anyone. They had liberated it to form a survivor's fund. The idea was that whoever was lucky enough to out-survive the others would get enough money to retire and have a good life. The colonel had looked the other way and let them get away with it.

  "Will do."

  "Are we good to go, colonel?" asked Dr. Dixon.

  "You are green," he said before turning to leave.

  Dr. Dixon waved to a technician, who typed out a sequence on one of the many laptops. Immediately, lightning began to arc along the long poles in the center of the room. The rest of the techs quickly exited the room, leaving only the technician at the computer, Dr. Dixon, four guards, and Harrison to wait for the portal to open.

  Harrison found it mildly reassuring that Dr. Dixon didn't leave.

  The wait for the hole to open was the worst part. When it did, it was a surprise. The same howling scream sounded, and Harrison felt goosebumps rise along his arms. There was something unnatural about that sound.

  Harrison's ears popped as the pressure equalized in the room. The air stopped rushing into the hole, but that didn't make it any less intimidating. It was a pitch-black hole into hell.

  "If the portal works both ways, how come we can't see anything from the other side?"

  "We're not sure," Dixon answered. "We think it has something to do with the nature of the rift itself. Light is scattered or absorbed by the strange matter that props the hole open."

  "Strange matter? Today just isn't my day, is it?"

  Dixon ignored him. "The hole should reach maximum aperture in just under one minute."

  The technician who'd stayed with them readied a small robotic remote. It looked like a toy: a video camera on tank treads. The probe rolled forward and into the hole. As soon as it touched the blackness, it was gone, as if snatched by demons.

  "We've got video, doctor."

  Harrison and Dr. Dixon moved to where they could see over the technician's shoulder. The probe had made it through. Its camera showed an empty hallway dimly lit with a single overhead florescent bulb. The microphone didn't detect any noises.

  "Wouldn't they hear it?" asked Harrison.

  "Why would they? The hole doesn't make any sound. We didn't hear anything in our tests. The device that opens the hole makes a low humming sound, but not the hole itself."

  Harrison frowned. "But I heard a howling noise. Just now. Just like in Brownsville, doctor."

  "No, you couldn't have."

  "I did."

  "I don't know what to say, major. We have a lot of eyewitness accounts from the Ashland incursion, and the men I sent through and then retrieved with this device. It doesn't make any noise. I don't know what you heard, here or at Brownsville, but it wasn't the portal device."

  That didn't make Harrison feel any better.

  "Five minutes, doctor."

  "Time to go, major," said Dr. Dixon, holding out his hand. "May I wish you good luck?"

  Harrison shook the scientist's hand. "Wish me good hunting instead, doctor," he replied, and stepped into the mouth of madness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Agony... Darkness... Endless fear.

  Harrison stumbled as he re-entered reality.

  His skin tingled from the strange sensations he'd endued during transit, and yet he couldn't quite remember any passage of time in that darkness. Either no time had passed in the black hole, or his mind shied away from the memory. His watch told him that only seconds had gone by, but he knew that to be untrue.

  He shuddered and checked his surroundings.

  The corridor he found himself in was made of dark brown, polished stone, the floor slightly lighter. The single flickering florescent bulb overhead hummed a mantra quietly to itself. Two unmarked doors interrupted the walls a few meters down the corridor, just before a junction. Behind him, beyond the dark portal, the corridor ended at an open stairwell leading down. He could hear voices in that direction.

  The remote revved its tiny engines with a whine and rolled back through the portal, startling him. He glanced at his watch. Any moment. He looked on with mixed feelings as the portal faded away like so much smoke. The base was as silent as a graveyard on this level. Dixon was right about the portal being quiet, so what had he heard?

  Looks like I'm committed now, Harrison thought, ignoring the joke in that.

  He drew one of his suppressed pistols and moved down the corridor, checking each room. There were windows in the doors; the rooms beyond were rather unremarkable offices with nothing to indicate that what he was looking for was in either of them. The offices on his right had windows. He quickly but thoroughly searched each office, but the paperwork seemed administrative. He was sure someone back home would be interested in the logistics of this enemy base, but that wasn't his mission, and he wasn't going to haul around boxes of memos or take the time to photograph what might be nothing important.

  He stepped up to one of the windows and peered out. The view reminded him of California or maybe Florida, but he couldn't be sure, since he had no way to know which way was north. He didn't trust his compass. He could see a large body of water, sand, and palm trees. The sky was cloudy, the stars obscured. It was night, but pools of light illuminated other buildings and a razor-wire-and-chain-link fence in the distance: a typical-seeming military base.

  Voices coming up the stairs drew him back to the front of the office. Glancing stealthily through the window in the door, he saw two armed guards in the same digital camouflage the men at Brownsville had been wearing. Guess they didn't get the memo about that camo not working all that well. They moved past the office without stopping, continuing up the corridor.

  They were talking about some sports team.

  Harrison didn't want the enemy to be talking about sports teams. He wanted them to be discussing their nefarious schemes. They were too much like all the other guys he'd ever known, just a couple of soldiers doing the rounds. He didn't want to sympathize with them. He was too skilled an operator to let it affect his performance, but it would make things easier if he could hate them.

  Brownsville was a fading memory. The heat of his anger was cooled slightly in the realization that these were fellow Americans just trying to do their jobs, save their country, drink beer, get laid, and watch football. Just like Harrison himself.

  What would we have done, given the same situation?

  He knew the answer to that. He'd seen America involve itself in wars for all the wrong reasons for too many years. It wasn't a belief in the righteousness of a given war that made a man fight for his country; it was his belief in the goodness of his country. Harrison believed in a great and bountiful America. He believed in the American dream. The problem was, so did the enemy. At least he assumed they did.

&nb
sp; What was an America like under a dictator? Was life mostly the same, assuming you weren't part of some group that they were villainizing? He remembered reading that most of the Germans back in World War II didn't know what was really happening in the beginning, during the rise of power of the Fascist party. Had there been a war here? How did you get people who know one another to kill like that? He had no idea how those guys in the Civil War had ever managed to pull the trigger on their fellow Americans. He thought of Kent State then, and winced. Maybe it wasn't so far-fetched, after all.

  He waited until the soldiers turned down one of the other corridors, then exited the office and trotted down the stairs.

  The next floor was busier. It was the ground level of the building, and well lit. Harrison could see more armed soldiers, and groups of technicians in lab coats. He would love to get in there and explore, but that wasn't going to happen. There was no way he would be able to pass as the alternate Harrison for that long. Someone would ask him a question he couldn't answer, and it would all be over.

  Harrison moved on to the lowest level, the basement. The construction here was poured concrete, and the lighting was dim, which was more to his liking. Metal conduits and bundles of cables ran along the low ceiling.

  This looks promising.

  The first room he checked was full of circuit breakers and massive power transformers. The smell of ozone was heavy in the air. He didn't see any computer equipment, though.

  "Hold it right there!"

  Harrison froze and then turned slowly to face the speaker. The man had come down the stairs while Harrison was in the room, the noise of the transformers masking his footsteps. Harrison kept his suppressed pistol held low at his side and out of sight.

  "Oh! Lt. colonel, I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know you were on the base. Can I help you with something?"

  This man was the spitting image of his dead friend Thomas Richards. It was unnerving. He tried to keep his surprise off his face and out of his voice.