Michael James Heartly

Stratosphere

By: Michael J. Heartly

Chapters 1-3

 

The Fast Mover

It was the combination of her collision avoidance signal and the quaking of the single-lane road that prompted her to look up from her handlebars. She was blinded by two blistering headlights. She slammed on her brakes. The thing was clanking and rumbling and spewing black smoke into the evening mist. The lights were level with her eyes and heading right for her. She was impressed that such a juggernaut could move that fast. She unclipped her shoes and planted both feet in the gutter just before getting blasted by the pressure wave. The massive steel frame passed within an inch of her. Its powerful wake ruffled her lightweight jacket and coated her with road spray. Yuk.

          That had to be one of the largest dump trucks she had ever seen. Twenty-two tires on her. Probably heading for the new Watergate II construction site, she figured. It continued down the narrow lane leaving behind a trail of noxious diesel fumes. Double yuk.

           It definitely would have left a mark she chuckled to herself.

           Her noise-canceling headphones may have worked too well. So, she turned the Mozart down and pulled her glasses to clean them. She caught the tailgate’s digital advertisement: Self-driving crash? Call the Pros at Nickentime Attorneys at Law. She smelled her jacket. More diesel. Triple yuk. She felt contaminated. Her low hair bun had become loose under her helmet. She tightened it. Her hair smelled too. Guess it could’ve been worse.

          Having lived there since the age of three, navigating L’Enfant’s tangled, twisted, and confusing streets in the Washington District was second nature for the thirty-something ex-ballerina. But that night she was on a schedule. She was always on a schedule. So, she increased her pedaling cadence to streak onto the capital city’s TMG’s or Traffic Management Guideways - The city's computer-controlled roads. The colonial streetlights on Pennsylvania Avenue were popping on as she hit the bike lane. Her power meter showed that she had three minutes and thirty-five seconds to finish her planned workout. That meant three more minutes of all-out, quad-burning peddling.

          She turned the Mozart back up, gripped the drops of her custom road bike and put her head down. She was plowing ahead when the traffic signals appeared as green and red stars. The evening’s cold drizzle had once again distorted her cycling shades. Then a large orange star appeared from the other direction. 

Since she had just escaped being splattered all over the Northwest section of the District, she slowed her bike and removed her glasses. It was a tic-tac self-driving cab. She sped past the jellybean-shaped ride while cleaning her glasses under her jacket. The cab’s digital ads were spewing claims about the latest in spring fashions and hip replacements. The amber interior light from the cab revealed it was ferrying one female passenger. No driver. Typical. She put her shades back on and cranked it.

          When she approached the bustling intersection of Virginia Avenue, she noticed a tiny blue light blinking on the bottom right corner of her meter. Not good. It was a weather warning. Then, right on cue, a distant flash of lightning created a silhouette of the city’s low skyline. Collision alarms be damned. It was time to boogie. She tore a path across all eight lanes. Before she entered the side street, she heard the thunder. Damn. The storm was closer than she thought.

          A quick right turn, and the Foggy Bottom CIA garage had opened for her. The sentry saluted her as she sped past and disappeared down the ramp. The first level of the bunker housed the government-issued vehicles: Giant black gas-powered behemoths with dark tinted windows. A true rarity. The remaining levels sported the usual EV’s and self-drivers. The electric charging stations blinked by as she advanced deeper into the garage.

          Her disc brakes were wet and dirty and squealing around each turn. It reminded her of her disastrous rain-soaked descent of the Alp d’Huez in France. The last thing she needed was to impale herself on a concrete column. She eased her speed for the last two levels. A few yards more and it appeared in the shadows: the brick wall leading to her lair. Her command center. Her home.

          One more grip of her brakes and the wall was blinking bright red with each flash of her headlight. She dismounted and froze for the body scan. An instant later the bricks rose, and she walked her bike into the secure concrete twenty-by-twenty storage room. Overhead was a network of pipes, thick cables, and metal ductwork. Hanging conspic to her left was the black camera dome. In front of her was her bike storage bin. She shook the rain off herself and reached into her jersey’s back pocket to grab her comm device. A quick tap and presto, the lid opened. There was one empty track next to her hydrogen powered bike. She pulled her power meter off its mount, slid her bike in and put her helmet on its shelf. The storage lid lowered to the deck as she walked on the concrete floor with her metal shoe clips clacking on every step. She looked at the camera dome, waved, and the elevator door to her right swung open. 

          As she rode down to the only stop, she checked her power meter. After all that, she had only been fifty-seven seconds short of her goal. The elevator bounced and the doors opened to a low vestibule. Fifteen feet away was the glass-enclosed guard post. She was waved along by the armor-fitted soldier and his SIG Sauer semi-automatic rifle. She yanked her ID lanyard from her jersey and placed it on a small glass screen. A box pushed out from the wall. She put her right hand on it and leaned in for the eye scan. A green LED light signaled she could push open the half foot-thick door. Home.

           She stood in the dark with her eyes closed and…clap…clap. Several tiny blue lights beamed down giving her home the feel more of a mausoleum than an upscale apartment. If she ever turned on a real light, it would look impressive. She kept her surroundings lower than thirty-foot candles. Very dark. She tossed her ID to the right and stood silently. A deep inhale and she pulled her headphones off and dropped them. A soft thud at her feet proved they had landed safely on the plush carpeting. She then ripped her jacket off and unceremoniously dropped it. Wet and all. She squinted to adjust her eyesight, took another deep sigh, and said, “Felix…thanks for the heads up. What are your electrical storm warning parameters, please?”

          A moment later a formal male voice replied, “Twelve kilometers.”

          “Too close. Change that to twenty.”

“Copy.”

          She darted down the hallway to her left and ordered, “K 622 please, and Lemongrass.“Commencing.”Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto began playing in all the rooms. A dozen strides more, and she was in her bedroom when the ominous, slightly British-accented computer said, “Dispatch from the mountain.” She stopped in her tracks.

“Let me hear it, please,” she said as she headed for her bed. 

“Unidentified submersible phenomenon sighted off the coast of Nuuk. Briefing at 01:15 Zulu.”

            “Felix. That’s five minutes. Remind me to add the briefing warning signal to my bike meter. Source?” 

            “The Swedish deep sea research vessel, the Gandra Varno.” She dropped the comm device and her meter onto the glossy red side table. 

          “Miss Mali, are you in for the evening?” asked Felix. “Heavy clouds. Winds over fifteen. Electrical.” 

“Noted.”

            She sat on her bed and kicked off her shoes and dragged her wet socks off. She wriggled her recently painted red toenails and smiled as tiny blue specks of light glinted off them. Then Felix chimed in again, “Report 520 slash S submitted by a Kommendor Erikson of the Swedish Navy.” Mali hesitated a moment before asking, “Last known bearing was ninety K from the Eastern Shore, correct?”

“Affirmative.” 

            She then unzipped her jersey, flung it off, and plopped backward half-naked into the billowy black comforter. Her haunt was suffused with the refreshing scent of lemon and Mozart. She had finally begun to relax in the cool comfort of her bed when Felix interrupted again, “Reported as a fast mover from the south.” 

“How fast?”

“Exceeding six hundred knots.”

“Fuck. Is it the gads?”

“Not classified.” 

            Mali then shoved off her bike leggings. She always preferred going commando. Sweet nakedness. The soothing music was helping her to relax when, “Also Commander…,” 

“Yes Felix, what is it?”

“…the agency confirmed your meeting in three days.”

           “Copy that.” Mali then shoved off her bike leggings. She always preferred going commando. Sweet nakedness. The soothing music was helping her to relax.

“Did the adoption agency give any hint whether it is a boy or a girl?” 

“Negative,” replied Felix. “The agency left no word.”

“Thank you. Prepare my desk, please.”

           “Copy, Commander. “Mali dashed to her front door, picked up her headphones, and headed for her small kitchen. She skipped past the fire-engine red 1955 Imperial Frigidaire to the small gloss black kitchen cabinets. Past the kitchen was her 1960’s Egg Chair. It was a white egg-shaped fiberglass shell hanging from the ceiling. The open front of the eggs’ shell revealed a tufted red-velvet bucket seat. She tossed her headphones into it and hastened back to her refrigerator. She chose a refreshing electrolyte drink and pressed it against her forehead while alas fanning the door to cool her overheated naked body.

Further past the egg was her control center. It consisted of a large desk and chair with a keyboard and an old fashioned twenty-inch monitor. Her meeting was in two minutes. She started moving her unclad sepia body toward her desk when she remembered the folks in the mountain castigated her for ‘accidentally’ revealing her breasts. Puritans. Even though she kept her home at a comfy seventy-five degrees, she had a quilt handy on the black granite kitchen counter. She wrapped it around herself and sat.

             “VRP Felix,” she said as she untied her hair bun, letting her tresses fall behind her. A hologram or Virtual Reality Projection spread from the floor to the ceiling in the dark room. Before her was a still photo of a small office and a brown office chair. A separate square to her right showed her sitting at her desk. She opened a side drawer and grabbed her hairbrush to straighten her damp mane as if in front of a mirror. She was happy she could still see the red streaks in her black hair that she had recently invested in. She let her hair go and pulled the quilt tighter. No costume malfunctions in front of the boss.

              ‘ML 275 has Joined’ popped up on the lower left of the projection. Then ‘DD 25 has joined’ scrolled by. The projection jittered as the top of the office chair became a tan blur. DD25 was in the chair.

She was guessing he was some kind of a Colonel. She only knew him as Control. The fingers attached to the blurred human typed: “01:15 Zulu meeting commencing. ML 275 to DD 25.” 

“Yes sir. ML 275 at the ready. I understand we have a fast mover.”

“Code in,” the blurred image growled.

            Mali pushed a button, and the projection disappeared as the desktop monitor flipped on. She went to her egg and grabbed her ID lanyard and her headphones. She tied a quick high bun in her hair, donned her headphones and adjusted the slippery quilt as she sat. The monitor displayed the same blurred-head view. 

“Line secured,” her computer confirmed.

           “Thank you, Felix.” She then opened the center drawer and placed her ID in an LED framed square. A small compartment latch on the desk popped up. Inside was a small key. Silver, with a quarter inch circular shaft with ridges. It looked like the old Coke Machine keys. She put it into the round slot in the compartment and said, “Thunder.” 

            Control countered. “Flash. On 3…2…1…” She twisted her key the same time as Control. She adjusted her microphone. “Yes, sir?”

“I saw you without your audio gear. That’s a first.”

“Don’t get used to it sir,” she replied as she yanked her ID free and closed the drawer.

“I have a brief,” scowled Control.

“About the Thalassians sir?”

“The USP is nothing. Santa Clause is coming to town.”

“Again? The Promers or the Surfers this time? How many observers?” 

“Mali…I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down before. I like it.”

           “You have me at an advantage, sir. All I can see is a blur. Observers? It’s unusual for Surfers to be away from their power source. The Promers then?” 

“We believe it was the Rums.”

“The Meitneriums? They never interact with humans.”

“Running the data. The Rummies are up to something.”

            An uncomfortable pit was forming in her stomach. She stood up, tightened her wrap, and walked to the refrigerator to grab some breakfast. As she swung the fridge door open, she could hear Control behind her saying, “A geostationary orbiting pirate hulk grabbing a Chinese Satellite, crew of three. We are sending replacements. Debriefing tomorrow. Details arriving via secure transmission. You are to meet them in Los Angeles. Take a right and head down 66. You leave NASA Uh Hadzy in 24 hours.”

“The Meitneriums never work for free. What is the off-world requite?”

“Three figures at least.”

“Over a hundred? How long will this take?”

“Unknown.”

“I am due for my guardian status hearing in two days.”

            “Sorry Lang. We’ve had a class five interaction. Your leave is cancelled…indefinitely.” Mali slumped against the counter. Her burgeoning maternal instincts were once again being snuffed out. She straightened up and barked, “Rums?”

“We believe so. Good luck,” said the blurry image.

            She leaned back into her fridge, pulled out a bowl of large mango slices, and faced the screen. The blurred head pointed at the camera and said, “I really do like your hair, Mali.” 

The virtual reality wall then blinked out. Mali stood silently in her kitchen. She lowered her headphones to her shoulders and dropped her quilt to the floor. Irritated, she slid her left foot under the quilt and launched it to the black granite counter. Bullseye. She crushed a huge slice of mango, placed the bowl back, slammed the refrigerator door shut and shouted, “A Rummy Santa! Shit. What now?”

 

Chapter Two

 

The Interview 

Twelve hours later, the three Galaxy Recovery Incorporated (GRI) Astro-contractors had been ushered into separate rooms by a large man wearing a battle dress uniform of blue/gray camouflage. His face was hidden behind a black tinted face shield. Even his very large Sig Sauer-P Spear assault rifle with IR scope was painted in blue/gray camo. How comforting thought Lieutenant Sun Jin Short of the Air Force Reserve Command. All that firepower to protect little ‘ole me. 

            Since being decommissioned, the purple-haired, pink powderpuff of a fireplug scientist hadn’t gotten much sleep over the last twenty-four hours. Her scientific posting was possible if they agreed to capture useless space junk for GRI to sell. Sunny considered GRI to be the used spacecraft division of the aerospace industry. Not that she would have ever suggested their craft was held together with duct tape. But the company she had contracted with used a novel business plan of employing ‘rescued’ technology on any structures they manufactured. That included their spaceship the Buccaneer Three. 

She figured her two crewmates Captain Penny Maxwell and civilian Drew Raskin were probably both adjusting themselves in their very own repellent room. The room did seem larger than her science-bay back on the Buck Three. 

            Sunny’s butt hurt while sitting on the small gray metal folding-chair that was planted under an olive-green desk. It looked left over from World War II. Could GRI be any more penny-pinching she wondered. She inspected the large mirror in front of her. She was certain it was two-way. She stared at her bloodshot eyes and tried to adjust her mascara. She didn’t care that they were recording her. She was tempted to unzip her baby blue GRI jumpsuit and flash the hidden officials. (Since the dawn of spaceflight, returning crews from outer space always donned jumpsuits and baseball caps for debriefing. GRI followed that old nugget.) 

            She was exhausted. She closed her eyes and wondered what she had done to deserve losing her job. Losing her commission and losing her experiments. She could still see the poor laboratory fish from the Marianna Trench in their tanks, only to be killed in outer space.

            The room was chilly. She wrapped her arms tighter as she checked out the twenty-inch flatscreen to her right. The walls were surplus imitation oak paneling up to a suspended 2 X 2 ceiling. On the desk was a light blue file folder two-inches thick. What the hell? 

             Without warning, a woman appeared on her monitor. She looked exotic. The lady’s black hair was in a low bun, and she was wearing a very fancy set of red headphones. That explained the hairdo. The woman was looking down when Sunny first heard her voice. It was soft and concise.

            “Welcome home,” said the headphone lady. “Please open the papers in front of you and read them all. There is a pen in the file. Please fill out the questionnaire. Thank you.”

That was it. She was gone. 

Sunny opened the folder. On the top of the stack of papers was an NDA. 

“We have to sign this?” shouted Sunny. 

Nothing. 

           She stood up and stomped to the mirror and said, “Hello…I have questions.” Just then a black man in a blue suit popped onto the flatscreen. He was maybe mid-thirties, a bit chubby with neat hair and eyeglasses. It was the first time that Sunny had seen actual, real-life eyeglasses. All children had their vision surgically corrected before the age of thirteen. Only rare cases required glasses. She wondered if un-corrected vision was prevalent in the aerospace community. Fascinating.

“Ello…” he said. He sounded British. “Please take time to fully read the non-disclosure agreement and sign and date it.” He popped off. 

 Then nothing. 

 Typical boiler-plate crap. She signed it and waved it in the air. 

            “Yes.,” shouted Sunny. “I promise to never write a tell-all blockbuster movie script in order to retire on a deserted tropical island.” She felt as if she and her crewmates had been reduced to performing mannequins selling the latest in electric mixers in a Christmas window at Macy’s. Were the two faces that allowed themselves to be seen lounging in some control room laughing out loud? “Can you believe they actually saw that…in outer space? The idiots!” 

            What was the endgame? She slammed her fist onto the desk and shouted, “You realize we almost died up there? Right? Hello? Is there a Coke machine anywhere?”

            Then, the lady appeared again. Her headphones were off. Her hair had a reddish tint to it. “Please fill out the questionnaire as best you can. Thank you,” she ordered. 

            Her voice was very calming and her eau de’ Nil eyes filled Sunny with joy. She wanted to know who she was. There were hundreds of questions. Intimate questions. Birth control? What type? Was her bladder ever infected? List any objects inserted into her body? What? They had an entire page to list the items of interest. What kind of creeps were they questioning there in LA? 

            It took over an hour to complete the thing. Sunny slapped the folder closed and stood waving the packet of papers with both hands.

“Finished!” she shouted. 

            Immediately, the charming man in the camo opened her door. He lifted his assault rifle and pointed it to an elevator. Finally. She followed him. They shuffled past two rooms exactly like the one she was in. Except no Penny or Drew. She joined the guard in the tiny elevator. She smiled. No reaction. She gave up. She just wanted to sleep. 

            The elevator stopped and they were inside a glass foyer. The man from the monitor approached her. He was a middle shade of black and inches taller than her. He had delicate gold-framed glasses on. His hair was short and military. His blue suit looked impeccable, and he smelled wonderful. He lifted his black leather briefcase and opened it on the counter. 

            “Your credentials, Leftenant,” he said, handing her a large ID on a lanyard. Definitely British. Her ID read ‘Orbiting Reconnaissance Bureau’. They were not meeting with good ‘ole GRI she wondered? Strange.

            “Louis Harrison. Seconded from Saudi Arabia. Welcome to LA. Follow me, please,” he said with a bright white smile. “The rest of your party has already boarded.” She swung the ID lanyard over her head. Boarded? Boarded what she wondered.

            Once outside, the noon-time sun was attempting to pierce the LA smog and hit Sunny like a sledgehammer. Breathing was difficult. It had to be over a hundred and ten. She was on a small metal platform in what looked like a prison yard. The humidity made her jumpsuit feel like a soggy blanket. She was close to ripping it off and standing in her GRI issued undies. To her right a giant metal container was rumbling and buzzing. A shredder no doubt, destroying the latest tech secrets. The building she had just exited was an eighty-foot-high gray metal windowless cube a block long. Surrounding the tiny parking lot was a twenty-foot-high fence with razor wire gleaming in the noon-time sun. The parking lot had only one large vehicle. 

“Our limo awaits?” chuckled Sunny. 

            “Yes, your ladyship,” joked Louis as he pointed to the Abrams Tank of government ground personnel transportation: a shiny black nine-passenger Suburban. It was gigantic. There was a large tumor on the roof that looked like the old air conditioning units on recreation vehicles. She knew it was a communications center that could operate via satellite anywhere in the world. The enormous van also had twenty-six-inch Kevlar tires and heat plumes spitting from dual mufflers. 

            Sunny and Louis bounced down the metal mesh steps onto the blacktop. She pointed out the exhaust. “Geez…a gas vehicle.” Just then, Sunny sprinted a path to the giant chain-link gate twenty yards away.

            “Captain…we need you in the van,” shouted Louis. Sunny grabbed the hot links and started to climb. She was halfway up when she felt the cold metal pressed against her right ankle. She stopped and saw the rifle butt. 

            “Fuck all of you,” she yelled. She let go of the fence. She hit the deck and did a parachute landing roll to her side. “Ouch…Graceful ain’t I?” she joked. Louis grabbed her arm and pulled her up.

            “Unhand me you Cretan,” she barked. She swung her arm free. The armored soldier pointed her to the waiting van. The two strode to it. Louis slid the side passenger door aside. Sunny adjusted her purple hair in her reflection.

            “Sometime today, Leftenant!” said Louis. She grabbed the passenger handle in the doorway, and with a grunt, tugged herself up to the running board.

“Can’t a girl do some sightseeing? You guys fired us for no reason for god’s sake…”

            Another poke from the machine gun and she stepped inside. To her right was a partition which separated the front from the passengers. The glass panel was ninety percent tinted. It reminded her of a taxi, but more intimidating. The seating consisted of two rows of two, flanked by a narrow walkway which allowed access to the third row in the rear. Raspin was resting in the middle row against the far side of the van. Sunny perked up when she noticed Penny waving her to join her in the back. She clawed her way to the third row and plopped down.

            Louis climbed in and slid to the end of the first row and put his briefcase on the floor in front of him.

“Well, that was fun,” teased Sunny. 

“Lieutenant Short, they had every right to shoot you,” scolded her old boss.

“Sorry commander, I don’t know what got into me.”

“I know,” blurted Drew.

            “Drew…you…you…ohh!” Sunny squirmed and gave out a sigh. She then unzipped her jumpsuit below her GRI issued bra. Raspin said, “This had better not snake my transfer to Mars.”

            “Fuck Mars Drew,” said Sunny. “Neither Penny nor I have any intention to spend a single sol on that crumbling, no air, planet.” Drew moved closer to them and impugned, “How many inserted items did you two list?” Penny pushed his forehead away and said, “You are disgusting. They were talking about medical proceedings, subdermal implants, or piercings…you jerk.”

Sunny was about to raise her heavy combat boots and kick the bastard square in his teeth when a set of loafers tapped on the running board. It was the headphone lady. She entered…and the angels sang. 

The smell was heavenly. 

            An amazing aroma of cheeseburgers and French fries had filled the van. Their savior was carrying a brown leather briefcase and best of all, a huge brown paper bag from Burger King. The slender woman looked about six inches taller than Sunny and more athletic. She was wearing creased navy-blue pants, a white shirt and blue tie and a blue sports coat. She handed the bag to Louis and placed her case on the seat between them. Louis began handing out the prized meals. 

            “Hallelujah,” shouted Sunny. “We are starving. It smells so good.” The lady took her headphones off, hit the button to close the door and said, “Eat up, this is all you get until we arrive at the debriefing.” 

“I can eat four of these,” bragged Raspin. Sunny took a giant bite of her cheeseburger and let out a satisfied moan, “Oh, just what the doctor ordered. Thank you so much.” Louis handed out the drinks and gave the empty bag back to the lady. She put it on the floor to her right and explained, “We can’t begin until everyone is finished, and the trash has been tossed. So, bottoms up, everyone. Thank you for your cooperation.” She put her headphones back on. 

            Sunny soaked in every ounce of her new acquaintance. She examined her in much the same way a person inspects a map of new surroundings. The woman in blue was lovely. Her voice was calm and measured. She appeared very precise in her movements. She had a slight eastern accent. She held perfect posture in her seat as she nibbled on her food. She had no jewelry. Sunny wondered if she was spoken for.

The van was filled with the collective rustling of wrappers followed by appreciative sighs. Raspin inhaled his burger. He took a napkin, cleaned his paws, and turned to face the back row. 

            “Nothing like a good ol’ piece of meat, huh ladies?” he grumbled. Penny warned, “Here we go.” With his belly somewhat satisfied, his troglodytic, ‘sailor-just-off-the-boat’ testosterone overflow took over. He directed it toward the exotic lady. He put his hand on her shoulder. She lowered her headphones, turned her head to the side and stared at the man.

            “What’s your name, baby?” he oozed. “Maybe we can get together when this debriefing thing is finished? I’m a fun guy…right ladies?”

            “Don't listen to a thing he says,” said Sunny. Raspin bundled his burger wrapper, inched forward, tossed it in the paper bag, and then oiled his way to the lady’s right side.

            “Oh, come on darlin,’” he said smiling at her while holding the edge of her seat. “What’d ‘ya say? I love Indian food.” The bunhead lady removed her headphones and handed them to Louis. Sunny had a bad feeling. Drew…not so much. 

             Then, in one move, the lady twisted her body to the left, slamming her left elbow against his shoulder, smashing him head-first into the door. Gravity did the rest as he dropped into a pretzel shape on the floor with chunks of his meal splattered all over his jumpsuit. Nobody said a word. The lady then dropped back into her seat and put her headphones on. Job done. 

Sunny nudged Penny. Their smiles were not very subtle. Louis, being ever the gentleman, grabbed some napkins, reached past the amazing woman, and handed them to Raspin. Drew tried to clean himself. He was moaning and shaking the cobwebs.

“I think that’s a definite ‘No thank you,’ Mister Raspin,” teased Penny. Drew inched his way back to his seat.

“That’s affirm,” he said in a low mutter. 

He spent the next ten minutes licking his wounds while the others finished. Once all the trash had been deposited; the lady opened the side door and tossed the bag onto the parking lot. A uniformed guard approached the van. Trash detail.

            As the door shut, Sunny blurted, “Yes…close that door, please. Full uni in this heat…not fun. But wait, I have a question. Why are you feeding us in here? Aren’t we just going next door to Space Command? I mean? It’s right there…?” 

            The lady hit a button in front of her. A ‘clunk’ sounded as all the doors locked and all the windows in the van went black. The interior was lit only by six tiny amber lights from the ceiling. “Oh…that’s why,” said Sunny.

“Why all the cloak and dagger?” asked Drew.

“Believe me, dis is proper precautions. Bugger all ‘in dem before times,” answered Louis.

            “Really? The before times, huh?” said Drew. “What did they do way back in ‘dem prehistoric days then?” 

            “They would have covered your head with a black bag. If you ever took it off…or if it were blown off ‘yer gob by the wind…they shot you… Everybody clear?”

“Crystal…,” said Sunny.

“Seat belts everybody," said the lady in charge. "Relax and enjoy the ride.” She slapped the glass partition, and with a quick jolt, the van was headed to heaven-knows-where.

 

 

Chapter Three

 

The Hanger 

Sunny was in a deep sleep until an audible clunk changed the van windows from black to clear and the SUV interior brightened. The side door clicked, moaned, and slid open revealing the infinite expanse of their destination. Sunny sat up and rubbed her eyes trying to adjust to the light as the cushion of desert heat swept into their air-conditioned compartment. The headphone lady grabbed her briefcase and motioned Louis out. Sunny checked her watch. It had been over three hours since cheeseburger heaven. 

            One-by-one the three jumpsuits piled out. They were standing in a massive concrete hanger. They stood in awe as they stretched and looked bleary-eyed into the vast desert outside. They must have just traveled through that expanse of dirt and gravel. No wonder the transport was gas-powered. Heat ripples distorted the distant gray mountain range. There were no other landmarks. No buildings. No towers. Nothing but cactus and sagebrush as far as the eye could see. 

            Sunny made her way into the sunlight. To her left was an eight-foot rusted chain link fence topped with barbed wire. She held her hand over her eyes. It disappeared into the desert. She began to walk to it. There were no cameras as far as she could tell. She touched the fence and looked around. Nothing. She then grabbed it with both hands and placed her boot about a foot high. The fence was shaking with each movement. Bells began ringing and red lights were spinning inside the mountain.

Sunny leapt to the dirt. Fifty feet in front of her was a small white box on wheels stirring up a dust cloud. It was heading for her. 

            “Ok…ok…,” she yelled at the thing. Sunny u-turned to head back and was struck by the enormous mountain looming overhead. She hot footed it back inside the cavern. She stood next to Penny, who shook her head no, in disbelief.

“Nice try small fry,” joked Drew.

            The five of them watched as a ninety-foot-wide door lowered. It slammed onto the deck with a reverberating thud as it snuffed out the view and killed the throbbing bells. The red lights however, continued spinning.

            Sunny’s ears were still ringing as the lady in blue motioned them further inside. They stepped over a large expansion joint in the concrete floor. The four of them joined their new leader when eardrum piercing sirens again filled the cavern. That time however, yellow poles with chain ropes magically rose from the deck. Then, everyone wobbled and almost lost their balance. Sunny stood awestruck as the SUV she had just ridden in began to rise into the air.

Were they witnessing some mad-scientist anti-gravity experiment? 

No.

            They were on an enormous elevator, and it was dropping. Finally, the sirens went silent. Why were they being taken under a mountain for a lousy debriefing? The headphone lady seemed to be off in her own world, so Sunny waved to get Louis’s attention, “What’s up with this?” she said. He shrugged. He had to be playing dumb.

            After what seemed like twenty minutes, the elevator ground to a halt. Sunny decided the hanger elevator was slower than those at the old Bergdorf Goodman in Manhattan. She loved her undergrad days at NYU. That afternoon reminded her of her weekly escapes to the Met Opera. Faust came to mind.

The lower chamber was dark and musty. A hint of mildew and arc-welding was thick in the air. They were staring at three concrete arches. Two of them were occupied by dimly lit blue tarps which were draped over objects about the size of school buses. Headphone lady led them through the third archway. Sunny’s initial infatuation for the mysterious woman was shrinking with every step.

             Old-fashioned Sodium Pressure lights shot fuzzy beams of amber down on the crew as they headed into darkness. Distant noises of metal against metal echoed all around them. Sunny could tell it was not the first visit for the ear-protected lady. She was unmoved by the occasional ‘booms’ that thundered nearby. What was going on so deep underground, and what was it that required them to be down there? It was creepy. Was she ever going to see the sun again? Were those French fries her last supper? They trudged down the cheerless tunnel for another fifty yards. Then, the brown briefcase stopped at a door on her left.

“Third door,” she yelled to the three of them. Finally. A room. 

Frustrated, Sunny said, “I need to pee!” Drew and Penny slowly raised their hands. Louis looked at the lady. She nodded yes. 

            “This way to the loo,” he said. He led them past their open conference room to a single forest green wooden door. Inside was a one-stall room painted industrial brown. There was one old fashioned light bulb in the concrete ceiling. The room was small, sultry, and had the nauseating smell of pine and mold. A single forest green painted stall was in the corner. Just before that was an old shower who’s drape was long gone. 

            “I got dibs,” shouted Sunny as she zipped to the crumbling metal stall door. Inside was a tidy and clean, pink toilet. 

            “It’s pink!” she shouted as she struggled to drop her full body jumpsuit. At last, she relieved herself. She sat and stared at the stall door. It was bubbled from old rust that had been painted over several times. She wondered how long ago the room had been constructed. At one time it must have been a state-of-the-art janitors’ closet with a working shower. A Drew kind of room.

            When Sunny opened the stall door to allow Penny to go next, she saw Drew finishing. He had pissed next to the crusty yellow mop-wringer-bucket on the old shower stall floor. Yup, his kind of place. Class. She adjusted the zipper on her jumpsuit and said, “Discharging your urine into the earth, Raspin. Smooth move. You and Penny distract those two. I’ll escape and alert the media.”

            Penny swung out of the stall and grabbed Sunny by the hand. Sonny resisted.

            “Lieutenant. Give it up, baby…now.”  Penny let go of Sunny and they all swung back into the gloomy hallway. Louis was holding their door open. Time to be debriefed.

The small conference room was hot and humid. Sunny’s paranoia bubbled to the surface as images of sarin gas spewing from overhead spickets filled her head. She scanned the ceiling. No apparent ventilation to be seen. None. Sunny relaxed a tad. There were two large, modern digital plasma screens and the obligatory six-foot wide two-way mirror. Were they getting debriefed or the third degree? They collectively loosened their jumpsuits’ front zippers. The drop-ceiling had several small black camera domes. The furniture was modern. Five black leather office chairs around a sleek walnut table with a communication center in the middle. Sunny took the chair farthest from the mirror. Drew sat at the other end. Penny took the middle. Sunny was unzipping her jumpsuit to her waist when their door slammed shut. They heard it lock. Faustian.

            The two screens came to life. On the left was the headphone lady. She had the entire screen to herself. The other screen was divided into six squares. Only three were occupied. The top center was Louis. To his right was a redhead female wearing an Air Force class A uniform. She was a Major. The Bottom center was another Air Force Class A uniform. But the face was blurred. Whoever it was, they had a load of medals. Colonel or higher Sunny figured. Fascinating.

The headphone lady broke the silence. “Who saw it first?” 

            The Buck Three crew sat up and looked at each other. Penny raised her hand, looked at the center camera pod and said, “If you are talking about the anomaly… that would be Lieutenant Short.”

“Lieutenant, please describe exactly what you saw,” said the headphone woman, again, without looking up.

            Sunny’s mind was in a fog. She was trying to remember any details. She scratched her head and mumbled, “I was on IR and saw a blue patch.” The headphones looked up and asked, “An infrared patch of blue? Indicating that what was showing on your screen was cold? Duration, please?” 

Sunny looked to the ceiling trying to remember the chaos from two days earlier and replied, “Yes…we had no life readings.” Then, remembering the sequence, she snapped her fingers and added, “Then I switched to the observing camera. Yes, that was it. We were being approached by something that was clearly silver and probably metal.”

            “And…?” The blue lady pressed for more. Exasperated, Sunny stood up and looked straight at the small black plastic ball above her. “Look, I only saw it for maybe ten seconds. Can you please tell us what this is all about? There are thousands of pieces of space crap out there…and, what has this got to do with the fact that we almost died up there? We have peed, spit, shit, and provided every fluid the human body produces for your technicians. If we had been contaminated, we’d either be in a hospital or in the morgue. So, give us a break.” 

            Penny then chimed in, “With all due respect. We lost valuable data from our experiments. We don't give a rat’s ass about the shit floating up there. We are scientists.” Drew, who had been tracing an imaginary object on the table, sat up in his chair and added, “Yeah…well... I’m a scientist too,” he said. “…but…they got us out of there so fast… I left my seventy-unit Nike Space-seven’s up there, for cripes sake.” Penny stared at the man. “Really? Your sneakers?” Drew shrugged.

            Murphy said, “Your article 520 slash B complaint states you lost all power, is that correct?”

“All power and reserves. The entire operation was dead.” replied Penny. 

“You had no battery life?” asked Mali.

            “Yes ma’am,” said Sunny who shouted, “Cards on the table! Why don't you just admit this is all about Santa Claus and let us get the hell out of here? We have places to go and things to do.”

“Thank you,” the red-haired lady Major said. Then, the two monitors went black.

            “Guess you told them, huh?” said Drew. Sunny plopped back into her chair and closed her eyes. She just wanted it all to be over. 

 She would quickly find out; it was just the beginning.