Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  They found themselves on a small plain whose surface was covered with pebbles and rock fragments, the latter looking more like shattered pieces than smooth stones rounded by wear. Jason walked over to check for impressions of the plane’s wheels on the ground. He tried to scuff aside some of the surface rock, only to find more of the same underneath, just compacted further.

  “This must be almost solid rock under here not to compress more.”

  For a few moments, the six men stood still in a rough circle, looking at the surrounding terrain.

  “Come on, people,” entreated Ralph, “we’ve all got to be dying to know what the hell is going on here. Why on earth would some secret U.S. facility be in just about the most remote place on Earth outside of the middle of Antarctica? Why do they need a virtual reality system when for the life of me I can’t imagine its use here?”

  “You’re right to question,” said Zach, “but I don’t think any of us have any more of an idea than you do. I’m starting to suspect that the answer is something none of us would ever dream of.”

  They stood silent for a minute, looking back and forth at one another. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they crunched over the fine gravel with occasional thin snow patches and climbed inside the lead snowcat.

  When they all were seated, Andrew broke the silence. “Well, since we’re here, I think it’s okay to introduce ourselves—at least, our names. We should wait for General Sinclair’s okay before we get into what we were doing before and why we might be here. I’m Major Andrew Jefferson, U.S. Army, and I will be the executive officer for General Sinclair, the site and project commander.” With that, he nodded to the next member of the circle.

  “Harold Nieze,” offered the tall, thin-faced man.

  “Jason Cain,” grumbled the next man, “and where the hell are we?”

  “Ellesmere Island,” said Zach with an eyebrow raised to Andrew, who smiled.

  “Correct, but we’ll find out more later.” He nodded to Ralph.

  “Ralph Markakis, and what IS going on here?”

  “As I said, more later,” Andrew said, then nodded to the group’s lone woman.

  “Jill Hardesty,” she said quietly.

  “And the little guy?” Andrew prompted.

  Jill shifted Bobby in her arms so he faced the others. Up until now, he had been turning every which way trying to see everything at once—the plane unloading, open spaces, and fog-shrouded neighboring peaks. “This is Bobby. He’s two years old.”

  “Pardon me,” Jason interjected, “but whatever we’re here for, why is Bobby here?” Jason looked at Andrew.

  “Later,” Andrew replied. “Let’s move on.”

  “Willie Larsen,” said the large bearded man with a tone of voice indicating that was supposed to say everything there was to know about him.

  “Zach Marjek,” with a similar undertone of “Don’t bother asking anything else.” He noticed Jill Hardesty’s eyes widen as he switched from “Marks,” the way he’d introduced himself to her at her apartment.

  Now, after these cursory introductions, they again surveyed where they were. The plain was surrounded by peaks and ridgelines on both sides.

  “I can see why the plane made that final sharp bank,” said Zach. “It had to insert itself between these ridges.”

  There was no sign of vegetation. The plain and the hills were bare, with various shades of dull earth tones and grays and little indication of more vibrant colors. Snow covered the peaks and the upper slopes, with patches of snow or ice in protected indentations and rills on the lower slopes. The peaks themselves were at least partially obscured by mist that eddied in the mild wind. The noise of the cargo jet and the unloading process was the dominant sound, but Mike suspected if it were not for the engines, there would be total silence. Similar thoughts occurred to some of the others, as did the sense of isolation.

  It took thirty minutes for all the pallets to be taken off the C-17 and loaded onto tracked wagons towed by the snowcats. When the transfer was complete, the convoy moved out. It was barely underway before the cargo plane ramped up its engines and took off. In the cab, Jill, Ralph, Jason, and Harold wistfully watched the aircraft disappear into the distance, wondering, to different degrees, when would they see another plane out of here, and when it might have them on it?

  “What in the world . . . ,” said Jill, staring back at the crude landing strip. Zach followed her gaze. Men with leaf rakes were hustling onto the landing strip and working over the bare ground.

  “They’re probably obscuring any signs left by the plane’s landing gear,” he said.

  She kept looking without noticing who had spoken.

  CHAPTER 10

  SITE 23

  The snowcats left the flat plain that served as a runway. Their initial direction of travel was east toward low hills backed by higher reaches. To their west and north were sharp peaks and ridgelines. The plain continued south for a distance before ending in an apparent series of undulations and low ridges too faint for anyone to judge their distance without reference points in the bleak terrain. After about a half-mile, they climbed a gentle slope.

  As they left the runway area, the hard-pack surface void of gravel larger than an inch changed to scattered rocks up to a foot in diameter. The driver saw Zach’s curious expression in his rearview mirror.

  “Yeah. Didn’t come that way. Took three of us most of a week to pick up and move any rocks big enough affect landings. We still have to check every once in a while. Somehow a new good-size rock will appear from nowhere. One theory is the planes’ wheels shake them out of the ground. Did the checking today, but only threw aside a couple of apples.”

  “Apples?”

  The driver laughed. “That’s how we tell each other the size of the rocks we find. Anything smaller than a walnut is supposed to be okay, but we usually go down to hazelnuts. Of course—”

  A sudden jolt rocked the cab. The driver laughed. “A coconut. Hold on to your asses. It gets rough until we get higher to where there’s enough snow to cover the fuckin’ rocks.”

  Sinclair gave a noticeable clearing of his throat and said, “Whitey,” while nodding toward Jill and Bobby.

  “Oh . . . sorry, ma’am.”

  She laughed, thankful for a humorous diversion. “No problem. Whitey? Is that what you’re called?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, if you’re Whitey, then I’m Jill. Don’t worry about the language. I think I’ve heard it all.”

  A series of jolts rocked the cab.

  “More coconuts?” asked Jill.

  “Either those or small watermelons,” joshed the driver.

  The ride became more uneven until jolts overlapped. People used at least one hand to brace themselves. As the snow layer deepened, the ride smoothed out until they were on enough snow and ice to cover larger rocks. Twice, the cat slid a foot or more before regaining traction on a steeper slope. When they crested a ridgeline, they could both look back at the valley they had come from and see ahead to the next, which was slightly higher and as devoid of life. The descent into the next valley started off faster than they’d traveled before, but only until rocks appeared through the snow, and Whitey eased back on the throttle.

  “There’s no real road or track,” said Sinclair. “We just steer where it seems like the best ride that day. We actually make a point of not wearing routes that might be detectable from aircraft or satellites.”

  The pattern was repeated twice more. The landscape remained barren.

  “I haven’t seen any plants. Does anything live here?” asked Jill.

  “There are mammals, but as you would expect, only adapted to this environment,” said Sinclair. “You’ll see hares, voles, and lemmings. The larger animals are musk ox and caribou. You should get a chance to see musk ox, but there’s fewer caribou. And yes, that means there are things to eat—grasses, lichens, mosses, and even variety of willow that only grows six to eight inches high. It’s a tough place to li
ve. Oh, and there are wolves, but we rarely see them. We’re also just coming out of winter. In a few weeks you’ll see more plant life, even some flowers.”

  Conversation ebbed and flowed. Jason noticed that Marjek seemed to be interested in getting background information on the other passengers and their fields of work—volunteering nothing about himself. Marjek deflected the conversation when it turned toward him.

  Jason also noticed that the woman seemed to make a point of sitting as far as she could from Marjek.

  Wonder what’s up between those two? he thought. Marjek doesn’t appear to mind.

  Finally, they reached a ridgeline that looked down into another valley with the first signs of human presence.

  “Here we are,” said Sinclair. “The site’s up against that slope on the left.”

  Zach’s first glance failed to see what the general referred to. During a second scan, his eyes narrowed as he concentrated on what at first seemed like a collection of huge boulders.

  “Well, fu—” Zach started to exclaim. “Um . . . that’s quite an impressive camouflage setup.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked Harold.

  “Over to the left. Those aren’t boulders or rock formations, it’s structures made to fool anyone looking at them.”

  “I’ll admit it’s impressive,” said Sinclair. “Of course, once you’re closer you can’t mistake the buildings, but from a mile away or more, most people’s eyes will pass right over.”

  “How about from above?” asked Andrew.

  “Well, the paint job resembles the terrain. The roofs are the same way and have extended, irregular edges to break up straight lines. Vehicles are kept under similar overhangs or inside, except when in use. Naturally, none of this is a hundred percent, but you’d have to be looking hard at this specific site to know anything was here except rock.”

  The snowcat continued down what would be their last descent.

  “We’ll arrive in about twenty minutes,” said Sinclair. “We zigzag a bit on some steeper parts of the slope.

  Ralph was thinking to himself that this would be a great spot to take a photo, except that no cameras were allowed. He had tried to sneak one in his bags, only to have a somber, armed airman search people and their belongings before loading the plane at Travis. Ralph momentarily panicked that he was about to be arrested, but the man casually tossed the three-thousand-dollar camera in a trashcan and continued searching.

  Oh, well, he thought. Maybe they have postcards.

  The chance for a photo shoot vanished as the snowcat accelerated down the slope and then slowed into a series of turns to the valley floor. It wasn’t until they were within a few hundred yards that definition was clear enough to take in a cluster of rectangular buildings of various sizes, one and two stories, and no defined streets. The surface appeared similar to where they had landed, firm with pebbles. Zach noted faint paths worn between some of the buildings—probably indicative of the staff’s most common routes. He made a note to decide whether those faint paths should be dealt with, or if they were too minor to worry about.

  The vehicles passed between several smaller structures and stopped in front of the largest building in the complex. Five men and a woman clustered together, giving the impression of a welcoming committee. Other people stood farther away or next to buildings, as if curious about the new arrivals.

  “All right,” said Sinclair, “let me review what’ll happen next. Each of you is assigned accommodations. Your bags are labeled and will be delivered. The rooms are small, but you’ll have your own, except for Jill and Bobby Hardesty, who will have two adjoining rooms. What we’ll do now is go inside for an initial briefing about the site and the basics of living in this environment.

  “I know you’ve all been on a long trip, especially for those from the West Coast. After the first briefing, you’ll have a meal and can retire to your rooms. Get a good night’s sleep because tomorrow morning we’ll start in on some longer, more detailed briefings.

  “I’ll mention one other thing before we go inside. Until you understand more about the security arrangements here at the site, you’re not to speak with any of the staff, except yourselves, me, and Dr. Emily Wilderman here.” Sinclair motioned to a slender, brown-haired woman in her late thirties or early forties who raised one hand while adjusting glasses with the other.

  “Dr. Wilderman is the site physician. If you have any immediate medical issues, please see her. The only other person you might talk with tonight is another doctor, Wilbur Huxler.” A cheery man in his early sixties man stepped forward, waving. “Wilbur serves as the site counselor and is a psychologist . . . I guess . . . or is it psychiatrist? Whichever it is, he’s got several degrees and has been part of the planning and operation of Site 23, which is the formal name of where you are. He looks after the general mental state of the staff here. Any issue that might be appropriate, you can talk freely about it with him.”

  Willie Larson, standing next to Zach, gave a satisfied grunt—interpretable only because the two men had worked together enough times.

  Yeah, Willie, thought Zach. Two Wilburs here. No one’s going to call a shrink ‘Willie,’ so I guess you’re on safe ground.

  First Briefing

  “Okay,” Sinclair said, “let’s go inside. Follow me to one of the small meeting rooms. If you need to use a facility, we’ll pass a restroom on the way. You’ll find it’s more European style, so both men and women use it. There are sinks that everyone uses and then lockable cubicles for the more serious business.”

  With that, Sinclair motioned for them to follow him. He walked toward the main building. At the door, he paused and turned. “Let me also explain that there is a special kind of entrance to at least some of these buildings. You’ll find out more later, but the idea is that since the light and dark conditions are so extreme here, with months of no sun and then months where the sun never sets, that to reduce the effects, some doors and buildings were designed so that as you enter or leave, there isn’t an abrupt change of lighting conditions.

  “What we’re entering is kind of an antechamber where once the door closes, the light conditions will take about ten seconds to change from where you came from to where you’re going. I wouldn’t think that would make much of a difference, but it turns out it does. Just those few seconds are sufficient to help keep your body from getting too much off cycle.”

  With that, Sinclair opened the door. There was just enough room for all of them to fit inside the antechamber. As Sinclair indicated, once the outer door closed, they waited about ten seconds, and a small LED light came on just above the inner door.

  “That light is the signal the light cycle is finished. I expected you didn’t see much difference, but that’s because you happened to arrive when we’re at an approximately equal day/night period, the same as where you came from. That’ll change fast. About six weeks from now, the sun will rise and not set again for four months. Similarly, if you’re here long enough, the sun will set and not rise above the horizon for four months, starting about the end of October. It’s those periods that cause problems. One other thing: you’ll find that during the in-between seasons, we can have long twilights—often there’s still enough light to get around and work outdoors with no problem.”

  Sinclair opened the second door into a hallway perhaps fifty feet long, with several doors down its length. At the end of the hall, they could see a more open area. Sinclair went straight to the second door on the left, opened it, and indicated for them to enter.

  “Restroom is next door down across the hall. Use it if you need it and come right back.”

  Jill, carrying Bobby, hustled to be the first, with others following. They all rejoined Sinclair within six minutes.

  The room was about twenty feet square with a table in the center surrounded by swiveling chairs, plus non-swiveling chairs along two walls. They filled most of the chairs around the table and were joined by a sturdy-looking man in his mid-fifties—bald with
a short white beard and, of all things, wearing a coat and a tie. Also joining them was an African American woman in her mid- to late twenties with an infectious smile. Sinclair introduced them as Richard Lindskold, the site manager, and Bre Huttleston, assistant to Lindskold.

  Sinclair started off. “Sorry for the total blackout of information on getting you here. You will understand more later, but let’s get the likely most burning question out of the way, which I assume is ‘Where the hell are we?’ This is Ellesmere Island in the Canadian Arctic.”

  Willie nudged Zach with an elbow—acknowledging Zach’s correct whispered deduction while flying from Thule.

  Sinclair continued. “We’re seven hundred and twenty miles above the Arctic Circle and only a thousand from the North Pole. As you can imagine, there are consequences in lifestyle for being this far north, but you will learn more as we go along.”

  Before Sinclair could continue, Harold interrupted. “Where exactly is Ellesmere Island? I’ve heard of it but don’t have a clear picture of exactly where we are.”

  Sinclair turned to the wall behind him and pulled down one of several scrolled maps or whatever were within their cylinders, mounted on the wall. It displayed a map of North America. He took up a yard-long pointer standing in the corner and used it to indicate on the map. “This is Ellesmere Island.” He pointed to one of the many islands north of mainland Canada. “As you can see, Ellesmere is the northernmost part of Canada and only sixteen miles from the closest Greenland coast. As I said, you can get a sense of just how far north we are by seeing the North Pole.” He pointed to a dot north of Ellesmere and in the middle of an ice pack over water.

  “And here is the Arctic Circle,” he said, pointing to the last latitude line and positions south of Ellesmere.

  Sinclair pulled down a second map that was an enlargement of Ellesmere and neighboring islands. “Ellesmere is approximately 500 miles north to south and 150 to 250 miles east to west, with an island area of about 75,000 square miles. That’s about the size of South Dakota or Nebraska. The actual land is less than the dimensions indicate because deep fiords cut into the interior. These fiords effectively make the island larger than it is if you need to move around the fiords. As you can tell from the map, it’s fairly mountainous—not especially high mountains but rugged and covering much of the island.”