by J.P Jackson
It was early-afternoon when the helicopter arrived at its destination. The door slid open with a thunk, causing Taylor to groggily open his eye. Blocking the door was a 5 star General with armed soldiers at his back. The General was around the same age as Taylor, early to mid forties, with a sharp nose, thin lips and posture as stiff as a board. He wore a striking uniform, with multicoloured service ribbons on his chest and a golden eagle insignia on his hat.
"I know you," Taylor said, meeting the officer's unreadable stare.
His name was Wertz, General of the Army - the second highest rank in the corporation. Wertz cut his teeth in the Border Wars, earning an uncompromising reputation abroad and winning the hearts of the public at home. He was the face of the war and vanguard for a new America.
Taylor observed his current location over Wertz's shoulder. There was a decommissioned tank, on display above a two tiered brick podium. 'WELCOME TO FORT KNOX'
Wertz took a step back and Taylor, nursing his shoulder, stepped out of the helicopter.
Aside from the small unit surrounding Wertz, it seemed that there was no hardware or military personnel on base, just an eerie silence as they walked toward a pair of razor wire covered electric fences with unmanned gates. Beyond the gates was a long road leading to the island-like United States Bullion Depository. The white Federal building was located in the centre of 42 walled acres, and should have been secured by watchtowers, surveillance drones, a minefield, armed guards and the Army units based at Fort Knox.
"And the kids?" Taylor asked, peering up at a burning white ball in the sky that was not the life giving sun, but a world ending comet.
Wertz glanced up at the ball then down to his watch. "The SUVs will be arriving in approximately 2 hours. We have 6 hours before the comet strike."
Wertz had a monotone voice, cold and to the point. They continued toward the legendary vault, once home to the US Declaration of Independence, the US Constitution and the English Magna Carta; documents still revered if no longer obeyed. The world's gold reserves were also said to be inside, but since the fortress sat unfortified, Taylor assumed the gold was long gone too.
As they approached an unmarked hangar door, an ear piercing buzzer sounded and the door began to rise. The sound of ticking steel kept time as the interior was revealed, wide enough to fit an old jumbo jet. Taylor bent for an eager look and was disappointed by what he saw. There was no mystical beam of light bouncing off blocks of gold bullion, just a dim red bulb above a functional looking steel elevator.
"About FACE!" Wertz snapped at his soldiers, who promptly turned 180 degrees to guard the entrance of the hangar. Taylor was amused to see soldiers pointing rifles at nothing, but decided not to question the general in front of his men.
The red light flicked to green and steam poured from vents around the elevator as the doors opened. Taylor swiped at wisps of steam as he followed Wertz inside. The maintenance like elevator was deceivingly simplistic. The control panel had only descending floors, ground level to minus 33. As Wertz pressed for the 32nd floor, a set of cameras scanned his face, recognized him as authorized, closed the doors and activated the elevator. While the cables and pulleys creaked and groaned, the scanner read over Taylor's face. As it did, a robotic voice announced from a corner speaker:
"Robert Wertz. Hamilton Taylor."
Wertz kept his face toward the doors while Taylor stood directly behind him, observing the perfectly horizontal trim of his hair.
“I watched you back in the day," he muttered at Wertz's head. "The media painted you as some kind of bloody hero."
"You don't agree?" Wertz asked, turning his head slightly to one side.
Taylor squinted sourly. "I don't see anything heroic in putting the boot into illegal immigrants and refugees. Those people needed a home."
Wertz exhaled, as if he'd heard the argument a hundred times before. "The house is full. Those illegals were taking food from the mouths of good Americans. I was doing my duty, I'm proud of my service, and honoured by the accolades."
"Congratulations," Taylor said, his sarcasm unmistakable.
Wertz remained plain faced, focusing on the split between the doors. "I watched you too, Taylor. Back in the day."
"Really?"
Wertz nodded, a crooked smile on his lips. "I remember seeing your face splashed on the front of digi-mags and covering billboards. You were everywhere, including that awful reality TV show. There was that one image with you posing shirtless. What was the tagline? Making science sexy."
Taylor shrugged it off. "My attempt at getting public attention away from the warmongers in Washington. Turned out no one wanted to invest in science during war time so the money went to you and your ilk instead. The billboard wasn't my finest hour but they did get my good side."
"Congratulations," Wertz added, mimicking Taylor's sarcasm.
The deeper they descended, the more artificial light filled the elevator.
"Where are your men, General?" Taylor asked, genuinely curious. “I've seen a half dozen here and there. Where the hell is the military?”.
Wertz locked his hands behind his back, maintaining his strict posture. "Their families meant more to them than the oaths they swore to their country. I was disappointed."
Despite revealing little in his tone, Taylor sensed Wertz was more than just disappointed, he was heartbroken.
Finally Wertz turned, and the moment their eyes met, the elevator doors sprang open. Taylor shielded his good eye from the bright light, then gawked at the rolling green fields full of daisies, and the puffy clouds in a bright blue sky.
"Floor 32," Wertz clarified, ushering Taylor out the elevator. "2 miles underground."
The sun shone large overhead and it's artificial heat was soothing. Thin optical film covered the deep rock, displaying the crystal clear image of a virtual English countryside, complete with chirping birds and a cool breeze emanating from hidden vents. The illusion was beautiful, and convincing.
"It helps quell the sense of claustrophobia," said Wertz, taking the lead over a gravel path that crunched underfoot.
Taylor kept up, watching butterflies flitting about the perennials and rabbits hopping in and out of holes. The path ran towards a village an easy half mile away. Symbolically guarding that village was a gigantic statue of a lion, easily over 300 feet tall. The colossus was cut from black stone, and the path ran directly between its gargantuan paws.
"That's not real, is it?" Taylor mumbled, creaking his neck to look at it.
"The lion guardian," Wertz responded in reverence, "is the only thing here that is real."
The statue appeared to snarl down at those who walked the path, it's black marble mane like a storm at sea, humbling all who passed underneath. Wertz wanted to move but Taylor was stuck in place, his good eye affixed to the lion. His stomach churned with déjà vu, a warped familiarity that he couldn't shake nor fathom.
"What the fuck is this place?"
"The past and the future," Wertz said, walking between the paws. "We don't have long."
Under the mane and between the paws was a locked hatch door. Wertz entered a 5 digit combination while Taylor caught up. After entering the correct code, Wertz pressed his palm onto a scanner as a second scanner read his face. A clicking of steel and a brief second later, the hatch opened inwardly. The door was 30 inches thick and blast proof. Built to keep something in, and everyone else out.
After passing beneath the lion, the men encountered an echoing hole deep inside the Earth. It was the beginning of a vast underground network of tunnels.
This was more what Taylor had been expecting, but he could not imagine how many years it took, or how much money it cost to cut this facility out of the rock. Ahead was a parking lot, each bay occupied by a white bus. Taylor heard voices in the distance and the mechanical sounds of loaders moving cargo.
"Activate," said Wertz, tapping a finger to his temple.
A bus purred into life and reversed out of its s
pot. Once clear of the parking bay, the doors flapped open and Wertz, without pause, stepped inside.
"We're on an extremely tight schedule," he said, taking the seat nearest the door. "Not a pleasant tour around a top secret facility."
Taylor titled his head back wishing for a smoke, then stepped onto the bus.
The bus drove 20 minutes down a main artery, passing vehicles filled with military as well as a surprising number of civilians, Taylor saw electricians toiling on generators, plumbers working on water lines and numerous others performing various vital functions.
The journey came to an end at a lowered barrier in front of a large opaque tube with vents set along it's length. The bus would go no further. The doors slid open and Wertz stepped off, straightening the creases from his uniform as he moved towards a platform running alongside the tube.
Above the platform, a digital clock displayed 13:56 and beside it, platform number 19. Wertz leaned over a gold safety bar at the edge of the platform, turning his head to scrutinize a display showing the arrival time of the train. Taylor stepped off the bus, stretched and sneered as his shoulder popped.
"'Course you got a train down here," he said, rubbing a pain from his neck.
Wertz moved to the display panel as Taylor joined him on the platform. Above their heads was a four letter acronym: E.T.T.S. (Evacuated Tube Transport System).
"How fast?" Taylor pried.
"4,500 MPH," Wertz returned. "LA to NY in 35 minutes. Train is coming from Washington D.C.".
"Who," Taylor added, "are we waiting for?"
Wertz sneered at Taylor and he smirked back.
"You're bloody kiddin' -".
The sound of air being sucked into the tube vents caught Taylor's attention. As Wertz gripped the golden safety handrail, the train suddenly appeared and the air that had just been sucked into the tube was now blasted back out through the vents and into the tunnel, knocking Taylor onto his ass. The punch of energy was terrifying and powerful enough to push the bus back a few inches. The bullet tipped train seemed to stop almost before it had arrived.
The mighty blast of air had ruffled Wertz's neat hair, and as he pressed it down, he ordered Taylor to his feet as automatic doors in the tube opened, followed by the train doors. Wertz stood at attention and Taylor, with a grouchy expression, rose to meet the new arrivals.
"Fuck," he groaned, as President Chantel Cox wiggled toward him.
Cox was what the people wanted from their leaders: beautiful, rich, and dressed for any occasion. She was an icon, girls wanted to be her and boys hung her provocative posters on their bedroom walls. She had shoulder length blonde hair and cleavage propped up by a strapless red silk gown. She accessorized with diamond jewelry and a stingray skin handbag. She was fabulous - that was her job. A male stylist corrected the President's hair while three hovering camera drones filmed her live reality show. The President was always on.
"What's his name again?" she asked, glancing at her busy entourage.
"Dr. Hamilton Taylor," Wertz announced, a visible twitch at his eye. "Alive and well...as you requested Madam President."
"Of course," she said, unconvincingly. “What happened to his eye? His face?”
Wertz had no answer. Cox blinded Taylor with her smile, pulled gloves over her fingers then extended a handshake. "We'll get you cleaned up right away, Dr. Taylor."
"Where's my fucking brother?" he said, flicking her hand aside. Wertz grabbed Taylor's damaged shoulder, catching him off guard and forcing him to his knees.
"Respect to your Commander-in-chief!" Wertz spat over him.
"That's a bastard," Taylor rasped, clutching his injured shoulder. "How...heroic of you."
Wertz drew back his clenched fist but the President's team, those behind the scenes, called him off.
"Thank-you General," Cox said, as her stylist wafted a fan in her troubled face. "It's strange that my title doesn't get the respect it deserves. It makes me want to cry."
"Don't cry Madam President!" her stylist begged, dabbing a napkin at the corner of her cheek. “It takes so long to do your eyes!”
Taylor unsteadily took to his feet as the colour returned to his face. Shaky and ready to pass out, he mustered enough energy to direct a demented smile at the President.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," Cox declared, swooping around to face the camera, reading from the teleprompter inside her holo-lens. "Today is a special edition of Cox unplugged. I have an announcement that humanity has been waiting for! We brought this man here to help us - to save all of us! Dr. Taylor is the father of time-travel. He has invented a time machine that may be the solution to all of our problems." Cox paused, waiting for the script to catch up.
"In this episode," she seamlessly resumed, "we were hoping to interview Dr. Taylor about his contraption but as you see, his best days may be behind him. What do you want to say to the nation, Dr. Taylor? To the world? There are billions out there still waiting for hope. Do you have any words to inspire them?"
Taylor nodded to himself. It all made sense now. At first he believed that the Corporation - at the behest of Karl Lanza - wanted him to be part of a think-tank of brains, saved today to help tomorrow. But there was more to it than that.
He hobbled close to the President as the cameras zoomed in on his face. Wertz meanwhile, removed his sidearm.
"Well," said Cox, folding her arms. "What do you have to say for yourself? The world wants to hear from its potential saviour."
Taylor exhaled a bloody snot bubble from his nose and said, "If you have my machine, then you should know what I'm capable of. If you people need my help then you better start hoping...that I start caring.”.
Cox looked uncomfortably into her camera and Taylor took a step closer. Nose to nose. “Do you know what I could do to you?” He looked Cox up and down with a dirty sneer. “I could go back 15 years and fuck you on prom night. You'll gain 150 pounds raising my bastard baby.”.
Taylor hit the ground again as Wertz struck him across the head with the butt of his pistol. On the floor but still conscious, Taylor focused his blurry vision on the President's shoes, Mario Balsar exclusives. Conjuring up all the bloody phlegm in his throat, he spat.
Cox shrieked and kicked off the shoe. Taylor braced himself as Wertz drew back his jackboot.
"No!" Cox screeched, grasping at Wertz. “He's...had enough. They want him alive."
Taylor heard her words and let out a painful chuckle. Cox meanwhile flipped her hair and grinned into one of her cameras.
"Now a word from our sponsor."
— CHAPTER SEVEN —
