by J C Ryan
Daniel tried to keep a straight face, but it was no use. He burst out laughing, “Oh what a scandal that would cause nowadays! Can you just imagine?”
Nigel joined him in laughter, and they left the room with images of sheets, bloomers, and long underwear blowing in the breeze.
As they meandered into the Green Room, Daniel felt some of the tension drain from his body and mind.
“After hanging laundry in the East Room, I’m almost too afraid to ask, but what is the grand history of this room?”
“Nothing as scandalous as that!” Nigel laughed. “During the Monroe administration, it was a card room, and the nation’s first declaration of war was signed by President James Madison here.
Daniel surveyed the room, appreciating the antique furnishings and carefully choreographed decor. “There is something truly soothing about the color green,” he sighed.
“Umm-hmm. This was the favorite room of President Taft’s wife, Helen,” Nigel said as they took seats on the green and cream striped couch.
Their conversation transitioned to a light-hearted visit, and Nigel had Daniel roaring in laughter when Secretary Willis strolled easily into the room.
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said with a smile. “May I interrupt to bring you good tidings?”
Laughing, Nigel teased, “If it is truly good tidings, then yes. Otherwise, go away!”
Willis laughed and pulled up the chair when Daniel indicated.
“I just spoke with Admiral Johnson and wanted to let you know that the Itinerant has returned from the Trepang with fifty survivors, and there are more to come!”
Daniel’s grin could’ve illuminated the room, and his eyes shone. “That is the best news I’ve heard in a very long time!”
“Yes, sir, it sure is!” Willis agreed, setting a bottle of whiskey and three glasses on the table. “I think this deserves a toast!”
The two of them agreed, and as Daniel took a sip of the amber liquid, he asked the most burning question on his mind. “Between the crew and the prisoners, there were one-hundred-forty-eight people on the Trepang, how many more are there to be rescued?”
“Seventy-nine.”
“One-hundred-twenty-nine survivors—that is a miracle.” Daniel paused a moment. “And Brideaux? Is he among the survivors?”
“No, Mister President. He was killed by one of his council members, Rafael Martinez, who assisted the crew in retaking the ship,” Willis informed him.
“Martinez is also the one who assisted us in bringing Brideaux down,” Daniel said.
“Yes, sir.” Willis then summarized the events aboard the Trepang as they had been told to him, including the rescue and the condition of the survivors.
“Six killed by Brideaux and thirteen by the Russian attack,” Daniel shook his head. “That is nineteen too many.”
Nigel and Willis nodded in agreement—words seemed inadequate.
“The young Ensign—Littleton—will he live?” Daniel asked quietly. The story of the young man’s torture infuriated him.
I’d raise Brideaux from the dead and kill him myself if I could.
“He’s in critical condition and was airlifted to a hospital in Anchorage. It’s too soon to know.”
“I see, and the others?”
“The fifty that have been rescued are all crew. The injured were brought up first. There were two with head wounds that went to Anchorage with Littleton, the rest have mostly bumps and bruises, minor cuts, and a few with broken bones.
"They are being treated by the doctor aboard the Mystic Sea. Her captain has provided cabins for them and ordered his galley to serve them ‘meals fit for a king,’ I believe were the words he used. They will be well cared for and comfortable on the trip to Bangor.” Willis smiled. “It seems the Captain had the forethought to have an assortment of clothing, personal items—even jackets—brought aboard in addition to the extra medical supplies. The men are being provided with everything they need from socks and underwear to toothbrushes and aftershave.”
“God bless that man,” Daniel said with a grateful sheen to his eyes.
CHAPTER 12
Re’an headquarters Tunguska, Russia
VIKTOR CAUGHT A glimpse of the fiery storm in Telestra’s eyes before she hid them from him. He grinned and leaned back easily on the couch. “What, nothing to say? I’m sending your son on a warrior’s mission to the other side of the planet and you aren’t objecting?”
Telestra sighed. She was weary of these skirmishes with Viktor, weary of the manipulation, and frustrated that after nearly one-hundred years he could still provoke her to anger. “You have made your decision, and nothing I say will change it, so why should I bother?”
He missed the fiery, scathing words she once had for him when she was displeased. To him, there was nothing in the world more pleasing than Telestra when she was angry—especially if it involved Deszik. “Oh, I just thought you might beg me not to send him, the way you once begged me to wake him from the deep sleep,” he taunted.
Her face flushed at the memory from so long ago. “Deszik is a man; he will choose his own path. And you, if it makes you happy to hear me say it, can go to hell.”
The words were there, but not the energy that was once behind them. “You are a waste of my time, woman,” he snarled, rising from the couch and lunging at her simultaneously.
She didn’t flinch. “So you say.”
Shoving her against the wall in exasperation, Viktor stormed from their quarters.
Picking herself up, Telestra also left their quarters.
It is time.
As usual, she found Dekka in one of the science labs. Viktor had forced Dekka to create enhancements for the soldiers and develop more powerful weapons. She had watched Dekka die by inches inside, with each success, and wondered about his ability to continue working.
Then one day, many years ago, she had entered the lab to find a seemingly ‘new’ Dekka—he was happy and energized.
“I am going to atone for all that was incumbent upon me to do. It will take years, but I will do it,” he had told her.
He was secretly developing technology that could be used against Viktor, without his knowledge.
The first thing Dekka developed was a way to make infinitesimal adjustments to Deszik’s chip that would gradually allow him to become free of Viktor’s control.
Eventually, she and Dekka had been able to feed the history of the B’ran, the L’gundo, and the past one-hundred years into Deszik’s chip and allow him to draw his own conclusions.
As they had hoped, once he was free from Viktor's influence, he quickly came around to supporting his mother’s and Dekka's views. And it pleased the two of them that the boy was eager to do what he could to help them work against ‘the tyrant’ as Deszik called Viktor. He trained harder than ever and worked diligently to earn Viktor’s trust and respect so that when the time came, he would be able to act for his own people, the L’gundo.
Dekka had also developed and deployed, to their chips, a unique enhancement that allowed only the three of them to communicate collusively via chip to chip transmissions without having to utter a single word. They could be talking about the weather while discussing the application of Dekka’s latest secret invention at the same time, with no one being the wiser. The only drawback was it required proximity—they had to be within twelve to fifteen feet of one another. Dekka had been working tirelessly to solve the limitation.
“Dekka,” she spoke with her mind as she approached. “It is time.” Out loud she said, “Hello Dekka! How are you today?”
“Ah, Telestra! Hello! Yes, I know. I am well, and you?”
“I’m well.” They continued a friendly, simple conversation about a colleague’s experiment while covertly discussing the integral parts of a plan long in the making that was starting to come together.
“Deszik will be leaving in two days.”
“It is as we expected. However, I have solved the limitation factor of the communication
enhancement.”
Telestra almost squealed aloud in her excitement over that announcement and had a difficult time maintaining her casual presence at the lab table.
“Dekka! That’s wonderful news! Is it difficult to do?”
“No, not at all. In fact, the change can be transmitted—there is no need to connect to the computer for an adjustment. I have already made mine.”
He glanced at an instrument on the table next to him and then appeared to check some calculations he was making before looking back at the instrument.
“There! Your adjustment is complete!”
“I didn’t feel a thing. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure! We will be able to communicate anywhere we go now.”
“What about Deszik? Will the range increase be enough to reach him where he is going?”
“I believe so.”
“But, that’s … so … incredible! How does it work? No, wait. Don’t tell me, quantum-something-or-other.”
He grinned and looked at her. “Correct. Let Deszik know I need to see him. If you could have a look at these findings, and let me know what you think, I would be most appreciative,” he said handing her a notebook, wrapping up the secondary conversation.
“I’ll be happy to. I’ll send him to you this evening.”
“Thank you, Telestra,” he called after her as she passed into the corridor.
CHAPTER 13
Onboard the Itinerant
WITH THE FIRST fifty crew members settling in and receiving care aboard the Mystic Sea, the crew of the Itinerant was anxious to make its second run to the Trepang.
“Is everything cleaned and sealed up and ready to go?” Marcus asked.
“Everything is ship-shape,” Taka replied.
“All right let’s go get them. Bill, take us down.”
“We’re on our way!”
In contrast to the dismal, fearful, first trip into the unknown, this time the knowledge that they were going to retrieve survivors made the time pass quickly.
As they approached the spot where they expected the Trepang to be, Taka noticed it first. “Marcus, something’s wrong. The Trepang isn’t where she should be.”
“What? There’s no way she had the ability to move.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. She’s slipped further down the incline toward the trench.”
“Shit. Where is she now?”
“Five-hundred yards from where she was and three-hundred-eighty-four feet deeper.”
A chill ran down Marcus’ spine. “But that’s one-hundred-sixty-eight feet below her crush depth,” he said dejectedly. “Bill, see if you can raise them.”
Bill quickly got on the radio. “Trepang, Trepang, this is Itinerant, come in.”
“Itinerant, this is Trepang, we read you. I hope you guys are on the way, we’ve shifted below our crush depth and, although we’re holding together, we sure would like to get out of here.”
“Affirmative, Trepang. We see you. Hang tight, we’re about to dock. Trepang out.”
“They’re listing another ten degrees—thirty degrees total, but the hatch is clear, we can still dock.”
“Let’s get moving, we're running out of time. Bill, contact the Seawolf—see if she will monitor us and the Trepang until we get everyone off.”
They docked quickly, and Marcus boarded the Trepang to speak with Captain Locklin while the next group loaded. He knew there might not be another trip if the Trepang shifted again.
As they finished their conversation and returned to the group, they caught the tail end of a conversation between the XO and Ensign Hunter.
“Thank you, Ensign, that’s kind of you, and I appreciate the offer, but my place is here with the Captain.” He turned to check on the progress of the men boarding the Itinerant.
“With all due respect, sir,” Hunter spat. “You are wrong, and you’re being a damn fool.”
By now, the loading process had halted to watch the scene.
Larson slowly turned back around, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and spoke in a low voice. “Are you addressing me, Ensign Hunter?”
“Yes, sir. I am.”
Taking a step toward him, Larson eyed him coldly. “Because of our circumstances, I’m going to assume you are under duress, and I’m going to forget what I just heard. I suggest you hold your tongue from now on.”
“Yes, sir,” Hunter responded.
Lieutenant Larson turned back toward the group and never saw the ensign’s swing.
While Nicholson examined the unconscious XO, Locklin and Marcus held Hunter between them.
“Striking a superior officer is a court martial offense, Hunter,” Locklin said.
“Yes, sir, I know.”
“But why? You had a promising career ahead of you.”
“Permission to speak freely, Captain?”
“Granted.”
“Lieutenant Larson has two little boys back home, and his wife is pregnant. They need their husband and father. I’m single. I will take his place among the third group to leave, just in case.”
Locklin shook his head. “Nicholson? Is he going to be all right?”
“I believe so, sir.”
“And I suppose that blow to his head is serious and requires the immediate attention of a doctor, so he needs to be in this next group to go?”
Nicholson cocked his head in thought for a moment before cottoning-on. “Oh yes, sir. Extremely serious. He should be placed aboard the Itinerant without delay.”
“See that it’s done now,” Locklin ordered.
Turning to the rest of the group he said, “I don’t suppose anyone here saw how Larson was injured?”
Silence filled the compartment briefly and then Yoder spoke up, “I’m not positive, Captain, with everything that’s been happening, but it’s likely the Lieutenant was struck by a piece of overhead pipe that broke loose—or it could have been a piece of equipment …”
“Anybody see anything different?”
When no one else answered, Locklin looked at Hunter long and hard. “Well, it’s good we were able to find him and get him on board the Itinerant then.”
Marcus shook Locklin’s hand and followed the last of the fifty crewmen to board the Itinerant. “I promise we’ll be back,” he said as Copeland prepared to help him seal the hatch. I just hope I can keep that promise.
For a moment, the unspoken truth lay heavy between them. “We know. We’ll be ready. God speed,” he replied as he closed and sealed the hatch.
Nearby, in the murky depths, the Seawolf cruised slowly, the motionless blip like a ghost on her radar screen.
CHAPTER 14
Re'an headquarters Tunguska, Russia
TELESTRA WENT ABOUT her daily routine of checking the readings and equipment in the control room, the heart of the facility. Here, computers monitored and controlled the ingenious equipment created by the L’gundo ancestors. The equipment harnessed the power of a forming volcano, by using the highly volatile hot gasses released by magma from the planet’s mantle, to provide the facility with all the power they needed to live comfortably.
As usual, everything was in perfect working order, all readings within the expected safety spectrum.
The new communication adjustment to her chip was working perfectly, and she relished the ability to conspire with Dekka as they went about their daily tasks.
“Deszik’s adjustment last night went perfectly,” Dekka reported.
“He will be leaving tomorrow. It is time to finalize our plans.”
“Yes. We have been working for this day for more than a century. It is time.”
Leaving the control room, Telestra headed for the fissure access area and her weekly inspection of its equipment. “Have you completed the work on the medical program?”
“I have a few more adjustments to make, but yes, it is ready.”
“Are you sure Viktor will not know what is happening?”
“There are two-thousand sleep pods occupied currently,”
he said referring to the people Viktor had captured, killed, re-animated, and put into the Deep Sleep as reserve soldiers. They were sustained in pods that provided their bodies with a highly oxygenated liquid for breathing, nutrient-rich artificial ‘blood’ for sustenance, and micro electrical stimulation to support the brain.
When the subjects were needed, the breathable liquid and chemical blood were removed, replaced with air and their original blood, their hearts re-started, and the brain stimulated until they regained consciousness.
“This program,” he continued, “is designed to work undetected. I’ve adjusted the nutrients just enough so that the proteins break down in a way that prevents them from forming amino acids, and thus cannot be absorbed by the body which will create a starvation condition within a few days. This will force their bodies into gluconeogenesis—a process that occurs under starvation conditions where the body draws glucose first from stored sources in fat, then from lean tissue and muscle to support life.”
“So, they will ‘starve’ to death without knowing it, and Viktor will never know. That is ingenious, Dekka—diabolical, but ingenious.”
“At least they will not consciously suffer.”
“What will happen if Viktor tries to awaken any of them before the process is complete?”
“He will find them physically weak at the least. If the process has progressed far enough, the effort to restart their hearts will kill them. In any case, the chip in the brain is dependent on glucose for its source of energy, similar to a battery, and the low levels of glucose available to the chip will render it inoperable, irreparably damaged.”
“It would seem you have thought of everything.”
“Let’s hope. How are your plans coming?”
“I’ve written the computer program that, when loaded, will feed the monitoring equipment false information so that all the instruments record normal levels of activity in the fissures. It will also override the normal functioning of the control programs so that no action will be taken by the automatic adjustment system to prevent the build-up of pressure.”
