Echoes of Worlds Past

by Nicholas Read

  SOMERSET, ENGLAND

  SEPTEMBER, 2007

  “THIS IS CRAZY.”

  Standing just within the cover of a thicket of woodland, Jax peered across the open field that was swathed dark grey in the starlight. Two days had passed since their encounter with the teeleoth, and in that time Monarch had listened to Eastwood’s proposal with interest. Which was why they had come to find themselves in this southwestern county in rural England.

  Zooming in with the visor that peeked out from beneath her cowling, she could see the grass was kept closely cropped to avoid anyone sneaking across the field, as they planned to do. Adjusting the lens to penetrate the surface, she saw a lattice of pressure sensitive plates extending the full breadth and width of the grassland. The long two-storey bunker complex on the far side of the field prized security above all else.

  This far away from metropolitan London, and on the outskirts of a backwater village, visitors stood out a mile. Even in the middle of the day, the steady stream of vehicles that came and went had one way in and one way out, past several manned checkpoints on the long, private driveway that was the only break in an otherwise perfect mile-wide span of emerald green that ringed the complex.

  Now, past midnight, the small crew of Longcoats had watched the last of the late night workers shuttle home and a few cleaning crews arrive. Otherwise the only movement was from the rotating stalks of security cameras and the red flicker of ground level high-intensity lasers that served the dual purpose of grass trimming and intruder detection.

  Standing next to Jax, Lion tapped buttons on his forearm display while Castle stood further back, watering a small tree as he nonchalantly chewed gum. Eastwood was staring intently at the buildings.

  He knew this place. He knew what lay inside and where to find the materials that would help the Longcoats in their work. What he did not know was how he knew these things. How had he known to find a place in a town he never heard of, at a site that proved to be fuzzed out on satellite maps when they had checked? How had he known that this particular two-meter patch of ground in this specific copse of trees was the only camera blind spot in the whole five-kilometer perimeter of the complex?

  Of course if he was wrong, they would all find themselves in jail before morning. If Lion allowed that to happen, which Eastwood doubted. Lion struck him as someone who would fight to stay off the grid. He would not, could not, allow their anonymity to be compromised.

  Nor if detained could they expect any subsequent help from the Foundation or other Longcoats. They were ciphers. The Longcoats were expendable, which meant that he was expendable.

  He would have to ensure that they emerged unscathed from what they were about to attempt. Not because he had suddenly developed deep feelings for his new companions but because there was something vital he had to do beyond this new affiliation. Like so many other memories this too remained tantalizingly out of mental reach. He knew by now that constantly straining to remember would only stress him; the result would be a headache and not revelation. Much better to concentrate on the task at hand.

  As he pointed he shared the thoughts that tumbled free from the unknown vault in his mind:

  “The main gate brings people in and out. You can see it from here. But there’s a service road that runs around back. Single-lane. Unlike the main entrance where there’s always someone on duty, back road security is entirely automated.”

  Studying the industrial complex, Lion was less than enthused. Was he risking too much on the word of a newcomer?

  Yet this was a newcomer who had defeated not one but two lethal Inter-D intruders. While there remained much about him they didn’t know, he had already saved lives. If there was one thing Lion had learned from the Foundation that had anointed him one of only a dozen cell leaders in London, it was to go with his mind instead of his gut. Responding to emotions got you in trouble. Sober detachment and careful analysis was what solved problems.

  Right now the Longcoats had such a problem: confronting dangerous intruders without adequate tools. Eastwood insisted he could help. In fact, if Eastwood knew as much about this place as he did about the secrets only a Longcoat should know, much good might come of it. In which case the Foundation that sponsored them would be pleased.

  A dubious Jax contemplated the dark-windowed industrial complex. “Assuming we can get inside, what then?”

  Raising an arm, she used an opposing finger to flick through onscreen folders that revealed the inventory of her coat’s Q-Pocs. It showed she held a veritable Aladdin’s Cave of replacement parts, batteries, ladders, ropes, pressure shears, prybars, and other assortments waiting to be called upon as needed. Her favorites were the stunergy pistols which were easy to use, light to carry, and allowed opponents to walk away unharmed after suffering a sufficiently disabling dose of unconsciousness.

  “Sure, nobody will be able to see us, and the inside cameras will only record what looks like ripples if anyone’s watching closely enough,” she said, “But that won’t help us get past these external security barriers.”

  Eastwood simply shrugged. “I don’t know. I just have this feeling that once we’re in, everything will work out.”

  Lion frowned. “Gosh, golly gee,” he mocked. “That’s real reassuring, Eastwood.”

  The younger boy looked up at him. “No? Neither is the existence of Longcoats, something called the Cassandra Foundation, predators from other dimensions, and you telling me that the world is coming to an end in 2012. But you guys believe in all that and are dealing with it. I figure you can believe in me for a moment.”

  The group leader and his companions exchanged glances. Jax nodded, then Tucker. Castle half patted, half wiped his hand down Eastwood’s shoulder as he rejoined the group from the shrubs. “I’m in,” he grinned.

  Lion looked back at their young ward. “You worry me, Eastwood. I have enough worries. But Monarch says the Foundation tells us to not look a gift horse in the mouth and to use any tools that come our way.”

  Eastwood listened quietly, not in the least offended by being referred to as a tool.

  “So we’re going to take this as far as we can.” He nodded at the building across the road. “You say you can get us inside. You say that once inside you know about devices that might be of use to us, though you have no idea what or where they are. Okay, I hope this factory makes more than cream biscuits, because we couldn’t find this place mentioned anywhere. That’s probably reason enough to go in.” He paused a moment. “You really better know what you’re doing.”

  Lion’s eyes never left Eastwood’s as he toggled a stud on his cuff and instructed the team to turn on their shoulder microcams to record the mission. In an instant a flexible metallic cowl snapped up from his collar to enshroud his head. From under his sleeves, row upon row of the same material knitted downwards to cover his hands like a glove. He vanished from sight as the pin cameras on the far side of his outfit projected what they saw to pixels on the near side.

  The other Longcoats activated their own invisoflage, then all triggered the rings around their ankles. As Mercury Boots lifted them all a foot into the air, they angled their ankles forward and moved silently across the grassy expanse, never coming close to tripping the pressure plates or the shin-level laser beams. Although their visors revealed each other as blue shades, to the dozens of camera sentries they were completely invisible.

  Past the grass they arrived at a double line of three-meter high chain-link fences topped with spiraling spikes. Through the channel ran a single cord that on contact would send an alarm to the complex’s central security node. The fences were too high for their Mercury Boots to hop. Connecting the two fences was a chain-link passage with an automated access gate at each end that led to a forecourt beyond. The electronics could not be bribed: no prison boasted greater security.

  Alighting on a concrete drainage tube that bordered the field, the team hung back as Eastwood approached the first gate. When he pressed the request panel the central gate i
mmediately lit up like noonday under a dozen halogen suns. Even though they were invisible, his companions flinched at the sudden eruption of light. In contrast the younger boy waited patiently as his hand was scanned and the first gate slid aside.

  “Hurry!” he told them as he raced through.

  Before they caught up he slapped his open palm against the next gate’s sensor panel. There was a brief pause. Then the interior gate opened as the one they had come through slid shut behind them. Appearing as an amorphous blob of distorted air, the five Longcoats charged into the inner parking area. For fear of registering on any hidden sound detectors they resisted the urge to ask how Eastwood’s handprint had become an access key.

  DEEP WITHIN THE COMPLEX one of two guards on duty at the central security node frowned as he stared at one of the numerous monitors that surrounded him and his partner.

  “Hey, did you see that?”

  His partner looked up from the eReader he had been perusing. “See what?”

  The guard who had spoken indicated the monitor screen. “Exterior, Service Lot Twelve. Supply gates just opened.”

  His associate frowned, quickly and efficiently checked a series of readouts. “Doesn’t show anyone or anything coming in.” He automatically backed up the recording. “View is blank. Glitch six of the evening. It’s nothing.”

  Indeed, the gates under discussion had already closed. A rapid check of the parking area revealed nothing untoward. Puzzled but reassured, the first guard relaxed.

  “I guess you’re right. Just a short. Backup resolved the problem.”

  Nodding, the other man resumed his reading. “Don’t bother me unless you actually see something, okay?”

  “Yeah, right.” The first guard went silent. The brief incident had unsettled him. But not sufficiently to raise an alert.

  HIS SHIELDING COAT secure around him, Eastwood led the way to a back dock. This was where supplies for the complex arrived and finished goods departed. How he knew this he did not know, just as he didn’t know how he had successfully bypassed the automated security system at the gate. Later, he would have time to ponder why.

  Another handprint panel was set alongside the heavy metal door. Above was another camera that ignored them as he pressed his open palm against the softly glowing panel and activated the door.

  They were in.

  “What now?” Though he could not see details of the blue shape that had whispered, Eastwood recognized Jax’s curt voice. He also knew her smell, a realization that unnerved him more than he cared to admit.

  Wait! Were there any odor scanners in this sector of the building? What about air density sensors? His store of knowledge about the complex seemed endless even if its source continued to elude him. He felt certain they could proceed without concern.

  “This way.” He stared down the corridor off to his left.

  Protected from notice by their unique attire they raced with impunity past camera after camera until Eastwood finally found the stairwell he had seen in his mind.

  “The lab we’re after is three floors down,” he informed his companions. Jax made a face.

  “Wait. Three floors down?”

  Eastwood nodded. “This place is like an iceberg. Most of it lies below eye level. There are actually four underground layers; three for labs and staging, and the lowest for heating, air scrubbers, off-grid power and engineering.”

  “And you know this,” Jax prompted him, “how? Oh, of course.” She keened her head to one side with a mocking smile, visible to his eyes as blue light. “You don’t know.”

  Lion was searching their immediate vicinity. “Where’s the lift?”

  “On the far wall,” Eastwood pointed his chin, “but if we activate an unauthorized elevator it’ll trigger a dioxide mist that will knock us out until guards arrive. We’ll take the stairs instead.”

  Gesturing at a metal door set in the nearby wall, he turned to Castle and said, “Cough up.”

  Chewing since their arrival, Castle pulled a gum wrapper from his pocket. Quickly folding the paper into a thin silver tube, he bent it into a U-shape then gingerly slid one long end into the top slit between door and frame, until he felt it catch. He then pulled the plug of white gum from his mouth and pressed it over the short end of the silver strip, fixing it to the doorframe. Carefully he tugged the metal door open with one hand, and as it cleared the silver paper, he stuck that foil directly onto the hidden voltage plate with a second and third glob, then pulled the door open wide.

  With continuity of current preserved by the foil wrapper, the alarms didn’t sound when the door broke its connection.

  “Just like you said.” Castle giggled at Eastwood as he swung through the doorway. The others followed.

  Like everywhere else, security cameras in the stairwell failed to see the youths vaulting down half flights of stairs at breakneck speed; failed to note their feet never quite touching the corrugated steps, or that their descent was in near silence save the rustle of leather and the whoosh of compressed air.

  On the landing between the second and third sublevels, Eastwood paused and backed up. There was no door here between floors, just a blank wall set with a white rectangle like so many other emergency lighting strips they had passed in the stairwell. But this was no ordinary light box; composed of filamentatious quartz, it was stronger than the brick that surrounded it.

  Stepping forward and rising on tiptoe Eastwood opened both eyes wide and peered into it.

  The translucent panel noted his proximity and became a clear window, now suffused by green light. Lasting only a second or two, it was followed by a click. Settling back onto his feet Eastwood raised his hands to the blank wall and pushed. A door-sized panel opened inward. His companions gaped at him.

  It was Castle who broke the silence: “That’s a retinal scan. And this is a top-secret installation. Just who are you, kid?”

  Eastwood sighed. “Look, I’ve told you: I don’t know how any of this is working.”

  “I’ll settle for the fact it is working.” Tucker spoke through gritted teeth as she pushed past the others to examine their new surroundings.

  The long, windowless room suspended between two official levels of the building was obviously a secret laboratory within the laboratory. As recessed lighting came up, they could see it was unoccupied and arranged like a production line.

  At one end, dozens of darkened computer monitors littered desks and tables like dead leaves dropped from a giant alien tree. Surrounding them were floor to ceiling glass panes on which were scribbled formulae and diagrams in red, blue and black marker pens.

  Further along were neatly stacked boxes overflowing with all manner of raw technology, a mix between an electronics shop and a mechanic’s garage where half assembled experiments hung suspended on gantry hooks and conveyor belts, which all led to the far end where fully assembled machines rested in open shipping crates, swathed in plastic sheeting and bubble wrap.

  “I don’t see any security cameras,” Jax reported.

  Eastwood had already powered down his coat. “This section isn’t monitored. Nobody gets this far who isn’t already cleared. There are plenty of alarms that respond to emergencies though. Don’t break anything and there won’t be an emergency.”

  After studying their surroundings for a moment he led the way toward the back of the lab. Meanwhile Castle slid the door panel back into place to mask their entrance should any guards make their rounds up the stairs.

  “What are we looking for?” Lion asked him impatiently.

  “Only some small thermonuclear weapons.” At the look that came over his companions’ faces it was Eastwood’s turn to smile. He was pleased with his joke, and the fact he could summon long words and know what they meant. “Just kidding,” he said easily, then as a light turned green: “Ah, I think this is it.”

  Responding to his handprint, the doors of a steel wall cabinet snapped open. Layered on the smoothly uncoiling racks within were a number of devices, each one se
cured with a magnetic lock. One by one they released as he pressed his right index finger to the touchpad that was integrated into each lock. He passed them to his companions. Tucker admired the pistol-like device she had been handed.

  “Looks bad. What does it do?”

  As he continued to extract and hand over more of the units, Eastwood conveyed the words that spilled from his mind, hearing them for the first time along with his companions.

  “The American and British military have been working with microwaves for years. The Americans even have a wave cannon mounted on a truck that makes skin feel like it’s burning, even though it’s not. They used it for crowd control in Iraq.” He held up one of the pistols. “This lab has been working on miniaturizing a similar device while greatly increasing the power.” He indicated a recessed control on the left side of the pistol he was holding.

  “You can adjust the intensity here. At full power a short burst will fry anything organic or destroy any electronics that aren’t appropriately hardened.” His grin returned. “At the lowest setting it makes really good popcorn. The beauty of it is that unlike a lot of contemporary weapons its use leaves no residue of any kind and there’s little or no damage to the surrounding environment. Nothing blows up, there are no bullet holes, no craters. And it’s dead quiet.”

  His tone turned suddenly modest and introspective. “Because of that I thought these might be really useful in your—in our work. If we had these against the teeleoth, we could have literally fought fire with fire.”

  Tucker held her weapon up to the light. “Pretty sharp, kid. What happens when the power supply runs down?”

  Holding his own pistol upside down, he flipped open the panel on the bottom of the butt to reveal adjustable pins. “You plug it into the nearest wall socket to recharge. Any plug, any current. There’s an internal transformer.” He looked suddenly uncertain. “This Cassandra Foundation you work for gives you light-bending coats and other advanced gear. How come you don’t have bigger weapons?”

  She shrugged. “Our mandate is to push the strays back where they belong, and only engage if they prove a threat. Our gear reflects that. But I bet if we asked for these, they’d have found a way to get them to us.” She smiled wanly. “But who knew this type of weapon existed?”