Flat.
That was it. This field was flat. Too flat. Unnaturally flat. The ground beneath his feet felt too hard to be natural earth, lacking the springiness of dirt which people never notice until it is absent. It was like a football field, only instead of bleachers and scoreboards, the field was surrounded by steep mountains.
Richard silently cursed in his mind. When he had first realized he was outside, he had briefly thought that he might be able to make a break for it and run to safety, or at least somewhere he might lose these strangers, whom he was still unsure about, but that hope was now dashed. The mountains looked too steep to climb without equipment, making for an effective natural wall. There was nowhere for him to go, and even if there had been, he had no clue where he was beyond “still in Oregon”. Besides, these people who had kidnapped him were feds, or something similar; trying to run might only get him in trouble, maybe even killed.
Ahead of them stood the man who had abducted him, trench coat billowing in the breeze. His solid black attire made him look like a shadow even in the bright sunlight. Instinctively, Richard tried to pull away from Nancy and run anyway, but her vicelike grip on his arm only tightened. She was unusually strong for a woman, he thought, but then again, he was not much of an athlete to begin with.
The man in black had a device at his ear and was speaking into it like a telephone. To Richard, this should have been impossible. He could see no cables or phone lines anywhere. Was it a walkie-talkie? No, it was too small, and the shape was much sleeker than he would have expected. It almost looked like something out of a Flash Gordon comic. Whatever it was, the man appeared to be using it for communication, and Richard could just barely discern a high-pitched voice responding through it, though he could not tell what it was saying.
“All right…” the man in black said. “Tell Ishiro we’ll be there in thirty… Yes, we’re heading out now… Right… I-”
He stopped, now acutely aware that Nancy and Richard were beside him. His face turned slightly red. “I, uh…” His eyes darted around as if looking for an exit or distraction. Upon finding neither, he placed his free hand over his mouth and mumbled, “Iloveyoutoo,” then pressed a button that silenced the device, which vanished into his sleeve with a click.
Nancy smiled, clearly enjoying the spectacle of seeing him flustered. “How adorable!” she said, making no effort to mask her mockery.
“Shut up,” the man growled.
“Oh, lighten up! We all know you’re just a big softy inside!”
The giant in black turned to glare at her. He glanced briefly at Richard, then he smiled as well. It was a creepy, disturbing smile, at least as far as Richard was concerned. In fact, he never wanted to see this man smile ever again. “Keep this up, Miss Boardwalk,” the man said, “and I’ll share a few juicy details from your files with our guest.”
Understanding and horror registered in Nancy’s eyes. “Right, shutting up,” she said quickly. Once again, her fingers clutched at her cross necklace.
The man offered a handshake to Richard. “Mr. Godfrey. We were never formally introduced. My name is X.”
Richard did not take the hand, partly because it looked like it could crush his own, and partly because he was puzzled by the introduction. “X? That’s it?” he said. “Like the letter?”
X shrugged. “Not really. You can’t spell a lot with it, but it’s who I am.”
“What? No, that’s not… I…” The flatness of X’s reply made it impossible for Richard to tell if he was making a joke or stating a fact. He turned to Nancy. “Is he insane?” he whispered.
“No, but ‘he’ has very sharp ears,” X replied. “I, Mr. Godfrey, am a patriotic American. If you cut me, I bleed red, white, and blue.” With another click, a ghoulish-looking knife appeared in his hand, which he raised to his throat. “Seriously. Want to see?”
Richard backed away. “Um… Thanks, but… I’ll pass.” He managed a fake smile which did little to hide how perturbed he was.
X shrugged. “Suit yourself.” With a click, the knife returned to its holder somewhere within the sleeve of his trench coat.
Nancy tugged on Richard’s shirt sleeve, drawing his attention back to her. “He’s not kidding, you know,” she said. “I guarantee you’ll see him bleed those colors before all of this is over.”
Before Richard could ask if this was some overdrawn joke they were setting him up for, the ground began to shake.
Remembering the earthquake safety lessons he had been taught as a child, Richard started to run back to the small building to stand in its doorframe. In this case, starting to run meant taking only one step, as Nancy’s iron grasp once again stopped him before he could get much further.
The unnaturally flat field groaned with the rasping, scraping cacophony of stones grinding against each other. A patch of ground opened slowly like the mouth of a giant, but it was not crumbling. It simply retracted, two halves sliding away and vanishing beneath that ground which remained undisturbed.
Down in the newly-formed hole, Richard could make out a vast metallic expanse like an aircraft hangar, but any further details were blocked by the oblong craft that rose on a platform to the surface. The craft was sleek with short racing fins towards the back, and was perched upon skids like a helicopter. Yet despite being roughly the size of a passenger jet, its appearance was more comparable to a racecar than a plane, or anything else that was meant to fly.
Richard blinked in astonishment. “What… What is that?”
X marched towards the craft without a word, so Nancy responded. “That’s our ride, Mr. Godfrey.”
“Ride? Ride to where?”
“Japan.” Nancy gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Your latest assignment requires a bit of travelling abroad.”
At this point, Richard was still confused and worried about the situation he had somehow wound up in. His desire to know what was going on did not override his desire to return to some sense of normalcy.
Then again, his reporter’s instincts were screaming at him to stop panicking and consider just what he had fallen into. This day had begun as one of the worst days of his life, filled with self-doubt and despair, and now he was in the company of a government agency with advanced technologies at their disposal. Strangest of all, it seemed as though they wanted him to be there. Nancy had even said this was an assignment.
To Richard, “assignment” was an understatement.
This, potentially, was the scoop of the century.
He boarded the craft.
CHAPTER 3
Michael Sun hated Groom Lake.
Specifically, he hated how limited his movement was there. He was used to having free reign of government facilities, like he did back in Washington. That was part of how he did his job. Yet at Groom Lake (or whatever the suits were calling it now), he was only allowed access to certain areas. It seemed ridiculous to him. Just knowing that this place even existed was a privilege in itself, he knew, but only being allowed in four or five areas of such a big facility – including the cafeteria and the men’s room of each building – was so restrictive that he may as well have been in prison. Given how much he already knew about what was going on in the world, the restrictions seemed unnecessary. He felt like a child being told where he was not allowed to go by overprotective parents, and the condescension that came from certain people who worked here really grated on his nerves.
He had caught glimpses of things through closing doors and schematics left on desks by careless workers. He did not know for certain what most of them were, but he was told that he would eventually be granted access to other areas one day, assuming everything went smoothly. He knew better than to place any chips on that square.
At the moment, he was headed to one of the few places he did have clearance to enter: Hangar 90. He was allowed there because it directly related to his work, and it was where Colonel George F. Stingray was waiting for him.
He entered through the simple sliding metal doors, a
nd was greeted by the sight of the Colonel, illuminated by a large but dim overhead lamp and the sporadic sparks of construction. He was leaning on the balcony guardrail, staring at a towering machine the mechanics had been working on since last year. Sun could not decide which of the two looked more ridiculous. Stingray made it a point to style himself after his hero and idol, General Douglass MacArthur, and Michael had never seen the Colonel without aviator sunglasses obscuring his eyes, even at night or in the dim lighting of Hangar 90. How Stingray could always see what was happening around him was beyond Michael’s understanding.
As for the machine, its mighty metal frame was still having the last finishing touches put on it, but the face was complete. He saw no reason why a machine would need a face at all, but robotics was not his field. As a Chinese-American, he appreciated the eyes, even if Professor Toshiro, the brains behind the device, did not have China in mind when he designed them. The eyes were fine, but the goofy smile was off-putting. Why on Earth had he included that? Did he think it was funny? Was it meant to be friendly? If that last one was the intent, it was a failure. The smile was not friendly; it was creepy.
Michael stopped beside Stingray. “Good evening, Colonel Stingray,” he said as if he were simply greeting a coworker at a nine-to-five job.
“Something new, Mr. Sun?” the Colonel responded in a more serious tone, his gaze never wavering from the machine.
All business, then. Just once, Michael wished that someone would open by asking how his day was going, or maybe asking if he’d seen some recent sporting event. “Well, my contact told me that X and Boardwalk have someone new with them.”
Even though Stingray turned his head in Sun’s general direction, it seemed like his eyes remained fixed on the machine. “Who?”
“Not sure yet.” Michael looked down. Hangar 90 was not like other hangars. It went down instead of out, deep into the depths of the Earth. It was the only way this robot could be built ready-to-launch. “Don’t worry, though. I can make contact again once everyone is onboard the Akira.”
“They’re heading for the Akira? Hmm.” Stingray tapped the rail in thought. “What are they up to, I wonder?”
“If I had to guess, we’re approaching a major event, and somehow, this new guy is connected.”
Stingray sighed. “Once everyone’s onboard, give those jokers a call. Remind them of their place.”
It was Michael’s turn to sigh. That conversation again. Every time the Red Dragons went off book, it fell on him to give them a stern talking to, not that it ever made them stop. Reminding them of their place was an exercise in futility. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Assuming this is a major event, though, you really think this oversized toaster will be done in time?”
“If Sigma says it’ll be ready, it’ll be ready.”
Michael nodded, and waited for a moment. When the extended silence made it obvious that Stingray had nothing else to say to him, he left.
Richard was still having a hard time believing that the vehicle he was in could really fly, even as he watched the world pass by far beneath him through a small, round window not unlike the kind he had seen on Navy ships.
“Not bad, eh?” asked Nancy, who had just sat down with a Shirley Temple in one hand and a glass of water in the other. X was somewhere else on the ship, and that suited Richard just fine.
Richard nodded as he took the water. This was, indeed, an impressive craft. The interior was spacious and comfortable, equipped with all the amenities one might need for a long flight, including reclining chairs, several TV sets embedded in the walls, and the wet bar where Nancy had gotten the drinks. Although he remained seated, the cabin was arranged in a way that made walking about remarkably easy. This was close to what he imagined the inside of a luxury hotel looked and felt like. Not only that, but the flight was remarkably smooth. If not for the evidence outside his window, he would never have guessed that they were flying at all.
He could only imagine what the people below must think the ship was. It was flying fairly high, and had reached the ocean half an hour ago, but it had flown over at least one town on the way. To an earthbound spectator, the craft probably looked like a…
Wait…
Richard started to say something, then remembered the strange metal stick he had been given, the one Nancy said was a recording device. He still had no clue how it could do what she said without a tape reel, but he also had no clue how the aircraft he sat in could fly. Ergo, if the ship could fly, the stick could record.
Besides, if there was one thing he had gotten used to as an investigator of the Absurd, it was having faith that the crazy things people told him were true.
He retrieved the device from his pocket, switched it on, and asked his question, having mentally shifted into journalist mode. “When I first saw this ship,” he began, “it looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on why at the time.”
Nancy cocked an eyebrow toward the ceiling, intrigued. “I assume you have a theory?”
“I was just thinking that we might look like a UFO from the ground. I’ve covered UFO stories in the past, and I just remembered seeing quite a few photographs of something that looks like this ship.” Richard gestured to the rest of the cabin as he spoke. “It seems obvious to me now that a ship like this must be what was photographed.”
“Huh,” Nancy responded with the same level of enthusiasm she might have had upon being told a recipe for chicken parmesan. “I guess some of our pilots got careless. Probably Nelson, the fat dolt. Good thing we demoted his giant behind down to janitor.”
Richard glanced back out the window. “So, that’s the ultimate answer, then? All the UFO sightings are just classified experimental ships like this one? They’re all terrestrial craft being used by this Red Dragon group?”
Nancy shrugged. “Well, some of them are. Let’s just say for now that every ship you’re about to see was built on this planet, and we Red Dragons are all human.” She sipped her drink. “Well, we’re all from Earth, at least.”
Before Richard could ask for further elaboration on this strange statement, a string of yellow lights along the ceiling blinked, and a soft ding was heard. “Attention, all passengers,” said a friendly female voice on the intercom. “We will be docking in three minutes. Please keep your seatbelts fastened until we have landed. Thank you, and good day.”
As he clicked the latch of his seatbelt into place, Richard looked out the window again. He could see nothing but ocean and sky stretching into the horizon.
He turned back to Nancy. “Where are we going to land, exactly? In the ocean?”
Nancy placed her empty glass on the tray beside her chair and stood. “You can’t see it from here. Come on.” She turned and started to walk toward the cockpit.
“But, the voice just said-”
“She always says that. It’s her job. Docking with the Akira always goes smoothly. We’ve been using this model of shuttle for five years and haven’t had an incident yet. Come on, you’ll definitely want to see the Akira while we’re landing.”
Even though it went against everything he had ever been told about flight safety, Richard unplugged his seatbelt and followed Nancy, wondering if he had heard her right, and if so, what “docking with the Akira” meant.
The cockpit was more like something out of a Sci-Fi movie than a proper airplane, but this futuristic aesthetic was starting to make sense to Richard by this point. The control panels did not have as many dials and gauges as he had seen in other aircraft, and the controls held by the pilot and co-pilot were both fairly small and looked like they were made of plastic. They reminded Richard of steering wheels from toy cars, the kind children sat on and moved either with pedals or their feet like the Flintstones did. The pilots themselves wore silver-colored vinyl jumpsuits and what appeared to be motorcycle helmets.
All of these details, though fascinating, paled in comparison to the object revealed beyond the large windshield.
It was another ship, of that h
e was certain, but it was much, much larger than the tiny craft he currently rode in. Indeed, it was massive, and the closer they got, the less he could see of it, so he tried to take in as many details as possible.
Like his current transport, this new ship was oblong, but he could not decide if the hull reminded him more of a boat or a submarine. The fact that it looked like a seafaring vessel at all was surreal, since it was floating at least a hundred feet above the water. Its nose was a rounded cone, which was the only thing about it that looked remotely aerodynamic. The rest looked very industrial. Its fuselage appeared to be very thick, and the angle of the sun made it difficult to tell if it was dark gray or dark brown. Protuberances like backwards shark fins rose from the top and sides, each supporting a disc-shaped object at the end covered in glass panels. Perhaps, he reasoned, they were observation decks. Massive rocket engines stuck out of the back, and ripples of heat beneath the ship indicated more on the underside of it. A slightly raised area behind the nose cone was lined with windows that glowed yellow from within, and Richard assumed that area might be the bridge. Along the side, large red symbols were painted. They resembled the kanji on the Red Dragon card, but he recognized none of them.
“What does that say?” he asked. He had a guess, but he hated to make presumptions. It was a habit he had dropped long ago, as a reporter who jumped to conclusions was doomed to print inaccurate stories.
“Akira,” Nancy answered. “That’s the name of our noble battleship and mobile base of operations. The good ship Akira.” She swelled with pride upon saying the name a second time.
It was a pride Richard could understand. Industrial though it might have appeared, the ship was a magnificent sight to behold.
Operation Red Dragon: The Daikaiju Wars: Part One Page 4
