Quantum Storms - Aaron Seven

by Dennis Chamberland

  “Lew! It’s really you! What’s up, dog?”

  Warren shook his head as he looked at Wattenbarger – skinny, bleary eyed and unshaven. “You into Ebonics now, dawg?”

  “Where the hell are we?” Wattenbarger asked, looking at the unfamiliar territory around him.

  “I understand that’s a question you’ve been asking yourself just about every morning you can remember,” Warren responded.

  “Ouch,” Wattenbarger replied, obviously back in full control of his faculties. He was an average sized man, with fine, straight, light brown hair and friendly, golden brown eyes. His face was framed with the solidness of his German lineage but lifted and rounded by a considerable amount of Native American ancestry. His eyes sparkled from behind a set of gold, round rimmed glasses, and his effervescent intelligence always pushed his eyes, thoughts and words ahead of most people in his life, except for Warren . But Wattenbarger had two weaknesses: sex and booze – in whatever order he happened to encounter them; and both acted to totally obliterate any advantage that may have stemmed from his intellect.

  “It’s good to see you - honestly,” Warren finally said, reaching out his hand to his old friend.

  Wattenbarger ignored his hand and stepped forward to embrace him. “It’s good to see you, too,” he said sincerely, as he hugged Warren tightly.

  Warren pulled away and continued, “Dale, I need your expert memory. Remember that cave we explored here when we were kids?”

  “Probably. But, hey, it’s only been about, say, 35 or 40 years ago.”

  “We need to find it - like right now,” Warren answered intensely.

  Dale nodded, immediately accepting the seriousness of the situation, and then looked back and said, “Why?”

  Charles laughed loudly. “Hey! I thought Dale was in on your secret.” Then he looked to Wattenbarger and said, “Hey Dale, wait till you hear this one!”

  Warren sighed deeply and looked from his watch to the sun. He launched into another explanation of his plan as quickly as he could, with a distinct emphasis on the need for speed.

  “Brilliant! Just brilliant! It just may work, Lew,” Wattenbarger responded as soon as the explanation was over.

  “Ya think?” Charles asked, amazed. “Really? You think so? Isn’t it totally nuts, or is it just me?”

  “Oh, it’s full bore extreme wacko, alright,” Wattenbarger said with a wide grin, pushing his round glasses firmly up onto his nose. “I like it!”

  “Time’s a wastin’, boys. We’ve got to get to work NOW,” Warren said firmly.

  “One more thing, Lew,” Charles said crossing his arms and looking Warren deep in the eyes and shaking his head as he spoke. “Nobody died and left you boss.”

  Warren curled his bottom lip, glared back at Charles and started to reply, but was interrupted by Wattenbarger.

  “Yeah. This is a democracy, and don’t ever forget it.”

  Warren ’s eyes flashed with rage and he started to speak, looking his partners in the eyes. He shook his head and responded, “I’ll take Marbles over you two losers any day! He may be stupid, but at least the dumb beast knows who’s in charge!” Then he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. At least the community had reached a consensus. He had the team he needed to make it work. He had always hated projects that involved other people, and this one was not going to be any different. “Let’s get to the tower now,” he said, eyeing the huge structure before them.

  Within minutes, they had cut the chain on the rusty, dilapidated fence and pried it open. In less than an hour, Warren had scrambled halfway up the structure and installed two hand sized receiver-transmitters on its frame and attached two palm sized solar panels.

  As Warren scrambled down, Wattenbarger explained to Charles the nature of the equipment. “One is a solar radiation intensity monitor that broadcasts to Lew’s laptop computer. Another is a 2 meter shortwave antenna. It’s kinda complicated.”

  Warren slid down the last feet of the tower and walked up to them, his brow dripping with sweat. We have to find that cave, right now,” he said breathlessly.

  Wattenbarger smiled. “Have no fear, boys. If I can’t find that cave in an hour, you can have my wife and take her home with you for a week, and good luck!”

  “Ex-wife,” Charles corrected.

  “What?” Wattenbarger asked, truly surprised.

  “Later,” Warren interrupted. “Later, please.”

  In 43 minutes, the three men had wound their way down the steep eastern face of the mountain and stood before a huge, towering bluff rising before them two hundred feet vertically.

  “This place looks familiar,” Warren said, eyeing the cliff.

  “It should. We’ve camped out here at least half a dozen times,” Wattenbarger noted. Then he began to climb the face of the cliff until he came to a narrow ledge. He slid inside and disappeared.

  “That’s it,” Warren said with a broad smile, and followed after him with Charles looking at the cliff sideways. Seconds later, Charles joined the pair inside.

  A small shaft of sunlight from the narrow entryway illuminated a large vestibule etched by some ancient stream. The cave was about the size of a family living room, its floor covered in a fine, white sand. Dale immediately crossed over to the west facing wall and began to move huge stones piled in one corner. Warren immediately began to assist, quickly followed by Charles. In minutes, they had uncovered a small opening. Wordlessly, Warren handed Wattenbarger a miniature penlight, then he ducked into the hole and was gone.

  “I’m claustrophobic,” Charles said looking at the narrow opening with some obvious degree of dread.

  “You’d better get over it,” Warren advised, looking at Charles and then back to the open hole. “You first.”

  In seconds, Charles and Warren stood beside Wattenbarger in a room so large the penlight would not expose its total area. In the distance, they could hear the sound of water from a stream that ran through some remote corner of the cavern.

  “Home sweet home,” Warren said with satisfaction, sniffing the cool but dank cave air. “And no one’s been here since we left it 35 years ago,” he noted, shining another small penlight’s beam on an old, crusted can of beans they had left behind decades earlier on their very last outing. Even their 35 year old footprints were still clearly visible.

  “Unbelievable,” Wattenbarger said quietly as if he had just been sent back in a time machine. His eyes took on a far away glaze as he mused on how radically different life had turned out from what they had planned, expected and shared together as boys.

  “We can settle into our new digs later,” Warren urged, snapping them into the time-compressed present. “We still have one incredible push ahead of us before sunrise tomorrow, and there’s no rest until then.”

  “Like, what kind of ‘push’?” Charles responded. “I’m ready for a nap.”

  “Like unloading that trailer and getting everything inside it safely stashed in here, then driving that rig off the mountain before the locals get curious. I don’t exactly think they’ll be too excited we intend to stay. And I don’t want them looking all over this mountain for us. They just might find us.”

  “So what’s in the trailer, Lew?” Wattenbarger asked.

  “1500 days of food for one person – mostly beans, rice, protein powder, vitamins and some dog food, a little ammo and other miscellaneous supplies. If we don’t get it down here before the neighbors find it, it won’t matter much how good our shelter is.”

  Charles’s eyes began to flash about as if in deep thought. “I’m not exactly your math wiz, but I figure that’s just over a year if you count three men and a dog. Then what?” he asked.

  “Pray his plan works and works quickly,” Wattenbarger responded solemnly. “Or pray that the eggheads are terribly wrong.”

  18

  Aaron Seven stepped out of a tiny door set into the mountain’s vast concrete covered outer wall. Here, Middlearth’s external doors clung to these great, gray walls that led
from the south eastern endpoint of the massive cave’s internal labyrinth to the outside. The sheer wall lifted a hundred feet off a brilliantly lit helicopter pad, both precariously clinging to a darkened escarpment of the Cumberland Plateau. The pad itself jutted straight out into the void from the outer wall of the near vertical cliff face, bolstered by a maize of steel supports and suspension wires attached to the high wall of granite above.

  On the pad sat two huge, sleek, high speed NASA Rotor Systems X-Wing Vertical Take Off and Landing, or VTOL, helicopter jets with navigation strobes blinking, their engines alight and dully roaring in preparation for takeoff. The pad and helicopter jets were lighted by a bank of gleaming arcs that cut though the darkness and carved the image out of black night as though it were a space station suspended in the middle of an empty void. The helicopters were painted white and trimmed in blue, their slowly spinning upper blades painted flat black. The piercing lights cut through the night mist and painted the darkness with this bright specter of modern technology and primeval geology morphed together as one.

  Hundreds of Middlearth’s residents were crowded around the wide windows to observe the departure. Seven had attained near superstar status during his stay and word of his love affair with Serea had become the main topic of everyone’s conversations and primary grist of the community’s gossip mill. His impromptu marriage ceremony to Serea had taken place just hours before, but even now the word has already saturated the whole of Middlearth.

  Seven walked onto the pad in his tightly fitting, freshly starched coveralls, sauntering and looking like a man that everyone watching knew had just risen from his honeymoon bed. He moved with ultimate and obvious self-assurance; his broad shoulders seemed to carry a total confidence that even Seven could not hide. His face was set in a firm and smiling form reserved for only the blessed and the powerful. As his eyes swept the view of the giant thunderous machines set against the brilliant lights and the dark void waiting for him and his entourage, he sighed with the assurance that he and his party would somehow actually survive the horror that was to come.

  He looked over his shoulder and up to a wide sweep of windows cutting across the slate gray wall overlooking the pad. There in the center window he could see Serea holding hands with her father as he wiped tears from her cheeks. Last night, Raylond Desmond had been hastily informed that the marriage of his daughter and the man he had chosen to lead the undersea colony of Pacifica was going to take place in a matter of moments. Far from surprised, he seemed completely unaffected. Expressing sincere congratulations, there was even a sparkle in his eye as though he had planned it all along. Seven had left them to their private farewell and had made his way down to join the team assembled to depart for Pacifica.

  As Seven approached the first helicopter, he saw his foster father and mother and a neatly assembled row of 17 children lined up and ready to board the nearest X-Wing helicopter jet. Each of the children was dressed in their own set of coveralls. Seven approached Lacey and kissed her on the cheek. Raising his voice and speaking into her ear to be heard above the din of the aircraft, Seven said, “Mother, I can’t thank you enough for the beautiful ceremony last night.”

  Lacey smiled and replied, “Leave it to you to come up with a completely amazing plan that no one could ever have imagined or guessed! We love her. We think you’ve chosen well.”

  Bark moved his face in closer to hear, and then added with a grin pasted ear to ear, “You’re a piece of work, son! Never before have I performed a marriage ceremony so close to the honeymoon cradle.”

  “Bark! What’s gotten into you?” a horrified Lacey responded with a hard slap on his arm.

  “He must have my genes, you know,” Bark replied with a sneaky grin and wink at Seven.

  “I think its time to load the children now,” Lacey responded dryly.

  Little Meghan, who stood closest to Lacey, reached her arms up toward Seven who picked her up and held her. She clung to a fawn colored stuffed bear.

  “Are you ready for a plane ride?” Seven asked the delicate six year old with wide rimmed, round black glasses and a cascade of auburn curls spilling down her back. She simply nodded and laid her head on his shoulder just as Lacey and Bark began to herd the children into the waiting helicopter. Seven clung to Meghan and said nothing as the last child walked onboard. When the final small head disappeared into the craft, Lacey motioned for Seven to bring Meghan to her.

  Before he moved, Seven looked back to the high windows and saw Desmond, standing shoulder to shoulder with the Commander, both with crossed arms, watching him, as were all other eyes of Middlearth. Serea appeared in the open door leading onto the helicopter pad and began to walk toward him. She waved at Desmond, fully knowing that the probability of ever seeing him again in her lifetime was vanishingly small.

  Desmond waved back and smiled with what appeared to be a forced grin.

  When Serea approached Seven’s side, she grasped his arm just as Meghan reached for her, and she took the child and stuffed bear from him. Seven saluted his mentor, teacher and father-in-law, and held it for a long moment.

  Desmond returned his salute.

  Tears streamed down Serea’s cheeks as Meghan held her tightly.

  Seven dropped his arm then turned away from the windows in respect, leaving Serea alone on the pad facing her father. She waved a single kiss, and then turned to face Seven.

  “I’m sorry,” he mouthed with his lips, his eyes full of compassion sweeping over her agonized face.

  Serea gripped Meghan tightly, her face wet and drawn. “I may never see him again,” she sobbed as if he had suddenly died.

  Seven gently pulled Serea to him and reassuringly embraced her, Meghan and the bear together. Serea turned to wave one last time to her father, but he had already walked away from the window.

  Four minutes later, both aircraft lifted off the pad vertically, side by side, and streaked away into the darkness, westward toward Pacifica .

  19

  Striker Legend stood in the open Hong Kong boatyard observing the steel monstrosity taking shape before his eyes. The massive, flat black, steel structure rose high above the bare ground and had no apparent symmetry about it at all. It looked for all the world like a child’s concoction of blocks tied together with a complex array of tubes, cylinders and narrow rectangular beams. Here and there were spheres and broad, flat discs – some transparent but most flat black. Yet to Legend’s eye, there was perfect symmetry. It was a beautiful structure of absolute design perfection and purpose. It was a brutish beast with no form except to the gaze of its designer. But Legend took in its complex form and understood completely that its unsightliness was irrelevant and totally subjugated to its elaborate, even intricate, purpose.

  Legend scoured the shadows of his great, black beast that rose unexpectedly out of the darkness, illuminated on its perimeter by the brilliant neon skyscape on the edge of Victoria Harbor . He could see its form was perfectly suited and designed to slip in a single plane through the subsurface ocean void into which he intended to launch it. Its leading edge was nearly impossible to distinguish from the cacophony of apparent randomness of its structure, but it was there nonetheless – a well designed profile that could not slide effortlessly, but instead, most efficiently through the water at a respectable speed. It was very much a testosterone induced malefaction of appearance that would end inexplicably merged to the perfect sovereign of ocean space, of power multiplied function, much like his beloved Harleys.

  The structure was being constructed atop two massive steel rails that led away into Hong Kong Harbor . Legend’s eyes followed the lines of the enormous beams that flowed into the blackness of the water’s edge. In less than two months, his creation would slide into that water and inch away from Hong Kong into the open Pacific.

  “Are you on schedule, Mr. Legend?” asked an unfamiliar voice from out of the darkness.

  Legend looked around to see a thin man leaning against the bottom of an overturned boat whi
ch had been slammed against the fence by the bulldozer that had hurriedly created his working space in the center of the boatyard. He could see the orange glow of a cigarette as it flared momentarily in the darkness. “Who wants to know?” Legend replied as threateningly as he could manage.

  “I am Kim Lou Adams,” replied the unmoving, figure still leaning against the bow. It was spoken in perfect English without a trace of an accent of any kind, even a regional parlance.

  “Step into the light, Mr. Adams, or I might just have to strangle you with your large intestines.”

  “It is Doctor Adams, Mr. Legend,” the shadow replied evenly, without moving. “My degrees are in many fields, including medicine, so referring to me with respect is fully warranted. And I am afraid that if you strangle me with my large intestine that your creation would be destroyed by sunrise tomorrow and this boatyard rendered a pile of flaming debris. “

  Legend could smell the Communist Chinese culture like the rot of kimchi from where he was standing. In Legend’s estimation and experience, the Chicoms were all alike. They all had their stake in the world tattooed on their foreheads and demanded it be quoted back to them verbatim at every meeting in titles and by various other carefully culturally engineered, but altogether useless, living eulogies.

  “Have it your way, Doc. Now let me see your eyes so we can talk,” Legend answered, thereby clumsily managing to eke out another Chicom cultural convention of the meeting of the eye to convey sincerity at a formal business assembly, however brief.

  The thin man stepped slowly out of the darkness and into the artificial color of the perpetual neon twilight. Legend saw a small man, barely half his mass and a full eight inches shorter. The individual was dressed in an immaculately tailored black suit, white shirt and black tie. His face was thin and distinctly Chinese, his black hair was cut short and precisely placed. His eyes were narrow and black, peering out at Legend in a hard, unblinking stare.