Revolution of the Gods: The Battle for Sol Book One

by W. R. Hobbs

  Eventually, the two Lodges unified in 1813. The Antients were no longer considered a clandestine Lodge and all was supposedly well again in the Masonic order. In reality, however, the reemergence of the true Craft’s century’s long secrecy had been effectively hijacked by the aristocrats and power elite of England. The Entered Apprentices and Fellow Crafts of the Antients were completely assimilated into the Modern form of Masonry. All but four original Antients made the transition – they knew better. And one of them from that time was waiting in the chamber under No.9 for Conrad.

  The Antient named Turner held the appearance of a very elderly man, achieving the deeply entrenched wrinkles and complete baldness of extremely old age.

  “Our new brotherhood has been infiltrated, corrupted, and misdirected for more than 300 years. Our purpose has been supplanted by the ruling elite. More importantly, our true order has been relegated to the deepest realms of secrecy for millennia and all will be lost if we do not rise once again and accomplish this last task,” Tuner instructed.

  “We have successfully undertaken countless subversions of our corrupt speculative brothers who follow the direction of the Committee of 300. Nevertheless, their power has reached a threshold that now threatens the survival of the inhabitants of this planet and possibly the entirety of existence. They cleared their last hurdle with the eradication of our Brother Washington’s foundation in the US and ultimately the installment of the Council of Seven.” Turner leaned back in his chair crossing his arms and nodding toward Conrad.

  “The return of their people, those that did not fare well in their efforts of domination elsewhere, is upon us now” Conrad declared. He leaned forward and pressed a recessed button on the table edge causing one of the cinder block walls to separate and expose a large wall viewer and computer array. The main viewer displayed an overhead view of Zone 09 in Oakland with three superimposed space video feeds matching those of the C7’s.

  “I have been informed that Simeon should be freed shortly,” Conrad alerted with a tone of cautious optimism, looking at the empty chair.

  CHAPTER 10

  Oakland ROC

  The flat wide rectangle that formed Section 03, consisted of the space between 7th Street and 10th Street and stretched from Market St to Mandela Parkway, parallel to I-980. Cadan and Ben were under a 12 story building facing Market Street in an expansive basement. In between the mechanical sections were pockets of open spaces where Ben established his furtive residence. About a year ago he had given his assigned room on the second floor to a family of five from Section 15; a particularly unsafe area near 34th Street.

  Even though residents were free to roam the interior of the entire ROC, the camp curfew from 8pm to 5am was no longer enforced outside of Sections 03 and 07 due to the overpopulation in most other sections. Sections 03 and 07 were the only residential sections fully electrified and guarded during curfew hours. Outside of the lit and guarded sections, many places were extremely dangerous at night.

  Since its inception over three years ago, the Oakland ROC had evolved its own socio-economic structure as a result of the discriminatory internment protocols. Essentially there was an upper class and a lower class. When a resident was first interned at the command center, they were designated either a ‘resident-worker’ or a ‘resident-detainee’ and received a ration card indicating their ‘class.’ The determination was based purely on skill set and previous work experience. So far, two sections, 03 and 07, had been completed to house this new civil service.

  When Ben arrived in December of 2028, Section 03 reconstruction was just beginning with the new high-density resident dormitories replacing non-compliant structures like old houses or business buildings making inefficient use of land space. The resident dormitories were ten story cubical concrete structures that focused exclusively on capacity, lacking any architectural creativity whatsoever. Sections 03 and 07 represented the control model which the ROC administrators were directed to expand throughout the entire interior. There were currently sixteen sections undergoing reconstruction.

  Ben gained his particular resident-worker status simply by his initial assignment to Section 03 during the time reconstruction began for that section. Actually, he had been originally classified as a detainee, but after proving his abilities to the ROC construction engineers, he was ‘upgraded’ and reissued a new ration card. This was only one of a handful of ways that a resident detainee could become a resident- worker.

  The ration card itself was a powerful incentive utilized by the center’s administrators to maintain order and control resources. All residents received a minimum number of ‘credits’ to cover no more than two meals per day.

  Regardless of classification, any camp resident could earn extra credits from labor projects, but resident-detainees were always chosen after resident-workers for any such projects and received a lower pay rate for their unskilled assistance.

  All residents could redeem their credits for meals and a limited inventory of basic necessities. Three times a day meals and water were distributed to the hungry souls waiting in long lines at the parks and schools that were converted to food distribution points.

  For anyone that had enough credits, there were commissaries located beside each of the smaller twelve interior ROC command posts. Toiletries, blankets, pillows, and shoes were the top four popular items. Ben used his surplus credits to buy extra food for the family upstairs.

  Sitting in the stale austere basement, the two men had been talking for more than an hour when Cadan made his determination that he could trust Ben. The bulk of their first conversation was about Ben’s family and his history. Unbeknownst to Ben, Cadan was actually vetting the Israeli to determine his trustworthiness. After learning that he had been interned in the ROC three years ago, Cadan realized that Ben could be helpful.

  “Remember when I asked if you wanted to be here Ben?”

  “Yeah, I thought that was a weird question,” Ben admitted.

  “If you were given the opportunity, would you leave this place even though you have nowhere to go?” Cadan prodded.

  Ben slid his hand over his mouth and then rested his chin in his palm, “I suppose the answer is yes. The last three years here have been a life of minimal existence. I believe that I could fend for myself just as well outside those gates as I do inside.” He paused then asked, “Why?”

  “I do not plan to be here very long. I have a specific purpose and my presence here is not by chance. My internment was purposely planned.”

  Ben was stunned by what he heard. “Why in the world would you willingly come here if it weren’t necessary?” he asked.

  “I am here to find someone…a man named Simeon. He was interned about three months ago,” Cadan disclosed.

  Cadan looked at Ben and smirked while he tapped the underside of his right wrist. A small holographic image shot out emitting an overhead view of the camp and then zoomed into the northwest quadrant. Ben was absolutely stunned.

  “This was his general location two days ago…and this is what he looks like,” Cadan explained as a rotating image of Simeon’s face appeared.

  Ben was still processing his amazement when he wrangled his attention back to analyzing the image. The picture was of a man that appeared in his 40s. His brown hair was neatly trimmed short and combed to the right side. Simeon’s prominent eyebrows sat atop his deep set light brown eyes and clean shaven face. Under his left eye was a two inch scare angled down over the top of his cheek bone.

  “This is in Section 23,” Ben said, pointing to the flashing red dot on the floating map. “And believe it or not, I think I have seen your friend,” he added, clearly remembering the scar.

  “Where?” Cadan asked, turning off the hologram.

  “About three weeks ago, I was working in Section 20 on the new command building. I was on the second floor looking down when I noticed a group of engineers having some kind of problem with the installation of some very large stone arcs atop the twenty-five foot guard gates
. I saw your friend Simeon help resolve their issue in less than two minutes and then he just walked away.”

  That sounds just like Simeon, Cadan thought.

  “Can you take me to that area?” Cadan asked.

  With a considered reluctance, wondering what he was getting himself into, Ben replied, “Yes.”

  Mandela Parkway

  After they turned right and walked down the middle of Mandela Parkway, Ben could no longer remain patient. “Why are you seeking this man?”

  “Let us find him first and I will explain more to you then,” Cadan replied, watching a drone fly by overhead.

  The two of them walked for a few more minutes until they reached the site of the central command building. As they passed by, Cadan looked at the arcs positioned properly in place now.

  “Section 23 is just a little further,” Ben said.

  By the time they reached the corner of 28th Street, the city blocks were becoming more densely populated with ragged white tents and stained plywood huts becoming more prominent. In front of the dilapidated West End Commons Townhomes stood a rickety collection of tents stretching across the entire road and down one city block.

  Cadan and Ben entered the miniature tent city, each scanning down the chaotic fissures on his respective side. They were almost in the center of this dingy white sea when Ben said, “There!” He pointed to a man that fit Simeon’s description.

  Cadan quickly pushed Ben’s arm back down.

  “Assume you are always being watched,” he reminded his new friend.

  Ben felt a bit embarrassed for he knew this basic assumption all too well after three years of living in the Oakland ROC.

  The man that was the focus of their attention was sitting, reading a book which made him stand out markedly in the surrounding frenzied environment. His hair was no longer neatly kept and his beard was beginning to run wild, but the scar on his left cheek was still unmistakable.

  A shadow extended across the page Simeon was reading. When he looked up and recognized Cadan, a broad smile separated his bushy beard.

  “My trip was somewhat delayed,” he chuckled, standing to shake his old friend’s hand.

  “What do you think… are you ready to check out of this place?” Cadan responded clasping Simeon’s hand.

  CHAPTER 11

  Dugway Facility

  Deep under Dugway Proving Ground, Bracken and Dr. Hauer were sitting in the general’s office. They had exchanged information for over two hours. And while both of them shared some very astonishing revelations, it was Hauer’s side of the conversation that was the most shocking.

  Once the doctor concluded his last explanation, Bracken sat motionless in complete disbelief. A chill was coursing through his body making him fell numb all over. He could feel his face become ashen as he absorbed Hauer’s words.

  “General, I would not have made this disclosure if I did not believe you could be an integral part in preventing what is to come,” the doctor added, attempting to calm the general.

  Bracken snapped out of his blank stare and shook his head slightly as if he were rearranging his thoughts back to a logical order. He looked down and opened his desk drawer to retrieve a solitary stale Marlboro cigarette that had been lying in the back of a tray for over two years.

  “I kept this in here for years as a way to trick my mind that I had not given it up forever,” Bracken admitted. He grabbed a lighter in the same tray, lit the cigarette and continued, “Out of all the troubling recent changes in our world I have managed to allow that trick to work….till now.”

  “It is a nasty habit General but one that can be overlooked at the moment,” Hauer conveyed in a forgiving tone. Pulling Bracken back to task he asked, “In light of our recently discovered mutual goal, what do you propose we do next general?”

  Bracken’s color had returned to his face and it was a deeper shade of red at this point. His shock rapidly transformed to anger as he deliberated Hauer’s question.

  “I need you to explain what you’ve told me to my unit leaders. We need to prepare for a briefing by 2200 hours. That will give me enough time to coordinate the other officers and develop a new strategy. According to what you have explained, I recommend we begin Operation Goliath no later than tomorrow.”

  “I agree General, time is of the essence. What may I ask are you going to do regarding Taon?”

  The cigarette made a soft hissing sound as Bracken took a long, calming draw of the smoke. With a furrowed brow, he pulled the burning tobacco away from his lips. The general rested his right hand on the desk with the cigarette between his fingers and began tapping his thumb. He considered his response for a few moments then said, “I will withdraw the recon team. And let us hope he finds his destination. Lindherst’s men will still be conducting an unrelenting search to capture him.”

  “Taon will not be without help,” Hauer cryptically assured.

  “That’s good because we’re all gonna need as much help as we can get,” Bracken confessed, exhaling his last puff of smoke with a tinge of guilt.

  “I will prepare for the meeting and attempt to isolate Taon’s location. It is of the utmost importance that he arrives at his destination. Otherwise our effort will be severely and most irreparably handicapped,” the doctor said, rising back to his feet. “It is good to know that you have arrived at the correct decision- the one that can help save this world.”

  Hauer waited for Bracken to unlock the door and headed back to Level 176. Bracken sat gazing at the photograph of his wife and two sons on the right side of his desk. The general had already planned to make accommodations to bring them to the facility but that was based on a longer timeline. Things were about to happen much quicker than anticipated and he felt a streak of panic run through him.

  I have to make sure they are safe.

  As his office windows switched back to transparent mode, Bracken observed Colonel Osborne looking in his direction from the command deck. Although Bracken had not brought him into his inner circle regarding Operation Goliath, he had a limited trust for Osborne nonetheless. The general could only afford an exclusive membership to his cause.

  Despite his competence, Osborne didn’t make the cut because of his murky spec ops history. The colonel was the prototypical officer. He wore his uniform to perfection and carried out each order likewise. Osborne was odd in one way. He stood over 6 foot 4 inches tall with the most perfect posture of any soldier Bracken had ever observed.

  “Colonel Osborne, report to my office,” Bracken rasped over his comm system.

  “Yes Sir,” Osborne said entering the office with a hastened stride.

  “I would like my family brought to the facility.”

  “Yes sir,” the colonel replied, thinking that the request for the transport of Bracken’s family was very strange.

  “I want you personally to take a V33 to Salt Lake City instead of a regular transport. I will alert my wife you will be there within the hour,” Bracken directed, standing up and rubbing his constricted forehead.

  “I will leave immediately.”

  After Osborne left the office, Bracken got back on his desk viewer and ordered the recon team to withdraw from Vegas. He then established a secure channel to General Straka.

  Approaching Lewis-McChord Facility

  Ah! This never gets old! Straka recalled as he piloted the V33 Raider toward to Tacoma, Washington. The V33 resembled a slightly smaller version of its predecessor the V-22 Osprey. The primary difference in the craft was that the Osprey’s tiltrotors had upgraded with tiltrepulsor nacelles. The upgraded engines allowed the Raider to achieve speeds over 700 mph, more than twice its predecessor.

  As Straka analyzed the fuel readout, an incoming message from Dugway flashed on the inside of his helmet visor. He accessed the message and a small projection of General Bracken’s image appeared in the visor’s top left corner.

  “Eric, I’ve got some new information that requires a completely new game plan. The stakes are infinitely highe
r than we imagined. Once you arrive, I want you to remain at Lewis McChord. Go ahead and assume command of the base when you arrive. Begin preparation for a scaled down Ark Protocol. The briefing is rescheduled for 2200 hours. We are initiating a revised Operation Goliath at 0100 tomorrow. I will contact you again at 1600 with more info.”

  “I take it you had a meaningful conversation with Dr. Hauer,” Straka prodded, his image projecting back to Bracken from the V33’s console camera view.

  “We are up against way more than we originally planned. I’m going to let Dr. Hauer tell you guys directly what he explained to me. The primary directive of Goliath no longer focuses on just the NAU Command structure… I need to get to work on the new plan,” Bracken digressed, contemplating the forthcoming load of events.

  “Yes Sir! I will await your next communication at 1600. Straka Out.”

  Jackson Laboratories - Sacramento, CA

  The progress bar finally reached 100% and Dr. Leroux’s data compilation was now complete. She had been fully prepared for the briefing on short notice but never imagined it would be necessary to compile all of her database immediately thereafter.

  The geneticist had provided only the veneer of her team’s results in her concise introduction to the military. She had not been afforded the time to present the entirety of their findings.

  “Dr. Leroux, I need to speak with you,” Pennington alerted as he stood outside her lab door.

  Leroux was both startled and irritated at the same moment, “Yes Director?”

  “Dr. Leroux, General Straka has sent an order for you to report to the Dugway Facility. I know this is very short notice Courtney and they haven’t told me anything about why they need you so urgently or how long you may be there,” Pennington compassionately confided.

  “Can…Can I have some time to get my things together here?” Leroux asked in a foggy state, now blankly gazing past Pennington.