Dark Alignment

by David Haskell

  He was still intensely upset by the loss of his work. He’d have cancelled if he thought he could get away with it. But this seminar was a last minute arrangement by a generous benefactor, and it’d been made abundantly clear by his bosses that he was to give them his best. He tried to see the bright side—it’d be good to get his mind off the loss. And it was pleasant to get down to a more southerly realm, where the sun was always shining, and the people seemed to have an unnatural optimism. Can’t complain about that, he thought.

  Now the expansion theory itself is being put to the test, he’d begin, nodding sagely and pretending his listeners were engaged. What if everyone was wrong? What if they had no clue as to what was really going on out there? What would be the consequences for all of us stuck here waiting for the inevitable?

  Time to start. He felt that first-hill rollercoaster stomach he hated so much, along with a twinge of vertigo that made him hold back a moment from taking the stage. When he finally walked out, to a smattering of golf claps, his mind was a thousand miles away, his body fully engaged in the panic of the moment.

  He reminded himself that he’d be okay, so long as he didn’t pass out or throw up. Low bar, he thought, trying to amuse himself into relaxing. It didn’t work.

  “Good morning,” he began, willing his voice to remain steady.

  Some of the attendees droned noncommittal good morning’s back at him. Others were too sleepy or too preoccupied to care.

  Dean didn’t much care either. He just wanted to get it over with. “It’s great to be with you,” he lied, “hopefully my talk will be enthralling enough to keep you all awake.” The attempt at levity fell on deaf ears. His own were ringing. He tried to focus on a spot halfway across the room, as he’d learned in a speech training seminar, but only managed to give himself a pretty bad case of tunnel-vision.

  As he stumbled through his introductory notes, his eyes fell upon a brunette woman in the front row. The distraction, interestingly enough, was what it took to bring his focus into the here and now. After an additional moment of self-doubt, he began to feel as though she were genuinely interested in his lecture, which gave him the confidence to assume others might be, as well. It was the first break he’d given himself since the start, and it felt good.

  After the lecture was done, Dean lingered at the edge of the stage, fielding questions from anyone who bothered to stay behind. He didn’t see the pretty woman among them, much to his disappointment, but he did spot her in the corridor after the small crowd had left.

  “Hello Dr. Eckert,” she said, coming up on his right shoulder so silently that he gave a start and dropped his notes. “Oh, sorry,” she continued as the papers fluttered down around them, “…let me help you with those.”

  Eckert bent down and gathered up the materials, flustered and looking up with an idiotic expression, making him appear inept on top of it all.

  “Thanks,” he said, snatching up as many papers as he could, “I guess you have a question for me?”

  She looked at him with a sideways glance, sizing him up. It was somewhat disconcerting.

  “From my talk? You wanted to ask me something?”

  “That’s not why I’m here, Dr. Eckert,” she said coolly, handing over the last of the spillage, “it’s not exactly my field of expertise.”

  “Oh?” Dean said, wondering if that was a bad sign. “What’s your field?”

  “Oh, I’m not a student,” she said, as if the fact were self-evident, “I work for the government.”

  This conversation was getting weird. He wondered if he should bow out, knowing he was dealing with an odd duck. Why would she be here at all, if not for the lecture?

  She reached into her jacket and pulled out a portable device. She held it out and said, “This will help explain things.”

  He looked at the display. His first page of research, his missing research, leapt off the screen.

  “Jesus, where’d you get that? Wait, forget that. I need you to send it to me.”

  “Easy there, Dr. Eckert. I don’t think you quite understand the situation yet.”

  What’s to understand? “I know you’ve gotten your hands on my property, and I’d like to get it back, Ms.?”

  “I’m Jo,” she said, “and it’s not that simple.”

  “Look, Jo, I don’t want to have to call the police or anything, but—”

  “Go ahead,” she said casually.

  Who was this girl kidding?

  As if to answer his thought, two uniformed officers came out from around the corner behind Jo, standing at rest as if she’d just summoned them.

  She glanced back. “There they are. You can go tell them now, if you like.”

  His first instinct was to lash out, tell her where to stick her attitude. And to take her cops with her when she left. But she had something he desperately wanted, and that made the dynamic different. He could piss and moan about fairness until he turned blue, but if this woman had control over the police, there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do about it. At least not before going out and finding himself a lawyer.

  Against his gut wishes, he decided to hear what she had to say. There was no harm in that, he figured, and at least he might start getting closer to how his data was sabotaged in the first place. Now that he knew who was behind it, or one of the culprits anyway, he could start his own investigation. After speaking with her.

  “Should we go somewhere and talk, then?” he asked, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice.

  “I though we could take a drive,” she answered, “if that’s okay with you?”

  He motioned for her to lead the way. The cops stepped back and the pair walked out the main entrance. A blazing red sports-car was parked in a no-parking zone, with two more cops there to keep an eye on it. Who is this person? He was starting to feel like he’d stepped into a Bond movie. He had no idea how accurate that assumption would prove.

  * * *

  Jo didn’t call off the cops this time, opting instead for a high speed escort. Not that she needed one, but she felt like it would drive home just how important it was for the scientist to give her his cooperation. Plus sometimes she just liked to feel some support out there. She so often acted and worked alone, it was nice to feel part of a team.

  The squad cars were having a hard time keeping up, so she had to hang back slightly. Dr. Eckert was hanging on for dear life, one hand clutched around the seatbelt and the other pushing firmly against the A-pillar. As if that would do anything to keep him from being squashed like a bug in an impact at this speed. Still, whatever kept him happy.

  “Sorry to drag you away from the convention,” she said, her own hands resting casually on the wheel and the stick, “I hope I didn’t ruin your lunch plans back there.”

  He looked over at her, undecided. He didn’t know what to make of this whole thing, but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was impressed with everything so far, all other sentiments aside. “I think I have the right to some answers here,” he said, “given the fact that you’ve stolen my research.”

  “Stolen is such a harsh word, Dr. Eckert,” she said, adjusting herself a little further back and down into the seat, “think of it as appropriated. There are extenuating circumstances that require unorthodox methods. You’ll see.”

  I really don’t–”

  “You saved your work, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I…yes, of course I saved it.”

  “In numerous places, so you wouldn’t fall victim to a crash?”

  “Yes, I did. But I really don’t see—”

  “And they wiped it all out, didn’t they?”

  Dean Eckert fell silent.

  “What you did, Dr. Eckert, was to make it a cakewalk for your enemies. You practically gave them a trail of breadcrumbs. What we have here is a safe copy. Untraceable. Off line. Impossible to copy. So long as it’s in our hands, it can’t be in anyone else's.”

  Dean remained silent, but nodded, starting to get it.

 
; “And now it’s our job to get it, and you, to a safe place where nobody can get us, because getting their hands on you is the next best thing to getting your research.”

  “I don’t see why that should be,” he said, but it was a half-hearted objection.

  “You’ve got all the data they need up there,” she said, pointing to his head, “and that means you’re in great danger, doctor.”

  He didn’t get it, but nodded anyway. Then he shook his head in the negative, turning red in the process. “Hang on just a second, if you think—”

  He broke off the comment, or more appropriately it morphed into a scream as he realized they’d come to the end of the road, literally. The escort had backed off about a mile back, and just as they crested the hill they were on a pier, driving headlong into water.

  Rather than hit the breaks as expected, Jo accelerated, reaching up with her stick hand to flip two dashboard switches, then a third as soon as they hit the waves. The first two actions prepared the submersible, and the final switch took care of the tires, flattening them out so the vehicle skimmed the surface, then dipped under. All this time, Dean Eckert was still screaming, though with the realization that they were breathing normally and still relatively stable after all that, the scream died in his throat.

  Jo laughed. “Sorry about that. I’ve never had the chance to do it with a stranger before. I thought it’d be a kick. Got your motor running, didn’t it?”

  He looked over at her like she was crazy, which prompted a wide grin. “Bet you feel like you’re in a Bond movie about now, huh?”

  “You could say that,” he croaked, white-knuckling the belt even harder than before.

  “Don’t worry,” she said, “I’m not the villain. Not the one you need to worry about, anyway.”

  6.

  Shane whistled. He was privileged to be examining these readouts—judging from the levels of clearance plastered all over—but it wasn’t just the secrecy that impressed him. It was the numbers. The sheer volume of research must have cost a decent fraction of the black budget, and taken years, maybe decades to process. If not for the unpleasant conclusion it reached, he might have enjoyed reading this monumental effort.

  Now he knew why they’d been so desperate to bring him down here. His knowledge of near-Earth space phenomena would be needed in the planning phases if they were to have any hope. He whistled again.

  “Who else knows about this?” He didn’t expect a straight answer, but was surprised to learn that his briefer knew even less about the matter than he. Assuming she was to be believed. She gave no names, suggested no leads, and apologized for her lack of knowledge several times.

  “Okay, what can you tell me that isn’t already here in front of me?”

  On that, she was more helpful. She gave a handful of tentative timelines and hoped-for objectives. But none of those had been committed to the charts yet, which meant they were obviously still putting things together. Would probably be doing so for quite some time.

  * * *

  The bond-car/submarine motored deeper, cutting through the water easily, powerful headlights illuminating the undulating seascape before them. As if this couldn’t get any more bizarre, Dean saw something up ahead. If he didn’t know any better he’d guess it was a submerged building. Heading closer, he realized it was more of a skyscraper—minus the sky part—extending down into darkness. Wavering floodlights indicated even more levels below the murk.

  Jo pointed and said, “Wilkerson Seabase. The most sophisticated seismic observatory on the planet, among other things. Cost the navy a pretty penny to build this thing.”

  “Military, huh?” Dean quipped, “I never would’ve guessed.”

  Jo shot him an annoyed look, not impressed with his wit. He tried another tack. “So you’re military, then?” he said as casually as he could manage in such un-casual conditions.

  “Me?” She laughed. “No. Definitely not. I’m a visitor, just like you.”

  As if to highlight that fact, two lethal-looking submarines emerged from the depths, steering straight at them and blocking their course.

  “Uh, oh,” she said. But she didn’t sound particularly nervous. The piercing glow of laser sights pointing their way, however, terrified the hell out of Dean. Jo leaned over, flipped open a center console Dean hadn’t noticed, and picked up a radio set. She slipped it over her head and spoke calmly. “Tell your boss the OTDA is here. She’s expecting us.”

  Those appeared to be the magic words. The lasers winked out, then the subs veered off, giving them a clear path to the whateveritwas out there. They surged forward.

  “OTD…?” Dean asked, amazed that she seemed to have control over whatever authorities were in charge down here.

  “OTDA,”—she flipped a switch, first rocking the craft, then stabilizing it—“Offworld Threat Defense Agency.”

  “Oh,” he said. Somehow that bizarre answer seemed to make sense. Of course she worked for an agency straight out of science fiction, what could be more natural?

  Claustrophobia was beginning to overcome him. It wasn’t in his normal physiological nature to feel that way, but this was no ordinary situation. As they approached what was fast starting to look like a city under the sea, he realized they weren’t planning to surface anytime soon. His survival instincts were in overdrive. Fight or flight, pal. You’re going to die, you know.

  * * *

  They approached the structure at a decent clip, and the margin of error seemed razor thin. They skirted the wall of the structure close enough to make Dean flinch, which gave Jo a laugh. Though he feared they might actually hit the thing, Jo was obviously an expert pilot. She kept them flush to the side and ran halfway around in a semi-circle. There were windows here and there, and Dean saw people inside. Most were sitting at desks, doing paperwork. Of all the things, he thought. It might have been an ordinary office building if not for the liquid exterior. If he’d been in a city, on a window washer’s lift or a helicopter, the sight would’ve seemed perfectly normal.

  They came to an opening, and Jo steered them nearly sideways and right into it, shutting down the power so they drifted slightly before hitting the deck with a thunk that echoed off the walls. A sliding wall closed them off from the ocean beyond, and the waters quickly receded. Within a couple of minutes, the chamber was bone dry.

  Jo cracked open the door and stepped out. “Coming?” she called back as she walked away.

  Dean was still half afraid he’d drown if he touched the door, even though his eyes insisted he was in a perfectly safe, hangar-like space. It took an extreme mental effort for him to reach over and open his door, pushing hard to break the seal and feeling droplets of water fall onto his shoulder. It was like stepping out after a hard rain, no more frightening than that. The air smelled slightly stale, but other than that it seemed perfectly normal.

  He walked around the car—he was able to think of it as a car now, as it had lost any boat-like characteristics upon arrival—and hurried to catch up with Jo. The two of them were almost to the exit door when it flung open and a tall, imposing woman strode in.

  “Just who in the hell do you think you are?” she shouted, coming to a dead stop between them and the door. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you out of the water.”

  Dean stood silent. He was still disoriented, and stunned by the commanding nature of the woman standing in front of him. Jo, on the other hand, didn’t look impressed. “Hello, admiral,” she said, “thought I might find you here.”