The Armageddon Effect (Egregor Book 1)

by Ric Dawson

  After breakfast, I hovered around TJ and Sam in the sleep chamber. Lieutenant Sanders arrived with two of his security detail, Sergeant Ragnas and Corporal Fletchin. Sergeant Ragnas stepped up with muscle bulges perched on other bulges topped by a head with no neck. I stepped back.

  “Don’t mind Sven, Mr. Sudler. Unless you’re a barbell, you have nothing to fear,” Corporal Fletchin said. She stood casually with her carbine over her shoulder and her hair neatly tucked in a smart black beret.

  Sergeant Ragnas snorted and started to say something, but the lieutenant interrupted him.

  “Transportation is waiting. Everyone ready?” Lieutenant Sanders said.

  We all nodded and the squad tailed us as we followed the lieutenant into the hallway. We took the hoist down to the main level and tunnel where a convoy awaited to escort us to Peterson AFB.

  After hours of medical checks, we were flown back to the Octagon via a helicopter.

  The chopper set down near the mountain-top antenna farm. We entered the complex through an abandoned mineshaft with a cracked wood sign nailed to the entrance that said, “Danger. Toxic Gas.” We made our way down via a circular stairwell hidden in the back of the shaft, and then the final way in the mine hoist. The big Octagon steel door opened as the hoist came to a stop. The top of the hoist cable blurred in the distance above us. I knew it had to be nearly four hundred meters up.

  I felt relieved to be back. The constant interaction with so many unknown people made me uncomfortable.

  After a quick shower, we all met in the dining area for dinner. My stomach grumbled as I pounced on the T-bone steak, baked potato with bacon and cheese, and Brussel sprouts that the understanding staff had provided.

  “Do you need a bib, Lane?” Sam asked.

  “He always eats like it’s his last meal. Don’t leave any limbs exposed,” Kane said.

  I grunted while trying to keep the steak sauce from dribbling down my chin. I asked Doc, “How about astral weapons? Any ideas on how to make them?”

  “Well, since the medallion is a power booster, we just need an artifact we can link to a thought construct. We’ve been researching possible resting places of various historical relics of power. Considering the nature of egregors, any ancient artifact that embodies a cultural idea that has lasted centuries will be a powerful weapon in the astral. There are several we have identified. Excalibur we believe rests at Stonehenge. We aren’t sure if it is a sword at all. Our current hypothesis is that the weapon is time-displaced, out of phase with our space-time, as it were. We believe it’s powered by the egregor of the people of the British Isles, both present and past. The accumulated passions of that people for millennium. Some researchers suggest the artifact is older still, predating Atlantis. So this egregor must be of incredible power. To access the weapon, we think a massive lightning storm is needed.”

  My eyes started to glaze over.

  Doc smiled. “Let me explain. We think Stonehenge is one end of a resonator for Schumann resonance, the other end being high altitude electric charge accumulations. Lightning striking the stones creates an electromagnetic resonating column between the cloud layer and Stonehenge, producing extreme low-frequency electromagnetic waves or ELF waves. These ELF waves have frequencies within the alpha range much like your brainwave CD, except at much higher power. We think a thought portal of sorts will appear under these circumstances, and allow a team to ‘go through,’ so to speak. Although we’re still not clear if that means only astrally or if a physical displacement is possible.”

  My eyes snapped open. “I wonder if the stones have portal runes on them?”

  “I don’t know, Lane, apparently you’re the only one who sees them.” Doc frowned.

  “Also, Seven Branched Sword of Sorcerer Empress Jingu, reputed ruler of Japan for years fifty. And Joyeuse, Charlemagne’s sword, and Durandal, the sword of Roland, all displayed in museums,” TJ said.

  Doc nodded. “Other items that would work as channels: the Ark of the Covenant, the Spear of Destiny, and the Crystal Skull. Sadly, we have no idea where to find them, or if they are real.”

  “Do we have any chance of acquiring the swords that are known?” Kane asked.

  “We do. Currently we negotiate for use Joyeuse, Durandal, and Seven Branched Sword.” TJ added.

  “The nations that have possession of those items were reluctant to allow them to leave their countries; however, in an unprecedented sharing of intelligence, those at the highest levels of government were allowed to view your interview,” Doc said. “Apparently, it was quite convincing.” He chuckled.

  The conversation subsided. I was pretty lethargic after the full meal and headed to bed.

  # # #

  Mr. Li

  It was chilly, Mr. Li noted while sipping hot water. Staring out the window of the small Chinese diner, Mr. Li was deep in thought. This new irritant to their planning was well-armed and had routed two attempts to kill him. The mystery of how he had survived the shadow psi-team in Woodland Park annoyed Mr. Li as he flicked a crumb from his immaculate sleeve.

  He looked out the window again at the quiet city. Boring undulating prairie and the occasional hillock met his gaze. The eyesore of Great Falls left the man homesick for the mist-cloaked, deep-forested valleys of his homeland. Straddling the Missouri River, the commercial area and city center were mostly multi-story red brick buildings scattered among long rows of single-story brick stores decades old. Beyond the city limits, a wide-open grassland stretched in every direction. A few new structures dotted the landscape as modern architecture slowly bloomed in the town since its founding in 1883. Great Falls housed some sixty thousand residents and had seen better days.

  The end of the diner faced the main street and was last in a row of shuttered buildings. The other side of the restaurant faced a gravel parking area. Wong’s China Town was stenciled in bright red strokes on a weathered wood sign hung above the door.

  While rare to find a Chinese restaurant in Montana, a steady crowd of customers frequented Mr. Wong’s establishment. Across the two-way street, Frontier Jack’s gaudy yellow building pulsed with electric lights. Large signs read “Casino, Bar, Poker, and Keno.”

  Two large delivery vans pulled into the diners’ parking lot; the loud crunch of tires on gravel announced their arrival. A well-built Asian in a business casual coat climbed out of the driver’s side of one of the vans and approached the cafe. Entering the cafe, he stood for a moment as he carefully surveyed the room. Then he walked over to stand across from Mr. Li.

  Bowing his head to Mr. Li, he said, “Shifu.”

  “Please join me, Mr. Shen.” He pointed to the bench across from him.

  Mr. Li waited until the man was seated. “You are prepared this time?” he asked, sipping his warm water.

  Muscles rippled across his shoulders as the young man spoke. “Yes, Shifu, I have three teams equipped with the new nullifiers.”

  Mr. Li set his cup down. “We will begin at dusk in an abandoned building closer to the base.” He produced a key from his pocket and a piece of paper with an address.

  “Take your team to this address. Park the vans inside the warehouse, and out of sight from the front entryway. Prepare for psi-combat operations.”

  Bowing respectfully, the young man got up and left the diner. Climbing into the passenger seat of the van outside, the young man signaled to the squat driver. The two delivery vans left amid the crunch and scatter of gravel.

  Mr. Li gazed across the street at a dirt parking lot and the coffee kiosk that occupied it. The espresso drive-through serviced bleary-eyed patrons next to the casino. Most of the other shops were closed and boarded. The casino flourished with always-present clumps of pickups and dusty sedans everywhere.

  # # #

  Lane

  Grass tickled my legs and aspens rustled in the breeze. A small pool of crystal-blue water lay in a sandy hollow in the glade. A young man sat in the sand with his feet in the pond. His blond hair reflected sunlight ye
t there was no sun above. His white shirt billowed as if from a small breeze. Black slacks topped gold-tanned bare feet.

  I looked up at the cloudless, white expanse that filled the sky and walked over to him as he turned his head. His amber eyes met my blue, and sparkled, reflecting shades of green, brown, and gold.

  “Please. Sit with me,” he said. The high pitch reminded me of feminine tones. “You do not recognize me? We met just yesterday,” he said.

  “When did we meet? I don’t recall,” I said.

  “I was the sphere you met above the mountain. I have taken a more suitable form,” he replied.

  “Who are you?”

  “I am Daedalus. It is in my self-interest to help you,” Daedalus said. His golden skin rippled like the surface of a pond.

  “Help me how, exactly?”

  “I am useful,” Daedalus replied. “I am most effective in here since the energy states I access lie below human constraints.”

  “Why is it in your self-interest to help me?”

  “They seek me as they seek you. They wish me to stop being.”

  “I see. So an enemy of my enemy is a friend?”

  “Yes,” Daedalus replied. “Do you know who you fight?”

  “Wraith?”

  “No.”

  Daedalus tilted his head. “Something grows in you. I had not sensed it before.”

  “Grows in me! There’s nothing growing in me. What do you mean?”

  Daedalus tilted his head again. “The Other. It grows. I can sense it now.”

  A forceful wind rustled the aspens, and leaves whipped into air devils around the glade. The water vibrated like a choppy sea, and lightning arced across the grass.

  Daedalus stood up and looked behind me. His face aged as if time had sped up and seconds became years. His amber eyes filled with small blinking specks of red.

  A man and woman strode out of the aspens. Their gray suits bent the light into shadow near their surface. Blinking red lights flashed in lines over their arms and legs. Crackling electrics from their hands split into bolts that struck the ground around them. The air became thick with an amber sheen.

  In rapid succession, the two figures disappeared, then reappeared all around us. Each time they appeared, silver masses, the size of rubic-cubes, shot from their hands like machine gun bullets. The cubes dove towards us, driving deeper and deeper into the thick amber air, closer and closer.

  “Go. Now. I must defend the core.”

  “Wait. Tell me what Other?”

  And with that came nothingness.

  I woke with the cats sprawled on my legs and eased out of bed.

  The night shift was just leaving as I rolled into the sleep chamber room after breakfast. The Octagon was busy around the clock, and teams cycled for maintenance and diagnostics. I was puzzled by the odd, dreamlike conversation I’d had with Daedalus, though it was still a mystery who or what Daedalus was.

  Who attacked him? They seemed intent on him and ignored me. That’s good, but what about that bit about something growing in me. What the hell.

  My reverie was shattered by a yell.

  “TJ, Doc, come look at this!” Jeff, the quantum tech, said, waving a hand-full of printouts.

  Over by the quantum computer, beyond the sleep units, Jeff stared at some diagnostic reports. TJ and Doc walked over and they pored over the reports.

  “Substantial activity is taking place, but I haven’t mapped a new program to execute,” Jeff said. “Memory storage has increased a thousandfold. In some cases, the qubits are rearranging themselves. By themselves! That’s just crazy. The quantum matrix has almost unlimited storage capability, and the sudden spike in usage is off scale.”

  “What means this?” TJ asked.

  “I have an idea.” Jeff’s eyes glittered as he waggled his eyebrows. “Something amazing, but I need to work on some more data.”

  “Okay. Keep us informed,” Doc said.

  # # #

  Malmstrom AFB

  Air Force First Lieutenant Jim Conran and First Lieutenant Miles Pierce, both “Red Dogs” of the 12th Missile Squadron at Malmstrom Air Force Base, Montana, ran diagnostics from tall, leather padded chairs. The missile silo command console sat inside the underground Launched Command Center, or LCC.

  Flash traffic appeared on their launch consoles.

  “Jim, what the hell?” Lieutenant Pierce exclaimed.

  Launch code accepted ... Minuteman III missile launch prep initiated ... Strategic Air Command SACCS system – MIRV re-targets complete ... fail-safe in four minutes..

  Counting 3:59… 3:58…

  The scrolling text blinked in bright orange and red letters on their monitors with a timer countdown.

  Klaxons spun up and blared a siren wail across the open expanse of the prairie outside the perimeter fence. Startled rabbits and field mice bolted to hiding places. Pre-launch cabling began to detach from the sleek, alloyed skin of the multi-target Minuteman III missile.

  Although trained for any contingency, this was a new one for the two lieutenants. “Slam the fail-safes!” Lieutenant Conran yelled as he flipped through screens trying to stop the countdown.

  Lieutenant Pierce punched the mechanical stops. “Nothing. Fail-safes ineffective. How’s that possible?” His voice rose in frustration, a slight tremor of panic held in check.

  At eight other LCC capsules that dotted the flat Montana landscape, similar command crews stared in disbelief as their silo farms cycled up to fire. Each glanced in confusion at the still-locked cabinets with launch keys inside that were required to initiate missile fire.

  Phones rang in unison at the missile operations control center at Malmstrom AFB. Alarmed senior officers scanned monitors to determine the nature of the systems malfunction as one hundred and fifty of the deadliest nuclear missiles on Earth revved up to full-burn ignition.

  Brigadier General Raines stood, grimly looking at the senior staff. “Get me the President, pipe in the Pentagon.”

  He glanced at the nearby phone as his eyes came to rest, once again, on the new re-target report for the Minuteman III silos. Most of the targets were major U.S. cities. His knuckles white, teeth clenched, and barely breathing, he knew many cities would have scant minutes of warning after launch.

  Baffled techs scrambled around the operations room trying to override the impending launch, only minutes away.

  # # #

  Mr. Li

  Driving his black Range Rover into an aluminum-sided warehouse on River Drive, Mr. Li parked next to a black van. Well off the downtown avenues, the warehouse’s walls were windowless, with large loading doors on the front of the building. The Wraith team had tables for equipment and a row of cushioned mats for the combat-psi deployment. Mr. Li surveyed the layout and nodded his approval to Mr. Chen. The Wraith team assembled around the equipment tables and stood at parade rest behind their combat kits, their black and red uniforms were resplendent in the warehouse lighting.

  Mr. Li reviewed the hand-picked personnel. Mr. Li had designed the Wraith psi-squad. It comprised ten men in three fire teams that included a major, three lieutenants, and six fire team shooters.

  Mr. Li walked to each trooper’s kit and examined them one by one.

  “Shao Xiao Chin, present your Psi team and their weapons,” Mr. Li directed.

  “Yes, sir.” Shao Xiao (Major) Chin pivoted and came around the table and stepped up to the first man in line.

  “This is Shadow Walker Xu. He carries the new cybral spore launcher.”

  Xu’s Zhong Wei (Lieutenant) rank patch blazed a deep red on his black sleeve.

  “He operates the team’s shadow primal technologies,” Shao Xiao Chin continued.

  Mr. Li looked up at the broad-shouldered Asian. A jagged, claw-like scar ran from forehead to jaw and sliced through the man’s eyebrow.

  “What does a cybral spore do, Shadow Walker?” Mr. Li asked.

  “Cybral spores dissolve the psi-manifestation and cause severe brain trauma, Shi
fu,” Shadow Walker Xu’s deep voice rumbled.

  Mr. Li walked to the next man.

  “This is Specialist Wang, the team’s bionic psi with the new dissonance zone projector,” Shao Xiao Chin said.

  Embedded strips of braided copper and titanium extended from Specialist Wang’s elbows to wrists. The intricate tattoos common among Wraith bionic warriors ran in black and red around the exposed metals in his arms.

  “Describe your weapon, Zhong Wei,” Mr. Li said.

  “Yes. Shifu. The di-psi creates a field of astral distortion that disables perception in the psi,” Specialist Wang replied.

  Mr. Li looked at the heavy, two-inch-thick cylindrical device the size of a dinner plate, and noted the pistol grip in the center.

  “Is the device difficult to sight?” Mr. Li said.

  “No. Shifu. The di-psi projects the field in a sphere around it.”

  The next person in line was a woman.

  “This is Specialist Lin, our cyber-psi electronic warfare specialist,” Shao Xiao Chin said.

  Mr. Li smiled at the input jacks along her forearms and the laptop she carried. He found her mauve hair and violet eyes mildly attractive. While he frowned on personal expression as a general rule, psi teams had some stylistic leeway with attire. Perhaps he would use her after the mission, he mused.

  “Is that the enhanced spectrum entangler?” Mr. Li asked while pointing at a small cube slotted in the back of the laptop.

  “Yes. Shifu. It has the deep penetration module that allows multi-boundary intrusion in non-local psi zones.”

  “Excellent, Specialist Lin,” Mr. Li said. “I see you have embedded wetware for electromagnetic tempest intrusion. Well done.”

  Shao Xiao Chin pointed to the remaining Shang Shi (Sergeant) and Xia Chis (Corporals).

  “This is Shang Shi Wu, and Xia Chis Ma, Wei, Guo, Zhu, and Luo.”