Precipice: The Beginning (10 page)

19

T
ravis had been in a small cell, the lights on but it felt so very dark. There was a cot, but he didn’t want comfort. He didn’t deserve it. Five people, six if he counted himself, had their lives taken and thrown in a blender because of his foolish leadership. Travis sat curled in the corner of his cell, pressing his forehead to his knees. Thinking about how he’d let them down was all he could do to keep the tears back.

It had been two weeks now. Two weeks since they’d been ordered to go in hot. Travis and his unit were the best of the best, stealth and highly trained in black ops. This had been a standard mission. They were ordered to fly low, infiltrate a mercenary camp and leave no survivors. More importantly, leave no evidence of who had done the deed. But that was their specialty. So they had flown in below radar, Sean Jeffries behind the stick. The orders had been confirmed and they touched down outside the village. They moved through the jungle like panthers. No one knew what hit them as they went in hot, taking the small grass huts one at a time without prejudice. But then Travis had entered a hut full of cowering children, their hands about their head. This wasn’t right. Travis had ordered his troops out into the center of the village and called for a ceasefire. They surveyed the villagers and saw no militant rebels, no mercenaries or drug runners. Just women and children cowering before them.

Travis looked up from his spot on the floor as the door to his cell was opened.

“Good afternoon, Daniels.” General George Campbell entered, closing the door behind him.

Travis stood, saluting the general.

“At ease son. No need for formalities.” The General grabbed the only chair from its spot by the door and took a seat, letting out a sigh as he settled. “This is one messy fuck storm we have here.”

“We followed orders, sir,” Travis said firmly from his seat on the floor.

“I know. You did what any good soldier would have done. But our special ops never look good in black and white. That photo of you and your troops, standing in the village with their guns aimed on civilians –”

“That photo was taken out of context. I had already issued a ceasefire.”

“Well this picture screams a thousand words and ceasefire ain’t part of it.” The General showed genuine compassion. “The United States issued no such order to invade and will therefore not stand behind you. You and your unit will be held accountable for militant acts and possibly treason. It’s a PR campaign to try and salvage bad press.”

“Sir, permission to speak freely.” Travis was choked with anger.

“Permission granted.”

“This is complete bullshit, sir. We were given orders to go in there and clear the village and that’s what we were doing. If anything, we should be seen as merciful for calling off the mission and issuing a ceasefire against those friendlies.” Travis took a deep breath. It still seemed so impossible.

“That’s the whole problem son, you were ‘seen.’ Don’t matter if it was an accident or bad information. Right now the President of this here country has to defend your actions to prevent any future retaliation. If you boys had gone in there like smoke and burned the place to the ground it wouldn’t have mattered one bit, just another jungle battlefield or country in unrest. Now you’ve gone and made yourselves the poster child for this incident. America is to blame.” The General shook his head. “I’m sorry as hell, son. You’re one of the best I’ve ever had under my command.”

“What’s to be our sentence?” Travis shook with the possibilities. He was trying hard to prepare himself with the death sentence he knew was coming. The mention of treason made his heart ache. Nothing could be further from the truth. He’d given his life to his country.

“That’s actually why I’m here.” The general had an odd look about his face, like a grandfather about to offer his grandson a family secret. “There might be something I can do to help you and your unit escape a more than certain death sentence.”

“Yes, sir?”

“TransWorld Incorporated has just started staffing their off-world facility. Mining and colonization preparation. They hold some very expensive contract with our government for supplies and funds. As it stands, they need qualified personnel that will be able to adapt and function under extreme environment conditions and isolation. Given your expert training and your current situation, I’ve secured you and your unit a seat on the next transporter.”

“You’re talking about the Mars project?”

“Better than death son. Besides, this institution represents a sizable investment to the United States government. I set assurances to the right people that your presence there might help to keep the miners and other staff in line. You’re a natural leader, Daniels. More importantly, we feel it might be prudent to have one of our own keeping tabs on the situation. You will send direct reports to me and me alone.”

“I’m not a snitch, sir.”

“It’s not a matter of ratting out the prison druggie, son. You’d be doing every man up there, including your unit, a great service. A checks and balance system against those in charge and the men in the mines.” The general placed a hand on Travis’ shoulder. “You could help keep those men safe. And this offer has a shelf life of about ten seconds.”

“I’m making this decision for me and my entire unit?” The weight of such a choice gripped his throat, restricting the airways. So much depended on the next few words he chose to utter. Not just for him, but for the lives of those he swore to protect. He’d already done a piss poor job as it was.

“Yes. This is a onetime offer for you son.”

“What choice do I have?”

20

“W
ake up sunshine.” Alvin tapped Travis in the side with is elbow.

Travis opened his eyes and felt disoriented, unable to make out anything but a dark room and his heavy breathing. The train was stopped, sitting in the dark tunnel before the airlock. Travis felt moisture on his checks and face, sighing as drool lined the inside of his helmet.

“You must have been having a rough dream.”

“Just a very bad memory.”

“Sounded like it.” Alvin offered a compassionate ear but withdrew, sensing this was as much detail as Travis was going to give.

The airlock door opened and the train pulled into the station, passing beneath the powerful air blowers to rid the train of any lingering Martian soil or possible contaminant. Dust could cause some very serious problems in these facilities if it got into the air vents or someone’s lungs. Not to mention severe radiation carried in the soil. At no more than two miles an hour the train pulled up to the station, stopping with a single hard lurch.

“Welcome to Facility Three.” Dr. Zatzkin held out his hands with a very gracious smile. “Please excuse any enthusiasm on my part. But it’s been far too long since we’ve had visitors here in the scientific sector.”

“Nice to see you again, Doctor.” Alvin handed the doctor the invoices.

“Oh this is going to be a joyous day,” the doctor smiled. “We’ve been hoping to get some new equipment for our soil samples and most importantly are the CO2 filters. We would hate to die of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

“That would be a bitch,” Travis added, always feeling foolish and slightly stupid in the doctor’s presence.

“Yes it certainly would, Mr. Daniels.”

“Alvin, Adams is on the comms for you,” the train operator said from behind his podium.

“Okay. Excuse me, doctor.”

Travis removed his helmet and set it beneath his arm, feeling like a space invader to planet boring. He waited patiently while Dr. Zatzkin read through the papers and Alvin spoke to Adams at the main facility. Moments of levity always bothered Travis. Standing there with nothing to do or say, wishing he could shrink away or turn invisible. Not that he minded a good conversation with the doctor. He did get a bit technical at times, but he never spoke down to him or treated him as an inferior. The doctor just loved his work and he loved to talk. But now no one was talking and that left Travis alone in the center of the room like a sore thumb. If his outer uniform had pockets he would have gladly shoved his hands into them. Instead he pretended to read the warning sign behind the operator’s station. The sign told anyone bored enough to read it that it was unsafe to stand behind the yellow line when a train was entering the station.

“Well Doc, looks like you’re stuck with us,” Alvin announced as he walked over. “A heavy storm has just kicked up a mile or so north of the facility and it is therefore too dangerous to make the trip back. Travis and I have been granted approval for an overnight stay.” Alvin didn’t seem all that upset about the news. In fact, a grin peeked its head, twitching at the corner of his lip.

“Well how wonderful.” Dr. Zatzkin stuffed the papers beneath his arm and clapped his hands together. “Looks like we’ll be having a little slumber party.”

“Well I should probably suit up and move those crates before we break out the pillow fights and the marshmallows,” Travis said with good humor.

21

D
r. Gordon Dennis was sick to his stomach. He sat in the passenger seat of the small helicopter, gripping the seat until his fingers turned white. A bucket was on the floor for easy access, held in place with shaking feet as the copter darted and dropped from the heavy chop. The pilot was holding the stick in a death grip, doing all he could to keep them steady as they pushed through the thick cloud coverage. The windshield was coated in rain, as if he’d taken them through a carwash. Gordon felt the tuna salad he’d had last night start to work its way through his stomach and into his throat. The urge to vomit again was too overpowering, bringing him forward while he hurried to raise the bucket. He vomited for the third time since their three-hour helicopter journey. The liquefied foods had now given way to the dreaded dry heaves, ripping pain through his abdomen with every uncontrollable lurch.

“I’m so sorry for this.” Gordon set the bucket between his feet and wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.

“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” the pilot yelled over the storm. “Usually it’s nowhere near this bad.”

“Oh great.” Gordon tightened his grip on the seat, fearing that at any moment a mountain or a plane would appear in the dense cloud coverage and end their journey real quick. A foolish thought of course. Even through his panicked mind he knew they flew mostly on instrumentation and knew exactly what was out there, whether they could see it or not. “Oh God!” Gordon’s entire body clenched in fear as they hit an air pocket and plummeted, the pilot quickly adjusting altitude.

“Where did you come from?” the pilot asked.

“I flew in from Boston to San Diego. Then to Honolulu and now I’m bobbing about the sky with you.”

“Long journey. But I wouldn’t worry; we’re only a few minutes away.”

Those had been the best words he’d heard in the past fifteen hours. It had been almost an entire day since he’d gotten the call from Kenneth Bongard, his longtime colleague and friend. Kenneth was aboard the USS Bridgewater as a representative of the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, or NOAA to keep it simple. Gordon had just sat down to a game of chess with his seven-year-old son. He’d only taught Jackson how to play the game a few weeks ago and already he was challenging his father. Gordon had just set the board up after breakfast in the entertainment room when the phone rang. Kenneth had told him that President Noll himself had issued an executive order to have the top minds in all fields dispatched to different locations around the globe. What choice does one have when told the president is asking you to move? Without any real idea on where he was going, Gordon had packed a light duffle bag and went outside to meet his escorts. Fourteen hours and fifteen dreadful minutes later brought him to where he was now, hanging on for dear life in the heart of a storm.

“USS Bridgewater dead ahead. ETA ten minutes,” the pilot said.

The helicopter dropped below the clouds and drifted down toward the faint outline of a vessel. The ship was a navy issued science vessel. The rain pounded on them and made visibility impossible. Gordon hoped they were able to touch down smoothly so they wouldn’t have to ditch in the ocean. Frightful images of a burning crash plague his mind, over and over again in a dozen different ways. He gulped and pressed the back of his head to the padding of the seat, bracing himself as best he could. The small grey blur now a long grey blur and closing in fast.

“Have you made landings in weather like this before?” Gordon’s voice shook and vibrated.

“Many times. Just hang on and we’ll be there in three minutes.”

The words did offer some comfort, but they were blown away by the next harsh gust of wind, shaking them like a rattle.

“We have you on approach and you are cleared for landing,” the radio buzzed, the man’s voice cracking with heavy static.

The next two minutes were perhaps the scariest moments of Gordon’s life. The copter came in low, hovering above the square platform located at the front of the vessel with the standard ‘H’ set dead center, as if too many other flying vehicles were just aching for a parking spot. Even in this moment of sheer terror, Gordon managed a nervous smile, thinking how hilarious it would be to look down and see a handicapped space. The good humor died as the copter dropped rapidly then steadied. Dropped and steadied, a vicious cycle that seemed to last forever. Finally, perhaps the greatest sound he’d ever heard, the metal skids pressed against the platform and the shaking ceased. Gordon let out a sigh and closed his eyes, thankful to be alive. He jumped as the door was pulled open.

“Dr. Dennis?” A man yelled over the pounding rain, shielding his eyes with his hand.

“Yes.” Gordon hopped out of the copter, falling to his knees as his legs had fallen asleep. He grumbled to himself and felt foolish, taking hold of the man’s hand as he helped him up. Nothing like trying to look professional while taking a nosedive in the rain.

“Your team is assembled in the mess hall. Follow me.” The young man had to cup both hands over his mouth to be heard, the hood of his thin windbreaker whipping about his face.

Gordon followed him over the slippery deck, running hunched over as if it did any good. Thirty seconds in this weather and you might as well be holding a bar of soap. Gordon entered the ship and pulled off his coat, peeling it like the skin of an orange. He tossed it to the ground without a second thought, his mind too distracted and rattled with lingering nausea from the journey. This was still all so new to him. He’d been called out on some government exercises before, simulations and “what if” contingency plans. But this was no exercise. Every face he passed in the narrow halls of the ship wore the same expression: fear.

“It is so very nice to see you again, Dr. Dennis,” Kenneth smiled, extending his hand. He looked strung out and exhausted, his breath reeking of black coffee.

“Nice to see you.” Gordon took a seat across from Kenneth, watching with interest as the room was cleared and the doors were sealed. “You’re not going to kill me are you?” Gordon said nervously.

“It’s not me you have to worry about.” Kenneth shook his head, not wanting to verbalize what he’d been dreading for the past two days. “The temperature of the world’s oceans has risen by seventeen degrees, even in the depths. The Oceanic Climate Center in Florida has registered this change through their series of buoys in the Atlantic and the Pacific.” Kenneth swallowed, flattening his shaky tone with a mental block, not wanting to tear up before a respected colleague. “This thick cloud coverage and heavy rain is a direct result of the ocean’s rising temperatures and it’s only going to get worse.”

“My God almighty!” Gordon placed a hand to his mouth. “How could this happen? Some kind of solar flare?”

“We thought so at first, but then we discovered these.” Kenneth slid a stack of pictures across the table.

Gordon thumbed through them one by one, giving them all a thorough once over. He tapped the last photo and struggled to formulate the question. His usual quick responses and sometimes snooty intelligence was lost in a haze of uncertainty and disbelief. “These sonar images…they’re all from one single abyss?”

“No. Twenty-seven identical openings in the ocean’s floor have been discovered over the past few days. The President has every available ship with sonar capability actively pinging the ocean floor.” Kenneth shook his head. “Poor whales are probably dead from all this sonar activity.”

“Poor whales?” Gordon shook his head. “Here we are faced with the worst global catastrophe in human history and you’re worried about the whales?”

“Doesn’t matter anyway. If our sonar’s don’t harm them the rising temperatures will. Beaches across the globe are lined with dead critters. And if this evaporation isn’t controlled soon we’ll likely lose sight of the sun in a matter of days. Only a matter of time until all the countries of the world are plunged into darkness...or drown from flooding and continuous rainfall.”

“What’s happening in those trenches?” Gordon picked up the last photo and held it close.

“It’s as if the planet’s core is exposed and the water turns to steam as it fills in the trench. But we don’t believe that’s the case. An opening running that deep in the Earth…twenty-seven such openings would rip our planet into multiple chunks. The rotation of the Earth’s core would have ceased or cooled, but all internal functions are unchanged. This is something different.” Kenneth tapped the photo. “We are working on a plan, but it’s laughable at best.”

“What could possibly save us?” Gordon’s voice shook with despair. The treacherous helicopter ride long forgotten in the wake of this new nightmare.

“President Noll’s top scientific adviser has postulated that a series of underwater charges set along the abyss may cause a cave in that might inadvertently seal whatever is venting this heat.”

“A five mile opening that runs miles into the crust, if not further, and the best plan we have is to try and stuff it full of some rocks?” Gordon leaned back and ran a hand through his damp hair. “Is there no other alternative?”

“That’s why you’ve been plucked from your comfy slumber. The President is searching for any and all alternatives in case the primary plan doesn’t work.” Kenneth’s eyes spoke volumes. He offered a stare that said he too believed the explosives would fail. “I’m hoping that with your expertise on the ocean’s floor and trenches you might come up with something.”

Gordon set the photo down and leaned forward, interlacing his fingers. “I’m not a religious man, but I’d have to say that this one is in God’s hands. But as I’m a scientist and I don’t have God’s number, I’ll see what I can do.”