The Omega Device (The Ha-Shan Chronicles Book 1) (16 page)

The island rose and fell in a mix of verdant hills and pasteurized civilization, splitting two ports across a large bay far ahead. A thin stream surrounded the coasts, blended teal with gray, Naval Destroyers standing sentinel around an Aircraft Carrier.

The Pilot pointed to a break of grays ahead of the coast, “That's Apra Harbor. The port's beside it. The carriers stay anchored to allow the freighters through.”

A voice emitted from the instrument panel, “Unidentified C-130 out of Nevada, not sure how you did it, but Admiral Aarons has cleared you for landing. Refuel is a go.”

“Thank you, Control,” the co-pilot responded. “Tell Aarons drinks are on me.”

“Understood Flight. Control out.”

The co-pilot looked to them, “Aarons is an old friend. He'll be on top of things once we land. If you need anything, don't hesitate.”

“Real food,” Maggie said.

The pilot chuckled, “As soon as we land, Ma'am.”

“Thank you.” She turned away as the plane broke into a wide bank. Russell followed her out. She was suddenly enthusiastic, “I never thought I'd get to see
Guam
. This is wild!”

Russell watched her skeptically, “Are you alright?”

“Hungry, but yeah. Why?”

He stopped her at the bottom of the stairs, “You seem… happy.”

Her brow furrowed, “I dunno', maybe. I'm hungry, and a little tired, but so long as we aren't attacked at breakfast, maybe we'll get to enjoy Guam for a while.”

He considered the proposition of being forced onto a tropical-island before responding, “How can you be tired?”

“I didn't sleep the whole flight.” She moved to a bed, sat, and motioned Russell to her side.

He explained through his confusion, “It's military training; you sleep when you can for as long as you can. You never know when you're going to get it again.”

Maggie thought it over, “I don't know if I can do that, but you were out cold.”

“Force of habit,” he shrugged.

She gave a sore stretch, “These beds are uncomfortable as hell.”

He laid back, “Military grade stuff's only good when it's weapons or munitions.”

Maggie looked down at him, suddenly thoughtful, “Speaking of which, why'd they attack the airstrip? Doesn't it seem like bad strategy? If they were there and we didn't know it, all they managed to do was get us out in time.”

“If their overall goal's to eliminate the Protectorate, removing the airfield as an asset would be first priority.”

“But if they wanted us dead, why wouldn't they kill us
first?
” Maggie asked. “They blew up a building and alerted the whole strip, knowing we could easily escape. Why not just blow up the plane?”

“The plane was in open land. Not an easy target given the risks.”

“Seems counter-intuitive to me.”

Russell thought it over, felt the plane begin its descent, “It doesn't matter. We got out alive and we're headed for Nepal. Whatever their next move, we'll deal with it when it comes.”

When the plane landed, the pilot, co-pilot, and nav-officer led them from the cargo bay, introduced themselves as Brown, Matthews, and Davis respectively.

They stepped out into a full-blown morning. Distant waves crashed against a coast obscured beyond the island's rise. The tarmac stretched out along rows of large hangars and various roads. Hot, island sun kissed Maggie's face, welcomed after Oakton's cold.

A muscular, dark-skinned man in a Naval-officer's dress blues approached. His angry look made the group tense up. Maggie gripped her rifle tighter. The man stormed past an awaiting SUV, charged Matthews. His arms wrapped locked around Matthews in fierce bear-hug. He broke into groveling laughter and Matthews strained out a groan.

“
Che'lu Lahi!
How you doin'?”

He struggled to breathe, “Be better if you put me down, man.”

“Ah, yes.” He set Matthews back on the ground, stepped back to dust and straighten Matthews' flight-suit sarcastically. “Who're your friends, Don?”

He introduced them one at a time, the man ecstatic to receive them; his tone and hand-shake were overtly enthusiastic given his formal position. After Matthews had finished, he replied with open arms and a bow, “
Buen, atungo-mu
, to Guam. I am Admiral Inapo Aarons, commander of the U.S. Naval base Apra Harbor.”

“Means hello,” Matthews joked, hands on his hips.

Aarons removed his dress-coat to a Hawaiian shirt, “More or less.”

Russell cast him a strange glance, “Little under dressed for an Admiral, aren't you?”

He laughed with a toothy grin, “Aye, maybe—but who's going to question me
?
”
 

Russell cast his confused look to Maggie. She shrugged with a smile; so far she liked him, especially considering he hadn't tried to kill her yet. At this point, it was enough.

Aarons led them from the plane, “
Maila magi guini.
”
 

Matthews turned to his crew, “The orders for the Humvee, take them to the depot.”

“Yes,
hobensitu
, listen to the
tatotao
,” Aarons chided.

Brown and Davis exchanged a mutual confusion and headed back into the plane. Aarons marched them across the tarmac, through a wind blowing cool, salted, sea air.

“Ah, so
Lahi
, what can I do for you?”

“Fuel and a Humvee, if you can manage,” Matthews said simply.

“Done,” he nodded with an arm on Matthews' shoulder. “And your friends?”

“Food. We've got another twenty hours before the L-Z, and mil-rations suck.”

Aarons nodded in thought, “Nepal or Bombay?”

“Nepal.”

“
Hunggan
, I see.” He glanced back at the others. “
Atungo-mu
?”

“Yeah, they're friends.”

“Well then,” he began, distracted for a moment. “We received word of a sat-launch.”

“Today?” Maggie and Russell watched them intently. “Where?”

“PRC.”

“The
Chinese
?” He asked, altogether concerned and confused.

“Uh-huh.”

Russell was visibly puzzled, “What's going on?”

Matthews looked at him, “The PRC launched a satellite this morning, but as far as we know there's no Omega influence there.”

“As far as we
knew
,” Aarons corrected.

Matthews' tone relayed the implication's gravity, “It's not a coincidence.”

“What does it mean if they
are
involved?” Maggie asked.

“Other than the obvious political implications? They know our general heading.” Maggie and Russell failed to see the connection. “Seeing the C-130 probably gave them an idea of our flight time. Omega has access to U.S. and Canadian sat-networks but it's limited. They'd have lost us when the orbital systems shifted. Instead, one of their contacts launched a new system. Now, they can watch us full-time.”

Russell recalled his thoughts on the plane's traceable size, “A sat launch would've been planned a while ago. How can you be sure Omega's involved?”

Aarons nodded at Russell's words, “Aye, but they've probably been sitting on the satellite. Who knows what other shit they've got in reserve. They'll calculate your last known position, trajectory, and estimated fuel.”

“So, what? We're stuck here?” Maggie asked.

“No,” Matthews said. “We refuel and take off A-SAP.”

“And breakfast?” Maggie asked, her hunger chewing her insides.

Aarons smiled, “Will be served momentarily.”

They followed him to the awaiting SUV. The climate-controlled oasis carried them to a massive warehouse. A small lobby area inside met a long hallway with a set of double doors to the left. Construction sounds rattled and clanged beyond the opposite walls.

“What've you got going now, Ina?” Matthews asked.

“Ah, some civi-
lupes
, has us building some kind of super-boat for her. She wants to take it to the bottom of the Trench.” He laughed, ushered them into the cafeteria, “I told her good luck!”

Fresh seafood interspersed with heavenly aromas from every type of sustenance imaginable. They fused in one breath and Maggie's mouth flooded. Aarons loosed them to eat, talked with Matthews as they gathered breakfast.

They took a seat at an empty table, Russell and Maggie devoured their meals amid the low murmur of scattered sailors. They returned for a second-helping while Aarons and Matthews exchanged stories and Brown and Davis appeared to eat their fill.

Once satisfied, Aarons cleared the group for take-off. He gave Matthews one last bear-hug, and waved good-bye at their SUV as it headed for the refueled plane.

Maggie lingered just outside the cargo-bay for a final dose of the tropics before being urged up the ramp. She passed a Humvee freshly secured inside, followed the crew to the cockpit. The plane's engines revved up and into a wide, slow turn to come about. Brown eased the throttle up and galloped down the runway.

Maggie gave the island a final look before it sank beneath the clouds then turned away. She headed back to the bunks to find Russell studying a photograph. She sat on a cot across from him, “Ryusaki's tattoo?”

He nodded without answering, eyes transfixed. His mind ran wind-sprints for an answer to the madness around them. He inevitably followed singular thoughts before rounding back on confusion at square-one.

Maggie allowed him a few minutes to decipher his thoughts before speaking with a curious insight, “Its amazing how all of this has come from that. It's terrible mostly… but, it's amazing. All I keep thinking's how nice Ryusaki was. He tipped me so well, was nothing but compliments. I wonder if he knew what would happen. But then why drag me into this?” Russell watched her speak, soothed by her lilting tongue. “He didn't seem to have any ill intentions.”

She sighed, having expended her excess energy. It was moot, she knew; they were here, nothing could change that now. Russell looked sideways to consider her thoughts and keep her speaking, if only for the sake of his ears.

“Maybe he was unaware of them, or didn't think they'd come after someone he'd briefly associated with.”

She gave a small tilt of her head, “Maybe. But somehow I doubt it. He seemed smart enough to know what could happen.”

Russell was unwilling to push the subject for fear of upsetting her. An image flashed of her face after he'd first informed her of Ryusaki's death. She'd been heart-broken. For now it was best to keep things level.

His eyes fell back to the photograph, utterly perplexed that the simplistic symbols might be a key to some unknown, ancient weapon. The idea that the weapon was more ancient than Humanity, and its creators more capable and intelligent, plagued him.

Why build it? She-La's legend said to annihilate Humanity, but something felt off. Why expend the energy to build a weapon and never use it? If it was possible, both morally and technologically, why not begin on a smaller scale with simple defense?

It didn't add up; a puzzle whose pieces were not cut to fit. She-La's legends seemed just that, and legend was synonymous with myth. Russell's thoughts turned more practical; warfare.

Historically speaking, warfare was the greatest herald of new technology. Were it not for German scientists building V2 rockets, space travel and jet propulsion might never have emerged. In like fashion, this weapon certainly fit the part of advancement through warfare, but had supposedly been created at the
end
of a species' life-cycle.

If a war required a weapon of such power, it reasoned that more may have been built. If so, why protect a single weapon over others? And if only one truly existed, why
not
destroy it?

Russell drew a blank and his thoughts derailed. His assumptions were wild. Chances were, if more weapons had been created, more would've remained. Omega would already have what they sought.

Their ignorance to the ancient language seemed obvious now. If Omega had known of it from the weapon, they'd have wanted Ryusaki and Miramoto alive.

Maggie shifted on the bed, snapped Russell from his trance. “Well?” His brow furrowed. “I asked what you were thinking.”

“Oh. The weapon. Its purpose. If there are more.”

“What
do
you
think?”

The photograph bobbed in his hand, “Either there's only one weapon and we can destroy it, or there're more and Omega's ignorant of them. If Omega knew of multiple weapons, they would want the ancient language and wouldn't have killed Ryusaki.” He looked over the photo a moment longer, “So either these ten symbols
are
the information, or there's more information contained
within
them.”

“Like some kind of cipher?”

“Maybe, but if that's true, why kill two of only three people capable of decoding it?”

“They didn't recognize its significance,” she said, following his lead.

He spurred his analytical mind to action to anticipate Omega's next move. “So the issue becomes why kill the only people who may know the weapon's location when you're
looking
for the weapon?”

She nodded, “It would be like poking out your own eyes while looking for a needle in a haystack—the size of Earth.” She paused to consider an idea, saw where he was headed, “How could
anyone
ever hope to find it?”

“Exactly. Neither side has
any idea
where it is, but why's Omega spending
so much energy
to catch us?”

Her eyes widened with revelation, “You don't think—”

“We're
leading
them to the Protectorate. The only reason they engaged us after the blast on that strip was to try and eliminate She-La and maintain the ruse.”

Maggie felt a chill rocket down her spine, “How are we supposed to get away from them?”

Russell leaned back on his elbows, hitting a formidable brick-wall of facts that stopped his deduction in its tracks. A heavy weight in his chest forced out a sigh, “I-I don't know. We just need to move as fast as possible, get to the Protectorate, and tell them to close up shop.”

“There's no way to avoid them?”