Bits of burning flesh lay on the floor of the smoke-filled room. The glass grew very hot causing an aroma similar to singed wiring to drift through the observation area.
“I KNOW WHAT YOU ARE!” she shouted at the pile of remains.
“Mrs. Nehru! Anita! What are you doing?”
She held ultimate authority over Red Rock, but her behavior now moved beyond the eccentric and into unreasonable.
Yet the force of his protest fell apart when she grabbed his collar and screamed into his red face, “Don’t you see? It’s all a deception! We never had a chance! All of our guns and tanks would never be enough!”
“What are you talking about?”
“The universe!” She shouted. “The universe is empty! And I know why!”
Omar followed Lori Brewer around what had once been a garage housing Ferraris but now served as his personal laboratory. Since the earliest days of the post-Armageddon struggle, Omar worked in this shop to understand the technologies brought to Earth by the invaders.
Over the years he had grown accustomed to interruptions. Sometimes General Jon Brewer, occasionally Gordon Knox, and often-times Trevor Stone. On this day Lori Brewer-the Imperial Administrator-visited his habitat. As usual during these interruptions, the accent in Omar’s voice grew more pronounced the longer she lingered.
“I do not know what it is you are wanting me to be saying.”
The short-haired brunette stopped at a glass case displaying a de-constructed Chaktaw rail gun. A half dozen assistants in various combinations of lab coats, overalls, and casual dress tinkered with items at work benches and tables around the garage.
She explained to him again, “My job is allocating resources. And then people make things from those resources. And then I have to make sure that those ‘things’ get put on trains or in trucks and make their way to where they are needed. So here’s the point, Omar. You get a lot of resources. You get technical people. You get lab equipment. I spend a lot of Continental dollars on your storage depots, on your personnel, on the recovery teams, even on the power you use. The question is, what am I getting for it?”
She gave him an opening and Omar replied from what he perceived as a position of strength: “What do you get from my humble efforts? Let us see here-hmmm-have you noticed those really big fancy ships with aircraft upon them? What do we call them…”
Lori tapped her foot and rolled her eyes but allowed Omar to vent.
“Oh, yes, the Dreadnoughts. And then there are the active camouflage suits if I am recalling correctly, and the Eagle transports that have been known to pitch into the effort.”
“Omar,” her patience ran out. It usually did. “What have you done for me lately? Our resources are running out. The matter-makers down in Atlanta are running full-bore for bullets and fuel. In a few weeks those facilities may be in The Order’s bombing range. Meanwhile, I’ve got the Excalibur over in Pittsburgh that isn’t back in the game yet because we don’t have the people or the parts to finish its repairs. I’ve got to start making some decisions on what gives us the most hope of staying alive. I hate to say this but-“
One of Omar’s assistants cut dared cut in to the conversation, “Dr. Nehru?”
Both Omar and Lori shouted with dueling aggravation, “What?”
The man held a phone. “Phone call. It’s Red Rock. They say it’s an emergency.”
Omar’s cigarette dangled from his half-open mouth. As he reached for the phone his expression turned into one of dread, like a soldier’s parent receiving a phone call from the army in the middle of the night.
“Yes, this is Dr. Nehru. This is about my wife, isn’t it?” as Lori listened to his side of the conversation she found it amazing how clear and plain his English became. “When did this happen? Is she okay? Of course I will be there as quickly as possible.”
He hung up.
“Omar, what is it?”
“It’s Anita. They say she has gone mad.”
The white and black Internal Security helicopter circled the Red Rock facility on its way to the landing pad. Through the windows Omar spied the 1960s-era remains of the topside Air Force base including an old tower complete with a radar dome. The main building-constructed of sturdy but nearly featureless concrete-served as the tip of a structural iceberg.
The chopper landed with a soft thud. The rear passenger door opened a split second after the skids hit the ground. Omar hurried out with his lab coat billowing in the rotor-wind. Lori Brewer struggled to keep pace.
The Colonel who ran security at the Red Rock facility met Omar on the tree-lined path leading away from the landing pad.
“Dr. Nehru?”
As he answered, “Yes, of course,” Lori realized that no trace of Omar’s Indian accent remained. “What has happened to my wife?”
The group walked through a side door into a small lobby. Groups of workers and soldiers stood around with their eyes fixed on Omar as if he held a solution to a problem.
“We’re not sure, exactly, sir,” the Colonel said. “She began acting erratically, first when she disposed of a specimen for no apparent reason. According to the technician who was with her, she appeared to calm down after that and said something about going to her office. An hour later we received a security alert from the primary containment cell block.”
The Colonel guided them along a corridor. Lori noticed the security cameras and warning signs that suggested they had moved to a more sensitive area of the facility.
She asked, “The containment blocks?”
“Yes Ma’am. We’ve got about three dozen specimens contained on the lower levels for biological study and weapons testing.”
“Yes, yes, but what about Anita? What has happened?”
They stopped at a freight elevator flanked by a pair of well-armed guards.
The Colonel said, “She started moving through the cell blocks down there and euthanizing the specimens.”
“She just started killing off the things?” Lori asked. “For no reason?”
“Not that we can tell, ma’am.”
“So what is the problem? She decided to destroy the specimens. Is this such a big deal? Is she not in charge here?” Omar may have lost his ethnic accent but he found another accent, one of defensiveness.
The doors to the elevator opened. The Colonel motioned them inside and pushed a button for Sub-Level 6.
He said, “You have to understand, doctor, your wife oversaw most of these things. She knew how hard it was to get them. They were a gold mine of information to her.”
Lori broke in, “Did anyone try and talk to her?”
“That’s the problem, ma’am.” The elevator hummed and descended into the bowels of the facility. “Security and some of the techs tried to intercede. She grabbed a pistol from a weapons locker and forced every one out.”
“No, no, there is a mistake,” Omar said. “Anita is a peaceful woman!”
The doors to the elevator slid open to a large, white, round room filled with monitors and sealed doors. A group of security guards, workers, and researchers stood in the area like a bunch of high school kids forced outside by a fire alarm.
The Colonel said, “As far as we can tell she’s exterminated every specimen in one whole cell block. We shut the bulkheads down so she can’t get out. With that gun-well, I didn’t want her to hurt anyone or for us to have to hurt her. Then she asked for you, Dr. Nehru.”
“For me?”
“Actually she asked for The Emperor first. We told her he was far away at the front. Then she insisted to see you.”
They stopped near one of the closed doors. It resembled a submarine bulkhead except larger and painted white.
“You’re not going in there alone,” Lori jumped.
“Yes I am.”
