Kyle hadn’t exactly gotten used to being underway. Not like this.
He stood on surfaced submarine as she slowly crawled forward in falling snow that encapsulated the state of Washington in early winter. Alongside him was the Deck Division of the boat, along with the COB as they put together the lifelines all around the edges.
Commander Logan White, “Shard” as most of his men affectionately called him had ordered an impromptu “Steel Beach” as the days before Christmas continued. This was a once in a lifetime experience for Kyle who didn’t expect that he would surface any time soon within the confines of the 6 months patrol they had a head of them. The Skipper knew that all his men would be hard pressed to conduct their mission from DARPA during this time of year, and there wasn’t all too much he could’ve done to prevent going under way during such an important time. So, to circumvent total isolation from the outside world, he “ordered” his Navigation Division to find a “Hole” in the ocean. And in accordance with naval instructions, he exercised his right to investigate.
“You ever get used to this?”
MMA1 Carolina Matthews walked diligently down the center of the boat as she gently rocked from a wave below the ocean. She was the Leading Petty Officer of the Deck Division, an oddity amongst boats within the fleet as it was usually handed over to the Sonar Technicians. Her peppered golden hair was tightly secured in a bun, and like the others topside, she rolled up her blouse sleeves that she couldn’t exactly fill with her slightly slimmer arms. As she handled a large canvas bag over her shoulder with some ease, she passed it on to a junior Sonar Tech giving him instructions to bring it forward where the first pikes were being placed into the hull. She strutted over to him and adjusted her life-vest.
“You say something you?” she asked kindly.
“Living on a boat like this, do ever get used to this?”
“Kyle—right? I’ve been on these darn things for about six years. This is our everyday,” she explained moving back to assist her men that had finished putting in the starboard lifelines.
Turning around looking at the towering sail that loomed over him, Kyle grinned as he saw the lookout and the captain staring at him with teethy smiles. Beside them, the gunner, one MMN3 Padro bobbed his head to a song he couldn’t hear as he scanned the horizon with the machine gun he was issued for the watch.
As he looked down, Kyle’s eyes widened as he spotted the entire deck division putting together the port lifeline with haste. They were attempting to maximize the hour that the captain had authorized for the Steel Beach, and they would be damned if every sailor below decks didn’t get at least ten minutes on the surface.
From the corner of his eye, Kyle watched as the radar usually hidden within the sail turned rapidly looking for primarily any airborne contacts. They were still near the Washington coast, so the odds that they could encounter civilian planes were quite high. If there was an odd case where an aircraft grew too close to the Interceptor, then he was more than happy he was assigned to an SSGN. These platforms, though sharing the exact same hull as their SSBN counterparts, were armored to the teeth due to supporting SOF operations around the globe. SHORAD was onboard, infantry-sized anti-air weapons were secured behind lock and key on the boat capable of taking out even some of the most maneuverable aircraft on Earth.
“Officer of the Deck, Control Room Supervisor, Radio in receipt of OPS-Directive. Request the Captain come below decks for review.” Kyle was just able to hear the 7MC being made to the bridge suitcase at the top of the sail.
“Control Room Supervisor, Officer of the Deck aye. Sending the captain down.”
“Control Room Supervisor, aye.”
Hearing the words being passed over the communications circuit, Captain Shard turned around and patted the lookout on the shoulder. The young sailor grunted as he stepped down from the top of the sail, passing by the raised antennas. “Officer of the Deck, CO going down!” He called out as he proceeded to man the thin ladder that went up the length of the sail’s interior.
Rubbing his broad shoulders on the grating that his men were standing on, the captain squeezed himself through the sail until he reached the bottom ending up back in control. As soon as his boots contacted the metal grate below the ladder, he looked up towards the Chief of the Watch and the Pilot. “Chief of the Watch, the Captain has returned from the sail, Gunner, Officer of the Deck, Lookout, Lookout Under Instruct, and Lieutenant Sabers remain.”
“Captain returned, Gunner, Officer of the Deck, Lookout, Lookout Under Instruct, and Lieutenant Sabers remain, Chief of the Watch aye.”
“Captain!” Turning to the young voice to his right, Shard watched as Radioman Dillinger approached him with a metal folder. “OPS-Directive, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said as he took the folder and opened it to observe the contents. His eyes scanned over the message, unsure of what he was to expect. “Damn, they’re really at it again…” Removing a pen from his uniform, Shard signed off on the OPSDIR. He closed the folder and handed it back to the radioman who watched him with silent eyes. It was a curse—working in communications—you often would know more than anyone on the crew, including the captain. “Route this to the remaining applicable personnel.”
“Aye, sir.”
“And Dillinger.”
“Sir?”
“Make sure you get some time topside.”
The radioman nodded as he swiftly turned around and walked out of control. With a slim smile, the captain vaguely recalled his time as a NAV-ET before he commissioned. He had the same spunk and attitude to handling business—as in it was his life—he could only hope that Dillinger would take his advice and get some needed R&R even if he was storming to complete his Submarines qualification.
Turning to the Chief of the Watch and the Pilot, he looked above both submariners as he stared out the periscope that was affixed on his now crew that had gathered topside. Many of them broke out lighters and cigarettes. Some of the more fortunate men were able to “sneak” aboard cigars, some of them being from Cuba and the other Caribbean islands. Were it up to him, he would be storming to the missile compartment LET and stealing a handful for himself and the XO.
“Captain currently holding course of 195, recentering to ordered course of 180.” The control room supervisor announced.
“Aye, get us back on track.”
“Sir,” The officer grabbed the microphone above him, “Officer of the Deck, recommend course 180.”
“Control room supervisor, Officer of the Deck aye. Pilot set course for 180.”
The pilot keyed the push-to-talk on his headset he was wearing, “Set for course 180 aye, Officer of the Deck, my rudder is left.”
“Very well, pilot.”
This was just the beginning of the patrol, and Captain Shard loved every moment of it.
###
“I’m so glad I called!”
Mikey silently sipped on the drink he had gotten at a bodega near the 9/11 Memorial. He had quickly plugged in his earbuds and answered the sudden video call sent by Emma. She bobbed back in forth within the confines of the camera as an unknown song played in the background of a small bedroom she was in.
For Mikey, this was starting to become more of a regular encounter. Though the two had only known each other for 3 weeks at that point, it was undeniably easy for him to pinpoint that this “Emma Historia” was the ultimate introvert. The mere chance that she had appeared in his café was something only triggered by a friend he had yet to be introduced to.
“So, it’s not every day that you call me, what’s up?”
“Hey! That’s a lie and you know it!” She feigned hurt as she passed a hand over her hand and slumped back in her chair, “It’s not like I’ve called you every other day since you set out for New York.”
Yeah, that’s more than anyone has ever called me in a single year. Mikey felt his eye twitch. At least he could admit that her acting was amusing.
“Color me flattered.”
“Soooo—” she leaned into her camera, letting nothing but her face take up his entire screen. “Watcha up to, Mr. Barista?”
“I just got done visiting the 9/11 memorial. First time I’ve ever been there,” Mikey said omitting his encounter with Sara Randall. There wasn’t much to say about the encounter anyways. Other than the odd pennant that the young girl had what he presumed to be an armed escort, he could’ve very well run into any important person. Besides, there was little he could gain about speaking about a random person. He could’ve easily talked about anything; his trip to New York, his overnight stay in New Jersey, or him mindlessly wandering around the city. She already knew everything; her unrelenting questions were something he never wanted to go through again. “After lunch I’ll be heading over to the Empire State for a meeting on behalf of one of my friends.”
“I remember you saying something like that before you left. A siphon?”
“A thing to crack the theory of magic.” Mikey felt a smile growing on his face.
“You think we can make a play out of it, perhaps a drama?”
“I don’t imagine that a story of my life would sell well.”
Eliciting a soft chuckle from Emma, the two enjoyed the small moment of silence that followed the end of their conversation. Appearing just over the edge of his phone, the waiter that had served him a glass of water upon his arrival to the bodega had returned with a sandwich wrapped in parchment paper and a slim note board with the receipt on the top. Mikey whispered a near inaudible “Thank you” as he whipped out his wallet and removed the first debit card sitting at the top of the tri-fold holder.
“I didn’t take you to be someone interested in science.”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Mikey sunk his teeth into the roast beef sandwich he had bought. Not bad. He finished eating his bite, curious why Emma had pivoted the conversation towards what he was doing in New York. “It’s because I’m a glorified barista.’
“Yeah, but that’s what makes it worth stopping by!”
He looked at her with an uncomfortable smile. The compliment she provided wasn’t received in the manner that she wanted it to.
“Well, I’m glad you take the time out of your day to stop by. I’ve heard my father talking recently, he said that you swing around the shop quite often.” Shooting a curious glance to his watch, Mikey’s eyes widened as he read the time: 12:49. “Shit—sorry about cutting the call, but I gotta get uptown to make the meeting at the Empire State.”
“Aw! What!?” Emma pouted on the phone screen making Mikey crack a wide smile.
“Tell you what, I call you again later tonight. That way, you’ll get a full recount of what happened today. Deal?”
“Deal/”
“Alright then, see you when I see you, Emma.’
“See you when I see you.”
Tapping the end call button, Mikey was out of the bodega he was in within two minutes after verifying he had all his personal belongings. From the street he was on, he headed north until he ran into a group of policemen who had stopped their cruiser for lunch at a taco stand. With a few “hellos”, bright smiles, and somehow non-embarrassing charisma, he was able to gain directions to the subway line that would take him the closest to the Empire State.
From there he rushed to the terminal and boarded the subway at the last second. And from the open streets he entered a crowded, stuffy, and nasty environment. Despite all the work the city mayor had put into cleaning up the city, there was little he could do when it came to the day-to-day garbage that always seemed to occupy every single corner of the subway system. Mikey was pressed against the doors—despite the warning—and we thrown around with all the passengers around him until they began to thin out as each stop passed over the span of ten minutes.
Upon reaching his ultimate destination, he had never escaped the underground as fast as he could’ve imagined. He was topside within ten seconds having seen a route that went in between the large crowds occupying the terminal.
“Good afternoon, sir, welcome to the Empire State, how may we help you today?” A receptionist greeted him as he strutted through the non-tourist entrance. He was eyed up by the security guards as he reached into his jacket procuring a government I.D. and small envelope with his clearance.
“Micheal Ames Herrman, I’m a government contractor here for the meeting on the 57th floor.”
Taking the I.D. and the envelope, the blonde receptionist adjusted her suit as she crossed referenced on the desktop in front of her. “The meeting with the Deep Ocean Corporation? You’re real lucky sir, the meeting is going to start in fifteen minutes.”
“Ah—that just means that I’m on time.” Mikey retorted.
“For looking as old as you do, I’d say that’s fair.” She said handing back the items.
Mikey took a long breath as his shoulders sagged. Yet again, his looks betrayed him, and he was once labeled as an “old man”.
“Thank you again.”
“No problem, elevators are on the other side of this wall behind me.”
In a hurry, Mikey raced to the elevators and was once more fortunate to catch them open without any occupants. The ascent up the tower was rapid, but still felt like an eternity as he climbed floor-by-floor until he reached the 57th floor. Compared to the empty foyer and the silent elevator ride, he was thrusted into a bustling environment as the floor he ended up on was occupied by the NYPD, suited agents, and corporate businessmen moving all about the floor.
What the hell? He thought to himself, I expected to see suits, but not all this firepower up here. Shaking his head as he walked down the hall, he quickly realized that the reason the suited agents and policemen stood in the front of the hall was because they were administering a secure entryway and checkpoint on this floor. VIPs was Mikey’s first guess, but for the number of rifles and body armor he saw, it wasn’t clear who or what was present to warrant such protection—at least to the extent that he was aware of.
“Sir! I’m going to need you to step over here. Jones, help this guy out!” A suited agent, one with a clear earpiece sticking out of his right ear called out.
Not wanting to argue or resist, Mikey stepped over to the NYPD officer and the agents at the checkpoint.
“I’m going to need to see some I.D. buddy, also we need to search you for anything harmful.”
“Uh, yeah, sure…”
“Sorry about this.” The NYPD officer said as he instructed Mikey to raise his arms.
“No problem, but what the hell is going on up here?”
“I assume you’re here for the corporate meeting buddy, but apparently they got some big shots up here that even warrant my commissioner sending the whole damn task force.” The officer explained as the agents looked at him disappointed.
“Well, wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been patted down.”
“Huh, well to each their own. Either way, just be careful around here, I’ve seen some people even I wouldn’t rather piss off on a good day.”
“He’s good.” The agent to the right of the officer said as he grabbed an I.D. holder from the table beside him.
“Welp buddy, make sure you display your I.D. at all times, and stay out of the places where you aren’t supposed to be.”
As Mikey re-adjusted his jacket, he nodded as he turned to the two agents on his right. “Which way to the conference room?”
“Reason?”
“Ah well you see I’m acting as a liaison for government interest. I’m a contractor for the Department of Justice.” Unfolding the envelope he had; he passed it to the agents as they read the clearance and orders.
“Isn’t everyone these days?” The man asked rhetorically. “Just around the corner and down the hallway. It’s the one with all the glass doors and windows, you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks.”
Being allowed through, Mikey found himself slipping past the calculating and cold gazes of all the men and women that were present on floor 57. He almost ran into a big-wig CEO, one Eric Briner Jr. as he turned the corner to the conference room. The man was the executive for a large, multi-national, car dealership that was slowly entering the law enforcement and military scene. He was one of the few men Mikey would rather not run into knowing his former past as a Marine and his short bid in security contracting during the Euro-African war that ended in 2098.
The man shot him a bright smile and patted his shoulder as he walked on, quickly heading to the elevators with his three-man escort.
Once more, feeling a pit in his stomach, Mikey ignored whatever had just happened as he found the obvious conference room at the end of the hall.
And suddenly everything made sense.
With a nervous hand, he grasped onto the glass door and swung it open letting him get a clear view of the occupants at the large wooden table that was swamped in paperwork and laptops.
The man at the head of the table was dress in formal attire, being that of a simple suit with an American flag pinned on his left lapel. Raising a single finger to a man next to him, he leaned over to the man’s ear, “Who is that?” he asked in a firm, yet gentle voice.
“That’s—” The assistant flipped through a registry on a clipboard he held, “Mr. Michael Herrman. The contractor from the DOJ.”
“Checks with chart. We’ll make this quick so he can take care what he needs to do.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Quietly rising from his seat, James Norman turned around and patted a man the man on the shoulder. He disappeared behind a sudden group of uniformed men wielding papers and briefcases.
Amongst the crowd were members of the armed services that Mikey never expected to encounter. Uniformed members of the United States Navy stood around the room in their Service Khakis, the Naval Service Uniform, with the most prominent of all of them being the Vice Chief of Naval Operations who was filling in for the current CNO due to him being at an Anti-Submarine Warfare, or ASW conference in Maylasia. Separate from the service members, the siting National Security Advisor, Thomas Rames spoke with suited men to the side of the room, and the Secretary of Agriculture, Malinda Conners waited patiently in her seat.
“Ladies, gentlemen, I would like to get this meeting started. I know that there are important things to be shared with everyone gathered here.”
A hushed wave came over the crowd as they all silently took their seats except for one skinny man who stood out amongst the crowd. He looked like the typical IT ‘Geek’ that was predominant throughout the industry, and if anything, Mikey would’ve guessed he just arrived from a last second Starbucks trip.
“Mr. President, thank you. Everyone, I’m Andrew Sullivan a scientist at the Deep Ocean Corporation, and I’ve been working on what we call Project Eden. Our work focuses strictly on understanding the link between Earth and what we all know now as Fantasia. And what we’ve gathered here today will discuss this pertinent technology that will allow us to do so, the RU-SS-115 Siphon.” Andrew looked opposite of the President where a projector had been turned on, “This is her. A beauty of the two worlds.”
Mikey eyed the device finally now seeing what he was looking for in the last year. It was an oval shaped—what looked to be like a piston or pump—and it was covered in a sleek, plastic exterior.
“This baby can harness the energy of what us nerds typically describe as mana. A volatile form of energy that is commonly depicted as the progenitor for anything to do with magic. With this device we can begin to harvest such power and convert it to a form of renewable electricity through a process we are calling Reverse-Atomization.”
With a nod to the man on the computer, the next slide presented to conversion path. “It begins with the isolation of static electrons throughout the nuclei, and from there we introduce both oxygen and helium to the compound; it creates a combustion event on par with that equal to a nuclear reactor. If we turn that heat, pressurize it, and funnel hot steam into a fan, boom! A sudden case of power is born!”
A man raised his hand. “The source of power comes from mana—but is there a sudden abundance in the ocean?” Mikey looked at his nametag and collars. Two silver bars in the Navy… He looked at the nametag on his service uniform. Howard Washington. Lieutenant Howard Washington.
“We’ve already consulted with Sea Systems Command about letting your SSNs track the progress, but so far no dice.” Andrew started off, “I talked with an associate with mine who is liaison with a company from Fantasia. From the reports he’s procured, the most reliable source of natural mana in the world comes from geothermal or magma vents deep within the ocean. They output the purest version of this substance and have the most supply—that being nearly infinite within our lifespan—so the current goal is to create a siphon that draw the energy and bring it up to shore facilities.”
“Our adversaries, China, Iran, Iraq, the Mongolian Union, they all want technology like this.” President Norman let his curiosity ease into the conversation. “As you know following the disastrous conflict in Pakistan a plethora of naval activity has increased in the Pacific. Pretty much all available blue-water ships that out number our own fleets are out at sea accompanied by replenishment and tender vessels.”
“Mr. President, I can personally assure that if tensions rise this project won’t be at risk.”
Norman doubted the man as he looked at the lieutenant sitting at the table. The Vice-CNO had delegated all naval interests in the project to be handled by Lieutenant Washington and his aide. They were both from the Office of Naval Intelligence and had experience in ASW and Submarine operations—which this project would be jeopardizing the most—they knew that exposure of ship movements in the pacific was the last thing that the United States could afford to let out.
“What we’re worried about is tied to national security, but at the end of the day what your project is something that will be targeted. American lives will be at risk. And from what we know, this whole thing can blow up and become a weapon. Operations in the pacific can and will be compromised.”
“What is it you want us to do? We’ve gained authorization from Congress, the Department of Energy, Agriculture.” Andew argued evident that he was tired of the red tape holding the project from progressing.
“IS1?” The lieutenant looked at his aide.
Antonio Cruz, Mikey read from his nametag. “Coming from San Fransico’s Harbor Patrol and our counterparts in the Coast Guard, we have reason to suspect that there are potential persons of interest that wish to disrupt the first drilling operation off the coast of Hawaii. An ongoing screening and investigation are in progress.”
“Is this about the aliens that are here?”
Mikey raised an eyebrow. President Norman leaned forward as he shot a glance to one of the officers on his Secret Service detail.
“Foreigners?” He was hoping to get an answer from the officer.
“Mr. President, Queen Arish-Randall and her husband are currently at UN headquarters.” The man responded.
“I know that, but you mentioned something else, Mr. Sullivan. What about aliens?”
The room remained silent. Mikey could hear the whirring of the electric fan in the projector as everyone awaited an answer from Andrew. The young man had made a mistake, but it was clear he hadn’t lost full control of the situation. It was nothing more than responding to POTUS about an answer of who was in the building.
“They’re on the access list, sir. Sara Kaitlyn Arish-Randall, she is the crown princess of Fantasia—”
“Fantasia is a planet,” The Vice CNO corrected.
“I don’t think that’s the issue here.” Andrew retorted.
Mikey folded his arms over his chest as his eyes widened. No—she wasn’t the princess, was she? He thought to himself as he watched the situation in the room deteriorate. The likelihood that he would run into the daughter of a literal king and queen was at an all time low. Even in Spain he couldn’t even imagine the chance of running into someone like that.
Being a literal princess, it also meant that there was some degree of governmental power tied to her name. For both him and the President, it seems the information that a walking figurehead and guest had went completely unnoticed.
As the meeting came to an abrupt pause, President Norman rose from his seat, fixed his jacket, and began to walk out of the room being quickly followed by his Secret Service escort.
Mikey leaned back in his seat as he let out a long sigh.
This day had just started too.