Omega Storm
By Daryll Pung
Part Three: First Impressions
Rated: R
Dexter Theron frowned, hunched over in a wheeled, comfortable office
chair, as he examined the numerous computer displays around him. On the floor behind him, in the middle of the decidedly
high-tech ‘analysis center’ of his and Fiona’s office, were several packed
bags, uniformly black. He really
didn’t want to resort to hacking, especially since time was short, but he
hated going into a situation with less than a thorough knowledge about what he
was getting into; and this summons had been so quick, so out of the blue, with
so little time to prepare… He
scowled, determinedly pressing the touchscreen directly in front of him; one of
the displays changed.
Then the brightness increased dramatically, beyond the range of the
visual filters.
He sighed. “Fiona… can’t see my screens.”
“Sorry,” came a sheepish reply from behind him.
Dex half-turned; Fiona’s long-sleeved dark violet blouse was tucked
over her arm, along with black gloves, and her shades were in her hand.
Her hair was pulled neatly back in a long ponytail, gleaming and silvery.
She was wearing violet low-heeled shoes, black slacks, and was otherwise
only wearing a black tank-top… hence the glow.
Several bags with a dark, subtle floral design sat in the hall off the
analysis center. Dex snorted as he
turned back; he himself was clad in slacks, black, with black boots and a dark
blue short-sleeved shirt, with his shades hanging out of the pocket.
“So am I; didn’t mean to snap. And
I know it sucks having to wear long sleeves and gloves in the stifling heat of
summer, air conditioning or not.”
Fiona shrugged. “Yeah,
well, I’m used to it. Bad enough
I’m going to partially daze people with the glow from what’ll still be
exposed from my face. Whatcha up
to, anyway?”
Dex scowled again. “I hate
going into a situation blind.”
Fiona frowned slightly herself. “I
know. In this case, however,
we’ve got no choice. Our ride is here in five minutes; I doubt the government is
going to be anything but punctual. You’re
not going to get much done in that short span... legally or illegally.”
“Yeah, well, all I’ve been able to find of interest is this little
press snippet about this General Jack Harris retiring… and it doesn’t tell
us diddly. The usual PR bullshit,
ya know?” Dex snorted. He rolled his eyes, and began shutting everything down.
“What’s a retired General doing with such clout to be able to lasso
us in like this?”
Fiona looked thoughtful. “Not
sure. His name is familiar, for
some reason… can’t place it right now.”
She paused. “And we’d be
fools to think that this wasn’t deliberate, that this hasn’t been planned
for a while.”
Dex nodded agreement. “I
checked. Our last five jobs have
all been connected with various Federal agencies.
They’ve been fucking scouting us without us realizing it.”
Fiona grinned wryly. “Does
that make you feel a little better, to know that they’re looking specifically
at us? I mean, it is a compliment
of sorts…”
“What, that we’re the best?” Dex observed, standing up and
stretching briefly as the last power light went dark.
“Hell, no, it doesn’t, Fiona. I’ve
got a sinking feeling we’re about to be shanghaied; and I damn sure don’t
want to work directly for the government again.”
“I can’t say I do either, Dex,” she said dourly.
“But without more knowledge about what’s going on… we don’t have
a choice but to listen and see what they have to say.”
The two shared a final, grim look, before Fiona slipped into her blouse,
buttoned it up, and put on her gloves. They
put their sunglasses on at the same time, right as the door chime rang.
Fiona pressed the access button to let them in.
Moments later, two individuals in civilian clothes entered.
A few seconds after that, their bags in hand, all four left.
Most ominous of all, in Dex’s and Fiona’s view, was the unmistakable
military bearing of their escorts.
“So… what do you think this is about, Brand?” asked Kaycee,
covering a yawn, as the two walked, in perfect step, down a corridor deep within
the Pentagon, four paces behind a pair of MP’s.
They were both clad, as per their orders, in decent civilian clothing;
Brand with a black sleeveless top, khaki shorts, and boots, and Kaycee in a
white blouse, black vest and skirt, white hose, and low-heeled black shoes.
Her lush, silky red hair was bound back with a selection of white and
black bands into a pair of long pigtails. In
keeping with the civilian look, she also wore red lipstick.
Not exactly regulation, but then, most SpecOps operators were rebels in
some fashion or other; and Kaycee knew damn well no one would say a thing.
Well, no one important, anyway.
Brand thought for a second before replying.
“I can honestly say I haven’t a clue, Kaycee.
But it is General Harris… which means it is not only important, but
secret, and we’ve been handpicked.”
Kaycee yawned again. They’d
been on the go almost continuously, and she hadn’t had much of a chance to
recuperate after causing that blast; an experience that had almost knocked her
out. Knocked me out, hell,
she thought. Knocked me into a coma, almost.
After their debrief, they’d received their new orders… and proceeded
to follow them directly, meaning she’d only caught a few naps here or there in
transit. “I wonder…?” she
said aloud.
Brand shot her a penetrating look. “About
what?”
Kaycee smiled. This one
wasn’t her normal, pleasant, flirtatious smile; it was malicious, venomous.
“We’re in civvies. The
General technically isn’t military anymore.
Seems to me like we might be going off the reservation… I do hope that
means we’ll be needing cold weather gear.”
Brand shivered. Kaycee’s
tone was downright bloodthirsty, and given what she was capable of...
“We’ll find out shortly,” he replied, curbing his own curiosity.
He just had a funny feeling that whatever this was wouldn’t be what
anyone was expecting, himself included.
Their escorts stopped, indicating a secured, bug-proofed briefing room.
One spoke. “Your DNA and
voiceprints are required for access.”
Kaycee and Brand shared a glance, and both placed their hands on the
proper pads and recited their names and ranks.
The lock disengaged with a thunk, and the heavy door hissed open.
Both stepped inside.
They were greeted by an empty room, with a conference table, six
upholstered chairs, and several blank displays hanging from the ceiling almost
dead center in it. Two of the chairs were on the opposite side of the table from
the other four; as they approached the table, they realized that there were
nametags by each chair. Exchanging
a glance, they shrugged. As they
sat, Brand examined the other nametags. “Well,
besides General Harris, we have Manriquez, who must be some sort of senior
staffer or intel geek, considering the seating location.
And with us are a Theron and Miles.”
He paused. “I don’t
recognize the names; they’re not SpecOps.”
“No, but if I’m not mistaken…” Kaycee paused.
“I wonder if Miles could be the ex-Air Force fighter jock?
She was pretty good.”
Another thunk and hiss greeted their ears; the door to the room opened
again, and a rather disgruntled Dex and Fiona stepped in.
There was a moment of silence as the two pairs sized each other up.
Finally, Dex spoke. “Nice
digs. Would you two be the welcome
wagon?”
Kaycee giggled. “Not
quite, babe. Which one are you- Theron, or Miles?”
He frowned, his eyes flicking to the name tags.
“Oh, this is just great. I’m
Dexter Theron.”
Brand spoke up, eyebrow raised slightly.
“And your faintly glowing partner would then be Miles.
My partner seems to think you flew fighters?”
Fiona’s lips curved slightly. “Once
upon a time.”
Kaycee smiled. “So you are
Major Fiona Miles, then? Cool.
Well, I’m Lieutenant Kaelee Morana... and I’m a huge fan!”
“Lieutenant Brand Thanatos,” Brand added calmly after Kaycee finished
gushing.
“And that’s ex-Major, Lieutenant,” Fiona said softly as she and Dex took their
seats. She cocked her head
slightly. “Why aren’t you two
in uniform? And, though I’m
already guessing not, have you any idea why we’re here?”
“Our orders specified civilian garb,” Brand replied smoothly.
“As to why we are here, all we have is speculation.”
“You already guessed not? Why
is that?” frowned Kaycee.
Fiona and Dex exchanged a look, and Fiona smiled slightly.
“You’re lieutenants. I
doubt things have changed so much since I’ve left that you’ve been told more
than you need to know.”
Kaycee giggled again. “Yeah,
that fits.” She paused to examine Fiona closely. When she spoke, her voice was soft, and a note of sympathy
was in it. “What happened?”
Fiona gazed steadily at her. “Excuse
me?”
Kaycee waved her hand. “The
glow.”
Fiona frowned. “It’s
what you get when your thirty-third aerial kill manages to bring you down
simultaneously; you get captured, and handed over to a couple of deranged
geneticists.”
Kaycee sucked in her breath between her teeth.
“I’m sorry,” she said sincerely.
Fiona shrugged. “It’s in
the past… and I survived. The
other guy didn’t; he didn’t eject; his plane exploded on impact.
I saw the fireball from my ‘chute.”
Kaycee nodded solemnly, before shifting his gaze to Dex.
“What’s your story?”
“Was a Homeland Security agent. Then
New York got hit. Now I’m not.” His expression was grim.
“And you two?”
“We are U.S. Army Stalkers,” Brand spoke up.
“Beyond that, I do not believe we are allowed to say.”
“Fair enough,” allowed Dex. “Be
nice if we could get down to business.” He
leaned back, arms in back of his head. “Such
as why the hell Fiona and I are here; we could be tracking down another mark
already.”
His voice got louder with his frustration; loud enough where everyone but
Brand missed the hiss and thunk of the door opening a final time.
Thusly, while the other three jumped slightly in their seats when a voice
broke in, Brand merely raised an eyebrow.
“You are here, Dexter Harding Theron and Fiona Clarice Miles, because
of your combined unique talents for exhaustive research, tracking, and hunting;
because of the ability to avoid psionic abilities and effects due to your
implant, Mister Theron; and your flying skills, evasion skills, and mutant
ability, Miss Miles,” the voice said. London
strolled around to his seat at the front of the table, accompanied by the lithe
form of Manriquez, who carried several minicomputers and a laser pointer.
Both were clad in civilian business suits; London’s was black and
Manriquez in gray. “And Brand
Thanatos and Kaelee Charis Morana, you are both here because of your SpecOps
soldier proficiencies, plus your unique gifts; Lieutenants.” Both seated themselves.
Dex shared a glance with Fiona. “Yeah,
that doesn’t tell us much; we figured that much out already,” he retorted.
“So, since you probably aren’t gonna elaborate before we say yay or
nay, let’s get down to it: are we
being dragooned? Or is this
voluntary?”
“Direct and to the point, Mister Theron.
I like that. Let me say
this: what follows is completely, one hundred percent voluntary.
It is also highly classified. Before
you say no, which I can see is on the tip of your tongue, let me add that I am
aware of the past difficulties you have all experienced.
I am assembling a special team; you are my first choices.
Should you agree, I am the only person to whom you report.
The only person I report to is the President of these United States,” London
stated. “We will tell you what we
can before you make your decision; upon making your decision you will be briefed
in full. This is very important,
and not just for this country. Now,
will you give us a chance?”
“Interesting,” commented Dex, his curiosity peaked.
“All right, General Harris. I’ll
listen.”
Fiona nodded her acquiescence. “Especially
if I get a chance to fly again.”
“Very good. As of this
moment, and certainly as of the point you agree, should you agree, rank will
become irrelevant, for no longer will anyone be in active military service.”
He glanced at the two Stalkers, noting Kaycee’s intense interest.
“Clarissa Manriquez, formerly a Commander in the U.S. Navy, is the head
of my support team, and will handle logistics and intel, and any drops,
cut-outs, or what have you that may or may not be required will be established
by her. She also prepares a mean
briefing and knows how to get things done… and retains a lot of loyalty for
the troops in the field. She is here now to explain to you the salient points of why
we want your services. Clarissa?”
“Yes, sir,” the Latino woman nodded, already activating
minicomputers; the surrounding screens lit up.
The first displayed a map of Antarctica; the second a pair of biographies
and pictures of two men, both dark-haired, one with a coal-black eyes and a
black goatee; the second actually had a pair of what looked like black insect
antennae poking through the untidy mass of dark green hair, along with red eyes
and tribal-style tattoos along the side of his face.
“As you may or may not be aware, Antarctica has become a hotbed of
fanaticism for some of the worlds most twisted and brilliant minds, and a
retreat for the world’s most wanted criminals,” Clarissa began.
“Many have the deaths of thousands on their heads; these two likely
have the deaths of millions on theirs. What
is previously been a problem to be dealt with later is rapidly changing to a
situation that requires immediate attention, largely because of these two; you
see, over the past two decades, these two men have formed a coalition of all
those who live in Antarctica. Intel
indicates membership is now mandatory… with those who resist either being
killed or being turned into lab experiments.”
The four being briefed shared an alarmed glance.
“The one on the left is the recognized leader of what is becoming known
as the Supreme Human Form Society, or as we’ve begun to refer to them in
slang, the Shifties. Kind of
accurate, actually, because one of their goals is to perfect to ability to
manipulate one’s shape… and the informant who got us that intel died in just
that sort of experiment a week later. At
any rate, Dr. Hyanda Telhuine, whose exact national origin is unknown- it’s
highly likely he himself was genengineered- is a brilliant genius, but one whose
intellect and morals are extremely twisted.
He has some extra ability, whether it’s through genengineering or an
implant or mutation is unclear, for telekinesis and teleportation.
Exact age unknown; but before he fled to Antarctica he was the worst of
the worst to come out of the mess in Asia.”
Clarissa paused. “He
appears to be the Shiftie leader. His
number two man is forced mutate Dr. Agar Lalaith, who is
known to have been genengineered prior to being mutated; he hails from, and is
partially responsible for, the disaster area that is Northern Africa and the
Middle East. He also possesses
unusual abilities, namely the ability to fly- massive dragonfly wings sprout
from his back- and also the ability to put people to sleep, or cause them to
laugh uncontrollably, simply by touching them; which effect seems to be at his
whim. He is, by all accounts, not quite
as smart as his boss… but he is far, far crueler, and downright bloodthirsty.
Reports include cannibalism… as a form of torture and entertainment.”
“Holy shit,” muttered Dex. “How
wanted are these characters?”
Clarissa set down her laser pointer.
“Very. Rewards are in the
millions of credits; but they’ve surrounded themselves with the absolute dregs
of the planet, and Antarctica is rapidly becoming, pardon the expression, a real
hellhole. Even with Fiona’s
unique abilities, there is no way to infiltrate and capture these two at this
time, not to mention the other hundred or thousand or so of the world’s most
wanted individuals that are all gathering down there.
We do have plans… but they’re going to have to wait for the
moment.”
Fiona raised an eyebrow. “How
sure are you?”
Clarissa laughed. “Amongst
the wanted down there are the two responsible for your condition, Fiona.
They know all about you. And
yes, our intel is that good.” She
glanced at Kaycee. “And yes,
Kaelee, your uncle is still present as well.”
Dex and Fiona exchanged looks as the pretty redhead scowled and spoke.
“If we’re not here to go down there and get these assholes, then why
are we here?”
“You’re here to deal with the active threat they pose to the rest of
the world,” Clarissa replied smoothly. “In
due time that will hopefully include going after them directly; but you’d need
some measure of success first against their plans that are already known to be
in motion.”
“What sort of plans?” Brand asked thoughtfully.
“To put it bluntly, bio-terrorism.
We want the four of you to track down and eliminate the genetically
created monsters- there is no better term for them- which the Shifties create
and unleash. Capturing them is
pointless; out intel indicates that those creatures who are not fully
sympathetic with their creators are either fully insane or are brain-dead and
controlled by a bio-organic micro-processor,” Clarissa explained.
“And what with their strength, special abilities, what have you… the
only recourse is to eliminate them.”
“You sound like there’s more than one,” Fiona broke in cautiously.
“There are already on the order of three dozen or more… and they are
truly abominations in every sense of the word,” Clarissa replied.
She glanced at all four. “Compensation
will be extreme, including pay and benefits better than virtually any other
government employee; civilian, military, or political; and we have unprecedented
political and diplomatic connections as well to help with your jobs.
At the moment, everything will be classified at the highest level, for
obvious reasons… but as the situation develops, the four of you could very
well become celebrities; assuming you accept, that is.
That is the limit of the information you can know without fully
accepting.”
“Trying to bribe us?” grunted Dex.
“No. Explaining the situation as best I can,” retorted Clarissa
coolly, before looking pointedly at London.
“Now, as I said, this is voluntary,” London said with a nod.
“If you do not-“
“I’m in,” interrupted Kaycee.
“Of course I’m in.”
“I as well,” added Fiona, to Dex’s immense surprise.
“Fiona-“ he began.
“Look, Dex, this is perfect on so many levels.
I can fly again, and not the low-level stuff allowed civilians right now
during the war, either, if this is what these two are saying it is.
I can gain revenge on the scumbags that… well, that turned me into,
let’s face it, a freak, against my will; even though I have accepted what I am
now. But most importantly, just
think about it: we’ll be tracking
and hunting targets elusive and bold, elite and dangerous; stuff no
one on this planet has ever tracked and hunted before; and we’ll be
protecting innocent civilians in the process.
What a challenge; what opportunity.
I’m in,” she finished simply.
Dex sat back, his expression thoughtful.
Brand spoke up. “I, of
course, accept. Not only for the
professional challenge, but because it is a perfect chance for me to truly serve
and protect. And I don’t wish to
abandon my partner.”
Kaycee flashed him a devilish, playful grin.
All eyes turned to Dex. He
sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. “We
can override what, the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, even military if need be,
correct?”
“Correct,” nodded London.
“And we report only to you? We
are basically above the law?” Dex continued.
“Above, below, inside, or out… whatever is required to suit the needs
of the moment,” London affirmed.
Dex closed his eyes for a moment, and then slowly nodded.
“Very well. I’m in. I can’t help it; I just gotta know more about this, and
Fiona’s right, the challenge… So,
what do we have to do before we learn more?”
Four minicomputers slid across the desk.
“Read everything and sign. One
signature does it all,” Clarissa explained.
“Read carefully, for that includes security clearances, overrides, and
nondisclosure agreements on top of everything else.
Naturally, Fiona, Dexter-“
“Dex,” he broke in.
“Dex, then; naturally, yours is a bit longer, since Brand and
Kaelee-“
“Kaycee,” the vivacious redhead interrupted absentmindedly, busy
reading.
Clarissa sighed in exasperation, noting the grin on London’s face.
“Fine. Kaycee, then.
As Stalkers, you two have already seen some of that material and signed
it. The forms on your ‘comps
include a transfer of that documentation and acknowledgements.
And once you sign, that is the end of the paper trail; Omega Detachment
literally does not exist on paper.”
Brand was already signing his name.
He set down the laser pen calmly. “Omega
Detachment? That’s what we’re
called?”
“Unless you’d like to come up with a different name,” commented
London as the other three finished signing.
“As my field team, you literally run the shop.”
The four exchanged looks. “Guess
we really are a team now, huh?” smiled Kaycee.
Fiona returned the smile, albeit a bit more reservedly.
“I guess so.”
Dex snorted. “Okay, so if
that’s it for the formal bit, hit us with some more inforama.
Like, is this our headquarters? What
about the first target? I mean,
what haven’t you told us that we need to know?
‘Cuz I don’t know about anyone else, but enquiring minds really do
want to know, namely my own.”
Brand grinned slightly. “You’re
not alone in that, friend.”
“Not here,” said London, as Clarissa shut down the minicomputers and
picked up the name plates; she shoved everything into a briefcase, which she
then locked. “And all very good questions.
This is the last time we hold a briefing in the Pentagon… at least
amongst ourselves. We will now
proceed to our headquarters, and brief you in full, as well as show you all the
neat tools of your trade, and allow you to get to know each other’s talents a
little better before we throw you to the wolves.
And no longer should any of you refer to me as General, either.
I did retire, you know. Call
me London.”
“Yes, sir,” Brand replied, to which Dex smirked.
The six proceeded out of the room, which went dark behind them.
The door sealed with a hiss and a thunk.
As the jumpjet dropped low, Dex grunted in amusement.
Below, the terrain had become nothing more than water, as far as the eye
could see. He glanced back at
London, shook his head, and then spoke into his headset.
“Lake Michigan?” he asked.
“Yes,” London said. “The
facility is underwater and underground. Two surface entrances; and an emergency water access through a pressure
chamber, more of an emergency egress, pretty similar to what you’d find on a
submarine, but on a larger scale. One
of the land entrances is little more than a back door; it goes through a tunnel
into the basement of a rather nice house overlooking the lake on the Michigan
shore, located a good fifty miles or so northwest of Grand Rapids.
That house, coincidentally, is where all of you will now be living, as
well as several other members of the Detachment; it is also far more high-tech
and with more defenses and security systems than would first appear.
The other surface access is the hangar area, which is also well defended,
and located on another parcel of formerly privately-owned property.
The outer shell of the mansion still stands there; the back half opens,
like a clamshell, to reveal the access tunnel to the sub-level underground
hangar bay. The majority of the
facility is buried beneath the lakebed, including the redundant fusion power
plants- with adequate separation and emergency systems- intelligence
departments, analysis, a high-tech computer center to make even you drool, and
advanced training and weapons facilities.”
Dex snorted. “Awfully
cloak-and-dagger, isn’t it?”
London smiled slightly. “Think
about it, Dex. The last thing we
want right now is to overly alarm the populace regarding the Shifties; hence,
everything Omega is classified. As
such, we wanted a location that was somewhat central, fairly secure within our
borders, with overland, aquatic, and aerial access in routes that were not overly
populated; yet populated enough where some traffic wouldn’t draw too much
attention and people aren’t so familiar with one another that everyone knows
everyone else. We also wanted it
hidden and secure; above all, our enemies are extremely intelligent, and should
they figure out what Omega is, they will start hunting for where we sleep at
night. This is one of the last
places they will look; there is nothing important within hundreds of miles.
Everything was built on the sly. And
they will be looking in some remote location in the middle of nowhere, with no
civilians around; we’re hiding in plain sight, as it were.”
London paused as the jumpjet banked; he briefly wondered if the pilot had
handed the controls over to Fiona for some refresher flying; she was sitting in the copilot seat.
“It isn’t perfect, this is true; but what location ever is?
It is as secure as we can make it, with a number of redundant emergency
procedures in place, and plenty of defenses and firepower, as you will see.”
Brand grunted. “Sure it is
a wise idea not to inform the civilian authorities, sir?”
“Oh, they will be informed… in accordance with established
procedures. Nationwide; indeed, worldwide
notice has already been served regarding a special team bearing a five-star
anti-terror specialty designation, and cooperation has been remarkable.
That will be your cover, and you can shift your agency of origin amongst
military, Homeland Security, or other agencies as you see fit to hide the true
nature and origins of this team,” London explained.
“Enough for now; we’re approaching, and more will be explained when
we land.”
The jumpjet pulled up suddenly, and true to London’s earlier statement,
a mansion greeted their eyes. The
entire back half was split in four sections; lights blinked around the access
tunnel that was revealed amidst the middle of the structure.
They caught a brief look at the bearings and machinery of the surface
cover before they dropped into the tunnel; lights whipped by at alarming speeds.
Abruptly, they burst into a very brightly lit hangar bay, with numerous
shrouded shapes; and suddenly they spun sharply around, hovering and sliding
sideways towards the blinking cross that designated their landing zone.
Clarissa blanched.
“What the hell is Dave thinking, pulling stunts like this?” she
gasped.
Dex and Kaycee both began to chuckle, as London smiled; Brand raised an
eyebrow. Noting Brand’s look, London explained. “Dave is the back-up pilot; he usually flies our transports
and VIP flights.”
“I wonder,” grinned Dex as the jumpjet settled over its landing pad,
“just how long Fiona has been flying this thing?”
Fiona’s voice, rich with good humor and enthusiasm, came back over the
headset. “Since somewhere over
Ohio, actually. Standby; be
touching down momentarily.”
There was the slightest of bumps, and the engine whines decreased
noticeably. Fiona’s voice came on
again, accompanied with a satisfied sigh. “We’re
down.”
“Wow,” murmured Clarissa.
Kaycee nodded. “She’s
got some skill, huh?”
As they disembarked, Fiona paused long enough to glance around the hangar
bay. She then turned to London.
“While that was fun, I do hope you’ve got more exciting things to
fly.” Her expression indicated
anticipation.
London nodded, a half-smile on his face.
“You have no idea.”
He led them out of the hangar bay, but it was Fiona who had the last
word.
TO BE CONTINUED...