16

JC had little experience reading paperback books and found himself constantly watching checking his chronometer despite having set an alarm for the upcoming meeting. Though chronologically 34 years old, he had the physiological function of a 21-year-old and appearance of a well-tuned 26. Still, despite appearances and medical reports he had only a few years of actual experience. He had the base persona patterns of a soldier who died during the Syria campaigns. MJ12 conditioning programs had stripped away the identity before uploading it to several JC-class subjects. The soldier was selected for his duty in Afghanistan, Pakistan, and finally for the manner in which he had died –leading a battalion into a prison camp. The underlying hard-nose, kick-ass, "let god sort them out" attitude was all that remained; the loving family, birthday cards, and moments in love were no more.

He triggered his muscular augmentation and threw the book hard enough for the surrounding air to rip it to shreds. Romance novels were not his Cup-O-Noodles. He tried to contact Alex, but he was somewhere in the classified technologies lab. Jaime was in the subways with a medical team. Tracer Tong was in his lab making final adjustments to augmentation canisters. He half tried to call Sam Carter, but the old man had passed a month before. Doctors said it was a pulmonary embolism; Paul called it a tragic waste for a soldier to die without a gun in his hand. The funeral was an elaborate and traditionally carrier out. JC was the first and last to pass the open casket. The Stealth-Pistol, the very same one given to him that served him faithfully, was placed fully loaded beneath Sam’s hands.

He decided to go to the meeting early, knowing other board members would be preparing their reports, requesting last minute updates and printouts, and being their generally grumpy selves. He admired each of them from the corporate raider to the nervous little communications mogul. Their support made UNATCO the last official shadow organization. The communication mogul was a spin-doctor if there ever was one at all. Public opinion remained high and they in the dark, just the way he wanted it.

The design of the meeting chamber had been taken from the cavernous red-marble Versalife lobby. What better way was there to begin meetings, in which the status of world affairs and its rebuilding would be discussed, than in such humbling environs? JC activated the Helios ][ containment elevator and watched Helios ][‘s robotic representative rise from the floor amidst puffs of steam and grinding gears, which were intentionally requested by Helios ][ more for their psychological affects than out of necessity.

17

The pod tapped into one of Liberty Isle’s power transfer relays, jacked into the power coupler, and began sapping power; it would prove to take 17.43 hours to bring primary functions back on-line. Its connection also completed the circuit to UNATCO. Emergency power brought the few lights and communication systems still intact back to life. Within half an hour, data-lines were only a couple of inches out of reach, but some minor adjustments brought them near to the extended probe. Within moments its precious cargo, not even having the mass of a grain of sand, surged and flowed into Helios ][ and JC.

18

The tachyon density around the pod intensified with the sudden release of raw energy causing intensifying ripples in the delicate fabric of space and time. The pod detected anomalous radiation reading, but without advanced sensors could not determine its nature. Automatic defense systems channeled power from Nanotech systems to shields, but damage to the alignment systems created a directional shield beneath the pod that extended out for 10 meters in diameter. The pod’s field-emitters failed to align properly resulting in several highly dense nodes near the edge of the shield. Tachyon concentrations and activity increased proportionally with power availability. Like pups on their mother’s teat, the emerging gateway fed.

19

Alex’s power levels were at 1290; the miniature fusion core on the armored backpack was humming away steadily providing power for primary suit functions. Lubricant stored were keeping heat and wear below critical levels. The suit was ideal for survival. With the smoke and toxins in the air at fatal levels, the suit had to activate the purifier cleaning cycle twice already. It was an odd little system, several bottles holding 20 minutes of liquid atmosphere were connected to a primary and secondary regulator that monitored temperature, pressure, humidity, and carbon-dioxide levels. The filtration system was comprised of three D-cell sized cylinders on each side of the chest. Alex did not have to change the filters; when one filled, its retractable housing bay lowered the core, vibrated it at sixty-five thousand hertz for twenty seconds, and retracted it clean. Other internal systems rid the suit of radiation and other exotic airborne particles.

Emergency power wavered for a few seconds and was replaced by full power. Throughout the damaged base systems came back on line. Lighting was in short supply, only a few were protected by bulletproof glass; running water was out of the question with hydroponics in ruins; and the circulatory systems and air purifiers on levels one through six running sporadically. Operations returned to life and began diagnostics, which would not be completed for at least a week. For all the good having power did, the base was a tomb.