places, and very few of them at that. The
infected created by the vaccine have taken their toll. Of those,
there are plenty,” Gav asserts.
“Regarding that, have you had any success
with satellite communications?”
“Not at this time. We are working on that
night and day but it appears that any transmissions we send are not
being received. We are still receiving telemetry data, but we have
lost all ability to communicate with the satellite itself,” Gav
answers, hating to utter those words as it feels like her failure,
even though she knows it isn’t.
“How long until it begins orbital
decay?”
“Our best guess is that we have
approximately six months. I’d have something more definitive, but
we also aren’t receiving any data on those systems. Fuel burns to
remain on its current orbital pattern could be higher or lower than
our guesses,” she responds.
“Do you foresee any threats to us from the
radiation?”
“No, but that is hard to determine. The
leading elements of the radiation cloud are sweeping over Asia and
out into the Pacific. It will swing north toward Alaska and come
down the Western Seaboard of Canada and the United States. We
predict it will reach those shores in negligible amounts. I’ll say
this again. It would be nice to have the other sites available, but
we don’t. We need to figure an action plan about what we are going
to do. We need to develop a plan that takes into account the
limited resources we have. If we fail to do that, events will pass
us by….and our opportunity with it,’ Gav affirms, closing her
folder to emphasize her point.
“We will discuss it and get back to you,”
the first man says, dismissing her.
She walks out of the plush conference room
and into an elegant waiting room. This part of the facility is
reserved for the five men she just left, with her having the only
access. Leaving the wing and walking down a wide hall, her heels
once again solidly clicking on the hard floor, their sound
mimicking her frustration, Gav presses her lips together in
exasperation. To her, the men sitting in the conference room behind
her appear lost. They had the perfect plan, and, although they had
been able to adapt to differing situations in the world before, it
seems to her that they are holding too tightly to the wheels they
set in motion. Of course, maybe they aren’t so used to adapting;
they always controlled prior situations and never really had to
adapt to anything. They are accustomed to being in power and
perhaps feel helpless that they can’t control the current
situation.
For a brief moment, Gav wonders what the
personnel would do if her orders were countermanded by any of the
five men. Who would the personnel follow? She immediately dispels
the thought. She has her mission and will accomplish it to the best
of her ability.
* * * * * *
If Gav thought watching the group from camp
B-US-1 HALO jump and flying an AC-130 gunship was a surprise,
watching the LA class submarine surface and glide through the
waters close to Puget Sound is a downright fright. The control
center picked up periodic satellite transmissions and honed in on
the source. The sleek, cigar-shaped vessel surfaced outside of the
inlet to the Strait of Juan de Fuca and slid slowly beneath the
waves a short time later.
She had the control center watch the naval
yards at Bangor. Sure enough, she observed the submarine surface,
but the harder part to swallow was a contingency from the “B” camp
meeting with it. If the two came together, the camp would far
surpass her facility. Video of the sub making its way down the
narrows of Puget Sound fills her monitor. Gav watches as it docks
in Olympia and takes on supplies provided – apparently, from the
camp. It then sails up the sound the next day, out across the
straits, and vanishes under the waves of the Pacific.
Witnessing this series of events and the
apparent harmony of the camp with the sub strikes a very deep
concern. For one of the first
Learning to Kill: Stories