The crater below was an aching reminder of the past. To some, its formation was an unnnessary act of spite, sheer vengeful malice perpetrated by a departing regime. History reflects that viewpoint. The facts diverge from it. The crater was formed by a hammer bomb, dropped from an Opakular air fortress. An army of twenty thousand humans, evenly divided between infantry and armored units vanished in the fiery blink of a war god's eye. Before that, Opakular tactical fighters cleared the skies of all human aerial opposition, adding a thousand more fatalities to the ones to be consumed in the ground slaughter. What history did not record was that the Opakular was protecting other humans, the ones perjoratively referred to as collabs--short for collaborators. Collabs were being evacuated from Earth and transported to another world for settlement, far beyond the reach of humans who despised them for their open armed acceptance of alien rule. A mile or so from the crater was the spaceport, the scene of unending activity as Opakular transports spacelifted collab refugees day and night, every hour on the hour. This was days after General Directive 24 had been issued by the Worldwide Liberation Front. GD24 called for the extermination of all collabs. None were to be spared. Niether men, women or children...
I switched off my palm reader and shunted my attention back to the half mile diameter bruise in the otherwise flat topography. Every so often I liked to consult the uncensored historical documents for a more--balanced view of the past. Especially when exploring sites of considered historical significance. My boss, Montgomery Chandliss, peered down upon the depression with a look that was considerably less dispassionate than my own. You see, he was there when the Opakular dropped that bomb. It by was sheer luck that he lived to commenerate the occasion. He was on the fringe of the blast. Nevertheless, all but two out of the 195 soldiers under his command escaped the hammer's fury. Most of the right side of Montgomery's face resembled decaying parchment. Skin grafts had obscured the worst of the burns he received that day. A thorough regen could have restored his profile had Montgomery accepted it. But regen was an alien technology and Montgomery eschewed Opak tech when he could. I say when he could because every piece of tech operated by humans on post-Occupation Earth bore an Opak hand. That included the flyer we were riding in. Even Montgomery was aware of the benefits of alien tech and was loathe to turn back the clock to a pre-Occupation, fossil-fueled existence. It was the over-indulgent use of Opak tech that he opposed. Another reason, I suspected, why my boss rejected regen treatment was because he wanted to wear his disfigurement proudly, like a badge of honor. I had to admit, the wound did lend his Hollywood handsome face an appealingly roguish distinction.
I watched him as he paid his silent homage to the fallen. The somber cast of his expression told me that he was over thirty years in the past, reliving that horriffic day. Finally, he turned from the window. His eyes settled on me. The usual charismatic glow returned to his face, signalling that he was back in the here and now.
"Are you ok, sir?" I asked, my brow contracting sympathetically.
"Much better, Nola, thank you." Montgomery revealed one of his insufferably charming smiles. "I was having a moment there, but I'm glad we came here." He twisted toward the cockpit and ordered the pilot to resume course toward our destination. The pilot complied and the flyer jettisoned forward, leaving a crater considered consecrated ground far behind us in a matter of seconds.
"What we've just witnessed motivates me more than ever to see our grand enterprise through," Montgomery mused. He lifted a mostly full bottle of water from his arm rest, untwisted the top and took a sip. For a brief moment the characterisitic warmth shining from his eyes hardened into a look that would have given the devil himself pause. I suppressed a shudder, easily imagining how Montgomery must have bore that same look when he ordered the executions of 500 suspected collabs during the closing days of the Liberation War. It was no secret that he had personally dispatched close to that number by his own hand throughout the course of the conflict. Probably exceeded it.
"And what will you do with yourself when it's over?" I asked, pulling my boss out of his dark reverie.
Montgomery perked up, regarding me with avuncular interest. "I'm definitely going to spend more time with my wife. I think I've taxed Maureen's patience with my infrequent time at home long enough."
"Retirement," I added, with a prompting, questioning smile.
Montgomery winced as if the word had pinched him in the side. "I suppose." Montgomery was a member of the United States of North America Administrative Cabinet. The Cabinet was a ruling body that had arisen in the wake of the Opak's withdrawal. Initially an interim government, the Cabinet soon morphed into a permanent institution. It's members were appointed, not elected. Montgomery also served double duty as the Secretary of National Security. He was not the kind of man who would have enjoyed wiling away his days in the quiet repose of retirement. Hence, his pause at the thought of leaving behind two jobs I was sure he loved with as much passion as his dear wife.
"And how about you, Nola? Is there anyone in your life pining for your presence?"
My mocha brown complexion did a wonderful job of hiding the blush that warmed my cheeks. Yet, my abashed reaction did not escape Montgomery's ever so keen observation. "Sir, you're putting me on the spot."
"Come on, now. Don't be shy." Montgomery narrowed one eye in a playful grimace.
"I'm hopelessly single if you must know," I conceded with mock indignation.
Montgomery reached over to tap the back of my wrist. "Don't sweat it. You'll find your sigificant other. In fact..." Montgomery put on a conspiratorial mask. "There may be one or two available gentlemen on staff whom I've noticed sneaking less than professional glances in your direction."
I raised a skeptical brow. "Really? Who are they?"
Montgomery leaned back in his seat, pretending to take an interest in something out the window.
"Unless you're pulling my leg, sir, I suggest you tell me who these mysterious gentlemen are."
My boss shuddered with a laughter he could no longer contain.
The Midwest Works comprised an enormous diamond shaped building surrounded by a ring of smaller variable size annexes. The land around this network of buildings abounded with lush greenery. Lake Michigan's majestic expance was laid out like an emerald carpet just minutes beyond the shimmering security field enclosing MW's grounds. Our flyer landed in the facility port outside the primary building. The three F50 jets that had accompained us on our cross country jaunt, remained airborne. I saw them zipping overhead as Montgomery and I exited the flyer to step foot on the smooth matte black tarmac. Montgomery's Secret Service detail preceded us off the flyer and fanned out at far enough distances to be inconspicuous, yet close enough to converge on the Secretary in timely fashion should danger arise. A thin, professorial looking man of medium height wearing a conservative gray suit was present on the tarmac to greet my boss. A small coterie of similarly suited, executive types were also present. They were all nervous. I could tell by their jittery smiles and rigid postures.
"Welcome to Midwest Works, Mr. Secretary," the leader of this bunch snivelly greeted, practically bowing as if Montgomery were a royal. "We are honored, sir. I am Jacob Linox, CEO..."
Montgomery grabbed the CEO's hand before the latter could finish his intro and shook it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you. I tell you what, Jake, we're a little pressed for time. What say we move it along, inside."
Jacob Linox looked like an actor who forgot his lines. His mouth hung open for an instant before a stammer of words ushered out. "Well...cer...cer...certainly of couse, Mr. Secretary...we can...go...uh right this way..."
Montgomery slapped a companionable arm around the CEO's shoulders and began chatting away as we headed toward the entrance to one of the largest arms manufacturing complexes in the U.S. of N.A.
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