Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet (11 page)

If what
remained of the free press every got hold of all the illicit deals,
crimes, and government abuse Armon was apart of, it would be more
than just he that would be finished. His
New World Order
would crumble with him
into the dust of history, plunging the Earth possibly back into the
realm of divided nationalism again. All that Armon had built would
be gone, while his name would be forever linked to a legacy of
deceit, vice, and murder.

Armon Quinton would not
allow this legacy at any cost. Until he could find a way to quietly
remedy his partnership with Ektos, Armon would have to play the
game a little more while biding his time. Only then would requital
be swift and harsh.

With self-resolve, Quinton calmed himself. Once he
regained his composure, he placed a hand upon the mirror and held
it there. Within moments, the glass he touched took on a neon green
glow around his hand. It began to pulse brightly, moving from
finger to finger, while also allowing his hand to slightly submerge
within the silver material. Finally, the pulsating stopped. Quinton
pulled his hand away to see a glowing green mold of his palm and
fingers. Within seconds the imprint refilled itself and vanished.
The glass of the mirror then began to ripple away from its center
like water.

"Identity confirmed!" an
electronic voice announced as the glass parted, resonating to the
rushing liquid tide. As the glass pulled back into its frame, it
created an entrance into a darkened room.

Without hesitation, Quinton
stepped through the mirror and into the hidden chamber. Once he was
on the other side, the glass in the mirror ruffled and flowed back
together again, becoming solid once more.

As Quinton stepped into the
small room, the floor illuminated with a dull bluish glow. The man
then stood completely still.

"Down," he
commanded.

By Quinton's order, the
floor slowly began to move downward to a slight whine. The lift
then descended into the shaft, accelerating slightly as it
did.

For minutes, Armon felt his
steady plunge into the bowels of the Earth, his weight seemingly
falling slightly slower than the platform. His stomach became
uneasy. It was as if being swallowed alive, not that each previous
journey was any less disturbing. However, this time was so very
different; it was if something terrible was waiting down below, and
it made Armon afraid.

About half way down, a vile
stench similar to manure rose upwards and sullied the air with a
languor that made it slightly difficult to breathe. But a cold and
chilling breeze from nowhere suddenly blew it away. Armon shivered
to the icy gust while his legs suddenly wobbled in an impulse of
unsteadiness. Yet, sweat curiously formed on his the palms of his
hands. Armon trembled as his anxiousness grew. His heart thumped
hard to the growing fear, while something in his mind amplified the
great evil that lurked within the catacombs he was descending
into.

Finally after the platform
slowed to halt, he recomposed himself, burying his uneasiness into
his political ego. Yet, caution tempered him as he surveyed two
rows of tiny mounted floor lamps that gestured a pathway for him to
travel. Once the elevator stopped, Armon hesitantly stepped off to
the echoes of his shoes. He paused momentarily, desiring to return
to the safety of his office, but he realized there was no other
alternative but to follow the poorly lit road. Depressed, he slowly
milled away from the lift between the rows of lights.

Armon was in Ektos' lair
now. No bomb, missile, or energy weapon was capable of touching the
elusive being down here. In this realm, Ektos was supreme—and Armon
Quinton a mere wayward pawn.

Quinton walked for many
minutes in the eerie damp and dimness with only the sporadic
trickling of water and occasional splashing of puddles cascading
against the silence of the dungeon that seemed to go on forever. To
the sound of his footsteps reverberating back through the grandiose
sewer, he eventually heard the faint rumble and clatter of heavy
construction growing nearer. Bursts of illumination lit up in
distance flashes—and as quickly vanished. It was as if a titanic
storm was gathering on the horizon, assembling strength for its
terrible emergence of destruction.

The rumbling grew louder
and more pronounced as he continued onwards. Eventually, the sound
became deafening, while undulating the very ground beneath his feet
in sedate vibration. Finally, the corridor ended, giving way to a
great architecture that surpassed the grandeur of all man-made
works.

Here, great stone columns
rose from their mountings inside a colossal chamber and stretched
into the black recesses of the grottos. The massive supports held
an invisible ceiling aloft along with a portion of the city
above.

The lamps ended with the corridor, but they pointed
to a thin bridge that stretched and loomed above a huge,
multi-shaped abyss. The abyss was cut from solid bedrock out of the
Earth and formed in elaborate design. The stench of sulfur and
other noxious fumes overflowed the cavern, accompanied by powdery
soot. The contaminants rode heated updrafts of smoke from the gorge
and filled Quinton's nostrils with their foulness while scattering
fine particles of dirt over Armon’s clothes. The man covered his
nose with a handkerchief to protect him from the chemical
emissions, however; it barely reduced the smell.

As Quinton moved onward, a dismal curiosity taunted
and prodded him to gaze into the blackened chasm beneath him.
Slowly peering over the edge with a failing nerve, the scene was
beyond his imagination.

It was a great labyrinth
held together by a network of interconnecting granite and resin
support beams. Although its walls seemed mostly smooth, they still
retained random jagged patches that reflected their sharpness in
the sudden flares of light. But the great pit was awash with
activity. Wider than two football fields, it was filled with
supplies, machinery, and raw materials—and it stretched and
dissolved into an outlying inky horizon. Only the flaming light
from huge induction furnaces and cold fusion reactors gave some
illumination while hinting to the vastness of the area. The
machines hummed in a foreboding melody as the beating and forging
of metal accompanied their song.

Armon continued to look in
spite of the mounting apprehension that quivered his body in a
precipitate long shudder. In the pulsed reddish glow of the
inextinguishable sources of power and fire, Armon saw grand, raven
machines of unrecognizable design being fabricated and assembled.
Furthermore, all this was tended by silhouetted specters that bore
a striking resemblance to large ghastly centipedes. They darted
about with only reflections of light betraying their presence.
Working as drones; they tirelessly performed their mysterious tasks
while neither knowing fatigue, nor rest.

Conceived in secret and
with hidden purpose, all this was a recent development of
productiveness within the last year by Ektos. With much
trepidation, Quinton witnessed alone at what could only be guessed
at. He lingered in thought for a moment longer, and then gladly
journeyed onward to the other side.

A fork of several lamp-lit
corridors was offered to him on the opposite side of the chasm.
Quinton chose the path second on the left, and ambled down it at a
laggard pace.

Finally, the second trail
of lamps ended and Quinton halted as if on queue. A moment later,
an array of multi-colored beams of light showered him from above
and distorted his body in visual perception. The man was scanned
thoroughly for weapons as well as to verify his DNA fingerprint and
other bio-traits. The scan lasted only a few seconds, but it was
all that was needed. As the scans were cut off, a huge round
hatchway whirred and split open, flooding the area in brilliance.
Quinton hesitated for an instant, but then stepped in.

The man paused again
within, taking in his surroundings. The ceiling of the room
disappeared into shade while scaled-archways formed architectural
ribs that spanned room's width. The chamber's walls were tiled in
green and looked similar to an operating room. But he knew that
this was nothing close to a hospital.

Even though there were many
examination tables side-by-side in rows, the room was not staffed
by doctors and nurses. Instead, robotic arms of black anodized and
passivated metal mounted on both horizontal beams, and walls worked
speedily with their various medical device extensions. They swiftly
inspected, probed and modified their charges: adult human beings
kidnapped from the city above.

Armon watched with dismay
as a group of unconscious humans were move from a multi-transport
carrier and placed on the tables. They were then quickly stripped
of their clothing and physically explored.

Next to each table were
huge cylinders of clear plastic, mounted on their own movable
cradles. Every cylinder was open, having its top cap removed. This
exposed the inside of each plastic container, which tainted the air
with a pungent odor that smelled of bile. More ominous, however,
was a backboard with straps on metal slides that stuck out like a
black tongue from each plastic tube. It more than hinted at its
purpose.

Suddenly, Quinton's stomach
became very queasy. He struggled with himself, feeling the
queasiness turn to nausea. The man quickly left the room behind.
After some distance away, Armon stopped and took a few deep
breaths. The nausea began to fade as suddenly as it
came.

Turning a
corner, Armon came upon a platoon of androids, and rows of closed
cylinders set upright and held in place by braces of metal. Mounted
near the top and bottom of each cylinder were hose lines that ran
into a single huge metal orb that was centered in the room. The
globe was the reservoir of a green slime that was used to fill each
cylinder during the “nutrient” processing. However, it now sat idle
as empty cylinders were being replaced by the tending androids.
With great care, new cylinders

each containing a human
being

was
installed as a replacement. Quinton's head dropped a little lower
as he pretended not to see what was unfolding around
him.

Unexpectedly, there was a banging to his right that brought
the
Chairman
out of
his stupor and into reality. The banging was accompanied by a
frenzied of pleas for help in muffled and desperate female tones.
Armon's head snapped in surprise to the cries that called his name.
The man was taken back as he looked at a conscious nude woman whom
he immediately recognized.

Carly
Nogales was one of the most popular and beautiful singers that the
Earth counted among its top celebrities. Her talent well exceeded
her 24 years of age and to the admiration of billions. More so,
Quinton knew her personally as a frequent guest at his house. She
was a woman he had admired and shared several intimate liaisons
with. Yet, seeing her like this

frightened, and encased in one of
Ektos' processing capsules

bore Quinton with a great
shame.

Though
secured to a backboard, she banged away with hands and feet as she
begged for help, but to her surprise none came. Casting a long sad
face that was guilt ridden, Armon merely dropped his head in
disgrace. He then quickly turned away and dashed off, trying to run
from both the girl

and what remained of his conscience. Somewhere in his head, he
cursed himself for not getting there sooner—or much
later.

Finally
after a distance away, the
Chairman
slowed and caught himself. He paused for a second
and looked back.

"I'm sorry!" he confessed
with real aggrieved emotion to the girl who could no longer hear
him. Armon stood silently for a moment, despairing to Carly's fate.
He then stumbled on.

Armon now approached the
end of the great hall. However, a formation of uniformed figures in
black cloaks and hoods stood as statues, blocking any further
passage. Although they appeared monk-like, each was armed with a
metal staff-like weapon that was tipped in huge multiple cutting
blades that surrounded a single output rod of a laser weapon. They
were fearsome carriages of an honor guard that protected Ektos from
any unwanted intrusion.

Armon slowed his gait even
further, but still continued his advance. As he neared the figures,
a sentinel bigger than the rest stepped out from the
shadows.

"You will proceed no
further," the sentinel commanded.

Armon halted promptly to
the challenge of the mysterious warrior, his fear quite apparent.
"Logos, I need to see him! It's urgent!" Quinton tried to
reason.

"You will proceed no
further," Logos repeated.

"I AM THE COUNCIL CHAIRMAN!
I ORDER YOU TO ALLOW ME ENTRANCE!" Armon demanded.

Suddenly, Logos removed his
hood, revealing a shiny black, translucent sphere of metal. His
facial features appeared in flashes that changed and vanished like
an image within a mirror. Yet, he was lacking in any form of eyes,
which seemed nothing more than a dark pool of a soulless void.
Logos was as intimidating as death himself.