The hanger had been used to house, maintain and repair several of the world’s largest transporter craft. When the world had been thriving they provided global carriage for trade of the heaviest goods such as steel, quarried stone, road vehicles, passenger aircraft. These super transporters, powered by synthetic fuels, could fly goods around the world in hours not days making many shipping routes redundant.
That was all before the plague, the mass death and the suffering. It knew no class nor distinguished between regions or beliefs. It was relentless and it seemed no one would escape its wrath.
The hanger now provided the central base of operations to lead the fight for survival. Its vast floor housing the front line, corralling all the resources they could in one place to launch attacks on the terror and threat that had enveloped humanity.
A large hologram, some one hundred feet long, hovered above the base, high up, floating below the large arched ceiling of the facility. It provided the information hub for the legions that operated from the hangar. Large white numbers formed a central counter that slowly ticked over every second or two;
600,010,457 Dead
On the observation deck, high above the ground level, the two most senior commanders of this operation sat upon brightly coloured deckchairs. Marmon wore a black formal uniform with three silver stars on each collar. He was silver haired and the elder of the two men. Ramone wore a similar uniform, silver grey with two silver stars on his collar. They were first and second in command respectively. Both had commissioned the facility once it had gained a reluctant governments approval. They had commissioned covert operations for a number of years before that. They drank neat vodka from crystal shot glasses as they surveyed the facility in full operating mode.
“I am surprised the government are allowing us to expand, with little success I thought they would be closing us down,” Ramone commented.
“What choices do they have? The scientists are divided over us, the ones who object to our work are no closer to finding a cure. The religious orders are losing the control we established for them and I think we have had some success,” Marmon smiled and so did Ramone, they chinked glasses.
“Shasta,” said Ramone offering a toast.
“Hope,” replied Marmon.
“How is your wife Marmon?”
“She is keeping the family together, our children are progressing through their home studies well.”
“Good. Good.”
“I suspect she is sleeping with a close family friend.”
“How would you know that Marmon? She would not deceive you.”
“A Government friend whispered to me. What of it? If you take a young wife and then leave her for more than a year, what can I expect?” Marmon finished his Vodka in one clean drink.
“Have you considered home leave, we always said we would finish a full year, see where we were then maybe visit our families.”
“No, not now, not when we have made some small progress, I have to be here for the expansion, for the next push. Anyway, I am too old to fuck,” Marmon extended his hand holding his crystal shot glass and instructed his first officer, “more Vodka.”
Ramone poured two more glasses of Vodka. This time it was Marmon’s turn to salute their fight.
“Shasta,” he held up his glass.
“Hope,” replied Ramone and gave Marmon’s glass a firm chink. They took the drinks in one neat gulp, breathed out the vapours and surveyed the vast army before them.
24.