Refiner's Pyre

“Are you sure this is safe?” Martin glanced toward the stunted trees. They looked like part of a set for a Tim Burton horror movie.

  Bill nodded slowly “It just looks like the Gates of Lador. Everything here is monitored, including bug dung. We get an air quality report everyday. I’m sure we’re perfectly safe; of course, that’s what they said just before the ‘freaky flowers’ sprouted.”

  “Freaky flowers? What’s with that?”

  “If they knew, they’ve kept it a secret; the sanitized explanation mentions low level radiation. They try to keep the genetic stuff out of the conversation.”

  “What do you think? Is it more than radiation?” Martin asked.

  John crossed his arms and began to meter his response “Don’t know; I just work here. I’m guessing it’s more mysterious than radiation; it may all be the same thing. Whatever the problem is, it is serious enough for them to keep the pit off limits. There is a perimeter fence to control access. The exposure out there is monitored and limited to a minimal number of hours, per month, per employee. But up here, we’re far enough from the event center. The tunnel is out of commission. They’re still in the middle of their investigation. It doesn’t involve Time-Tap’s work. The collider hardware that could be salvaged was loaded up and sent to the Denver site.”

  “Yes. I was aware of that. I live near there. Aside from the labs, and the administration building poking out of the prairie, there isn’t much to see above ground.”

  “Martin, has anyone offered you the cook’s tour of the pit yet?”

  “No. But you could talk me into it. I was hoping but I knew that I couldn’t get out there without an escort.”

  “There isn’t much to see from ground level, and there isn’t any access below ground, but we can do a fly-over. Our exposure will only be a matter of a few minutes, and at least for now they’ve carded that ‘safe’. You’re probably ready for a break, up to your eyeballs with the ‘pot-diggers’.”

  “Yeah; I was getting a case of buttoxia.”

  “What?”

  “Buttoxia; you know; flat spots from sitting so long.”

  “That’s a new one on me.” Bill chuckled and, shook his head.

  “Actually, sitting is what I get paid for, and do the best. But meetings are not my bag. Frankly, I’ve rarely been to a meeting that couldn’t be covered by a two line e-mail.

  As far as the science goes, I think they do more guessing then they let on; a lot of room for alternate conclusions, given the same facts.”

  “Yes. That’s the reason for the Choke Point Project; meeting avoidance. In all seriousness, its purpose is to explore extinction events first hand. You’ll probably hear more about that, if you haven’t already. The reason you’re attending the archeology portion of the seminar is because they think that you are the best candidate for that project, when it gets off the ground.” Bill paged through his day timer.

  “That’s a museum piece. I haven’t seen a day-timer in a couple of decades. Is it tuff to keep a Brain-pad working here; does it take a hit?”

  Bill nodded “The magnetic flux density and EMP used to be a problem here; not so much any more. We had a big problem when the collider was up and running. The day-timer works for me if only because it doesn’t drop data. There are still a few labs on site that have high magnetic flux warnings up; not like before. When the collider was powered up, we all had a problem with headaches, and car keys sticking to the wall; stuff of that nature. We had quite the aspirin budget here. Hey! I’ve got till 3:00 o’clock to play tour guide. Would you like to fly out there now?”

  “Sure. Are we there yet?”

  “Let’s meet down at the pad in ten minutes. I’ll make arrangements for a pilot and a plane. Why don’t you stop down in the lunchroom and pick up a sandwich? You can eat on the way. I’ve already had my lunch.”

  Martin found the food a bit strange; a ham sandwich was a slice of ham between two slices of bread. He had been brought up on salads, multi-layer sandwiches and oozing hamburgers. An NZ friend of Martin’s had once likened NorAm’s cuisine to eating kitchen garbage. “Eating a hamburger is like watching a one-man food fight,” he had added.

  Bill stood in the middle of the helicopter pad, staring down the clouds “We still have a few minutes to get suited up. The plane is on the way.”

  Plane? The pad is big but not big enough for an airplane; maybe one of those shuttle things. Martin thought And what’s with getting ‘suited up’?

  They headed back into the building and on to the locker room. There they dressed in full smocks, similar to clean room smocks. Radiation monitor badges and breather mask topped off their ensemble. What am I getting myself into? “Why the bunny suit” Martin finally asked struggling to keep his voice casual?

  “Who knows? Like I said, it’s all a mystery, maybe on purpose; I think it’s mainly for show. There is still a very small possibility that we might encounter some airborne particulate; so we need the breather. The air filtration system on the plane isn’t certified for that. It’s all just precautionary.”

  “Airborne particulate?”

  “Smoke; the pit still smokes on occasion and the infestation concerns still exist.”

  “Infestation?”

  “Oh! At first there were reports of bites. Insect bites, they thought. It was a big medical mystery but no one died from it. Some people reported seeing locusts and moths but there hasn’t been any confirmation of any unusual bugs in the area. We still see occasional ash flakes that come fluttering out of the smoke plume; they just look like moths. They evaporate or disintegrate within moments of exiting the plume and don’t appear to pose any danger.”

  “Is that our ride coming?” Martin could hear the drone of turbo prop aircraft engines in the distance.

  “Yup. We just got it a couple months ago. It’s a great piece of machinery. It does cut into our fuel allotment though. They call it The Goose.”

  “What is it?” Martin could hear the engine’s hollowing whine but the adjacent building blocked the view. “I thought we were taking a helicopter ride. That’s moving way too fast to land here.”

  “Don’t bet on it. ‘It’ is a VTOL.”

  “A what is a VTOL?”

  “VTOL: Vertical Take Off and Landing aircraft; watch the wings and fuselage as it slows for the landing. It’s an AC700 built by Custer-Melon. The AC stands for Active Channel. If it weren’t for that versatility, they would have grounded it along with all the other fuel burners.”

  It came into view, about a mile off. It was making a long bank in its approach, and slowing to about 50 knots. As it slowed, the engines cut back and the angle of attack of the wings increased slowly. At about 200 yards the wings further increased their flare and as the plane started a more rapid descent the engines whooshed up the power while the outward 2/3 of each wing slowly began to fold upwards. It began to look like a seagull in the wind. The dihedral increased, and the twin engines rammed air through the trough formed by the center wing section and the wing ends. The air throb as it was forced to produce lift. If it had been a bird, it would have been a giant goose, landing on the water. It smoothly descended over the landscape and approached the “H” painted on the pad. The plane seemed to stop in mid air, as if getting ready to back up. Hovering for a moment, it gently settled to the pad.

  The props feathered, as the big bird settled. The blades mercilessly sliced the air and then began to drop their tenor. The landing gear relaxed and the fuselage settled down, close to the pavement; like a bird settling over its eggs.

  Martin closed his mouth and began to breathe again.

  “He was hot-rodding, but he is good.” Bill was laconic, but the awe in his voice was there and real and shared by Martin.

  “That was beautiful. What is the cruising speed?”

  “Four hundred and thirty knots?; it needs two four hundred fifty horsepower turboprops to get stra
ight off the deck. It can do what you saw up to about five thousand feet; higher then that, it needs a little bit of a runway. Even if it had total engine failure, it could make a survivable landing in your front yard. With all that power and the ability to dump the lift, it flat hauls in level flight. It’s a comfort for people who like to get in and get out quickly. It also lets us hover over the site without overheating the engines. It’s a great tool for volcanologists, paramedics, police departments, and air taxis. Carbon fiber and other nano-mesh metals are at the heart of the thing.”

  Ground crew secured the craft and opened the side hatch and dropped the steps. The props continued to buffet the fuselage with the warm engine exhaust. The two engines hung on horizontal nacelles/canards protruding from the nose of the craft.

  Martin paused as he approached the hatch. He reached to the side and touched the fine grained skin of the fuselage. “It’s ribbed?” He looked back at Bill, hoping for an explanation.

  “Yes. It has a tough under-skin but the surface is pretty delicate. It’s easily damaged, but most of it is out of harm’s way.”

  Martin quickly withdrew his hand. “What’s it for? Is it all over the craft?”

  “No. It’s only in areas where they need to condition the laminar layer on the surface. The ribs vary in pitch and orientation. It reduces the air friction on the surface; something about a micro/laminar layer. They’ve known about its advantages for years but it wasn’t until recently that it became feasible. The materials guys stumbled onto the technique. I think they figured out how to grow the ribs; like the ripples in the sand. It reduces fuel costs.”

  “It refracts the light like a hologram.” Martin readied himself for take-off.

  After introductions, some pilot talk on the air, and some switch flipping the pilot signaled to the ground crew to un-chock the landing gear. The turbines spooled up, warbling as they phased and re-phased. The landing gear jacked the fuselage higher to regain that exaggerated angle of attack and form the channel. The feathered props sliced the air at full RPM. The sound level drowned out their casual chatter. The pilot signaled the ground crew again. Within a second or two, the blade pitch went from a flat feather to full thrust. As the RPM started to drop, he went to full power. The craft shuddered and waddled as gravity began inevitably, to loose the battle. Breaking free of the pad, they began a quick ascent to about one hundred feet, without much change in sound. Then the craft began to pivot to a new azimuth heading. With the slightest change in the pitch of the wings, they started to accelerate. They passed level with the twelfth floor of the headquarters building. The wing tips began dropping, flattening out as they gained speed. Once clear of the building complex, the pilot put the craft into a climb and they headed for the clouds.

  As the sound level approached a bearable whoosh, Martin’s attention turned to Bill who had been talking to him for some time. “We got about five minutes to the pit. I’ll tell you when you need your helmet. Enjoy the ride.”

  * * * * *

  Chapter 17 – The Pit

  He who tries to save the collapsing house of cards doesn’t understand the game.

  Anonymous