The End of the Beginning

As they gradually turned north, the full scope of the base became apparent. Roger hadn’t been exaggerating - it was a city. Blue and white structures abounded. A massive semi-circle shaped seawall jutted out from the shore. It had a sort of earthen levee shape to it. At its keystone was an opening for shipping traffic. A seagate, Roger called it. There were two more seagate openings on the north and south ends of the semicircle but they were closed at the moment. On top of the wall, wind turbines spun majestically, spread out every few thousand feet or so, their tower bases sloping down the side of the wall into the sea. Solar panels lined the wall’s sides and its flat top had an access road. At the bottom of the wall on the ocean facing side, jagged star-like concrete structures protruded up from the water.

“What are those things pointing out of the water?” asked William.

Andrew answered, “Those are concrete accropodes, habitats for marine wildlife. The concrete pods have holes in them, which provide places for fish to colonize and sea plants to grow. Hundreds of thousands of them line the outside of the seawall. We get a lot of hurricanes here; they also act to dissipate wave energy on the wall. Our wall is designed to handle a category five hurricane and a fifty foot high tsunami.” Inside the seawall was a harbor filled with ships of all sizes and designs. Row upon row of shipping containers stacked four and five units high stretched inland over hundreds of acres, perpendicular to the shore. Straddle carriers, automated stacking cranes, and trucks scuttled around and atop the containers, moving them back and forth between the harbors docks and the huge yard. Some containers were being moved into large solar panel covered warehouses near the docks. The docks were spread out over what had to be at least ten miles from north to south. Each of them was large enough to fit at least three post-panamax ships.

“Those giant blue and white striped container handling cranes down there perched over the docking areas,” Roger pointed, “are some of the largest in the world, and are controlled with a single joystick. Amazing.”

The seawall continued inland shortly, then turned inward towards the base parallel to the shore. After a few hundred feet, it resumed inland, still covered in wind turbines, splitting into two walls that formed a huge perimeter around the circular base. Surrounding the perimeter walls were large stretches of bright green grass and shaded walkways; in between them, a canal. A system of wide roads and maglev train lines followed the inner perimeter wall, eventually converging at the center of the circular base in three spokes. The three converging spokes, which Andrew called transportation spokes, separated the base into three distinct watermelon slice-looking sections: one up against the ocean taking up the eastern side of the base, the other facing south and west, and the last one west and north.

“It kinda looks like a peace sign,” William commented. “Was that done on purpose?”

“Yeah,” Roger laughed, “but it also serves a function. The roads and gradual hills they’re on split the base into three distinct sections.”

He pointed at a structure in the distance. “On the east-facing side, we have the Port Section. It, of course, handles all incoming and outgoing traffic and ships rescue equipment in large-scale operations. There is the port command center over there and the mini-sub hangar over there. Oh, and those two glass buildings at either end are refugee terminals for incoming survivors. We can bring thousands into the base via our Phoenix rescue ships. Each base has a fleet of 125 ships. On the southwest side is the Airport Section. It’s got a state of the art terminal and a hydrogen production facility that meets the fuel needs of eighty five percent of all our transportation assets.” “I don’t remember hydrogen being so widely used as a fuel source. Technology has progressed that much? How?” asked William.

“Big money, big breakthroughs,” said Andrew, raising his eyebrows.

Roger pointed to a distant, fenced in area containing hundreds of white balloons that resembled the bells of jellyfish. “Those balloons are producing hydrogen through ponds of genetically engineered algae.”

“That’s a lot of hydrogen,” William muttered.

“Yep,” Roger nodded. “For our fleet, we need it.”

William could see the familiar C-17 Globemasters and V-22 Ospreys parked across the airport apron, painted in white and brandishing the blue and white UNIRO logo. Beyond them were rows of helicopters and other aircraft he had never seen before. Hangars with grass roofs and solar panels made the airport look more like a grassy field with puddles of shining water than a working facility.

These aircraft and hangars lay next to the airport section’s two extremely long runways that went from west to east with an enormous terminal to the north of the runways near the convergence of the three roads at the center of the base. The terminal was a trefoil plan with three symmetrical wings with rounded edges and walls.

“Each runway is 12,000 feet long, perfectly capable of handling any aircraft in the world,” boasted Roger.

Wheel-less trucks with shipping containers glided across the surface of the tarmac, levitating a few inches above the ground as they did. William blinked twice after seeing this.

“Are those trucks even touching the ground?!”

“No, they are not,” Roger explained. “Superconductive magnets embedded in the roads levitate the trucks for frictionless, efficient cargo transport. It’s a pilot program for one of our company partners and so far, it’s working fine. The airport is the only section that has those beauties. They are taking equipment brought over from the BLOC Section.” He pointed to an area on the northwest side of the facility.

“BLOC stands for Base Logistics and Operations Center,” he continued. “The BLOC Section has five warehouses, the largest in the world, where all of our supplies are stored in a climate controlled and computer-handled environment. You see, the base is controlled by a supercomputer. Once a call for action has come in, the base’s computer makes the necessary supply and equipment list. Using this data, warehouse computers, through a system of conveyer belts and tracking cranes, search for the desired items using RFID tags. Autonomous electric trucks, which are loaded at the warehouses, then take the supplies through special access roads to unloading areas in either the port or airport sections. Then the trucks go back to the warehouse either to gather more supplies or to recharge.” William shifted his eyes from the airport to the BLOC Section. Of all the sections, it was the most beautiful, having pieces of preserved lands filled with original areas of marshes and wetlands. Abounding with open green areas, small lakes, and newly planted trees, it looked like an oasis. In so many ways, it reminded William of Incheon, before the war – a futuristic city with nothing but ambition and innovation. William braced himself against the window as the plane began to circle back towards the southeast.

“This is the section where you will be living, Captain, down in the officer’s quarters,” Roger said. “They’re really nice. Made from recycled shipping containers - brilliant building technique. The containers are stacked three to four stories tall to make entire buildings literally overnight. Each one has a prefabricated interior that only needs to be plugged into the worksite once it arrives. You’ll never have to leave the base - everything is provided. We have a supermarket, three personnel dining halls, sporting facilities if you like to play sports, entertainment. Everything! Plus, I got you an ocean view for your room... well... kind of,” he said, looking a little sheepish as he trailed off. “Warehouse 5 kinda gets in the way... And the terminal… Anyways, when you’re not on missions you’ll be working in that tower. It’s called Umoja Tower. It’s where all the base’s administrative stuff is done. The base’s main command center is under that tower, two stories below ground. That’s where I will be working once I’m transferred here from New York,” he added.

William gazed at the tower. Located at the northwest end of the base, next to the main entrance of the compound, it looked to made up of mostly glass and concrete, with vines and shrubs draped over its gleaming white façade. It had an industrial look to it, with a truss extending up the south side of the building. Running up the length of the truss was a collection of satellite dishes and antennas. A helicopter pad on its roof made the structure look as though it was wearing a giant metal hat. At the bottom of the tower, below the main façade, was a grand plaza with a reflecting pool in the shape of an elongated pentagon. Three flagpoles protruded from the center of the pool, flying the flags of the UN, USA, and UNIRO.

A number of buildings were spread out across the section, poking through the manmade canopy of trees. The warehouses Roger had been talking about, came into view through a canopy along the sections southeast side following the inner roads to the point of their convergence. They were the largest buildings William had ever seen. All white, numbered from one to five, and covered in solar panels, they looked like massive guardians of the base, overlooking their land.

“Each warehouse is ten stories high, and each floor has nearly five million square feet of storage space,” explained Andrew.

Near the warehouses, a large white dome structure about four stories tall emerged from the trees. A concrete podium with a hole at the top grew out of the side of the dome, like a handle on a wheel. Construction crews were in the process of pouring concrete around the open hole. Even from 400 feet up, the dark blue writing on the dome was clearly visible. It read ISAF.

Roger saw the dome and said, “ISAF stands for Internal Security Affairs Force. They are a private security firm. That dome there is their base HQ. They were hired by the UN to maintain all on base security. After the Rwandan Genocide of ’94, the UN Security Council was heavily criticized for not responding faster by employing private security forces to the area to deal with the problem. They learned from that mistake, and the council now employs ISAF personnel at all nine bases.” William asked, “What about when off base? Do they travel with you guys to hot zones?”

Roger waved his hand. “Yes, but only if the council deems the area’s own military forces hostile or unstable. Otherwise, it’s up to the host country to provide security for our teams.”

“Captain,” said Andrew, pointing to a group of huge glass structures on the northern side of the BLOC Section, “that’s where we grow all of our food.” They were greenhouses, William realized - some square, some resembling small cylindrical towers. Open farming fields, with umbrella-like screens stretched over them, lay in front of these greenhouses in circular plots, like iconic fields from the American West.

Andrew continued talking. “We have six, twenty-one million square foot greenhouses and six vertical farming towers, each one eight stories tall. All of them grow tons and tons of food, mostly rice and corn and some fish. We use smart irrigation, hydroponics, and genetically modified crops to keep food growing 24/7, 365 days a year. Collectively, we grow enough food a year to feed all of Sub-Saharan Africa. That’s over a billion people’s worth. And this is just one of nine. You can check global hunger off the to-do list,” he said with an uncharacteristic grin.

“We also collect all of our water through desalination at a processing plant across from the fields. The plant provides fifty million gallons of water a day, not only for our needs but for the entire county’s as well. We then treat our collected water through natural methods by straining it through an artificially created marsh that is several miles long. It also serves as a pedestrian bike and walking park. Blends right into the rest of the BLOC’s foliage.” “No smell either,” said Roger, pointing his index finger up.

The Phoenix ended its easterly turn and was now flying straight out over the Atlantic Ocean again. Something to the south caught William’s eye. It was miles down the coast but was still overwhelming compared to its surroundings. The Florida coastline abruptly swept outward and came to a point before it went back to its original straight line all the way to Miami. On this point was a flat wetland plain that held one of William’s long time desired fascinations, the Kennedy Space Center.

He could see the giant square Vehicle Assembly Building over thirty miles to the south on Merritt Island. He could remember every detail of its infrastructure from his childhood when he used to read about the space center. It stood 526 feet tall and was the largest single story building in the world. Its vast interior space rivaled even that of the five UNIRO-built warehouses he had just seen. So tall and with so much interior volume, it was reported that rain clouds formed inside sometimes on humid days. It was the Notre Dame of the twentieth century, with ceilings that reached for the skies, just as the rockets did that were assembled inside so delicately.

Roger saw that William’s gaze had drifted from the base. “What’s so exciting over there?” he asked.

“The Kennedy Space Center,” William replied. “I’ve always wanted to see it in person.”

“Oh. Yes, of course,” Roger said. “I almost forgot about our friendly neighbors. Well, you may be able to go there one day soon. We work closely with the Cape because one of our rescue vehicles is intended for space travel. Phoenix 3 is a reusable space plane that was built by a private company. There are a lot of people up there now and someone’s gonna need help some day. Plus, the UN would like a space presence of its own. The spacecraft’s builders and NASA will oversee the launching of it, whenever that time comes. That’s what makes this base special, as it’s the only one with this Phoenix and due to our proximity to the equator and water, it’s the most sensible to launch from.” “I loved space travel as a kid,” William sighed and looked down to the floor. “I always wanted to see a moon landing for myself.” The Phoenix turned back to the west and began to truly enter the base’s airspace.

“You mean, you missed them landing on that asteroid a few years back?” Roger said, chuckling at his own question but fell quiet when William did not respond. The Phoenix dropped to within a hundred feet of the water and passed gracefully over the wind turbine laden seawall. Their blades spun rhythmically as the aircraft passed them, capturing the invisible energy of the firm breeze as they rotated.

As the aircraft descended, its jet engines turned off and its four rotor blades emerged from the disk, spinning faster, until they became a hazy blur. They were at ninety feet now. Details of the base became clearer as they got closer to the ground. William could see that several areas were still under construction, filled with tower cranes and dig sites with workers and machines. On the tarmac below, were pallets of saran wrapped parts, and even a propeller bound for the Port Section.

“Tranquility Tower, Phoenix 1-2. We are on final.”

William looked over at the Airport Sections slender control tower after hearing the radio call. It had no windows but had dozens of antennas and satellite dishes.

“Phoenix 1-2, Tranquility Tower. Landing pad zero-four prepped and clear.”

“Understood. Landing gear is down. You miss us?” one of the pilots said cheekily.

“As much as my vertigo, Sanson,” the tower operator replied.

After those few words were exchanged in the cockpit, the Phoenix pilots fist bumped again and brought the plane to rest on the ground. By now it was late afternoon, 4:30 p.m. The side doors were slung open and the rear cargo bay door lowered. A rush of ground crew personnel descended upon the Phoenix, took William’s suitcase, and ushered him away from the plane. Roger and Andrew were close behind. An underground system of pipes and nozzles emerged from below the parked aircraft; one of the lines read H2. Ground personnel began to connect the various pipes to the aircraft.

The landing pads around William were filled with other Phoenix 1 craft, all identical except for their registration numbers. Some were being tugged into a grass-roofed hangar a few hundred feet to the north. A large, hydrogen-powered pushback tug guided them into place with a universally attachable robotic arm. Water slowly dripped from its small exhaust pipe, the only emission produced from the hydrogen vehicle.

It was quite a different feeling than the military bases William had been stationed at during his service. It was quiet, yet still busy, and there were no obnoxious fuel fumes dancing around his nostrils. They were picked up by an electric bus and ferried over to the terminal. A few men and women in business attire were also on the bus and gave William a look of shrewdness at his rugged appearance.

As they made their way to the terminal, William asked, “How many aircraft are at each base?”

“Each base has 255 aircraft, 136 of them being Phoenixes. The others are auxiliary. They come in after the main Phoenix fleet with support and more supplies.” Roger said.

Once at the terminal, William, Roger, and Andrew went through security - an intensive process. It included a full body vertical MRI machine, fingerprinting, and a biometric pathogen detection system for any unwelcomed personnel of the viral variety. Four heavily armed ISAF security guards in slick white body armor watched as two other men took DNA samples from William that were going to go on file with the rest of UNIRO’s staff for easy identification should something ever happen to him. The four guardsmen pompously showed off their white P90 assault rifles. One guard looked at William as though he were a terrorist or fugitive, not once taking his eyes off of him and keeping his rifle at chest height, until William passed through the checkpoint with no alarms.

He was then given a necklace with a clear glass rectangle about the size of a traditional military dog tag. The second he put it around his neck, the glass rectangle turned itself on and displayed his personal information statistics that had just been learned through the security checkpoint. One of the ISAF guards fixed William with a stern gaze.

“You are to keep that on you at all times,” the guard growled. “It’s called a glass tag. It’s your personal identification and for as long as you are here, you are required to wear it. Age, eye color, blood type, gender, rank, everything is on that. It’s shatter proof, sweat proof, water proof, cold and heat proof. It could basically survive a nuclear blast.” William laughed at that. Roger and Andrew just looked at each other nervously, letting that subject slip by.

“Okay. Cool, Air Force sure never had these,” William said.

Roger and Andrew also received their own glass tags. Inside, the terminal was noticeably bare. No food courts or stores, no advertisements, just the basics. Aside from security checkpoints, there were baggage retrieval areas, medical stations, large video screens, seating areas and some closed shipping containers. The ceilings were high and vaulted with large windows. Scaffoldings full of workers and cleaning crews were putting the final touches on the interior of the terminal: painting here, welding a spot there, fixing a light.

They walked down the terminal concourse until they emerged outside into twilight to the pick-up and drop off road. To the west, the sun hung low in the sky, drenching the horizon in color. Seagulls glided above, dodging palm trees and light poles. Before them was a lake about the size of a football field, surrounded by walkways and benches nestled into the northern most tip of the section. An automated taxi, looking like a white cube, pulled up in front of them. It had rounded edges, slightly bulged-out sides, and its wheels were partially covered. The automatic doors opened and the three men stepped inside, situated their belongings, and sat down as the taxi pulled away and drove up an on ramp to one of the transportation spokes.

“From here,” Andrew plotted, “we will travel to the BLOC Section to your new quarters. Tomorrow, you can meet the mutual friend that requested you join this little endeavor.” Andrew sighed. “They made us swear we wouldn’t tell you who they were. More importantly, however, is training; you start in a week. You’ll relearn everything you thought you knew about rescue. You’ll be tested and evaluated after three months and, if you make it, you will officially join this organization and command your own team of fifteen, including yourself. I hope you’re up for that, Captain. Better not send eighteen months of searching for you down the drain.” Andrew gave William a cold look of uncertainty. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been in the hot seat. A lot has changed.” “I can understand your mistrust of me, sir. Look at me. I’m sure I don’t look very commanding right now, but let’s just let the tests speak for themselves,” William said with a smirk, giving Andrew a slap on the arm twice as hard as one would normally give. Standing behind Andrew was Roger, trying to suppress a smile at the exchange.

William felt a sliver of his old rush return after years of repression. There was nothing William enjoyed more than a challenge. After all, his whole life had been one great challenge. Now, he had the chance to be the challenger once more.

His sudden flare of passion took his mind back to Korea and he saw the nukes go off. He saw the bodies burning and the buildings collapsing. Grace. Harden. Jones. Young Connell. Kyung. His heart rate skyrocketed and he began to sweat. William began to shake and mumble. He tried to hide it from the others but it was hard in the confined taxi. Pain gripped his chest and sweat burned his eyes. Breathing became hard and his head hurt.

“Stop!” he shouted. “Stop, stop, stop!”

Roger looked at William, surprised, and unbuckled his seatbelt and moved towards him.

“Captain? Captain? William!” Roger hit the emergency shutdown button for the automated taxi. The taxi swerved and went into an emergency lane off to the side of the road.

“What’s wrong, Captain?” Roger asked, forcing William upright. “You gotta talk to me or else I can’t help.”

William could not get words out; he only stumbled and mumbled some more. Andrew looked at William’s glass tag. It was colored a bright red and waved vital signs across its alarming glass screen.

“Let’s get him to the base hospital,” Roger said. He verbally entered their desired destination into the automated taxi, which soon began to move again.

William gripped Roger’s arm tightly and would not let go.

“I couldn’t, I couldn’t...” William muttered. “Ah, it’s too bright, it’s too bright.”

“What’s too bright? Couldn’t what, Captain?” Roger asked, trying to figure out the problem.

Pain filled him like an uncontrolled flood, drowning him from the inside out. Light and floating prismatic balls crisscrossed his field of vision, emerging out of the floor and the air, making reality into a circus show. Sweat leached through his clothing and his shaking was now so bad that Roger and Andrew had to restrain him. William remembered putting his face on Roger’s steady shoulder and then seeing nothing until he woke up to shouting.