Vessels of Wood of Earth by Iker Raile

It is the turn of the 20th Century, and the entire US Melah Airship Program has been grounded, due to the unmitigated disaster onboard its flagship vessel The Centennial, leading to its destruction.  A young Melah tech sergeant is tasked with seeking out a disgraced and reclusive civilian professor, whose knowledge and expertise with hydrogen-alternative gasses may be the military’s only hope to restarting the program.  Aided by a band of lower-ranked enlisted soldiers, and a retired Melah lieutenant with a dark past and mysterious present, the tech sergeant and her unlikely research team suddenly find themselves confronted with an emerging adversary, whose goals of conquest include even the enslavement of The Honorable Madam President of the United States herself.  Can this small group of misfits turned resistance fighters thwart the plans of this determined new enemy?  And does the Fountain of Youth Geyser truly exist?

(Inspired by 2 Timothy Chapter 2)

Iker Raile’s

Vessels of

Wood

and Earth

A Level 3 Multiverse Novel, 

replete with military 

and steampunk elements

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, buildings, products and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  The author’s use of names of actual persons, characters, places, buildings or products are incidental to the plot, and are not intended to change the entirely fictional character of the work.  

No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

© 2024 Iker Raile

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Part 1:  Earth 

Chapter 1:  The Tour 9

Chapter 2:  Just Friends 21

Chapter 3:  Legends and Myths 37

Part 2:  Wood

Chapter 4:  The Promotion 59

Chapter 5:  Feuds and Complacency 79

Chapter 6:  Courage and Innocence 99

Chapter 7:  Reunions 119

Chapter 8:  Metamorphosis 133

Part 3:  Gold

Chapter 9:  The New Operation 155

Chapter 10:  Clues and Betrayal 173

Chapter 11:  An Unlikely Alliance 191

Chapter 12:  A Decision to Command 205

Chapter 13:  Executive Assumption 225

Chapter 14:  Which Path to Take 245

Chapter 15:  Forgive Our Foes 265

Part 1:  Earth  

Chapter 1:  The Tour

Upstate Maine, United States of America, May 1896, of the

Usoniamatrist Timeline

It was to be an expedition like no other for the Globe organization.  

One would be hard pressed in that time and space to find a New England woman or man who wasn’t aware of the celebrated and renowned Globe Adventure Tours company, founded by brothers Percy and Walker Globe.  From their humble beginnings as young deckhands stationed on the steamboats that sailed from Boston, Massachusetts to Bar Harbor, Maine, to multi-million shilling entrepreneurs in the North Atlantic tourism industry, the two siblings had truly achieved The American Dream.

For two decades, the likable and approachable Globe brothers had already led hundreds of successful tours, outings and expeditions across seven US states, as well as three New France states:  Acadia, Terre-Neuve and Quebec.  So in 1895, when public rumors surfaced that the fabled Noble Basin had been discovered in the brothers’ own backyard of upstate Maine, Percy and Walker were elated.  It was not the basin, after all, that was the stuff of legends.  It was the elusive Fountain of Youth Geyser within the basin itself that reignited the imaginations of millions of Americans up and down the eastern seaboard.  With a renewed interest in the centuries-old fable of achieving perpetual youth sweeping across the nation, the Globes had the resources, the drive and the backing of an adoring public to be among the elite few to reach the site and transform folklore into gospel.

Once word leaked out that there might be a Globe Adventure Tour to Noble Basin, it seemed as if every senior within a day’s journey of the Globe brothers’ headquarters in Augusta wanted to be on that expedition.  Percy and Walker were blindsided by such a stupendous outpouring of interest by those wanting to be considered.  Deciding to move forward with the adventure, the brothers adopted a lottery-based system, in order to determine the final list of names for the Noble Basin register.  

Previous tours of twenty people or less had turned out to be quite successful for the organization in the past.  Besides, a smaller number would be more apropos, should the legend turn out to be a hoax.  There was also an obvious age demographic that would work out best, should the legend turn out to be a bonafide truth.  After what the Globe brothers believed to be thoughtful consideration on the matter, the final qualifications for anyone wanting to purchase a lottery ticket were astonishingly simple:  male, fifty years of age or older, a US citizen and no criminal background.  At first, the lottery was to contain ten winners.  However, that number was later dropped to eight for twofold reasons.  

First, the public backlash regarding the absence of any women on the inaugural expedition was swift and ferocious.  To try and cauterize the wound of an uncharacteristic mistake, the Globe brothers set about instigating a separate lottery suggesting a second expedition at a later date.  It would consist of an all-woman team, with similar qualifiers in all other categories as the first lottery, should the first journey result in proving the Noble Basin legend to be true.  As that action did not go far enough for many, the brothers further relented, recruiting a thirty-seven-year-old female tour guide named Dove Jewel within their own organization to join the inaugural expedition.  Other than her employment and tour experience, Dove’s qualifications for the mission were simply her insistence and persistence on wanting to be part of that initial journey, as evidenced by the letters of intent she wrote to Percy and Walker, one letter a day, every day for a month, without missing even a single day.  

Second, the details of the mission had just reached the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate in New York state.  The Syndicate had little interest in the fabled youth geyser, but they did have a vested interest in the other abundant natural gaseous resources that were rumored to be in Noble Basin.  The Syndicate leadership contacted the Globe brothers the same day they became aware of the lottery and did what basically amounted to buying their ticket onto the expedition.  Chosen to represent the M.A.S. was Gideon Lapwater, a thirty-three-year-old professor of Israeli descent, an expert on chemical compounds and noble gasses.  

The day of the May 1896 tour to Noble Basin had arrived, and Percy and Walker were as giddy as the first time their childhood lips ever bit down onto red licorice ropes over at great-uncle Ulysses’ candy store.  As far as missions went, the two hadn’t felt as excited about leading a group since their twenties, when they first began giving impromptu tours of Bar Harbor and its surroundings to the visitors who came to the region for their summer vacations.  Beginning their adventure to the northwest in Eustis, one of Maine’s remotest outposts, the senior crew of eleven men and one woman began their northwest trek toward what would turn out to be a most dreadful and fateful adventure indeed.

It was Day Three of the Globe Adventure Tour:  Noble Basin, and the Globe brothers had just come to realize how much slower forward progress was for a twelve-person register whose average age was fifty-five.  Walker, who himself was exactly the average age, was certainly feeling it.  The arthritis in his left hip caused his entire leg to lock up more and more with every step.  Even the slightly younger, more optimistic Percy began to get discouraged, in response to the number of rest stops the party needed to take each day.  He was kind and understanding to the needs of his guests, as he had always been in the past.  But even he thought they should be further along in the journey by that point.

At least some intriguing history could be found at their latest respite that afternoon.  An abandoned homestead, complete with a dilapidated farmhouse and a crumbling barn, gave shade to the weary travelers as they sipped their water canteens and ate small bites of their rations.  Always the explorers, the brothers scouted the property together.  Percy was amazed that one of their forefathers had chosen to come out all that way to that uncharted piece of paradise and then try to create a life for themselves and their family. 

“‘Tried’ is the operative term,” said a more pessimistic Walker, pain still shooting up his arthritic left leg like a live wire.  

The journey continued.  As the afternoon waned, and the hills on either side of the caravan rose higher and higher, the leading brothers’ spirits began to lift.  Percy and Walker were beginning to realize that, according to their maps and sources, that day could still be the day that they might reach their destination.  

The valley rapidly narrowed, as did the gap between the evening sun and the steep, rocky crags to the west.  Gentle grasslands gave way to some sort of unusual forest topography.  So bizarre were the 20-30 foot trees in that particular wooded area, that an initial evaluation by the team could not even determine if they were deciduous or coniferous.

A grove within the atypical forest provided the next rest stop:  a site bottlenecked in between two huge protrusions of granite, compliments of the lofty highland cliffs to the left and the right.  The jutting outcroppings played gatekeeper to the unsuspecting travelers as they crossed the threshold and unceremoniously plopped their heavy belongings to the earth, sandwiching the blameless, loose dirt and pebbles in between.  Once the entire camp had been settled, Percy scribbled a rough drawing in his sketch book of the unidentified arbor specimens, excitement in his penmanship.  He described the trees as giant, green, fleshy, jade leaves affixed to twisted trunks similar to Japanese Red Pine trunks.  Perhaps the tree classifiers could name this species after me when we get back, he thought.  The younger Globe brother needed to wrap it up, however, because travelers were already beginning to get back on their feet, youth-like adrenaline coursing through their veins for what was to come.

From that point forward, the soaring crags on either side of the dry river valley were untraversable for humans.  The only possible route for the caravan to take now was straight ahead, and the only possible exit route behind them was through the bottleneck of the peculiar forest.  But turning around was the last thing on anyone’s mind.  With twilight upon them, the emboldened caravan marched forward, at double their average speed.  Even Walker was walking again with no pain in his joints, adrenaline being his anesthesia.  The Globe brothers had become convinced that there would be no more setbacks, and success would be theirs that very evening.

So it was understandable how disappointed Walker and Percy were when they rounded the next curve and came to a complete standstill.  

“Was this mentioned on the itinerary?” asked Walker.  

“No,” said Percy.  

“Any way around it?”  

Percy looked at his elder brother with incredulity, as if it was the dumbest question he had ever asked.  Walker nodded in acquiescence, not requiring a verbal answer to his inquiry.  

A piece of the starboard cliff had previously broken off and now laid in various-sized, geological fragments across the entire width of the diminishing canyon floor, even to the base of the port cliff.  The rockslide ‘wasn’t bad’ in Percy’s playbook, in the context that any fit mountaineers with the right equipment would be able to navigate over and past it with ease in broad daylight within an hour, hour-and-a-half tops.  But that was not the company they kept.  Successfully traversing that obstacle would be a slow, arduous process, if they wanted to avoid any major injuries to any member of the elderly group.  And with darkness falling, it was not to be on that particular day.  

“Back to the grove!” Percy called out to his followers.  “We shall camp there for the night!  

Despite the team’s resignation of losing another day, enthusiasm remained high within the group.  The old men dreamed daydreams of what their bodies would look like twenty-four hours later.  Will my hair grow back instantly, or will it take time?  Will my muscle tone improve?  Will my poor eyesight be restored to 20/20 vision?  Percy grinned, picturing what his guests would look like as young lads.  Walker’s pondering, on the other hand, was toward a whole new generation of young, winsome ladies he could impress with the restored, athletic physique of his youth.  

The grove was illuminated in campfire light, as the Globe brothers prepared a warm meal at its centerpiece for the eager tour guests.  Since the food would need time to prepare, Percy and Walker found a seat on the east side of the blaze, while most of the invitees conversed amongst themselves primarily on the north and northwest arc.  The Globe brothers had queries of their own to bounce off each other.  

“One more day,” said Percy.  “Just one more day.  How are you feeling about it, Walker?“

“Excited,” Walker replied.  “I just wish I knew more of what to expect!”

“I’ll tell you what I expect:  warm, rejuvenating waters.  Bubbling up out of the ground at a perfect 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit.  Gentle eruptions twenty to twenty-five feet in the air, about every fifteen minutes or so.  Each man and woman patiently and gleefully standing in line for their turn to get young again.”

Walker was still listening, but the word ‘woman’ prompted his eyes to focus onto the one female of the group.  The sweet, charismatic Dove Jewel was manning the northeast outpost of the blazing campfire and having a perky and good-natured conversation with a couple of the tour guests.  She was now also the apparent target of Walker’s musings.

“I’d love to take Ms. Jewel in the geyser with me when it’s my turn.  And watch our bodies grow young together.”  

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Mr. Globe?” called out the female tour guide, eliciting chuckles from the elder Globe brother.  

Dove could famously concentrate on two different conversations at once and had heard Walker’s entire comment.  She tried to play it off with a cheerful veneer, after which time she resumed her original conversation with the other guests.  But on the inside, she was highly appalled that he was undressing her in his mind.  And she vowed to herself, from that moment forward, never to approach the elder Mr. Globe, nor make eye contact with him, ever again.  

Oblivious to her resentment, Walker resumed his conversation with his younger brother.  “Anyway, what do you think the Fountain of Youth Geyser will look like?”  

“I honestly have no idea,” Percy replied, lifting his chin to the south.  “Why don’t we just ask our resident science expert over there the question?  Hey, Lapwater!”

Wearing his customary black shoes, socks and slacks, white twill shirt and velvet, purple vest, the always-dapper Professor Gideon Lapwater was deep in study on the southern border of the campfire, looking through M.A.S. paperwork and jotting down a few notes.  He heard his last name and looked up at the Globe brothers through gold, circular-rimmed spectacles.

“Gentlemen?” was his professional reply.  

“Walker here wants to know what The Fountain of Youth Geyser will look like!”

Gideon cocked his head.  “Like all the rest of the geysers, I would presume!”  

“A very diplomatic answer from a very practiced diplomat!” said Percy, before quietly confiding in his brother an opinion shared by Gideon earlier in the trip.  

“The professor doesn’t believe it exists, Walker, but he is too much of a gentleman to bring the rest of us optimists down.”

“Gideon!” Walker called out.  “Why’d you even come on this trip?  If the geyser, and to consider getting a few years of your life back, wasn’t your primary focus?”

Gideon removed his bifocals, placed them in his vest pocket and put down his studies with a gentle grace, realizing he would likely not accomplish any more work that night.  Squeezing his chin with his thumb and index finger and feeling the coarse follicles of his well-groomed, black beard, he answered.  

“Because there is something much more desirable in the world than the human longing to return to the prime of one’s life!  Money!”

The Globe brothers chuckled at his answer, but respected his candor.

“You have to admit, the professor makes a good argument,” said Percy.  “Money’s right up there at the top as well!  But how does a bunch of stinky fumaroles translate to shillings, my friend?” 

  Gideon’s employers had remained tight-lipped about their reasons for having a set of their own boots on that expedition, and the professor himself had pretty much avoided the subject until now.  But he knew he had nothing to hide.  His deep, brown, probing eyes captured the reflection of the campfire, as he folded his hands and provided his rationale on coming.  

“The Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate is always looking for ways to better our airships and better the lives of our customers!  To that end, this region we are heading to is rumored to have some of the largest pockets of helium and noble gas deposits in all of North America!  My assignment is to pinpoint the exact location of the basin, map it, collect various gas samples and then report my findings back to New York City!”  

Gideon added, “I find my job to be a fulfilling, lucrative career!”

Walker yawned, having nearly lost interest in the professor’s long-winded speech, but successfully made it to the end.

“Hey, just as long as you and the rest of The Syndicate leave the Fountain of Youth Geyser for the rest of us, you can sample whatever flavor of gas you like!”

Professor Lapwater unfolded his arms as he stared at Walker, a small smirk beginning to form on the right side of his mouth.  The rest of the camp had gradually migrated their attention over to the trio’s conversation.  And Gideon couldn’t let an opportunity like that get away. 

“Don’t even think about farting in my general vicinity, Mr. Globe!”

The camp erupted in raucous laughter and applause, except for the elder brother himself.  Walker’s face was difficult to interpret for a moment, as he glared incredulously at the man who had just made the coarse and unexpected jest at his expense.  But, realizing that his odious reputation truly did precede him, he soon caught up to the group with a series of forced belly laughs, albeit out of sync with everybody else.  Rising from his rustic throne, he ambled toward Gideon.

“Well if I did,” Walker chortled, “you’d definitely need that gas mask you brought along, professor!”  

Before Gideon could react, Walker had already grabbed the said apparatus in the professor's possession and then sprang back out of reach.  

“Hey, give that back!” Gideon exclaimed.

Walker placed the gas mask on his own face and began to playfully strut around the campfire for the amusement of the crowd.  “Look at me!” he shouted.  “I’m Gideon Lapwater from the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate!  Can someone tell me when it’s safe to take this thing off again?”  

More laughter from the small group ensued, including the obvious glee from Percy, and even from Gideon himself, in response to Walker’s antics.

“Aw, you’re a good sport, man,” said the happy Walker Globe, mercifully handing the professor back his device.  

“I think the grub’s ready,” announced Percy to the camp.  “Let’s eat up!”

Chapter 2:  Just Friends

The din of human conversation had died down around the campfire, as each individual ate to their fill of the generous victuals provided, courtesy of Globe Brothers Adventure Tours.  Gideon was one of the first members of the group to finish his portion.  He had reconsidered doing more paperwork after dinner, but somewhere halfway through the meal, an ominous thought got stuck in his mind.  The flames in front of him reflected off of his intense gaze, as he leaned forward, placing his bearded face into his folded hands.  

The younger Globe brother noticed Professor Lapwater’s long, pensive stare and decided to come over and sit down next to him.  

“So how’s the food, professor?” asked Percy.

Gideon sighed.  “Edible,” he replied.  

Percy raised his eyebrows, pursed his lips and stared away for a moment.  “Ah.  Well, that’s an improvement!” he said with a smile.  “So what’s on your mind, my good man?”  

“You know, Mr. Globe… I believe I just put my finger on what was missing here!”

“Salt.”

Gideon finally looked over at Percy and chuckled one time.

“I’m not talking about the food, sir.  But, where are all the animal sounds?  It’s eerily quiet in this place!  Not even crickets!”  

“Hmm.  That is interesting.”

“And these unusual trees all around us!  These are unlike any trees I’ve ever seen before in my entire life!”

Percy tried to provide his guest some comfort and reassurance.  “Sir, we’re entering parts of the Maine interior no man has literally ever set foot in!  Undoubtedly, you’re going to come across some new species of plants and animals as human exploration increases!”  

“Right… I suppose so…” replied Gideon.   

Just then, the conversation was interrupted by a brunette of the opposite sex.  

“Good evening, gentlemen.  Pardon the intrusion,” Dove Jewel politely apologized.  “Hey, Percy.  Do you mind if I steal Mr. Lapwater away for a little bit?”  

“You don’t have to steal him away, Ms. Jewel,” Percy replied.  “Here, you can just have my spot!”

“Oh no, you don’t have to get up,” said Dove, right as Percy got up.

“No, it’s fine!  I’m still hungry for seconds, and I think there’s just enough food left!”  

The kindhearted, female tour guide grinned, as Percy moved to another quadrant of the campfire.  Sitting down in the Globe brother’s old spot, she turned her attention toward the professor.  

“Hi, Gideon,” was Dove’s sultry introduction.  

Gideon smiled with a nervous grin.  “Good evening, Ms. Jewel.” 

The woman rolled her eyes.  “I told you before, you could call me ‘Dove.’  Hey, are you excited about tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah!  Yeah, I think so…”

“You know, I’m on the fence, too.”  

“Madam?”  

“I’m not certain if the Fountain of Youth Geyser is real or not either.  I’d like it to be…”

Gideon shrugged.  “You know… I’d love to be proven wrong, regarding my skepticisms of its existence.  I really would!”  

After brushing back the brown, double-helix locks of hair that kept getting in her eyes, Dove rested her silky, left hand down on the rock she was sitting on, not too far from Gideon’s right hand, which was resting on his lap.  Ogling at the incredible complexion of his olive skin tone next to her own pale pigment, the woman contemplated on how unexpectedly enamored she had become with the professor. 

“Perhaps, if it was real and I become younger again tomorrow… maybe you would like me better.” 

Gideon’s brow furrowed.  Intensifying his gaze toward the fire in front of him, his face became cold.  “You think me that shallow, madam?” 

“No!  No, of course not!  I… I didn’t mean it like that!”

Pressing his hands together, fingers up, the professor turned back toward her, trying to be sympathetic with only half a heart.  

“Dove, let me be perfectly frank with you.  Surely you know that true beauty comes from within.  Not from external attractiveness.  And if you haven’t figured that out by now… then no amount of youth geyser do-overs is ever going to fix that!”  

The expedience at which Dove’s face contorted from infatuation to disgust was impressive.  Snapping her hand away from the rock she had originally placed it on, she abruptly arose, blew past the campfire and made a beeline in any which direction that would distance herself from Gideon, north being her choice.  With his mouth agape, the professor watched her retreat, as she brushed past the other tour guests and kept right on going beyond the boundaries of the camp.

“Aw, just let her go have her cry, or whatever she’s doing, professor,” said Percy.  “She’ll be fine.”  

Gideon’s discontented expression remained suspended in that position.  “No,” he replied.  “No!  This has gone on long enough!”  

The scientist got on his feet, looked around for his gabardine overcoat to don and began to retrace the steps of the irritated lady who had just stormed off.  Walker, who also happened to be on his feet at the time, migrated to where Gideon had just been, eyed a familiar item he had developed a particular fondness for before dinner, and picked it up again. 

Walker called out to the professor.  “Hey, Lapwater.  Don’t forget this…” 

Gideon turned and realized that Walker had already tossed the apparatus right at him.  But the professor still had time to collect himself and catch the bulky gas mask in his chest with relative ease.  Walker smiled, as he made his final witticism.

“You can’t be too careful now, can you?”

Gideon shook his head and sighed audibly.  But, not wanting to have to walk all the way back to his belongings to return it, he decided to take the device with him.  

  “Ms. Jewel!  Wait up!” 

“You know what, just leave me alone, ‘Mr. Lapwater!’” 

It took a concerted motor effort for Gideon to catch up to Dove.  She continued to march northward, with a feminine ferocity not normally witnessed by members of the opposite sex, straight down the center of the open, tall grass field adjacent to the grove.

“Look, you’re obviously a nice woman,” began Gideon.  “And I’m truly flattered that you’ve even taken an interest in me!”  

It didn’t help.  Dove’s pace had not slowed.  In fact, it had picked up just a bit.  

“Ugh!  ‘Flattered,’” she groused.  “If I had a shilling for every time I’ve heard that word in my life, I’d be a millionaire!  Look, I get it!  You’re not interested in me!  It’s fine!” 

Gideon made the decision to run up ahead of Dove, then wheel around in hopes to impede her progress.  

“Dove!  Will you please just stop for a second and tell me what’s wrong??”  

The woman finally stopped, but the irritation, anger, and disappointment in her face did not go away.  

“I’m not an idiot, Gideon!  I know that true beauty comes from within!  Please don’t be so patronizing to me like that!”

If he was being honest with himself, Gideon knew his advice would not be well-received the moment he said it. 

 “You’re right, Dove,” he admitted.  “I did patronize you back there.  It was wrong of me to do so, please accept my apology.” 

Dove pouted with a girlish huff as she looked skyward, tapped her foot, and then placed her right fist on her right hip.  “You want to know what the sad thing is?  I already know that I’m beautiful inside!  I’m confident, smart, witty, articulate… and on the outside, I’m the number one rated Globe Adventures Tours tour guide in the entire state of Connecticut!  And hey, please don’t take this as vanity, but I’m not half-bad looking!”  

“No vanity taken.”

“And I’m a virgin!  There have been crossroads in my life where I could have lost that!  But I’m saving myself.  For my wedding night.”

“I respect that decision wholeheartedly, my dear.”  

Ms. Jewel rubbed her forehead in bewilderment.  “I have met all the prerequisites for courtship with flying colors, Mr. Lapwater!  So why am I still not with someone?  I’m thirty-seven-years old, Gideon!  But no, instead, I’m met with words like ‘nice’ and ‘flattered.’  Or even worse, I’m met with unwanted innuendos from lecherous brutes, like Walker Globe!  If I had known in advance that that’s the way he treats women, I never would have petitioned so hard to come on this trip!”

Dove took a couple of small steps toward the professor.  “And still… I’m glad I came on this journey.  If nothing else, just to get to know you.

“Gideon.  I know we’ve only known each other for a few days.  But I’d be lying to you if I said that I haven’t developed feelings for you.  I figured that tonight may be the very last chance that you and I would be able to have open and honest conversation about it before tomorrow’s final leg of the expedition.  Guess I was hoping and praying too.  For a sign that… maybe… you felt the same way as I did.  Or, hope against hope… that you loved me.”  

Gideon looked down for a moment, considered his next words carefully and resumed eye contact with the woman.  

“Dove… the love I feel for you right now is one of admiration, respect and friendship.  But nothing greater than that.  I’m sorry.”  

Dove faked a smile and stared off toward the top of the cliffs.  “Story of my life,” she lamented.  

Without any forewarning, the heavens opened up with a squall, drenching the grove, the field and the two friends.  

The woman didn’t budge.  “Oh, that’s funny,” she said, sarcasm dripping off her tongue.  

“What?” asked Gideon. 

“It’s raining.  It’s like I’m reliving a scene from one of my favorite teenage romance novels.  You know, if a man and a woman standing face-to-face in the pouring rain isn’t a sign that you and I were meant to be together, Gideon, I don’t know what is!”  

“Dove…”

The woman started to cough uncontrollably.  Dove’s countenance went from resignation, to uncertainty, to fear in a matter of seconds.  It felt like an invisible hand was reaching down into her throat and pulling all the air out of her body.

Gideon cocked his head slightly and furrowed his brow.  “Dove?  Dove, are you alright?”

“It’s… it’s getting hard to breathe,” she gasped.   

The professor began to feel his lungs constrict as well.  “You’re right, my dear.  Quick, quick, get over here under this maple tree.”

The trunk of the impressive-sized, deciduous safe haven was only about one hundred feet away to the north.  Nevertheless, Dove’s movements became more and more labored with every step she took.  

“Gideon!  I’m… I’m not able to breathe!”  She could barely get the words out, as she wheezed in helpless desperation, her glassy eyes open wide and fixated on the ground.

The professor remained calm.  “Don’t panic, Dove.  Now here, put this on your face, and hold it there as long as you need to.”

Gideon had put on a fresh, new oxygen canister on the apparatus right before the tour began, thank goodness.  Dove gripped the gas mask and held it up to her face with both hands, as the two friends staggered to the trunk of the large maple.  The professor gently guided the woman’s back against it.  She hunched over, steadying the mask with one hand and clutching her thigh with the other.  Although she was now receiving a fresh flow of oxygen, her irregular coughing spells were still impeding her progress to a full recovery.

Having done all he could do with limited, yet serendipitous resources, the professor stood by his afflicted friend in muted encouragement, as the wheels in his head began to turn, seeking answers.  “I don’t understand,” he said to himself.  “How is she in such distress, when I am not?”

The question stood, as he continued to try and reason it out in his head in silence.  We both sensed the noxious change in the air!  Why was Dove’s reaction to the toxicity so much more acute than my own?  Romantic anxiety?  A pre-existing condition?

Gideon froze.  A terrifying third hypothesis exited his lips.  “Proximity from the grove.  She was closer.  I was a few feet further away.”

His neck craned around in slow motion, so that his eyes could survey the serene, yet eerie arboraceous scene about three hundred feet behind them.  The look of horror on Gideon’s face was unmistakable.  More distraught pondering ensued.  

Silence.  No animal noises.  Now… no human noises.  Save one.  

“Better,” managed Dove.  Gideon turned his head back around to face his female patient again, seeing that she had already removed the mask, taken a couple of deliberate gasps and realized she could breathe in and out fully on her own again.  

“Okay, good,” replied the relieved professor, as she handed him back the respiratory apparatus.  “Listen.  I’m going to go back into camp to check on the others.  Don’t move from that spot, until I come back for you, do you understand?”

“Absolutely.  I won’t move a muscle.”  Her gentle voice remained barely above a whisper.  Only a few benign, light, feminine coughs remained.  

“Alright.  I’ll be right back.  I promise.”  

The gas mask was pre-equipped to be modified as a gas helmet, providing added protection for the professor’s ears and scalp as well.  Gideon did not wish to burden his recovering friend with frightful speculation until he had a chance to confirm his suspicions.  But introspectively, he had little to no hope that anybody else had survived.  

The heavy rain was still putting out the smoldering campfire as he approached.  A few dinner dishes lay scattered in different positions around where each and every man had fallen.  There were no visual signs of the presence of poisonous gas, but Gideon knew that to remove his mask now would invite almost immediate death.  

Directly in front of the professor lay the deceased, younger Globe brother, prostrate and facedown on the now-muddy ground.  Gideon ran up, rolled the body of Percy onto its back and instantly noticed the white, irregular discolorations of the face, blisters around the lips and deep redness around the ears and cheekbones.  He then lifted his own palms to notice that they too,  were changing to a shade of glistening scarlet.  Then, they began to tingle and tremble.  

The professor realized he had made a grievous mistake by returning to camp, but now it was too late.  By that point, his hands were throbbing with searing pain, which was beginning to spread to his wrists.  Blisters began to form before his very eyes.  He knew he had to get out of there immediately.  Reacquiring his zipped-up science bag that awaited him right where he left it, Gideon made two more stops, one at each former Globe brother, and grabbed the respective firearm of each. 

Now he was the one laboring with each step, as he stumbled his way back out into the northern grasslands.  The onset of Traumatic Shock was beginning to take hold.  Through rain-drenched goggles, Gideon spotted the distorted image of the maple tree, but was not able to locate signs of human life.

Dove!  Where’s Dove? 

The professor’s mind raced.  His hands pulsated in painful discomfort, with no reprieve.  Could the toxic gasses have spread? he asked himself.  With Dove nowhere to be seen, Gideon’s heart sank just a little more with each step he took.  He wondered in despair if he had just saved his friend’s life, only to abandon her to die anyway. 

Just around to the side of the maple, the body of Dove Jewel was crouched down, eyes closed, knees bent, back still pressed against the trunk of the tree.  With deep concern, she came to life and rose to her feet, when she heard Gideon approach.

“What is it?  Where are the others?”  

The professor let go of his bag and the two weapons, allowing them to fall to the ground with an unceremonious crash.  Pulling the gas helmet up over his head, he pushed it to the back of his neck and allowed it to fall behind him onto a grassy patch of earth.  

“They’re all dead,” he muttered.  “The horses too…”  

“Dead??  How??” cried Dove. 

“Gassed.  Those trees!  Released some sort of lethal toxin when their leaves came in contact with the rain water!  Amplified with the increased levels of hydrogen sulfide at ground level.  That’s the only reasonable hypothesis I can come up with!”  

For a moment, Gideon forgot that Dove was still in the vicinity and that he wasn’t just talking to himself.  Utter shock and dismay came over his face, as another inconceivable revelation came to him.  

“We’d be dead now too!  If you hadn’t left that grove when you did, and I hadn’t gone after you!”

“Gideon… now Gideon, look at me,” Dove insisted.  But Gideon’s eyes had already averted away.  His mind had gone somewhere else again.  The desperate pleas of an unfamiliar female voice, a voice which somehow knew his name, sounded so far away in his head.

“Look at me, stay with me here, Gideon!  You have got to keep it together!”  

Then, in the next instant, he remembered who she was and where they were.  The woman’s voice became loud again, as she spotted something that caused her to recoil.  Backing into the maple trunk, misjudging the distance she had before it collided with her back, Dove covered her mouth in alarm. 

“Gideon… your hands…” she gasped, at the high-end of her vocal range.  

“Second degree chemical burns from the gas,” he rasped, at the low-end of his vocal range.  “I… I’m okay for now… but they won’t be for long if they eventually get infected!”

Dove was trembling.  “What are we going to do?”  

The professor looked around at the ground at nothing in particular for a few seconds before resuming eye contact.  

“Abort the mission.  My new mission now is to keep you alive.”

“I-I don’t understand.”  

“Here, just take my coat, wrap it around your body and button every single button.”  

Mr. Lapwater then fell to his knees and fumbled around with his science bag, touching it like it was a hot iron.  

“What are you doing?” Dove asked, as she put on the gabardine overcoat. 

“Here, please just help me open my bag.”  Dove did.  “Now put these gloves on, my dear.  Just do it.”  

Dove had no problem complying with Gideon’s initial orders.  But as he plucked out a new oxygen canister from his bag, then stood up and approached her, she realized in horror what he was planning. 

“Gideon, what are you… no!  I’m not going to take your gas mask!”

“It’s the only one we brought!  You need to put this on now!” 

“NO!”  

“Dove, you have to leave this place or you’ll die!!” he bellowed in misplaced anger.  “You have to go back!  Back the way you came, these measures will protect you!”

Tears began to leap from her eyes, without even touching her visage.  “Sir.  We need to stick together.  We can’t separate like this now, you need a doctor!”  

Squeezing his eyes shut, the professor shook his head, as he brought his blistered hands up a short distance away from his face.  “We can’t both make it back through that grove alive with just one oxygen mask, that toxic air could linger for days!  And right now, you have a better overall chance of survival than I do!”  

Dove mouthed “no,” but couldn’t get the word to come out audibly.  

Gideon came right up to her, looked deep into her eyes and gingerly placed his still-throbbing hands on her shoulders.  

“Dove.”  

She mouthed “no” again and violently shook her head ‘no.’

“Dove,” he nearly whispered, placing the unblemished portion of his lower left arm against her jawbone, with gentleness.  “You wanted a sign that I loved you.  Well, this is it.  Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” 

Her mouth was agape, her lower jaw trembled, her opulent lips quivered, but she understood.  

“John 15:13,” she said.

“That’s right!”

Dove pressed her face into Gideon’s left wrist, caressing the apple of her fair-skinned cheek against the olive skin that touched it.  Salty streams were now cascading down her anguished face.

“And where will you go?” she barely managed.

“Toward the rockslide,” replied the professor.  “If I can traverse it solo successfully to the other side, I have heard variations of the Noble Basin legend that say that there are two ways in and out of the basin!  Hopefully, that version of the legend is true, and I can take the other way back out!”

“Gideon, for all you know there could be just another death grove on the other side of that rock pile!  Or a dead end!”  

“I know.  But it’s my only chance!  Listen.  The rain’s letting up, Dove.  This is your best opportunity now to get away.”  

“Gideon… Gideon, I’m so scared…”  Her voice had diminished to a loud whisper.  

Gideon drank deep into the well of the woman’s exquisite, emerald eyes one last time and was mesmerized.  Such beauty.  Such innocence.  He would have done anything to freeze that moment in time and never step outside of it again.  But time was not on their side, and he knew he needed to restore the woman’s confidence with wisely-worded final instructions.

“Listen to me very closely, Dove.  You’re going to be alright.  You’re still young, you’re strong, and you are a knowledgeable, experienced guide, trained to handle emergencies such as this.  I’m giving you the map, and this is Percy’s gun.  Go as far and as fast as you can through the grove and away from this place.  The gasses are colorless, so you won’t lose your way.  Don’t stop running until you reach the abandoned homestead, the one we passed this afternoon.  The air there will be clean.  Shelter there for the rest of the night, and then leave again at the first break of daylight.  Being just one person, moving at a steady pace, there’s a chance you could reach Eustis and civilization again by nightfall tomorrow.  Do not send any search parties back here when you arrive, because I’ll be gone, and you’d only be putting them in mortal danger.  Be brave, Dove.  Be brave.”  

“I will,” she replied.  “I promise.”  Although her face still shook, and tears still fell, Dove knew this is what she had to do.

The two friends hugged each other one final time, tighter and stronger than any embrace either had ever received before.  Then, with tiny footsteps, Dove backed away to the edge of the maple umbrella, wearing Gideon’s coat and gloves and holding his life-saving apparatus up against her bosom.  Turning her head once more to the scientist she had learned to respect and admire in such a short amount of time, she mustered a slight smile.  

“May your journey lead you safely home, sweet Gideon Lapwater,” declared Dove with all the hope, goodness, bravery and confidence she could generate within herself.  

“And yours as well… precious Dove Jewel,” replied Gideon, feeling the same way as she.

Dove’s slight smile descended into a lower-lip pout.  Averting her stunning, evergreen eyes away, her face disappeared behind the cumbersome gas mask.  Through the goggles, she took one final look at the kind gentleman who had saved her life.  Professor Lapwater straightened up as best he could, managed his own slight smile despite the pain, and nodded twice.  Giving one final ‘thumbs up’ with gloved hands, Dove wasted no more time as she turned away and fled back into the grove and toward the lands beyond.  Gideon held back his own tears as he watched her go, observing her until she was no longer visible.  Then he turned his head to the right, exhaled audibly, and resumed the journey toward the northwest alone.

Chapter 3:  Legends and Myths

Gideon was one step away from the closest stone of the rockslide which stood between him and a possible basin of myths and legends. 

But his priorities had changed.  He had just witnessed the death of ten people, and now the continuation of his own life was not even assured.  In spite of the pain from his hands and wrists, clarity of thought and mind had arisen.  Money meant nothing.  Self-fulfillment was worthless.  The meaning of true friendship had finally been revealed to him.  It came a little late in his life, but at least it had now made it into his heart and had worked through it like leaven. 

There is a very good chance that I am going to perish out here, he thought.  

But deep down inside, he had no doubt that Dove would survive.  She would, at long last, find the man of her dreams, fall in love, get married and start a beautiful family.  Gideon pondered for a moment.  Through an improbable and tragic set of circumstances, God had nevertheless used him in that bleak intersection of time to save a woman’s life.  With nobody else around, he permitted a tear to fall from his eye.  

Finally.  At long last, my life has finally counted for something.  

There were many more determined members of the failed Globe brothers’ expedition who dreamed of seeing what mysteries awaited on the other side of those boulders.  Okay, everybody else, he clarified.  But now, their curiosities had become his.  If successful, he would be one of the only humans in history to ever reach the basin, assuming it actually existed.  

Small comfort, since no one else will ever find out about it, given the likelihood that I will probably die shortly afterwards.  

His blemished hands started throbbing again, as if urging him to keep moving, because time was running out for him.  Successfully traversing the rubble in the dark would not be easy.  There were also slippery, wet rocks that needed to be navigated.  There was a science bag that needed to avoid rolling back down the hill several feet.  There were pain thresholds that needed to be gauged on how and where Gideon could place his chemically scorched fingers on the various-sized geological fragments.  

But slowly and surely, Gideon made headway.  Upon cresting the avalanche about an hour later, his night-adjusted, brown eyes surveyed the landscape beyond.  The scene was…

Underwhelming.  

The narrowing of the dry river canyon passage had accelerated.  There was scant vegetation on the ground beyond, and the thoroughfare looked to be level from there on out.  It took another sixty minutes for Gideon to make it to stable ground again.  Now thirst and fatigue had become added factors.  

The professor resumed a moderate, steady pace.  After about two-and-a-half miles, the canyon had become a slot, veering to the right and then back to the left, as slots commonly do.  Gideon began to wonder if the passage would soon become too narrow for him to pass through.  Meanwhile, his pupils kept rolling into the back of his head in fatigue.  His body begged him to stop and rest.  Instead, the professor slammed his blistered knuckles together in defiance, to try and generate some pain which would allow him to remain awake for just one more curve.  

That was stupid, he thought, as he achieved his desired result and then some.  

Another mile had passed on his trek, when Gideon thought he saw something up ahead, right as the slot canyon began to yield some space again on either side.  At first, he swore it was just his glassy and watery eyes playing tricks on him.  But no, it was not a mirage.  

A small steam vent rose up before him, hissing in alarm at the human intruder, as if it was sentient.  Gideon’s spectacles fogged up as he approached, being that there was scant space to safely navigate around the geyser.  Once he had cleared the vent, he stopped a few feet further ahead, removed and cleaned his glasses, and wiped his eyes with his right sleeve.  The canyon is opening! he thought, observing the trail ahead with his naked eye.  A small shot of adrenaline coursed through his veins. 

The canyon didn’t just open, it simply gave up.  Gideon emerged and inhaled in disbelief as he set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and behind his ears.  

Showcased before him in a 180 degree panorama was a vast, treeless landscape, marked by more higher, impassable, towering cliffs around its border.  Powerful steam vents and perpetual geysers sprayed gallons of scalding liquid high into the air, while steamy ponds of sulphuric water flowed away from them toward the southwest.  Gideon felt the ground beneath his feet warming the soles of his shoes, as he moved in for a closer look.  Despite his pain and fatigue, the professor started to snicker, which became a chuckle, which became a full-on laugh.  

Gideon Lapwater had now become one of an elite few men and women in history to ever reach the fabled Noble Basin.  

He just wanted to take it all in for just a few minutes more.  But he knew he had to keep moving.  His new objective now was to exercise cautious navigation to reach the other side of the basin without harm.  The professor considered his options and determined that a left-fork direction would be safest, knowing that in a couple more feet, the earth’s crust he was walking on would become thin and brittle, offering him no protection, should he make a critical navigational error.  

Upon his next few paces forward, the professor unknowingly triggered a silent proximity alarm without even knowing it, as he passed between two sensors. 

Gideon remained patient and deliberate with every single step he took.  Nevertheless, his mind kept wandering from its task, asking itself questions about that place.  As he passed one incredible landmark after another, his thoughtful queries of amazement increased.  

I wonder what these pools look like in the daytime?  What color are they?  How hot is the water shooting out of that geyser?  Is this air toxic?  What kind of wildlife wanders through this basin?  Can geothermal energy be harnessed for human advancement?  

And the most intriguing question of all:  Is one of these geysers the legendary and coveted Fountain of Youth Geyser?  

His thought process was interrupted.  In the distance, where the geysers ended and the timber began to reassert itself, were several objects that piqued Gideon’s immediate interest.  Once the tree line was reached, and his suspicions were confirmed that he had indeed seen stumps sawed by human hands, his entire thought process shifted.

Interesting!  So this proves that I’m not the first one who has ever been here.  But my probability to stay alive just went up considerably!  The professor realized that, with that many large stumps present, there must be some sort of log structure nearby.  He fled into the woods to test his hypothesis, and he didn’t have to travel far.

“A cabin!” Gideon exclaimed out loud.  

The excitement at seeing a manmade structure intensified when the scent of stale smoke entered his nostrils.  It emanated from a recently-doused campfire in the front yard.  There must be people here now! his mind cried out in earnest.  With desperate resolve, Gideon ran up to the cabin door and yanked on the handle.  It was locked.  But by that point, the adrenaline in him was pumping so fast and so hard, that nothing, not even a locked door, would deter him from getting inside.  

Gideon was frantic.  He started banging on the door with the balls of his fists, the least singed part of his hands.  “Helllooooo!” he shouted.  He took a deep breath and cried out again, as loud as his voice could carry.  “Hello, is anyone there?!  Please, I need help!  HELLLOOOO!!”

The professor froze.  Someone, or something, had managed to sneak up behind him, with the stealth of a fox.  An icy chill ran down his spine at hearing the sound of a laser rifle charging a short distance away.  The professor wheeled around to see a grizzled soldier… and a laser guide pointed at the dead-center of his chest.  

“Well, well, well,” cracked the woman’s voice.  “Look what got spit up onto my front door.”  

“Who are you?” asked Gideon. 

“I’ll ask the questions here.  You’re trespassing on a military installation here, mister.”  

“Military?” 

“Yes.  As I just stated.  You’re in more trouble than you can possibly imagine, sir.  Name.  Now.”

The man stuttered.  “I-I-I’m Professor Gideon Lapwater.  With the… the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate.”  

“Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon.  United States Melah.  You’re a far cry from New York City, Mr. Lapwater.  There’s no way you could have possibly made it out here alone on foot.  Surely there are others nearby in your party, now where are they?!”  

Consumed with wrath, the lieutenant repositioned her laser guide, this time, at his head.   

“No, please don’t shoot me, ma’am!” Gideon cried, throwing up his palms.  “Everyone else has perished!  I’m the only one left!  Please… my hands… you have to help me!”

Wendy squinted.  “People pass away easily out here.  Did you come in from the southeast?”  

“Southeast, yes.” 

The lieutenant took a raspy, phlegmy breath through her chapped nostrils.  “The grove.  Miracle you’re not dead too.  How’d you get past the rockslide?”  

“Very carefully,” Gideon muttered.  

“Why are you even out here?”  

“Well as I mentioned before, Ms. Wilderon, I’m a professor.  I came to Maine because I’d heard about a place of untapped scientific potential that could benefit the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate and humanity greatly:  Noble Basin.” 

The lieutenant started to laugh, and not in a pleasant way.  

 “Ah, yes.  The place where every gaseous element and compound in the universe live in complete peace and harmony with one another.  And billowing geysers from the underworld rise up and transform the old woman’s sagging body into the firmness, smoothness and fertility of her twenties.  And the old man’s tired physique into the virile body of his teenage years.

“You’re a fool, Mr. Lapwater!  There’s no such place as Noble Basin!  It’s a myth, it doesn’t exist!”  

“But… but that geyser basin over there!” Gideon protested.  “And these things I’ve witnessed over the past day!  Unlike any other place on Earth I’ve ever seen!”  

“Had you not run into me, this would’ve been the last place you ever saw!  This isn’t Noble Basin, you idiot, this is Death Basin!  Only three gases exist out here, professor:  oxygen, which is in very short supply, The Krypton Geysers, which is why I’m here, and The Death Gas, which your team woefully discovered back at the grove!”  

After what seemed like an eternity, Wendy eventually lowered her weapon, realizing that, despite his unwanted presence there, the man truly needed help.  

“Criminy, your hands are bad.  I’ll take you inside, you need medical attention.”

With sullen reluctance, Wendy unlocked the cabin, and the two entered.  Gideon was commanded to wait at the entryway, while the Melah lieutenant lit a perimeter of six lanterns interspersed at regular intervals around the room.  The professor’s eyes adjusted to the sparsest and most rustic decor of any domicile he had ever seen in his entire life.  In addition to the lanterns was a table, one chair and a small, cast-iron stove on the far wall, nothing more.  The small room led to a second, smaller room, where he could make out the details of a primitive, raised, bushcraft bed against its far wall.

“Sit over there,” barked Wendy, pointing to the rustic chair.  “I’ll be right back.”  

After a couple of minutes, the lieutenant returned to the cabin with a sawed stump she had been using as a stool outside by the campfire, along with the needed medical supplies.  This suggested to the professor that there had to be at least one other structure nearby.  First, the lieutenant provided Gideon a large vessel of water to drink. Due to the extent of his manual injuries, it had now become too painful for him to hold the cup himself.  So with the one granule of sympathy Wendy had, she stood next to him and directed the vessel’s contents directly into his mouth, which he drank with haste.  Once she was confident that his thirst had been amply quenched, Wendy sat down on the other side of the table and tended to Gideon’s hand wounds.  She warned him the ointment would sting pretty bad, which it did, but the professor knew that it was for the best.  Once the medicine had been evenly distributed, the lieutenant dressed his injuries with the skill of a trained, military physician.  

With flickering lantern light all around him, Gideon was given an opportunity to gaze upon the woman who had confronted him and was now tending to him.  Her straight, peppered, brown, grey and white hair came down to about her shoulders.  Huge, baggy circles had found a permanent home under her eyes, connected by cracked, leathery skin, which carved out the landscape of the rest of her face.  Her cheeks sunk in like-

Wendy shot her head up as she caught him observing her, forcing his gaze downward and onto the table’s surface where she was working.  Her skinny, bony fingers resumed their slow redressing of his wounds.  There were dozens of various-sized liver spots on the soldier’s wrists and hands.  The professor could reach only one logical conclusion:  Time had not been kind to this woman.  

Unbeknownst to Gideon at the time, he could not have been any more right.  

After a few minutes of awkward quietude, Wendy’s gravelly voice broke the silence.  “There.  There, you should be out of medical danger now.”  

Lifting his hands, Gideon wiggled his fingers and twisted his wrists back and forth a couple of times to view the front and back of his bandaged appendages.  They still hurt, but he realized at that moment that at least he was no longer going to die. 

The professor smiled in relief.  “Thank you, Lieutenant Wilderon.  You have my sincerest gratitude.”  

Wendy was not impressed by Gideon’s courtesy.  Her anger at having an intruder in her camp was retriggered again, a force of nature hotter than any of the krypton geysers that abutted the estate.  She went on to say one of the cruelest things yet to her patient.

“Let me make one thing perfectly clear to you, Mr. Lapwater:  You are NOT welcome here.”  

She allowed the statement to sink in, before adding in resignation, “…But your hands need time to heal.”  

The lieutenant stared off behind the professor for a few seconds, at nothing in particular.  Gideon observed Wendy’s rapid eye movements, like she was doing some mental calculations in her head, the same way would do back in his laboratory in Manhattan.  Then, she sprang to her feet.  

“Three mornings,” she proclaimed, putting out the lanterns one by one.  “Three mornings, and then you’re out of here!”  The lieutenant pointed to the other room with her bony, index finger.  “Bedroom’s over there, professor.”

Wendy attempted to make a swift retreat toward the doorway which led into the wilderness, before her forward progress was interrupted.  

“You’re not sleeping here?”

The woman froze in her tracks.  Gideon didn’t mean to frame the question as sounding of impropriety.  But thankfully for him, Wendy also realized that it was not intentional, and she let him off easy.

“No,” she replied, in a gruff staccato.  Slamming the door behind her, Wendy disappeared into the night, leaving Professor Lapwater in the darkness of the cabin.  

Gideon’s level of exhaustion was acute, but understandable.  So overwhelming was his fatigue, in fact, that on the following morning, Wendy had to use the butt of her laser rifle to stir the professor.  She had been up for hours, wincing in bodily pain of her own, and had grown tired of waiting.  The lieutenant wanted to eat her breakfast and begin her day. 

“Time to change the dressings,” was her ‘Good Morning’ greeting to Gideon.  It took a minute for his grogginess to wear off.  By the time he was alert enough to turn to his other side and greet Wendy, she’d already retreated into the other room again.  

After re-bandaging Gideon’s hands, the lieutenant delivered the professor’s breakfast to the table:  a tin cup of water and a bowl of Noble Basin’s finest assorted nuts and berries.  Like his sleeping berth, the grateful professor was in no way particular to what type of accommodations was presented before him, as he transported bite after bite of the victuals into his famished body by any way his injured hands would let him.  

During the meal, Gideon’s eyes kept gravitating toward the open front door.  Wendy must have read his mind, as she paced back and forth in the small dwelling, grumbling incoherently, waiting for him to finish his last few bites.  

“I suppose you want to go out and see what the basin looks like during the day, professor,” she said.   

“Yes, madam,” he replied, still chewing.

“Good.  Because it wasn’t a request.  I’m not leaving you around here to steal my stuff.” 

Gideon looked to the left and to the right of him and then raised his left eyebrow.  “What stuff?”

Wendy reciprocated the eyebrow lift, but she let the professor have that one.  “Let’s go,” she said. 

It was less than a few hundred feet to the closest edge of the caldera that Gideon had traversed the night before.  The professor once again marveled at the fact that he was one of only a few people in history to have ever set foot in the remotest, sought-out destinations in all of North America.  The panoramic scene was even more breathtaking in the daytime.  The returning visitor was greeted by transparent pools of stunning blues, bordered by bright green and then yellow perimeters.  The hissing geysers came in two colors of varying hues:  white and reddish-orange.  The regularity of each geyser’s eruption happened fast, from thirty seconds to ten minute intervals, at most.  

Awestruck, Gideon regretted not bringing a camera on the trip.  And that nobody had yet invented color film.  

“Wow, this is absolutely incredible.  So it really is just you out here all by yourself, lieutenant?”

“Don’t talk to me,” snapped Wendy.  “Just keep it to yourself.  If I want to have a conversation with you, I will begin a conversation with you.” 

“Yes, ma’am.”  

“Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

Wendy folded her arms.  “You set off two of my proximity alarms when you first entered the basin last night.  So my first item of business is to recalibrate those sensors you tripped.  I’m starting with the ones where you first came into the basin, on the outer detection grid, and then double back to the ones you triggered just outside my cabin, on the inner grid.  Take advantage of the places I’m taking you to, by jotting your notes down in whatever little journal you brought.”

Lieutenant Wilderon started moving again, but then stopped in her tracks after about ten feet, right as one of the closest geysers began to erupt.  

“That’s not the krypton,” she added.  

“Madam?”  

“The krypton is indeed abundant in those geysers, but it’s colorless.  The red-orange hue in those sprays is the trace elements of the ionized neon surrounding it.  Thought I’d give you that bit of info without violating any Melah confidentiality.”  

“Appreciate it, madam.”  Gideon made a mental note, as handwriting was still too excruciating to even consider yet.

The lieutenant and the professor navigated their way counter-clockwise around the perimeter of the caldera, until they had reached the entry point where Gideon had tripped Wendy’s proximity alarm the night before.  She used her tracker to locate the two hidden sensors, each within ten yards of the other, and then began the recalibration process.  “This shouldn’t take too long,” she said, having already adjusted the first sensor and then walking over to the second sensor, with a sway in her hips.    

Meanwhile, Gideon noticed something moving from some distance away over in the northeast crust.  “Wow.  Is that a moose directly in the middle of the basin?”

Wendy’s head shot up at him, her mouth about to say something.  

“Sorry, madam.  Not supposed to talk to you first.”  After Wendy went back to work, the professor thought for a moment and then changed his mind.  “You know what?  No.  That’s not how conversations work, Ms. Wilderon!  So I’m not sorry!”

Wendy smirked, in response to Gideon’s feeble attempt at insubordination, but didn’t look up the second time.  “Thought you wanted to live,” she said with a low voice and a straight face.  But before the professor could ascertain whether or not she was being serious, the lieutenant starting cursing over something.  

“Agh!  Misery Me!”  

“What is it?”  

“Well, I managed to recalibrate the two sensors you tripped.  But it’s been almost seven months since my last inspection of the sensors.  They all worked fine then.  But somehow, this time, the resetting of these two sensors has caused some sort of misalignment with the rest of the entire outer grid!  Blast!”  

“I have no idea what that means.”  

“It means,” continued an increasingly agitated Wendy, “that the other sixteen outer grid sensors around the basin will now need to be recalibrated as well!  And then I’ll have to finish back at these two again!  The trouble you’ve caused me is going to cost me lunch and most of my afternoon!”  

“I’m sorry, Ms. Wilderon.”  This time, Gideon did feel genuine sorrow at having inconvenienced the pitiful lieutenant.  

“I’m sorry too,” she grumbled, her eyes narrowing.  “Let’s move.”

Lieutenant Wilderon’s misfortune turned out to be Professor Lapwater’s fortune.  Because now, he would be able to explore all 360 degrees of the caldera perimeter, in spite of the horrible company he kept.  

As the day wore on, Gideon began to notice how much easier it became to take his personal notes and sketches.  Earlier that morning, he couldn’t even complete the painstaking task of getting his injured digits around a writing utensil.  But as the hours marched on, the task became less and less challenging, and the pain continued to diminish, until he happened to realize, shortly after noon, that he didn’t even notice the discomfort anymore.  

Gideon was nowhere near the sketcher that Percy Globe was.  That man’s sketches were in published books!  But still, how hard could it be for one to sketch a geyser?  Plus, Gideon got the moose, the descriptions and sketches of the pools and all sorts of other geological and biological phenomena in the basin, all recorded in his journal.  And in colored pencil, no less.  

His Melah partner made slow but steady progress on her own work as well.  And soon, all eighteen outer sensors had been successfully realigned.  His timepiece showed about 3:30 in the afternoon, consistent with Wendy’s time prediction.  

Once the pair had made it back to the homestead from the opposite end of the caldera, Wendy ordered Gideon to sit down on a suitable evergreen log that lay across her front yard.  She then disappeared into the woods to urinate discreetly and then do a much-quicker realignment of the smaller inner sensor grid.  This left the professor to observe the late-afternoon spectacle of the caldera that was still partially visible through the forest from where he was sitting.  He completed another sketch.  

A short time later, Wendy returned with two tin cups of fresh water for them to drink, since both she and Gideon had finished off their canteens somewhere around sensors thirteen and fourteen.  The lieutenant then straddled the log, swung her leg over and sat down next to the professor on his right.

“About to get the fire started and some venison going for dinner,” said Wendy, staring off toward the caldera, before turning toward the professor.  

“Listen up, Lapwater, so I don’t have to repeat myself later.  I… I wanted to give you tomorrow’s itinerary now, since it will be your last full day here and all.  After breakfast, and I change the dressings on your hands, you’re… you’re free to move in and around the basin to do all the studies you can fit in the daylight hours you have.  You don’t need me as your governess.  You’re a grown man, I’m sure you won’t walk where you’re not supposed to…”

Gideon tilted his head, noticing the tone of her voice had softened for the first time since he had arrived.  Her speech also gave him the opportunity to maintain eye contact with Wendy the longest thus far.  Behind the anger, he could read sadness, even utter despair.  Deep down, he knew something was terribly wrong with her, and he wished with all sincerity that he knew what it was and for some way he could help ease her burden.  

“What about you?  Where will you be?” he asked.

“I lost most of a day’s work because of you, being your doctor, your tour guide and cleaning up your sensor grid mess.  Tomorrow, I’ll be in my lab in the woods back there, catching up on top secret Melah research.  Do not come within thirty feet of that structure, because if you do, so help me I’ll…” 

The lieutenant decided to rephrase her threat.  “…Because I’m doing private work for the military that cannot be seen by civilians such as yourself.  Please respect my privacy.” 

“Understood, ma’am.  I won’t go near that place.”  

“Okay, good.  Now I need to go get the fire and the venison started-”

“Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon, is there a Fountain of Youth Geyser?!” 

Gideon blurted out the question which had been plaguing him all day, and he had now mustered up enough courage to speak up and ask about it.  

“Yes, yes, I started a conversation with you again, madam,” he added in defiance.

Wendy stared back off into the caldera, saying nothing for several seconds.  For a moment or two, she almost appeared human.  

“No…”  She was uncharacteristically quiet and mournful.  “No, there most certainly is not…”  

Her voice trailed off.  There was something most peculiar about the way she answered.  But then a few more seconds passed, allowing the lieutenant to return to form.  She looked back over at the professor in annoyance.  

“And now, I have effectively terminated that particular conversation and that rumor!”  Wendy rose and headed back toward the direction of the cabin.  “So tell your friends when you get back, so that they don’t show up here!” was her parting thought as she stormed off. 

The next day played out pretty much as Wendy had said it would.  In the morning, she checked and redressed Gideon’s wounds.  The two ate breakfast together.  Afterwards, Wendy made sure Gideon had plenty of food and water for an all day solo survey into the geyser basin.  And then, she disappeared again.  

The day passed by so fast for Gideon.  For an uncharted region that had so much potential, the disappointed professor’s report back to headquarters was not going to contain information about plentiful and numerous gases that the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate was wanting, expecting and hoping for.  By the time late afternoon arrived, the professor had triaged the best places to do his research, feeling satisfied nothing more could be said or done regarding Noble Basin, given the time restraints demanded by the bad-tempered lieutenant.  Retracing his steps back toward the cabin, Gideon saw from a distance that Wendy had reemerged from the back woods once again, and was currently lumbering around base camp for kindling.

More venison for dinner.  

He took one step toward home, when a familiar roar entered his ears.  The professor turned and saw the same moose he had seen the day before, only a short distance away.  The moose stared at him and bellowed two more times, as if saying ‘goodbye.’  Gideon was touched.  His eyes watered up as the moose made one final forlorn call out to him, before turning around with a solemn gait and heading back into the forest.  

The next morning, Gideon’s day started out the same way as the first morning.  Only this time, when Wendy woke him up with the butt of her rifle, the message was different. 

“Time’s UP,” she growled.  

Breakfast was the same water, berries and nuts as every morning.  After serving him, Wendy left the cabin for a brief moment, while Gideon finished his final meal in Noble Basin.  When the lieutenant returned, she had brought food, rations and a map, all of which the woman had prepared for the professor in advance.  

Wendy sat down across the table, opened the map and began to give final instructions on how Gideon could achieve a safe return back to civilization.  The professor’s heart sank.  His mission had been bittersweet:  tragic and yet exhilarating at the same time.  In any case, it was time to go, even if Wendy hadn’t demanded it.  He didn’t belong there.  And to be quite honest, he thought, neither does she.  

“So all you have to do,” Wendy explained, “is follow the stream southwest out of the basin until you reach this river.  Then follow it upstream, toward the northwest, until you hit this chain of ponds here.  Then just follow the map west-northwest the rest of the way for about six more miles, until you reach the border between the United States and New France.  There should be a New French Border Patrol office… here.  They can get you to a US Embassy, probably the one in Quebec City, and from there you should be able to make your way home.  Got all that?” 

“Yes ma’am,” Gideon replied. 

“Okay then.  Then let me personally escort you out of my house.”  

Wendy led the professor back behind the house and through a pleasant grove of deciduous trees, before taking a sharp left.  Gideon got to get his first view of the lieutenant’s lab cabin that she had hinted about for the entire time he was there.  After passing that structure, the pair walked out into a small clearing and an unobstructed view of the still-steamy stream that led the way out of that dangerous locality. 

“Hands look much better today, by the way,” said Wendy, looking down at his digits.  She even smiled a bit.

“Not sure what medicine you used,” Gideon replied, “but they indeed feel, and even look, like new.  Thank you again.”

“You should be home free now.  Good luck, Mr. Lapwater.”  

Lieutenant Wilderon held out her hand.  The professor realized what great effort it must have taken for her to do this, so he reached out with gratitude and shook it.  He wondered if this would be the last human physical contact Wendy would ever experience again.  

Gideon collected his belongings, took about five steps, but then wheeled around to face Wendy one last time. 

“You know, you could come with me, Ms. Wilderon…”  

Wendy was incredulous.  “What??”  

“As amazing a spectacle as this area is, this place is a living nightmare for any human to be living in!  You could get out of here too!  With me.  Right now.”  Gideon stretched out his hand to her. 

The Melah woman smirked, shook her head and replied in classic Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon fashion.  “Abandon my post and go AWOL?  Yeah, that would be a sorry ending to my sorry military career.  I’m only ordered to be in this hellhole for one more year.  I’ll manage.” 

Gideon nodded.  “Thank you again for saving my life, Wendy.  I shall never forget what you did for me.”

Lieutenant Wilderon squinted for a few seconds.  “Get out of here,” she snarled.

Professor Gideon Lapwater began his trek towards home.  Wendy watched him for a time, until she was convinced he would not be coming back that way again.  Pursing her lips and shaking her head, she resumed going about her day.

That evening, Wendy didn’t even bother making a campfire.  At about 1900 hours military time, she retreated into her housing cabin, lit the lanterns, sat down at the table and ate and drank the same types of rations she had with Gideon that morning.  

After dinner, the lieutenant remained motionless in her chair.  Dusk came, and darkness hemmed her in on every side.  In the pale lamp light, Wendy stared at her military ID photo for several minutes.  Next, she pulled out a small, compact mirror from her forest-green satchel, 

held it in her right hand and gazed upon her wrinkly, old self.  The bony digits of her left hand were dragged down her left cheek, with medium pressure.  Wendy could sense every line, every pit, every blemish, all the way down to her jawbone.  She was in considerable pain and anguish, but she managed to keep her emotions in check for the moment.  Placing the compact next to the ID Card, both facedown, she got up from the table and made one last trip outside into the woods to relieve herself behind the closest tree, before settling down for good that night.  

The raised, bushcraft bed belonged to her once again.  The lieutenant faked a smile as she stood over the cot for a moment.  She recalled the visitor that had occupied it for the past several nights, before reluctantly climbing in and pulling the covers up over her body and face.  

Even after only three days, Wendy found it difficult, for some reason, to acclimate herself back into the silence again.  From somewhere deep down inside her stony heart, the woman discovered that she actually missed having conversations with Professor Gideon Lapwater.  At that instant, she wanted to tell somebody, anybody, about just how lonely and lost she truly felt.  

But Gideon was gone.  There was no longer anyone else around to see the tears Wendy Wilderon sobbed that night.

Part 2:  Wood

Chapter 4:  The Promotion 

Providence, Rhode Island, United States of America, January 1900, of the Usoniamatrist Timeline

These were dark days indeed for the United States of America.

The nation was woefully unprepared for the heart-wrenching catastrophe that awaited it at the beginning of the 20th century, two hours before it even began.  The result was the worst airship disaster in US history.  

The destruction of The Centennial was tragic in just the sheer loss of life alone.  But it also sent a sober reminder to the entire world that no unchecked pride in one’s accomplishments ever goes unpunished, in any place or time.  The titanic vessel was the brainchild of the Melah, America’s elite, female fighting force.  It was supposed to be the nation’s next flagship, its crowning achievement.  Pundits predicted that The Centennial’s awe-inducing, aerial presence would usher in a hundred years of peace and prosperity for the USA.  It even received a brand-new class of airship:  Vanquish Class.  And on that bone-chilling, December night, the eve of the new century, the ship’s maiden voyage intended to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, America’s clear dominance in the airship industry, and its establishment as a military world superpower.

But it was not to be.  

Many of the Melah’s high ranking officers and DC’s top dignitaries, aides, politicians and crew disembarked that evening on what was to be a four hour regal excursion of romancing the skies above the greater Washington DC metropolitan area.  But at 2207 Melah hours, Eastern Standard Time, tragedy struck when the hydrogen within the starboard bow envelope of The Centennial caught fire.  In an instant, cries of drunken revelry turned into cries of horror, as the flames engulfed the entire airship in a matter of seconds, causing it to drop like a stone until it crashed into the Potomac River, killing everyone on board.  Tourists and onlookers on the ground could do nothing but watch in helpless disbelief, as America’s new ‘Jewel of the Air’ found its final resting place in a watery grave beneath the frigid waters abutting the nation’s capital.

By New Year’s morning of the year 1900, every major newspaper in all twenty-four US states had released the breaking and tragic news to an understandably shocked and dismayed public.  Within hours, the United States of America fell into a deep well of fear and hopelessness, while at the same time, the nation’s enemies delighted in her tragedy.  President Ellen Grant addressed her fellow Americans midday, declaring the entire month of January as a National Month of Mourning.  She ordered the US flags to be flown at half staff for the entire month, and she urged each and every US citizen to comfort one another in the days of despair to come, regardless of their background, sex, race or religion.

After one of the longest nights the nation had ever faced, the next day nevertheless dawned, as it has always been faithful to do.  Followed by another dawn.  And another.  Albeit devoid of any heat, the January sun remained steadfast, a beacon of brilliance.  Still, it was unable to pierce the blindness that the humbled nation had created for itself, as it groped around in proverbial darkness, a wayward, desperate people seeking a brighter tomorrow.  

Over four hundred miles northeast of Washington DC lay America’s ‘Renaissance City,’ the city of Providence, Rhode Island.  It was an apropos nickname for the times, as The United States could, no doubt, use a rebirth just as soon as possible.  At present, however, most citizens just lumbered around the city as if in some sort of a drunken stupor.  Most public conversations didn’t extend past initial salutations when passing one another on the streets.  And no beautiful Melah airships dotted the sky and delighted the masses anymore. 

Renaissance City was not only an important strategic port to the US military, but also a vital hub in the production of the sleek, exquisite and intricate wooden decks, gondolas and furnishings that earned them their own class of airship:  Providence Class.  The Melah women of that particular model took painstaking care in ensuring that every bolt was secure and every safety measure was adhered to.  Prior to the tragedy, it was not uncommon for a new patent or improved design of feminine ingenuity to be implemented into the permanent blueprints of these vessels on a weekly basis.  Conversely, sweet, lavish creativity and artistry of the most brilliant female minds was also encouraged, as evidenced with every curve, every bannister and every specialized carving of each stunning vessel commissioned.  Every airship within that class became a masterpiece in its own right.  

Providence was part of the New England Airship Triangle, or N.E.A.T. for short.  The other two cities in the trifecta were Boston, Massachusetts and Mystic, Connecticut.  Each Melah airship base in the triangle specialized in a particular strength necessary for successful airship creation and operation.  For Providence, architecture.  For Boston, propulsion and navigation.  And for Mystic, it was achieving the perfect mixture of both aerial compounds needed in the envelopes for flight, and fossil fuels needed in the boiler engines for forward motion.  These three cities collaborated together in building dozens of reliable and beautiful Providence Class vessels, the model that became the recognized standard of excellence during the last half-decade of the 19th century. 

***

Eight days had passed since New Years Day, and it was now the Tuesday of the following week.  

With dainty fingers, US Melah Tech Specialist Mackenzie Jefferson shut the rickety, wood-frame door behind her, so as to not break a nail nor disturb the remaining peaceful maidens still aglow in slumber within their olive chrysalises. The solitary butterfly was the first to emerge from her cocoon and into the long shadows created by her own barracks inside the perimeter of Camp N.E.A.T. Providence.  Warm, wispy exhalations escaped her smooth, ruby-red lips, each one making its short journey through the clean, crisp air of the new dawn, as they crossed the threshold from shady darkness into the brilliant sunlight before dissipating.  Time slowed down for just a moment.  The woman’s chest rose and fell, savoring yet another fresh breath of chilled, morning oxygen, before letting it out again in the form of a feminine whisper-breath, the sound of which was uniquely hers.  

Mackenzie's brief, private acknowledgement of simple pleasures evaporated in an instant.  Reassuming proper military posture, she prepared to greet the affairs of the day with complete and unwavering devotion to the uniform she donned.  On that day however, the tech specialist’s daily assignment would be different.  Her orders, given to her the night before, were to report directly to her commanding officer for duty at 0800 hours sharp, alone, and await further instruction.  

In preparation for the unusual directive, Mackenzie gave painstaking attention to her appearance and dress code, in accordance with strict Melah protocol.  The youthful heiress ironed her Melah greens the night before and made certain the morning applications of her foundation, lipstick, eyeshadow, eyeliner and mascara were impeccable.  She slid out the compact mirror from her military-grade, cross-body satchel, to examine the hair, face and sapphire, cat-shaped eyes which stared glamorously back at her.  The woman beamed in self-satisfaction, convinced that every facet of her military makeup and grooming regimens were exceptional, including the tight, blonde hair bun protruding out past the back of her fitted Melah cap.  After tucking the compact away, the duteous belle adjusted the brim of her cap to prepare to shade her pupils from the sun’s radiance.  Carrying herself with poise and confidence, Mackenzie followed the path of her own visible breaths, as she too, crossed the threshold from shady darkness into the brilliant sunlight. 

Mackenzie’s tummy rumbled like an old jalopy, as she navigated her way toward the Mess Hall.  Upon unceremoniously receiving her tray of mundane rations, she sat down with a couple of other early birds already consuming their victuals.  There was an amiable respect shown among each and every soldier at the table.  Based on how proper meal etiquette was observed by each woman, the mess tent might as well have been a luxurious banquet hall and the meal rations caviar.  Once Mackenzie had completed breakfast, she gently dabbed her mouth with her white, linen napkin, pulled out her compact once again and reapplied her lipstick with a generous coat of shimmering crimson.  Out of the corner of her eye, she recognized the forlorn look of one of her table mates and briefly loaned her cosmetic case to the fellow damsel who had forgotten hers back at the barracks.  Wishing her fellow soldiers a pleasant day as she arose, Mackenzie recovered her makeup kit, bussed her tray and marched in solitary fashion toward the Melah Officer’s Building.

Acting Commander Captain Alyssa Pudens, still drowsy from a rough night’s sleep, leaned back in her office chair, still trying to shake out the last pill rattling around in the small, glass container, so that it could join its partner already in the palm of her hand.  Having finally made its introduction to its twin, the two were swiftly devoured, as Alyssa once again demonstrated, to nobody in particular, her hidden talent of swallowing aspirin without water.  Her frizzed-out, auburn hair sprang out from her bun and from under her cap in haphazard fashion, similar in appearance to someone who had just been struck by lightening before starting their work day.  Rubbing the last granules of sleep out of her dry eyelids only served to remind her that she hardly ever had time to put on makeup, and she marveled with envy how any soldier was able to find the time to do so during these hectic and trying days.  

There was a knock at the door.  “Come in,” said Alyssa.  

The door opened with a slight creak.  Mackenzie, a woman her superior had come to know and trust, marched into the room and proudly saluted, her perfectly-painted, ruby nails extending well beyond her fingers and pointing upward at a forty-five-degree diagonal.  

“Tech Specialist Mackenzie Jefferson reporting for duty, sir.”

Alyssa sighed.  “At ease, specialist,” she said, staring down at her own plain, broken and unpainted fingernails.  “Mackenzie, you know, you don’t have to do all the official Melah protocol things with me.  You and I have been on a first-name basis for over two years now…” 

Mackenzie’s steely gaze remained fixated on the pasty back wall behind Alyssa’s desk.  “With all due respect, captain, with recent events being what they are, I think it would be best for the immediate time being, sir.”

Alyssa threw up her hands.  “As you wish!  But, please sit down, Tech Specialist Jefferson.  That’s an order.”  

Mackenzie’s commanding officer went on to relay some most unfortunate news to her subordinate.

“As you are probably already aware, Ms. Jefferson, The Mid Atlantic Airship Triangle has now been shut down permanently.  Several key officers in the DC tragedy are being investigated, some have even been indicted.  In the meantime, hundreds of Melah soldiers formerly under the M.A.A.T. umbrella have been displaced.  They will either be reassigned to us, to other Melah programs or are resigning from the military altogether.” 

“Yes sir.  I am aware, sir.”  Mackenzie showed scant emotion in her acknowledgement.  

“The Melah or the US Government could have easily shut down the entire US Melah airship program for good,” Alyssa continued.  “The only reason why the New England Airship Triangle is still standing, is because we were able to convince The US Congress that our N.E.A.T. teams work independently from the M.A.A.T.  And therefore, had nothing to do with the calamity on The Centennial.  At the deposition, I and two other Melah officers had to testify for five consecutive hours, without urinating, to persuade them not to close the program down permanently.”

“Noted and appreciated, captain.  More than I can say.”

“Our Melah senior officers and our Federal Government clearly want the airship program to continue, and so do I.  Unfortunately, until we can get to the bottom of this tragedy, the entire program has been grounded… literally.  No one gets off the ground again until we can convince Washington that the program is safe to fly airships again.  Which leads me to you.”

Mackenzie then made an uncharacteristic breach in protocol.  “Sir, forgive me for asking, but I’m just a tech specialist.  Surely you should be talking about all of this with one of your corporals-”

“No.  I should be talking to you, Ms. Jefferson.  You have proven yourself to be an excellent, hardworking and trustworthy soldier under my command, time and time again.  You are intelligent, innovative, and have provided the N.E.A.T. creative and practical solutions that no one else has ever even considered.  Your time for a promotion is long overdue.”  

“I was simply doing my duty, as ordered by my superiors, Captain Pudens.”

“I appreciate that.  And your efforts have not gone unnoticed.  Please.  Stand up, Tech Specialist Jefferson.”  

Mackenzie arose, as Alyssa began fumbling around in her desk drawer for the right insignia.  Upon not finding it, she realized that she’d have to loan Mackenzie her own used insignia instead.  

“…Which is why, Mackenzie, I hereby promote you to the rank of ‘Tech Sergeant,’ along with all the duties and responsibilities that rank entails.”  

“Sir!  Straight… to… Tech Sergeant?” exclaimed Mackenzie.

“Affirmative.  And yes, you are skipping the rank of ‘Corporal’ altogether.  This is not an error nor an oversight on your commanding officer’s part.”  

“Acknowledged!  I humbly accept this promotion with honor and will fulfill my new duties to the best of my abilities, sir!”

“Glad to hear it… Tech Sergeant Jefferson.”  

With pride, Alyssa stood up, removed the lesser insignia rank from Mackenzie’s uniform and replaced it with the gently-loved, tech sergeant identification consistent with her new promotion.  

“I’m sorry that I can’t find a fresh tech sergeant insignia,” said Alyssa.  “I swear I had one around my desk earlier this morning!  We’ll get you a new one soon.”

“If it’s all the same to you, sir,” replied Mackenzie, “wearing the tech sergeant insignia that you once wore, is an incredible honor for me.  With your permission, captain, I’d like to continue wearing this one.” 

Alyssa was touched.  “Okay,” was all she could manage.

“Permission to ask a question?  About my new promotion?”

“Granted.”

“Will Corporals Hyder and Phillips also be under my command, sir?  Or have they too now been promoted?”

The captain let out a deep sigh.  “Hyder and Phillips were dishonorably discharged from the military two days ago, tech sergeant.  That is all you are at liberty to know at this time.  Understood?”  

“Understood, sir.” 

“Your new orders are to arrive promptly with everybody else to the Meeting Hall at 0830 hours tomorrow morning.  I trust you’ve been given the information about the new commanding officer our base will be receiving?”  

“Not yet, sir.”  

“Here, you can have my copy then.”  

Alyssa rummaged around in her desk surface clutter, found the new commander’s bio sheet within a disorganized mess of papers wedged inside a flimsy manila folder and handed it to Mackenzie.  

“Our new base commander will be Major Linnea Latrell.  She will be addressing the base tomorrow with a short speech.  After the meeting, I will meet with you again individually for further orders.”

“Yes, captain.” 

“The office inside your barracks is yours now, Mackenzie.  Complete with a cot and separate washroom and shower.  It’s been vacant for some time and, quite frankly, could certainly use a remodel from someone like you.  Take whatever time you have today to get acclimated to your new office and your new position.”  

“Yes sir, thank you sir.”

Alyssa’s face became grave.  “I do not envy you the monumental tasks you, and those under your command, will be undertaking in the weeks and months to come,”

“With all due respect sir, don’t worry about me,” replied Mackenzie.  “Tragic circumstances notwithstanding, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this day to come.  I cannot wait to get started in my new duties as Tech Sergeant and help rebuild the honor and integrity of the Melah Airship Program.”

“You do realize that it will also require hands-on collaboration with Mystic again, don’t you?” 

Mackenzie shrugged.  “I have no personal vendettas with the ladies in Connecticut, sir.  And any past issues they have with us, I will take personal responsibility to bear.”  

Alyssa beamed with approval at Mackenzie’s reply.  “Now that’s what I want to hear, tech sergeant!  I look forward to your continued hard-working efforts to this unit.”  

“Thank you, sir.”  

“Dismissed… Tech Sergeant Jefferson.”  

The newly-promoted tech sergeant ventured back out into the sunlight.  Several Melah ladies of lower rank respectfully saluted and congratulated Mackenzie upon spotting and recognizing her updated uniform insignia.  Some even stretched their arms out to offer her a celebratory hug.  Mackenzie warmly acknowledged each and every one of their salutations back, while still managing to keep her military composure.  Nevertheless, adrenaline was already beginning to consume her, as she returned to her barracks and the assigned office that was now hers.  

Once she had locked herself inside and shut the curtains, Mackenzie became another person.  With glee, she flung her cap across the room and into her office chair, then ran both of her hands over her hair in ecstatic disbelief and exclaimed, “YES!” in a whisper, sporting the brightest grin that no one would ever see.  

Mackenzie stood three inches taller the following morning, in Melah New French heels and in confidence level.  With perfect posture, the tech sergeant, in full dress uniform, click-clacked her way into the Melah Meeting Hall.  She was one of the first soldiers to arrive, and she proceeded to take her customary seat in the back row.

It would be another ten minutes before her harried superior officer stumbled through the door.  Alyssa’s hair was identical to way it looked the day before.  But that morning, she did manage to throw on some makeup.  Kind of.  

Alyssa strolled up to Mackenzie and put her hand on the seated tech sergeant’s shoulder from behind.  “Has there ever been a time where you didn’t sit in the back row, tech sergeant?”

“I like sitting back here, if you’d care to join me, sir,” replied Mackenzie.  “You’d be surprised how much you can read the room, simply by watching the movements of the back of people’s heads and necks.”

“Nothing surprises me anymore,” said Alyssa.  “Oh, alright, I’ll sit with you in the back today.”  

As soon as the camp had fully assembled, the lights dimmed, reducing the din of the crowd to silence.  Next, a highly-decorated officer paraded across the stage toward the podium.  

“That’s General Joan Brookefield, from Boston,” whispered Alyssa.  “You recognize her, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Mackenzie whispered back.  

The three-star general, and commander of the entire New England Airship Triangle, stepped up to the microphone.  “My fellow soldiers, Melah women, and men, of Renaissance City.  It gives me great joy and pleasure to introduce to you:  your new commanding officer.  Would you please kindly put your hands together and give a warm welcome to your new commander of N.E.A.T. Providence, Major Linnea Latrell!”

There was respectful clapping across the room.  But Mackenzie’s applause immediately fell off, upon getting her first look at the new commander of N.E.A.T. Providence.  She raised her right eyebrow in response to the major’s appearance. 

The new base commander did not wear her hair according to Melah Protocol.  Her locks dangled loose and free, resembling a cascading, ebony waterfall, until they reached her hips.  Mackenzie squinted and reached up to touch the tight bun of her own hair.  It was perfect, exactly to code, just like her own drill sergeant once taught her how to wear it.  

Major Latrell’s full dress uniform was also not to code.  The two top buttons were unbuttoned, exposing an indecent amount of skin, and a gold necklace with a large and brilliant amber centerpiece, rested on her exposed, tan cleavage just below the neckline.  The makeup was all wrong too.  It was professional, a rival to Mackenzie’s own daily regimen.  But the makeup pallet Linnea chose was not military-approved, thus violating the Melah Cosmetics Code and rounding out the many Melah protocol violations that the tech sergeant had been so faithful in adhering to.  

After the din of the audience had diminished, several more awkward seconds went by where the major remained motionless at the podium.

Mackenzie looked over at Alyssa and spoke in hushed tones.  “Perhaps the major is-”

 “Boston!  Mystic!  Providence!”  Linnea’s strong, melodic voice with a Mumbai accent, broke the silence like thunder, startling Mackenzie.  “These three foundational pillars, of hope and promise, comprise the New England Airship Triangle!”  

The major had only uttered two lines of monologue so far, and the crowd was already responding with esteemed applause.

“From the ashes of our recent and horrific tragedy, arises a phoenix!  A trifecta of ingenious propulsion and navigation, noble and chemical acuity, and stunning, aerodynamic architecture!  We are one-third of that phoenix, ladies!  And, by strengthening our forces with the N.E.A.T. camps to the left and to the right of us, with one strong voice of sisterhood and solidarity, we will rise again!” 

Linnea was met with even louder applause. 

“It is only fitting that Providence is also known as the Renaissance City!  This mighty country called The United States of America is ready for a great renewal!  It is starved for one!  And, with one accord, we Melah women will nurse and feed this hungry nation with the assurance of a bigger and brighter airship presence than the world has ever known before!”  

People in different parts of the room began to stand up, in step with the increasingly boisterous clapping.  However, Mackenzie and Alyssa remained seated, glancing over at each other with nonplussed expressions.  Nurse and feed this hungry nation??

“Do not be discouraged from what lies in the past!  I say to you:  Take heart, women!  Take pride in yourselves and your accomplishments!  You are our future!  You are the future of this nation!  We will rebuild!  All of us, you and me!  Together… we are unstoppable!!”  

About ninety percent of the people in the room leaped to their feet in delirious cheering, stomping and applause.  If guards had not been stationed between the front row and the stage, Mackenzie wondered if the crowd would have rushed the major.  

That was the speech.  Having thanked the soldiers one final time, Linnea turned and walked away, stage left.  Even after the major had departed, it took a full minute for the wild acclamation of the camp to finally die down and the soldiers to begin to disperse.  Both the incredulous captain and tech sergeant remained seated with their arms folded.

“Well.  That was vague,” said Mackenzie, getting to her feet and stretching. 

“Yeah,” yawned Alyssa in agreement.  “Quick, though.  Although I think I liked that speech better the first time I heard it… in 1888.”

Mackenzie chuckled.

Alyssa rose to her feet as well, stretching her arms behind her back.  “Anyway, tech sergeant, still want to meet up back in my office at 0930 hours?” 

“Your orders, sir.”

“Be there.”  

Mackenzie smiled.  “Yes, sir.”  

Mackenzie appeared at Alyssa’s office at 9:30AM sharp.  With eager curiosity, she awaited her inaugural assignment as a tech sergeant.  

“First, let me tell you that my orders came down from General Brookefield herself,” began Alyssa.  “She’ll be in Renaissance City for the next few days, helping Major Latrell get acclimated to her new position as commander of this base, before returning to her own office in Boston.” 

“Understood, captain,” replied Mackenzie.  

“As you are already aware, the primary reason for the entire fleet’s grounding revolves around the hydrogen gas that exploded on The Centennial, causing its destruction.  Based on that logic, the main resolution to get our airship program off the ground again is…”  

Alyssa waited for Mackenzie to complete her sentence.  

“…find another gaseous compound capable of lifting our vessels, but does not run the risk of future catastrophes, sir.”

“Precisely.  Tech sergeant, are you familiar with the name ‘Gideon Lapwater?’  A civilian professor, renowned for his scientific work with noble gasses, who has worked most of his professional life with the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate?” 

“No, sir.  To be honest, I’ve made it a point not to get entangled in civilian affairs, but to simply try and please my commanding officers.”  

“Well, in this instance, I’m going to order you to make an exception.”  

“To not please my commanding officers?”  

Alyssa grimaced.  “I can never tell if you’re being serious or not, when you say things like that, Mackenzie.  Anyway, at first it was thought that Mr. Lapwater had perished in the fateful Globe Brothers expedition to upstate Maine back in 1896.”

Mackenzie’s eyes twinkled.  “Oh, okay!  I do think I know who you are talking about now, captain!  He was part of that group searching for Noble Basin and the Fountain of Youth Geyser!”  

“There you go!” exclaimed Alyssa.  “Well anyway, there have been reports from the military since then, that he’s been spotted alive, walking the streets of southeast Connecticut!  Now why an employee of the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate isn’t actually working in Manhattan, is anyone’s guess.  One hypothesis is that he is now working undercover for The Syndicate in New England for some reason.  Anyway, doesn’t matter.  If he truly is alive, it has come to the Melah’s attention that Professor Lapwater may have information regarding a secret, gaseous compound that is highly effective for use in airship travel.  But that also does not have the dangerous potential for combustion like our hydrogen vessels do.  And obviously, his going to Noble Basin and making it back with his life intact has its significant advantages for us as well.  His expertise would also be most helpful in determining whether or not a return Melah mission back to the basin, to harness the gasses there, would be feasible.”

 “And the Melah thinks he still works for the M.A.S.?” muttered Mackenzie. 

Alyssa recognized her subordinate’s condescending tone.  “Is that a problem, tech sergeant?”  

“Well, it certainly tells me a little bit about his integrity, sir.  The Syndicate is a cesspool of human rights violations!”

“Well then, I think the orders that I am about to give to you will actually work in favor toward your impassioned grievance.”  

Alyssa arose from her desk and stood before Mackenzie.  The three-inch height advantage of the captain was neutralized by her flats to the tech sergeant’s heels.

“Look, I know you don’t like dealing with the outside world much, Mackenzie.  Especially when it comes to matters involving The Syndicate.  But you can’t stay cooped up in here forever, you know.  This is as much for your own good as it is for the Melah’s.  I’m saying this to you, both as your commanding officer and as your friend.”  

If Mackenzie was torn on the inside, her outer expression and posture did not reflect it.  “Off the record, sir?  You’ve always been to me like the older sister I never had.  And I know, whatever it is, you have my best interests at heart with this, Alyssa.”  

Now it was Alyssa who needed to keep her emotions in check.  

Mackenzie once again stood fully at attention.  “And now, I await your orders, captain.”

“Very well,” replied Alyssa.  “I have selected you for the following mission, Tech Sergeant Jefferson.  First, you are hereby ordered to engage the leadership of N.E.A.T. Mystic and seek assistance in obtaining information about Mr. Lapwater’s last known whereabouts.  Upon finding the professor, you are then to persuade him to resign from the M.A.S. and come work for the Melah instead!”

“So, like as a private contractor then?”

“Correct.  There are also rumors circulating that he has a strained relationship with The Syndicate that could be reaching its boiling point very soon.  Which means this would be the Melah’s best opportunity to make him a proposal.  We already have a general proposal for Professor Lapwater all drafted up.  You have the rest of today to proofread it, and then rewrite two copies of it as a final draft.  And, you are given authority to add any personal touches to the offer that you feel would help us achieve our mission successfully, provided that the main premise of the proposal remains intact.” 

“Understood, sir.”

“Any questions?”

“And what of our Mystic ladies?  Has our leadership called ahead to notify them of my imminent arrival?”

Alyssa sighed.  “No, and I’ll be frank with you as to the reason why.  Mystic is the weakest link in the N.E.A.T. right now, post-tragedy.  Their chain of command was affected the greatest regarding the crashing of The Centennial.  Some reports are coming in that even suggest borderline insubordination among the women who are left.  Prior attempts of contact from Boston or Providence checking in on Mystic over the last week have been met with at least six different soldiers answering the line.  Most simply state that they are okay, are awaiting instruction on who is going to lead them as a replacement commander, and then they quickly leave the line when they don’t receive a definitive answer.  Sometimes the receiver isn’t getting picked up at all.  Anyway, radio communication simply isn’t getting the job done.”

“So you need someone like me to show up unannounced,” concluded Mackenzie.

“Yes.  Leadership has your back on this, tech sergeant.  Our relationship with Mystic was already strained before the accident.  I fear it may be doubly so now.  We need to nip this problem in the bud before it’s too late.  Show Connecticut that the Melah brass mean business before we have an insurrection on our hands.” 

Mackenzie had a different theory.  

“Sir, with all due respect, has leadership considered that it might be a lot simpler than that?  I mean, without an established command structure, perhaps they’re simply scared right now, and their confidence is shaken from what happened?  That all they really need is for someone to listen to them, as opposed to someone talking down to them?” 

Alyssa pursed her lips, as she handed the tech sergeant her orders and the contract draft for Professor Lapwater.  “For their sakes, Mackenzie, and yours, I hope that your hypothesis is the correct one.  You leave for Mystic tomorrow at 1200 hours.” 

“Noon, sir?  That’s a little late isn’t it?  Isn’t there a Melah bus that arrives in Mystic earlier in the morning?”  

“No, that’s the time that the Melah garage mechanic says that your jeep will be ready.”

Mackenzie’s jaw dropped.  “I’m going to have my own jeep, sir?” 

Alyssa smiled.  “That’s right.  Along with your promotion to ‘Tech Sergeant,’ I have also decided that you should be the Melah soldier that reports directly to me, as my new ‘Assistant to the Captain.’  I think that qualifies you for a personal jeep.”

Mackenzie could barely contain herself, but she still managed to express her gratitude professionally.  “Thank you, sir.  Noon tomorrow will be fine.”  

“I thought you’d see it that way, Mackenzie.  Dismissed.”

Chapter 5:  Feuds and Complacency

The following Thursday morning, a January deluge of heavy rain descended to New England and would not relent until midday.  Nevertheless, nothing could drown Mackenzie’s spirit, knowing that she was about to be entrusted with a military vehicle all her own.  

By 1145 hours, she had already arrived at the Melah garage and fidgeted under the outside awning, while the mechanics inside the structure made the final modifications and inspections on her new set of wheels.  Fat raindrops pounded every alleyway and vehicular thoroughfare that criss-crossed the tech sergeant’s line of sight.  ‘Nature’s tears,’ she called them.  And this day, it seemed like they were calling out Mackenzie’s name, asking her why she hadn’t joined them yet, out on the open road.  She could barely contain her glee, like a young schoolgirl waiting to be released for recess.

12:00.  12:01.  12:02.  The second hand of the military-grade, Longines wristwatch crawled to a snail’s pace.  Tapping her foot like an impatient capuchin, Mackenzie was tempted to go inside and see if there was anyway she could assist in completing the project.  But it wasn’t necessary.  At 12:03, the door flung wide open, and the greasy Melah Head Mechanic notified the tech sergeant that her vehicle was now ready.  Filled with joy, Mackenzie gave the woman a vigorous handshake, not caring what kind of oil or residue might still be left on it.

Inside, the proud trio of hard-working technicians stood in a line behind their vehicular masterpiece.  The tech sergeant approached and looked over the parts and details with meticulous scrutiny, her mind being a living encyclopedia of such things.  After a thorough inspection, she straightened up and gave her final evaluation.  

“Fabulous.”

Mackenzie’s smile brightened up the lackluster room, spreading radiant joy to everyone else within it.  This time, she shook every mechanic’s hand.  

Slipping behind the wheel, giddy with anticipation and excitement, Mackenzie angled the rear view mirror toward her face and spread a fresh coat of cherry around the perimeter of her mouth.  She then rubbed her palms together and licked her lower lip.  Tasting the fresh, wet, candelilla wax of lipstick on her tongue only invigorated her feminal senses further.  As her fellow soldiers went over and opened the main garage door to the exterior, the happy tech sergeant used each and every woman’s first name to thank them one final time, before revving up the engine and vacating the garage via jeep.  

The overwhelming scent of petrichor in her nostrils sent Mackenzie into an adrenaline-laced frenzy, thus rounding out the woman’s five-sensory vehicular experience.  She ran a couple of test loops on the streets within the camp to make sure everything worked properly, right before she idled just inside the main gate which led to the outside world.

“Tech Sergeant Jefferson to Captain Pudens, over,” she called out on her walkie.

“Captain Pudens here, over.”  

“He’s ready, Alyssa.  Permission to proceed with the mission, over.”  

“Permission granted.  Godspeed, Mackenzie, over.”  

“Acknowledged, sir.  Over and out.”  

Mackenzie was ecstatic as she passed through the main gate, placed her foot on the accelerator and sped away from home.  

After the invention of the automobile, engine technology had improved at an impressive rate.  At the turn of the century, some vehicles could now reach maximum speeds of sixty miles per hour.  Even little jeeps like Mackenzie’s could go up to forty-five miles per hour.  However today, based on the current weather and road conditions, wisdom and courteousness dictated that she keep the vehicle at a modest thirty-five miles per hour throughout most of her journey.  

After only a few miles outside the city limits of Renaissance City, Mackenzie’s initial excitement began to wane.  Her mind started to wander, triggered by the mission details and the magnitude of Alyssa’s candor.  And, try as she may, she could not shake the memories yet again.

*** 

“I had a very good feeling that I would see you again…”

“You did?  How?”  

“It’s what we in the military like to call:  ‘Melah Intuition.’”  

“What does that mean, sir?”  

“Well, it’s like the feminine intuition you already have now, Mackenzie.  But we Melah train you and turn it into a superpower that can be used for the betterment of our organization and for this great nation and its people that we serve.”

*** 

Mackenzie smiled.  In all honesty, she could now declare that she had been gifted with that great Melah superpower, thanks to the kind attention of her generous organization.  

Kinda wish I’d kept that summer dress I was wearing before enlisting, though.  

***

“Sir, I would like to be a member of the Melah Airship Program.” 

“I can see that you’ve put a lot of thought into this, Private Jefferson.  But, you do understand how some women in the military might construe this as a conflict of interest, right?”  

“Permission to speak candidly, sir.”

“Granted.”  

“You should know, sir, that that world I left behind is now alien to me.  I saw what the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate did with my own two eyes.  And it filled me with utter revulsion.  It snapped me out of my fantasy world and into the real world.  And now, I have observed the cooperation and camaraderie that comes with the Melah Airship Program.  And I want that, sir.  More than anything.  I have what it takes.  I have the skills, I have the drive, I have the desire.  My loyalties are, and always will be, to my duties as a soldier, to my commanding officer and to the Melah and to the Melah alone.  I hope that I have successfully proven that to you, sir.”

“Hmm.  Have you ever been to New England, private?” 

“Many times, sir.  Growing up, my… parents… owned a summer home over at Martha’s Vineyard.”

“I want you on the next Melah bus to Rhode Island, soldier.  The Melah plans to launch a second airship triangle in that region very shortly, along with the creation of a completely separate, brand new class of airship:  ‘Providence Class.’  I want you as a member of that maiden team, Mackenzie.  I think that it will be a perfect fit for you.  Here are your papers.  Your request to be admitted into the Melah Airship Program is granted, Private Jefferson.”  

***

A dichotomy of sun and rain teased Mackenzie on her ninety-minute afternoon journey from Providence to Mystic.  But to her, the time flew like nothing at all.  She had just crossed the state line into Connecticut and was soon approaching the noticeably-smaller N.E.A.T. Mystic base.  Arriving at the main gate, the tech sergeant smiled and flashed her ID at the gate soldier.  The woman gave her a blank look, said nothing, but nevertheless allowed Mackenzie access onto the military facility.  

Given the rumors handed down by Alyssa, and even more outlandish tall tales from higher leadership, Mackenzie half expected to see bonfires and topless hooligans, running wild around the base to nowhere in particular.  But no, everything and everyone appeared to be fairly routine.  I see no obvious disorderly conduct issues, buildings engulfed in flames or anarchistic smoke signals, quipped Mackenzie in her mind.  Alyssa had given Mackenzie N.E.A.T. Mystic directory information in advance, so she knew how to navigate her jeep to the Officer’s Complex to receive some initial assistance for her mission.  

The complex was empty.  

Mackenzie did a thorough sweep of the building and found no one.  No officers.  No one who appeared to be in charge.  “HELLOOOOOOO?” she cried, “IS ANYONE HERE???!  HELLLOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!”  Only the sound of her own echoes reverberating off the walls could be heard in reply.

The tech sergeant stepped back outside, a bit bewildered.  The camp is obviously occupied.  There are soldiers marching and walking everywhere I look! she thought.  Finally, pulling a chipper-looking private to the side, Mackenzie tested her with a bit of Melah lingo, asking where she could find the Duty Officer.  The meek, young woman informed her that the individual she sought would probably be found at the Military Auxiliary Radio Complex.  Mackenzie had not yet studied that part of Alyssa’s map.  But, after being given some friendly instructions from the private, she thanked the soldier, hopped back in her jeep and headed there next.  

On her second attempt to seek out someone in charge, Mackenzie discovered a facility with signs of life.  She wandered down a nondescript hallway, and past a couple of chatty soldiers headed the opposite direction, before entering a large radio room, the proxy hub of the N.E.A.T. Mystic base post-tragedy.  

About a half-dozen blasé women manned their stations, but didn’t seem to be doing anything productive.  Several had hot beverages way too close to the radio machinery for the tech sergeant’s taste.  Mackenzie’s brow furrowed.  

Upon seeing the visitor in the entryway, the soldier closest to Mackenzie sprang to her feet and acknowledged the stranger from outside the camp.  Her obsidian hair was all up in a tight bun.  And her uniform, posture and makeup indicated to Mackenzie that she was also the only one in the room even remotely trying to follow Melah protocol.  Her tidy workstation backed up that analysis, with only one supplemental item visible:  a small desk set consisting of the United States flag, accompanied by her country flag of origin.  

“May I help you, ma’am?” the short, young, perky Ecuadorian asked.

“I am Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson.  New England Airship Triangle, Providence,” announced Mackenzie, raising her volume enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz.  Welcome to Mystic, tech sergeant,” was the soldier’s warm reply, as she saluted her superior.  “Are you here to inform us about our new commander?”

“Uh, no,” said Mackenzie, saluting back.  “Tech Specialist Ortiz.  I need to speak with your highest ranking officer on base immediately.”

“Si, yes, of course, Tech Sergeant Jefferson.  Here she comes now.”

Emerging from the shadows in the back, another soldier sauntered toward the tech sergeant’s position, sardonically overemphasizing her strides as she came.  Mackenzie suddenly got the chills.

“Corporal Inez Sinclare.”  The woman was curt.  “Is there something I can do for you, Providence?”  

Mackenzie was nonplussed.  “A corporal is in charge?”  

Inez sighed with impertinence, running her hand all the way front to back through her wild and formidable afro.  

“With all due respect, tech sergeant, our former commander and all of Mystic’s other officers were Melah members of our camp that were killed while onboard The Centennial a week ago.  Any sergeants left on our base did a collective AWOL after the tragedy.  And obviously, the Melah brass seem to have more pressing matters to deal with right now than swiftly initiating transfers of personnel in The Armpit of the Atlantic.”

“You have my truest condolences for your losses,” replied Mackenzie.  “Very well, Commander Corporal Sinclare.  I’m looking for information on a civilian who the Melah believes resides in this area.  Professor Gideon Lapwater, a scientist who is proficient in noble elements and gaseous compounds.  It’s rumored that he has seen the legendary Noble Basin and lived to tell about it.” 

“Sorry.  I know of the man you speak of, but we are not completely certain of his exact residence or whereabouts.”  

“Somewhere in Noank.  In the neighboring town of Groton,” Fernanda chimed in.

“Is there someone among you that can show me the way?” asked Mackenzie.

Inez smacked her ample lips and smirked.  “Well as I said before, tech sergeant, we’re a bit understaffed at the moment and quite overwhelmed with work.  It’s a two-and-a-half mile journey to the southwest.  Roads that direction are not traversable for a motor vehicle.  Horse or foot traffic only.  But I’m sure you’ll be easily able to weather such a short journey on foot without breaking a sweat.  Good day.”

Inez turned around and began to head back to her semi-darkened corner.  Fernanda half-heartedly shuffled back toward her own station.  

Mackenzie was peeved.  “I didn’t dismiss you, corporal.  And what is this so-called ‘work’ that you are so overwhelmed with?”

Mackenzie triggered a tripwire.  The woman with the incredible, dark skin complexion, but also the horrible attitude, wheeled around and returned to the scene of the initial encounter.  The commander’s subordinate developed a pained look on her face.  

“Inez, no…” Fernanda muttered.

Inez came a couple of inches closer to Mackenzie the second time around.  “Alright.  The truth?  We don’t trust you, Providence.  Especially not after that stunt Hyder and Phillips pulled!”  

The tech sergeant calmly stood her ground.  “I was informed that those two corporals were dishonorably discharged as a result of their actions, and that was all I needed to know.”  

Inez slapped her forehead with her right hand.  “So your commanding officer didn’t tell you exactly what they did.  How typically predictable. 

“Well, to clue you in, the Pozidriv was originally a Mystic innovation, Tech Sergeant Jefferson.  Hyder and Phillips stole the patent, took credit for it, and then sold it to the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate upon their becoming secret employees of The Syndicate, while at the same time, still posing as members of The US Melah!  Now I don’t know where you were when all this was going on, but I came up with that idea in the first place, and Providence stole it!”

Now Fernanda became heated, only her emotion was directed at Inez.  “Hey!  You and I both came up with aspects of that invention together!  And now you’re taking full credit for it??”

“Doesn’t matter, none of us gets the honors now, isn’t that right, Jefferson?”

Mackenzie took a deep breath, but continued to remain peaceable.  “I can assure you that I had no prior knowledge of that invention being leaked to the M.A.S.  Nor again, was aware of any of the details surrounding the discharge of those two soldiers.  Now I am.  But we have to move on from that.”  

“Well perhaps some of us aren’t ready to move on from it yet,” Inez shot back.

Mackenzie was now becoming dismissive and ready to leave that environment as soon as possible.  “Noank, you say.  Well.  If you cannot or will not help me, I will find it on my own.  Thank you for your time, ladies.” 

The tech sergeant turned around and began to walk away.  Inez called out to her from behind.  

“Girl, how would you feel if something you created was stolen from you?  Although, based on the few minutes I’ve spent with you, I’d say that your indifference speaks volumes!”  

Inez’s disdainful comment now triggered Mackenzie’s tripwire.  She hated it when people got personal about her or about the work she did.  She had come to Mystic in the hopes that she could be a listener, a supporter, to calm fears and anxieties.  But that’s not what happened next.  This time it was she who wheeled around and started making her way back toward the unruly soldier. 

“First of all, commander, I am not ‘your girl.’  I am Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson, US Melah N.E.A.T. Providence!  And you will address me as such, according to my appropriate rank and title, as stated in Melah Protocol 2 dash 1674!  

“And second of all, you’re absolutely right.  I should be more upset.  But not for the reasons you think.  I should be more visibly upset that 179 people fell to their fiery deaths a week ago, including the US SECRETARY OF DEFENSE, on an unmitigated airship disaster that could have been avoided, had the M.A.A.T. followed standard Melah protocol!  I should be more visibly angry that our competition, the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate, exploits loopholes in our government’s child labor laws so that girls and boys, some as young as five, are brutally worked to within an inch of their lives for one measly shilling from time to time!  But above all, I should be absolutely incensed that, despite all this, you Mystics would rather argue about who gets what credit for a stolen patent of what basically amounts to a bolt that is two millimeters longer and point two percent better torque than the bolts we used a year ago!  A BLOODY BOLT!!”  

No one in the room said a word for about ten seconds.  Mackenzie took a couple of short breaths, trying to rebound from her uncharacteristic loss of composure.  

“Now even though I outrank you, I can’t order you to let go of whatever bitterness and resentment that has taken ahold of you.  I will however, try one more time to solicit your help and ask you:  Where can I find Professor Gideon Lapwater?”

Inez hung her head in genuine conviction.  “My apologies, Tech Sergeant Jefferson, for the way I acted, and for any disrespect.  He is somewhere in Noank.  A small coastal community.  That’s all the information we have on him.  I swear.”

“And you have no one on staff who can show me the way?”

Inez looked over at her tech specialist.  “Fernanda, would you please accompany the sergeant to Noank on foot and then report back to resume your duties?  Take her to the docks, that’s most likely where she’ll be able to track down the scientist.  I give you permission to spend the night there, if you feel it’s necessary, but return to Mystic base no later than 1100 hours tomorrow morning.” 

“Yes, corporal,” replied Fernanda.

“Thank you, Commander Corporal Sinclare,” said Mackenzie.  “Look, I know we are all on our last nerves here.  But we Melah are all we’ve got right now.  We have to work together, to look out for one another during these dark days.” 

“Yeah,” Inez replied in resignation. 

“Dismissed,” said Mackenzie, attempting to make her tone as friendly as she could.  Inez turned and slipped away back to her radio console, albeit in perfect military posture the second time.

The rain had ceased, and the weather would remain dry for the rest of the day.  Once outside, Mackenzie got her first, good once-over of Fernanda, now that neither one of them was walking around in insufficient light.  The youthful Ms. Ortiz was blessed with stunning good looks.  There were no blemishes in sight on her bronzed face or hands, and not one of her full, voluminous eyelashes was out of place.  The delightful South American sported a sunny, equator smile that could melt a glacier within a matter of seconds.  But there was something more about her, something way down deep in her spirit that caused her to radiate with an infectious, joyous innocence that intrigued Mackenzie and drew her in.  At a time where every American seemed to be entangled in a crippling web of depression and despair, Fernanda apparently had not received that communique.

First, Mackenzie followed Fernanda to her barracks, so that the tech specialist could access her foot locker and collect a few essentials for the ground mission.  With both Melah sisters now fully prepared, the duo marched side-by-side toward the camp’s south entrance.  

“I really do appreciate you taking time away from your duties to show me the way, Ms. Ortiz,” said Mackenzie, attempting to establish a rapport with the tech specialist.

“No trouble at all, tech sergeant,” replied Fernanda.  “You are, after all, on a very important mission from N.E.A.T. leadership.”  

Fernanda’s smile seemed to have gone from sunny, to strained.  That, and the way Inez had been earlier, had Mackenzie searching for subliminal meaning.  

“Something on your mind, tech specialist?” 

“Well, to be completely honest, Tech Sergeant Jefferson, yes!”

“This better not be about your personal grudges again…”

Fernanda’s eyes popped open, realizing she had been misunderstood.  “Oh, no!  No, no, nothing of the sort, tech sergeant!  I am curious about one thing though.  Permission to ask you a question?” 

“Granted?” 

“Why are you not pursuing this mission fully within the Melah jurisdiction?”

“Specialist?”

“I mean, far be it for me to question your mission plans handed down to you by your superiors,” Fernanda continued.  “I’m sure Mr. Lapwater has all kinds of invaluable information about noble gases!  But, surely you already have all the information you need, from talking with Melah Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon Retired!”

“Lieutenant… Wilderon?”  

“Retired,” corrected Fernanda, becoming increasingly baffled.  “Oh don’t tell me Providence sent you away without giving you all the necessary tools to do your job, tech sergeant!”

The tech sergeant froze in her tracks, causing the tech specialist to do so as well.  “Okay, stop,” Mackenzie chirped.  “I have no idea who or what you are talking about!  Let’s you and I get on the same page here, before we take another step!”

“Okay,” replied Fernanda.

“Okay, you go first.”  

“Why are you going to see Lapwater?  Other than, ‘you were ordered to?’”  

“Because, he’s a proficient in noble gases and gaseous compounds!”  

“So are dozens of other Melah scientists, myself included!  What makes civilian Lapwater so unique?”  

“He… is one of the only known individuals to have ever seen the Noble Basin and lived!  He, therefore, is the foremost authority on the subject and on the secrets the basin holds!”

Fernanda shook her head.  “Uh-uh.  Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon lived there three years and would be an even better authority!”

“And just who is Wendy Wilderon?”  

Fernanda gave Mackenzie the long answer.  

“Okay, so I had just graduated from high school in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, class of ‘97, and immediately enlisted into the Melah, Fort Lang.  I had an extremely strict but fair drill sergeant.  Had I been eligible for enlistment, like four years earlier, Wendy Wilderon would have been my drill sergeant.”

“Okay, go on,” said Mackenzie.

“During the early weeks I was in basic training, there was this big commotion on base.  Some… lieutenant… had just returned from some three-year mission, after being stationed in a remote outpost in upstate Maine for that time period.  That’s where the Noble Basin is rumored to be, so I just assumed that’s where the officer was stationed.”

“Wilderon again.”

“Yes.  I never saw her face, there was this air of obscurity surrounding her return.  The only information I could gather was that her mission was an overwhelming success, and her research would greatly benefit the Melah organization for years to come.  She immediately retired from the Melah just after that, becoming a private citizen living… who knows where!”

“My superiors never informed me at all about this individual!” exclaimed Mackenzie.  “Do you have any idea what her mission was about?”  

“Only bits and pieces.  My ‘need-to-know-basis’ as a private was sorrier than any other rank in the military, obviously.  But I do know that the results of her handiwork are evident around your waist:  your sidearm?”  

“What of it?”

“Relatively new model?”  

“We were given a new model of laser pistol just under a year ago, yes.  Far more accurate than previous models.”

“It was Lieutenant Wilderon’s research on krypton gas in Noble Basin that helped perfect the laser accuracy of our latest sidearms,” explained Fernanda.  “I’m still surprised leadership didn’t tell you about her, or at the very least, that you didn’t have some sort of prior knowledge regarding Ms. Wilderon’s work!”

Mackenzie sighed.  “Please don’t take this wrong, Fernanda.  But my duties simply don’t afford me the time, nor do I have the inclination off-duty, to personally research each and every benefit that noble gases have afforded the Melah over previous years and decades.  Or the scientists that introduced them.”

“But you see my point, don’t you?  Don’t you think you should at least attempt to track down Retired Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon, wherever she may now reside?”  

“Yes.  Your suggestion has merit, Fernanda.  But, before we set a new course and go hundreds or even thousands of miles in a different direction to find her, can we not at least proceed to Noank and try and find Gideon Lapwater?  Then, afterwards, I promise, I will investigate your lead regarding Ms. Wilderon.”

Fernanda remained persistent and insistent.  “Yes, but, we’re still not officially underway, and the Melah Personnel Office in Boston is still open for about another hour!  Aren’t you the least bit curious now?”

 Mackenzie now faced an unexpected new challenge to her familiar, unwavering adherence to Melah protocol:  indecision.  

“My goodness, corporal!  Do you ever do any actual work at this airship facility?” 

Mackenzie didn’t even bother waiting inside the doorway to the Radio Room to be recognized this time.  Instead, she just marched straight back to Inez’s desk and caught her sitting and drinking coffee near the equipment again.  The commander was not particularly pleased to see the tech sergeant so soon, thinking she had at least until the next day before that event occurred. 

“Tech Sergeant Jefferson!  I thought you’d be well on your way to Groton by now!”

“Slight change of plans, commander.  I require more of your assistance first, before I depart.  I would like you to contact the Melah Personnel Office in Boston immediately.  I require information regarding a retired Melah officer:  Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon.”  

Inez gave Mackenzie a deadpan look.  “Name doesn’t sound familiar.” 

“I know who she is,” said Fernanda.  “Please… just help the tech sergeant, Inez.”

“Very well, let me get them on the line, Tech Sergeant Jefferson,” replied Inez, swiveling her chair around back to her station.

The soldiers assigned to the Melah Personnel Office in Boston had a courteous reputation and were happy to assist any Melah base in the N.E.A.T. triangle that reached out to them.  However, Mystic’s latest request was difficult to track down.

“Look, I’m sorry,” said the operator.  “I’ve checked the officer database three times, and I do not have any records of a Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon Retired.  Over.”  

Inez gave Fernanda an annoyed look.  Fernanda gave Mackenzie a defensive look.  

“Tech Sergeant Jefferson, I didn’t just come up with this person out of thin air!  She’s got to be in their database!”

“Mystic, are you still there, over?” crackled the voice on the radio.  

“Stand by, Boston.  Over,” said Inez.  The commander corporal swiveled in her chair back the opposite direction to face the two women looming over her, snapped the fingers of her right hand and pointed.  

“She didn’t check the non-officer directory…”

“Inez, why would you think that Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon would be in the non-officer-enlisted women’s directory?” asked Fernanda.  

“Melah intuition,” Inez replied.  

Mackenzie nodded.  “Proceed, commander.”  

Inez got back on the line.  “Boston, would you mind now checking the non-officer files for any record of a soldier named Wendy Wilderon?  Say, over the past ten years or so?  It’s possible that someone over here may have misclassified her rank.  Over…”  

“I did not misclassify her rank,” Fernanda pouted, stomping her heel and folding her arms like a spoiled five-year-old.

“Quiet, you,” snapped Inez, her tone maternal in nature.

A minute or so passed, and then Boston returned to the line with some new information.  

“I found her, Mystic!  In the non-officer files, just like you said!  Over…”  

“Good call, commander!” exclaimed Mackenzie to Inez, warmly placing her left hand on the corporal’s right shoulder.  Inez managed a slight smile and nodded, just before she reopened the communication line.

“Acknowledged!  What do you have for me, Boston, over?”  

“Drill Sergeant Wendy Wilderon, Fort Lang, Portsmouth, New Hampshire.  Honorable discharge from The US Melah in 1894,” read back the operator.  “I have her bio sheet and discharge papers right in my hand!  Over…”

Mackenzie glanced over at Fernanda again.  “Drill sergeant?”

Fernanda’s normally wrinkle-free forehead furrowed, adding five years to her appearance.  

“That isn’t accurate, tech sergeant!  She was a drill sergeant, but then got promoted and retired as a lieutenant three years later in 1897!  I’m sure of it!  I know a whole room of people who would back me up on this!”

Mackenzie attempted to wave off the discrepancy for the immediate moment.  “Commander.  Ask Boston if they have any current address records for Ms. Wilderon on file.”  

“Madam, do your records indicate if ‘Drill Sergeant’ Wilderon has any forwarding address information on her personnel file, over?” asked Inez.

“Affirmative,” replied the operator.  “Allow me to fax Ms. Wilderon’s military portfolio over to your office?  Over?”  

“That would be most appreciated, sir.  Over…”  

“Any other way our office can be of service this afternoon, corporal?  Over?”

Mackenzie whispered ‘no’ to the commander.  

“That will be all, sir,” replied Inez.  “Thank you again for your assistance.  Over…”  

“You’re welcome, Mystic.  Personnel out.”  

It didn’t take long for the requested fax information to get sent over to the mail center, one room over.  Tech Specialist Ortiz made a disagreeable face at seeing the blank parchment chug through the machinery at a snail’s pace and come out as printed manuscripts on the other end.  But at least there wasn’t a paper jam that time.

“I don’t like facsimiles,” said Fernanda.  “Two out of three times they are completely illegible, it seems like…”

“It’ll do,” said Mackenzie, retrieving the documents from the fax machine.  She froze for a second, then shook her head.  “These discharge papers clearly state that Wendy Wilderon was discharged as a drill sergeant in 1894.”  

“Then the discharge papers have been falsified,” replied Fernanda matter-of-factly.  

“That is a serious accusation, tech specialist…”  Mackenzie’s voice started out stern, but then softened.  

“But, I believe you, Fernanda.”  

Fernanda was grateful for having already gained Mackenzie’s trust.  “Thank you, for believing me, tech sergeant,” she said with a smile.    

Mackenzie continued to review the paperwork.  “Ah!  Ms. Wilderon’s last known residential address is in Connecticut too!  Hartford!”

Fernanda’s optimism was renewed.  “Well, Hartford is only fifty miles from here!  You could take your jeep there in just a couple of hours, when you get back here from Noank!”

“Speaking of Noank, you and I had better resume our foot journey, tech specialist!” exclaimed Mackenzie, looking at the time.  “It gets dark way early in January!”

Chapter 6:  Courage and Innocence

Although perturbed at the beginning, regarding the Personnel Office’s record inconsistencies surrounding Wendy Wilderon, Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz’s contagiously optimistic personality would not allow her to stay mad for very long.  She seemed pleasantly happy to have been ordered on an away mission, even though it was less than three miles away.

Mackenzie soon realized that both she and the tech specialist from Mystic had a lot in common.  Both women exuded confidence, athleticism, comeliness and influence within their respective rank, insignia and N.E.A.T. military base.  Fernanda was easy to talk to, and Mackenzie could tell that she loved being in the Melah. 

With the smile returning to Fernanda’s face, the Mystic woman decided to challenge the Providence woman’s physical prowess with some playful athleticism, deliberately increasing her walking pace just a smidge.  The move became apparent to Mackenzie right away.  She looked over at Fernanda and smiled back, tilting the scale the other way with a small burst of energy of her own.  Back and forth they went.  

By the time Noank came into view, the two ladies were at an all-out sprint, neck-and-neck, huffing and laughing at the same time.  They raced up a small hillock just off to the left of the dirt road as the unofficial finish line, Mackenzie beating Fernanda by a hair.  The two smiling ladies bent over to catch their breath for a couple of minutes.

“I win,” gasped Mackenzie, placing her hands on her thighs.

“Yep,” conceded Fernanda.  “Fair and square.”  

“Rules of Engagement… Melah Protocol 105:  Never… challenge… a Jefferson… to a footrace.”  

“They only made… 104 rules in that category…”  

“Oh yeah… So they did.” 

“Anyway, Mackenzie, Noank is just a few more furlongs ahead down the main road there.  I’d better get back to Mystic before it gets any darker.” 

Fernanda seemed to have many endearing qualities and attributes, so it was peculiar to Mackenzie that she did not want to boldly go the rest of the way into town.  

“You’re not coming all the way, tech specialist?”

“Well… it’s not that I don’t… well I’m not trying to… I…”  

Mackenzie straightened up and stood in front of her.  “Fernanda, are you nervous about going down there?”

Fernanda pursed her lips.  “Sergeant, it’s no Mystic, and it’s no Providence.  Noank has a reputation for being one of the most seediest, dangerous, most crime-ridden communities across the entire eastern seaboard!” 

“Fernanda,” said Mackenzie, reassuringly, “you don’t have to be afraid.  We are Melah.  We’ve been trained for this environment, for just this exact situation.  With two of us going in there, we’ll be ten times stronger than with just one.  I promise to have your back, just as I know that you’ll have mine.  You can do this, Fernanda.”   

Fernanda took a deep breath, smiled and nodded her head.  “I can do this.  Yes, tech sergeant.”

“There you go.  Just stay close to me, keep your eyes peeled, and let’s get this mission over with as soon as possible.”  

“Yes, Tech Sergeant Jefferson.”  

Dusk had fallen, as Mackenzie and Fernanda descended into Noank.  Most of the businesses, shops and boutiques in town had already closed for the day.  A few fishermen and fisherwomen had just returned from sea and were docking their boats, soon to be headed to the taverns right after work.  The grinding of gears and the clanging of a blacksmith’s anvil could be heard.  Animated conversations amongst the locals were beginning up and down the main street between the businesses and the ocean, but nothing belligerent yet.  

The appearance of two unfamiliar Melah soldiers at the north end of Front Street didn’t change the town’s dynamic by much.  Nevertheless, Mackenzie felt it best to remain in a state of continual motion, heading south onto the wooden plank walkways outside the pubs and businesses on the western side of the street.  Fernanda stuck close by, about a shoulder length back and behind, as there was not enough room to walk side-by-side without monopolizing the walkway from anybody who may wish to head north.  

Fernanda noticed that Mackenzie was window shopping the pubs, passing the first two with a subtle shake of her head.  The problem was that Front Street wasn’t a long road to begin with, so her options were limited.

“Why are you scouting out all the bars, tech sergeant?” Fernanda finally got up the nerve to ask.  

“A common practice to locate someone is to inquire at one of the local drinking establishments,” explained Mackenzie.  “I see no reason to deviate from that protocol.”

“You mean like, actually going into one?”  

“Yeeeeess…”

Fernanda was starting to get nervous again.  “I’m barely drinking age.  I’ve never even been into a bar before,” she confessed.

“It’ll be okay, Fernanda.  Just stay close, don’t go wandering away from me, and let me do all the talking.  Got it?”

“Got it.”  

They arrived at their next option as they were talking.  This particular establishment had a prominent, sturdy, oak sign, hanging from the rafters, assumedly with the owner’s name on it.  

Mackenzie smiled and nodded.  “Okay.  ‘Bethany’s.’  Hmm.  I’d say this is the place.”  

Right before the soldiers took a sharp right, Fernanda looked into the eyes of a grubby, old woman with a crotchety disposition.  Whimpering, but not loud enough for anyone to notice, the tech specialist scurried ahead, making sure she remained in close proximity with the tech sergeant, as they entered the tavern. 

Once inside, Mackenzie was reassured that she had made the right choice.  Bethany’s didn’t have the loud, live music of the first bar, nor the pungent smell of yesterday’s urine and puke of the second.  It was a well-lit, spacious room, with tables spread out in equal intervals and about a half dozen patrons occupying a few of them.  The setting was consistent with a Thursday clientele, whose tavern had been open for twenty minutes or so.  

The bar in the back was completely open, with ten vacant barstools.  Behind it, a tall, heavyset woman was drying her shaker pints, her back turned to the patrons.  Every so often, she would reach up and straighten a label of one of the alcohols lined up against the rear wall.  In all honesty, the woman looked bored and apathetic.  Recognizing that the bartender would not turn around unless somebody said something, the tech sergeant decided to make the first move, as she and Fernanda approached.

“Two sarsaparillas, please,” said Mackenzie, with confidence.

The lady turned her neck back around just far enough that she could get a quick, peripheral glance at the two women sitting down on the far left stools.  “Lo siento,” was the gruff reply.  “We don’t allow menores in the bar.”  

Caught off guard by the initial response, Mackenzie had to course-correct in a hurry.  “Oh, she… she’s not a minor.  She’s twenty-one.  Fernanda, show her your military ID.”  Fernanda was already in the process of getting it, and she then gingerly handed it to the bartender.  

The woman turned completely around, looked over the identification line-by-line to confirm its authenticity and then glared at her two unusual guests again.

“You two… um…?” she asked, waving Fernanda’s ID card left-right-left-right between her index and middle finger at the two women.

It was another curveball statement, as if the host was now intentionally trying to rattle them.  Mackenzie looked over at Fernanda in confusion, and then back at the bartender, before she picked up on the insinuation. 

“Oh!  No.  No, we’re just friends and colleagues,” Mackenzie replied. 

“Frolleagues,” clarified Fernanda, with a smile.

Fernanda’s awkward comment sent a cold shiver throughout Mackenzie’s body and caused a slight drop of her jaw.  This is not going well, she thought.  

The bartender stared stone-faced at Fernanda for a few seconds, before her right hand stretched outward, offering the tech specialist back her ID card.  Fernanda tugged at it a couple of times, to no avail, until the host finally separated her fingers and let it go.  The tech specialist cough-giggled as she returned her ID to her uniform pocket and attempted to readjust her arms on the bar top.

The woman once again turned her back to them, moving a bit to the left for the keg with the desired beverage.  “Sarsaparillas, eh?  You mujeres must still be on duty.”

“That’s right,” Mackenzie replied.  

“So what brings you into Bethany’s this evening?”

“We’re in town looking for someone.  Name’s… Gideon Lapwater.”

The barkeep turned back around and handed Mackenzie and Fernanda the drinks they ordered, contained in shaker pints she had just dried.  “Lapwater.  Yeah, I know the name,” she yawned.  

“Do you have any idea where I could find him?”

The woman grumbled and rolled her eyes.  “He doesn’t come in here very often.  And when he does, it’s usually in the early evening.  He sits down, drinks just una cerveza and then leaves again.  Coming to a bar just to drink one pint every now and then hardly seems worth it, in my opinion.”

 “Oh, but moderation’s a good thing!  Alcoholism is a horrible epidemic in this country right now!”

Fernanda had just spoken out of turn again, and quite matter-of-factly at that.  Mackenzie’s face went ghost white at hearing the tech specialist’s potentially-lead-ending declaration.  Feeling lightheaded and nauseous at the same time, the tech sergeant was ready to throw up, and she had no alcoholic beverage for an excuse.  Instead, her neck went limp, allowing her forehead to emphatically slam into her folded arms resting across the bar top, wishing she knew a way to pass out right then and there.

The barkeep stared incredulously at Mackenzie, stared incredulously at Fernanda and then stared incredulously back at Mackenzie.  And then she began to laugh.  

“Hahahahahahaha!  I like her!  She speaks her mind without fully thinking it through first!”  

The host reached for something resting on the underbar and then handed a medium-sized bowl to the young tech specialist.  “Here.  Have some pork rinds to go with your non-alcoholism beverages!  On the house, dear!”

“Oh!  Why, thank you, ma’am!” replied Fernanda, reaching for the offering and then placing one of the morsels into her mouth.  “Mm!  These are delicious!  Did you make these?”

“Si,” replied her host proudly.  

“Oh!  These are so tasty!  I have got to get this chicharrón recipe from you!  Mackenzie, you have to try these!”  

With the back of her right hand, Fernanda slid the bowl down the bar top, until it collided with the tech sergeant’s shoulder.  Mackenzie’s eyes lifted up out of the darkness of her sleeve, but she was still in a significant state of shock.

The woman grinned, having now become enthralled and enamored with the young tech specialist.  “First time in a bar, señorita?”

“Pffffft!  Isn’t it obvious?” Fernanda replied, waving her hands, rolling her eyes and smiling.

“Well then, it is a true honor that you chose Bethany’s as your inaugural tavern experience!”

“The honor is all mine, madam.”

“Please… call me Bethany.  You know, you drys are alright!”  

Bethany leaned forward, making as if she wanted to say something to the two Melah soldiers in confidence.  Fernanda moved in as well.  Mackenzie was already forward, although her nose and mouth pretty much remained in her sleeve.  

“Lo siento that I wasn’t being completely honest with you earlier.  Lapwater actually did get drunk in here once, it was pretty recent too!  About, oh, two weeks ago!  Nearly passed out right on that table over there!  I ended up deciding to escort him back myself to his apartment just a few blocks away.  I remember it clearly, so I’ll write down his address for you…” 

Bethany winked at Fernanda.  “…as well as my chicharrón recipe!”  

“Oh, that would be great, Bethany!  Thank you!” exclaimed Fernanda.  “Oh, Mackenzie, I’ve got to get some of these pork rinds to go!”

After a minute, the pub host handed the tech specialist a slip of paper.  “Alright, I’ve written down all the information for you.  Including some overnight lodging details at the Noank Inn for you two, just one street over.  Just tell ‘em ‘Big Bethany’ sent you.  They’ll give you a huge discount!”

Fernanda took the information, grinning from ear to ear with gratitude.  “You have been such a big help, mi amiga!  Thank you so much again, Bethany!”

The host beamed with gladness.  “It’s the least I could do for a couple of out-of-towners who just turned my entire evening around!  Pleasure is all mine!  Excuse me, ladies.”  Bethany concluded their conversation, seeing that other guests had just sat down at the other end of the bar.  

Fernanda nodded, and then she looked over at Mackenzie again with an even cheesier grin, before taking another sip of her sarsaparilla and procuring another pork rind.  The color began to return to the tech sergeant’s face, as she slowly began to realize what exactly just went down.  And it was all courtesy of Tech Specialist Ortiz’s trifecta of naivety, innocence and joyous charisma.

Heeding Big Bethany’s advice,  Mackenzie and Fernanda headed over to the Noank Inn to book a room for the night.  They received their discount, as promised by the barkeep by stating her name, and soon found themselves in an adequate two-queen, one washroom sleeping quarters on the second floor, with a window overlooking the bay.  Mackenzie was a bit apprehensive as she reapplied her makeup and pondered her next move. 

“Your rapport with ‘Big Bethany’ was unorthodox, but it got the job done and then some!  Well done, Fernanda!”

“Thank you, tech sergeant,” replied Fernanda.  “So are we going to go find Professor Lapwater now?”

Mackenzie shook her head.  “No.  This mission I take alone.”

“Why?  What happened to ‘two equals ten?’”  

“We dodged a figurative bullet over at Bethany’s, Fernanda.  I don’t want one hitting you this round.  We don’t know Lapwater’s current condition, and having two Melah at his door may be ten times more intimidating to him than just having me be there.  And even then he might not cooperate.  I also haven’t forgotten that this is a very dangerous place, especially as the night rolls on.  Which is exactly why I need you as my backup support system.”

“But-”

“Remain here.  If I’m not back here by 2200 hours, I want you to radio Mystic for reinforcements.  Those are my orders.”

The tech specialist swallowed hard and nodded.  “Yes, tech sergeant.  Please be careful out there, Mackenzie.  Okay?”

“I will.  2200 hours, Fernanda,” were Mackenzie’s parting words, as she left the unit and went back down the outside stairs.

Mackenzie found her way back to the main street headed west-to-east that separated Front Street to the north and Riverview Avenue to the south.  It was the latter of which Gideon Lapwater was rumored to be residing on.  

Human voices were getting louder, as more people all around the tech sergeant were becoming intoxicated.  She came up to a trio of unsavory gentlemen, who appeared like they might be eyeing her over for nefarious reasons.  The woman pulled back her unbuttoned coat, exposing the holstered laser pistol around her waist.  

“Don’t even think about it.”  Her voice was sweet and gentle, yet somehow, also menacing.  The men stood down.  Mackenzie was awash in confidence as she passed them, and the weapon became unseen again.  

“Man, I love being a woman.  A Melah woman.”

Mackenzie approached the grungy, rundown, one-story apartments that Bethany had indicated.  If the information was accurate, the tech sergeant would find Gideon in the third apartment from the left.  Knocking on the appropriate door, she awaited an answer.  

A seemingly timid individual opened the door just a crack.  

“Ah!  And now she’s sent the Melah to collect?  Look, I told Ms. Snodgrass I would have payment in full to her by next week, now go away!”  

The tech sergeant’s hands sprang up in the air.  “Sir, I’m not here about your bills!”  

“Oh?”  

The woman flashed her ID.  “Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson.  Are you Gideon Lapwater, professor and scientist for the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate?” 

Without another word, the door slammed shut, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating from the entryway on the inside.  

“Huh,” said Mackenzie to herself.  

She was about to knock again, when she remembered her training.  Placing her right hand on the doorknob instead, she attempted to turn it to the right.  She was successful.  “Huh,” Mackenzie said again, as she tucked in her shoulder and pushed the front door inward with it.  

The man who had just laid back down in bed craned his head up, as an emboldened Mackenzie marched into the apartment, like she owned the place.  

“How did you get in here-”

“You didn’t lock the door,” she replied blithely, after which time she stood at the foot of his bed and struck a pose:  confident, feminine, obviously non-military.  “Rules of Engagement, Melah Protocol, Rule Number 1:  Check the knob first.  It doesn’t work ninety-eight percent of the time, but the two percent of the time that it does work, it saves a great deal of hassle.”  Mackenzie ended her explanation with a simultaneous upward nod of her head, a wink and a smug smile at the tenant.

The man was beside himself.  “What do you want?” he cried.

“You are Professor Gideon Lapwater of the M.A.S.?”

“No, I am Professor Gideon Lapwater of the odd jobs and the otherwise unemployed!  The Syndicate fired me over three-and-a-half years ago!”  

Gideon traipsed back to the main entryway, head hung in defeat.  “The one time I forget to lock this door,” he grumbled to himself, locking and bolting it this time.  

Mackenzie pondered.  “Hmm.  I was not aware of that fact.  Oh well.  One less thing,” she shrugged. 

The cynical professor smirked as he lay back down.  “Knowing them, the M.A.S. probably still shows me as an active employee to confuse anyone who might want to recruit me elsewhere!  You still haven’t told me what you want, by the way.”

“To recruit you elsewhere,” the tech sergeant grinned. 

“Work for the Melah?  You must be desperate to be casually waltzing through my unlocked door!”  

“I won’t mince words with you, Mr. Lapwater.  I’d say our leadership is pretty desperate.” 

Gideon shook his head, as he wriggled his way to a sitting position, with his back against the headboard.  “I don’t understand.  You should have all kinds of experts in house that should come ahead of me!  What about that… lieutenant I met that was stationed in Noble Basin?  Wendy Wilderon?  Haven’t your leaders tried to seek out her counsel yet?”

Mackenzie was busy reaching into her satchel to look for the Melah contracts.  But, upon hearing Wendy Wilderon’s name come up for the second time that day, she straightened up and folded her arms, now feeling even more determined to seek out Ms. Wilderon later.

“No.  No, but I intend to.”  

Gideon cocked his head.  “You?  All by yourself, tech sergeant?  Well then.  I wish you the best of luck…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

“She’s a curmudgeon!” exclaimed Gideon.  “One of the most sourest dispositions of any woman I’ve ever come in contact with in my entire existence!  I cannot deny that she saved my life in that basin, no, no.  But to be in that environment for three days, listening to her complain constantly about her bad misfortune.  To be notified about Ms. Wilderon’s every little ache and pain the moment it happened!  The reason I say ‘good luck’ to you, is because I think it’s going to take a lot more convincing from a lot more people higher up the food chain than you to get her to cooperate!  But if your orders were indeed to take this on solo, believe me when I tell you that you made the right decision by trying me first!”

The tech sergeant’s face brightened.  “You’ll help me then?”

“I didn’t say that.”  

Mackenzie let out a deep sigh.  “Mr. Lapwater, I’m offering you a second chance here.  To get rid of your baggage regarding the M.A.S. and join up with a military organization that will truly listen to you and take your research seriously!  Don’t you want that for yourself?  Don’t you want redemption for what the M.A.S. did to you?”

Gideon’s eyes squinted, a small sneer forming on the side of his mouth, his demeanor becoming almost misanthropic.  

“I know your type.  To you, this is just some routine Melah assignment.  To fulfill your mission by appealing to my emotions, getting me to say ‘yes’ and then moving on to your next assignment.  I give you high marks for your attempt, militarily speaking.  But to you personally, I’m just some pity case, aren’t I?”  

Mackenzie became equally perturbed toward Gideon.  “You don’t know what I think about you.  You don’t know anything about me, Mr. Lapwater.  If you would simply allow me the opportunity to-is there ALWAYS yelling in the streets outside your apartment like this??”

The professor’s face softened at the sudden change of subject.  “Except for Tuesdays.  No, wait, they brought that back,” he wisecracked.  “Yeah, pretty much every day.”  

“I don’t know how you can stand being in this place with all this noise.”

“Just wait until the lovebirds on the other side of this wall get going!”

Mackenzie recoiled in utter disgust.  “Ugh!  I didn’t need that mental picture in my head this evening, Mr. Lapwater!”

Gideon laughed.  “It’s fun to tease you.  You take it so poorly.”  

Pound, pound, pound, pound.  The same door that Mackenzie had walked through a few minutes earlier was now being pummeled by a heavy fist.  “Okay, now what?” she exclaimed.

“Open up, Mr. Lapwater!” shouted a gruff, loud, male voice on the opposite side of the entryway.

“Oh no,” gulped Gideon.

“What is it?” asked Mackenzie.

“It’s Brad.”  

“Brad.”  

“My landlady’s enforcer,” clarified the professor.

“You’re three months behind on your rent, Gideon!  Time’s up!” Brad shouted through the bolted door.

“Three months?!” whisper-exclaimed Mackenzie.

“Mmm-hmm… just a moment please, Ms. Jefferson,” said Gideon, turning his attention to the enforcer with a shout.  “Brad, I told you I’d have the payment in full to Ms. Snodgrass by next week!  You know I’m good for it…!”

“Sorry, Mr. L!  I’m not that dumb!” was Brad’s reply.  “You said the same thing to me ten days ago!  Now let me in!”  

Mackenzie just smirked and shook her head.  “Sounds like your luck just ran out, Mr. Lapwater!”  

“You may be right, miss,” agreed Gideon.  “Knowing Brad, he’s likely to literally throw me out onto the street, along with every cathode, electrode and test tube I managed to save during my blackball from the M.A.S.!”

The tech sergeant began fumbling around again in her satchel.  “How much for rent?”

“Seven a month.”

“For this place??” Mackenzie chirped in disbelief.  

Gideon lifted his index finger and inhaled audibly, in preparation to say something totally impertinent to her.  But then, he was interrupted once again.  

“Don’t make me break down this door, Mr. L!” hollered Brad.

Mackenzie rolled her eyes.  “Fine… I’ll handle this.”

“No, don’t open the door!” cried Gideon.  He leaped out of bed, ran over to the tech sergeant and unwisely entered Mackenzie’s personal space.  “You don’t know this guy!  He’s like… two feet taller than you are!  A freakish, muscular monster!”

But Mackenzie was nonchalant.  She broke away from the professor and resumed moving toward the entryway, with confidence.  “Guy sounds like a wimp,” she said.  “Just like you.”  

Brad was still pounding on the door when Mackenzie unbolted it, unlocked it and then threw it wide open.  

“What??!” she exclaimed.  “Three months rent you say?!  Here, will that cover it??”  Mackenzie opened up Brad’s gigantic hand and slammed exactly twenty-one shillings into it.

Expecting to see a delinquent Gideon at the door, and not a blonde, female soldier with payment in full staring him down, Brad was taken aback.

“I… I… uh… who… are…?”

“Why are you still standing there??” Mackenzie complained, looking up at him straight in the eye.  “I suppose it’s because you want an advance on the next one now, too!  Okay, fine!!”  She slapped another seven shillings down.  “There’s another month, now leave the poor professor alone until the March rent is due!”

Brad’s jaw wavered in indecision, as he ran his free hand through his bleached hair.  “Wait, I… Look!  Ms. Snodgrass got me all riled up, woke me up out of a deep slumber to come down here!  I sleep evenings, you know!  I think I should be owed something more for my time coming down here!”

Mackenzie raised her eyebrows, batted her lush eyelashes and puckered her lips.  “Ohhhh.  I seeeee,” she purred, before abruptly changing her tone.  “Well, I’m sorry sir, but I’m just not that kind of a woman!”

“Wait… no, now wait a sec.  I didn’t mean it like…”  Brad’s uneasiness doubled.  “Madam, I’m married!” he whispered.  

“You’re coming on to me while you’re still married to another woman?!  That’s absolutely despicable!”  

Several people within a block of the tech sergeant’s voice looked up to see what the commotion was all about.  And about the subject matter.  Mackenzie continued to feign shock and revulsion, while at the same time, desperately trying to maintain a straight face.  “Ooo, if your wife knew what you were up to right now… what is your name, sir?  Your full name!”

“No, wait!” cried Brad.  “There… there’s been a terrible misunderstanding!  I… I love my wife!”  The man pocketed the apartment dues and backed away from the Lapwater residence in red-faced embarrassment.  “IIIIII… have to go!  Thank you for the rent, my lady!”

“Your name!” Mackenzie cried again with authority.

“I have to go!” he said again, making a fast pace away from her in a southerly direction.

The tech sergeant headed back into the apartment, triumphant.  “Well, I don’t think he’ll be coming back for awhile.”  

Gideon was in disbelief.  “How did you…”  

Mackenzie grinned, feeling absolutely and unfamiliarly ecstatic.  Throwing her shoulders back in a display of victory, she even went as far as to let her hair down in the heat of the moment, something she never would have dared to do before, while still on duty. 

“I am Melah.  You underestimate us…”

“Perhaps so,” agreed the professor.  

Mackenzie tried to bring the conversation, not to mention her adrenaline, back down a bit.  “I mean, can’t I at least show you the contract I drafted up?  The Melah needs you.  And, by the looks of things, you need the Melah.  I mean I did just bail you out a minute ago…”

“Oh, we’re playing that card now, are we?” grumbled Gideon, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not above blackmail, Mr. Lapwater.  Based on what I’ve heard and seen about Noank, I’m certain that barely qualifies as a misdemeanor around here.  Hmmm… wonder how far Brad has gotten…”

“That won’t be necessary, Ms. Jefferson.”  

Mackenzie responded with a girlish giggle .  “Oh, I was only teasing, sir.  Don’t take it so poorly.”  

The Melah woman sauntered toward the back of the room.  “So let me ask you something, sir.  If you haven’t been employed by the M.A.S. for the past three-and-a-half years, then what have you been doing?”

Gideon threw up his hands in resignation.  “Have a seat,” he said, pointing to the minimal dining area.  

“After I was fired from The Syndicate, I knew I had to find a new job, and quickly.  I did find employment in a lamp and lighting store just west of here in Groton, and this apartment was one of the few places I could afford that was close enough to commute from by foot.  Obviously not my ideal set of circumstances, but it still beat unemployment and destitution.  It paid the bills and kept Ms. Snodgrass off my back.  

“To be quite honest, it’s actually quite a fascinating time to be working in the lighting industry, if your passion is for that kind of thing.  Neon and argon lighting has gone from being just an expensive fad, to a legitimate form of lighting storefronts, casinos and a number of other establishments.  New Liverpool, just to the west of here, has kind of been a test case for this recent technology.  And to be honest, the main streets are absolutely stunning, it’s like you’ve just traveled forward in time into some really exotic, future America.

“Anyway, rambling.  The owners retired six months ago, leaving the business to their son and daughter.  Regrettably, they both live in Pennsylvania.  So the business relocated to Philadelphia, I wasn’t asked to be part of the move, and so I once again found myself unemployed.  Pretty much up until this day.” 

“So, if you have no steady job,” said Mackenzie, “then what is your hesitation with joining forces with The US Melah?  You would have a regular income, a warm place to rest your head, and food on your table!  I just don’t see any disadvantages with your end of the bargain!”  

“And I just don’t like being indebted to anyone.  I mean, I barely know anything about the Melah, other than my thorny encounter with Ms. Wilderon.  What would my job even be?”  

“Well in short, it would be full-time employment at our base just up the road in Mystic, loaning your scientific expertise on gasses and noble compounds, in whatever capacity the Melah needs you for at various times throughout the remainder of your career!  Right now, for example, the immediate concern is replacing the hydrogen tanks in our grounded airship fleet with a less volatile substance!  You’d have your own lab and everything!” 

“Wait, go back a second!” exclaimed Gideon.  “Your entire fleet is grounded?  Why?  Did something happen to one of your ships?” 

Mackenzie was flabbergasted.  “You mean to tell me you have no prior knowledge of the destruction of the airship ‘Centennial’ on New Years Eve, with a human death toll of 179 people??”  

The professor’s hand shot up to his mouth.  “Good heavens!” he exclaimed, finding it difficult to find the right words to say.  “No, Ms. Jefferson!  I… I’m sorry, I’m… I honestly had no idea!  I’m… I’m so sorry for your tragedy and human loss of life!  I’ve seen firsthand, completely healthy people, pass away within a matter of seconds!  I was almost one of them!”

Mackenzie realized she had stumbled onto an accidental foothold that could be used to reason with Gideon.  Brushing back her gold locks and putting on the sweetest, most demure smile she could muster, she leaned in close to him.  

“Then sir, you understand how precious human life is and how much your contribution could help avoid future tragedies like this from happening!”

“Mr. Lapwater,” she continued, as she retied her hair bun, “I don’t want your pride or unfamiliarity with the Melah to keep you in this unfortunate set of circumstances you now find yourself in!  The Melah organization I work for is reputable!  The women I work for are trustworthy!”  

Mackenzie reached into her satchel and held out the agreements.  “Look, these are two copies of the Melah contract I brought with me!  One is for the Mystic ladies, the other is for my superior officer’s records in Providence.  Please, just read it over tonight and see what you think!  I’m spending the night right around the corner, over at the Noank Inn.  Just let me know if you have any questions, or if you make any decisions about this!  Otherwise, I will simply come back at 8AM tomorrow to see if you would like to move forward with this offer!”

Mackenzie placed the contracts on the table and headed for the door.  

“Just for the sake of argument,” asked Gideon behind her, “what if I decline?”

With her right hand on the doorknob, the tech sergeant made a long face, as she looked down at her shoes.  “Then I’m out nearly thirty shillings, and you spend the rest of your nights wondering when the next ‘Brad enforcer’ is going to knock down your door!”  

The lady looked the gentleman straight in the eye one last time that night.

“…That is, until you become homeless.”  

And then, she was gone, leaving Gideon alone with only his thoughts and a job offer to keep him company.

Chapter 7:  Reunions

By daybreak the next morning, the stale, musty smell of old rug and yellow, nicotine-stained walls had surrendered to the vibrant, exotic aromas of perfumes and lotions of a female abode.  7:30AM had arrived on the ladies’ Longines, and both Mackenzie and Fernanda had already been up for at least an hour.  With regret, the grimy motel tub and shower were not worth the risk.  So the two women simply ate their breakfast rations, added an extra spritz or three of Melah fragrance onto their armpits and undergarments and donned their uniforms.  Each soldier did each other’s hair up to Melah protocol and now shared the same mirror over the bathroom sink, with each lady applying the finishing touches to her own superlative makeup routine.

“So do you think he’s going to say ‘yes?’” asked Fernanda, perfecting her already glamorous lashes with her eyelash curler.  

“I hope so,” replied Mackenzie, reaching for her Melah lipstick liner to accentuate her pert, cherry-red lips.  “I mean, the way things turned out last night, I don’t think there’s anything I could have done differently.  He’s a stubborn man.  And cynical.  But I think these were recent changes in him, brought on by his firing from the M.A.S. and his having experienced poverty for the first time in his life.”  

With both female soldiers having fully completed their daily makeup regimens, Mackenzie turned toward Fernanda and completed her thought.  

“I believe that the true, kindhearted Gideon Lapwater came out yesterday, after I informed him about The Centennial tragedy.  I hope that that’s the man who decides to make the right decision and joins us today.”

There was a knock at the door.  Fernanda snuck up to the entry and called out in sweet timbre, “Who is it?”  

“Professor Gideon Lapwater,” the baritone voice replied.  

Mackenzie nodded.  “That’s him.  Let him in, Fernanda.”

The man standing before the two women had washed, trimmed his mustache and beard and removed his errant stubble.  His spotless gold spectacles and his professional attire would make any academician jealous.  At his side was his trusty science bag, the same one he had carried in upstate Maine over three-and-a-half years earlier.  

Gideon smiled.  “Ladies,” he said, tipping his top hat.  

His gesture was met by a pair of warm smiles.  “Mr. Lapwater,” said Mackenzie, “allow me to introduce my Melah associate and good friend, Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz, N.E.A.T. Mystic.”

“A pleasure to meet you, madam,” he said, removing his hat altogether and acknowledging the young Melah specialist with a humble bow.

“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Lapwater,” gushed Fernanda, who then looked over at the tech sergeant.  “You didn’t tell me how handsome he was, Mackenzie…!”  

Both Gideon and Mackenzie blushed.  

“What can we do for you, sir?” asked Mackenzie.

Gideon smiled, pulling out some documentation from out of his bag.  

“The question is, beautiful ladies, what can I do for you?”

Mackenzie’s eyes lit up as he handed her the paperwork.  “Professor!” she exclaimed.  “You’ve signed the contracts!”  

“I have.  I too, do not wish for my pride to get in the way of doing what’s right.  I read the entire contract, found your offer and the terms within it to be acceptable, and I agree to them without trepidation or counter demands!”

Mackenzie shook his hand with vigor.  “I’m so happy that you’ve decided to come on board as a member of The US Melah N.E.A.T.!” she cried.  

“Welcome to the team, Mr. Lapwater!” said Fernanda, beaming with excitement and shaking his hand as well.

“Thank you, miss!” Gideon replied. 

The tech sergeant clapped her hands together.  “Alright!  Well, then!  Let’s get some horses, a wagon, and let’s get you all moved up to Mystic, sir!”

Horses and a large wagon were procured, and Mackenzie and Fernanda parked them by the curb just outside the professor’s apartment on Riverview Street.  Most of Gideon’s things still sat in boxes from the last move and were therefore easily transportable.  The trio placed any remaining household items needing homes into packing crates.  

About two-thirds of the way through the process, Fernanda worked inside the dwelling, while Gideon stood outside by the side of the wagon, tying some rope in preparation to secure the eventual load.  Mackenzie had just dropped off a box toward the front of the wagon, and was about to head back in, when she noticed something across the street toward the ocean.  

Several merchants, farmers, cheesemongers and fishmongers were setting up shop, right out in the middle of the open air.  

“What’s going on over there, professor?” asked Mackenzie.  

“It’s Friday,” Gideon replied.  “They’re getting ready for Fisherman’s Market, my dear.”

“Ah,” Mackenzie said, before seeing something else that caused her to comment.  

“Hey look!  There’s Brad again!”

The man on the other side of the road had on a large, heavy coat, and a scarf partially obscured his face.  But it was most definitely Brad.  His tall, unique, muscular frame, and the bleach-blonde locks on his scalp had given him away.  He seemed to be intentionally not looking over his left shoulder toward the apartments. 

Accompanying him was a shorter, but otherwise average-height woman.  She wore a  white, hooded sweatshirt, with the hood up over her head, thus blocking her face from the tech sergeant’s view.  Her huge belly protruding around the waist of her hoodie left no doubt that she was rich with child.  She looked eight, possibly nine months pregnant.  The arriving couple began to scout out the wares that the merchants had started to put out on display.

“He’s got somebody with him this time,” said Mackenzie.  “Must be his wife.”

Gideon stopped on the knot he was working on and smirked at Mackenzie.

“Look, I know you have a thing for Brad,” he chuckled, “but we should really pack up and leave Noank as soon as possible!”

Mackenzie smiled.  “Of course, sir.  We just have a few more boxes inside.”  She went in to find another crate, leaving only Gideon outside to resume tying his knots.

From across the street, the woman with the white hoodie began to survey her surroundings, while her husband attempted to barter with one of the fisherman.  A dilapidated apartment complex stood directly behind her, as well as a distinguished gentleman who was preparing a wagon for transport.  The maiden’s eyes grew wide.  Next, her lower jaw dropped, before it doubled back to rejoin her upper jaw and face, in forming an expression of pure elation that swept over the woman’s entire countenance, just like the sun emerging out of the clouds at that instant.

“Gideon!!” she screamed in joyous exuberance.  

Gideon heard the woman’s cry and made his way to the back of the wagon where he could get a better view of who had just called out to him.  His reaction was of equal elation to the woman he recognized.  

“Dove?!” he exclaimed in excitement and wonder.  

Mrs. Jewel was already bounding across the street, her face still frozen in joyful rapture and overwhelming relief.  The professor could only take a couple of steps forward in immense thankfulness before she thrust herself upon him, wrapping her arms around his neck and embracing him as tight as she could, while still keeping in mind the precious treasure inside of her.

 “You’re alive!  You… you made it!” Dove cried, whipping off her hood and touching Gideon’s face and beard to make sure she wasn’t just dreaming him up.

“You’re alive too!  Oh, I’m so happy you survived!” Gideon exclaimed in amazement, stepping back to study his long lost friend, but also keeping his hands in contact with her warm shoulders.  He added randomly, “You got your hair cut!”

“Yeah!” she confirmed, happily flopping around her shoulder-length hairstyle and then brushing back her trademark double-helix brunette locks from her face.  “Do you like it?”

“Yeah!”  Gideon then looked down at Dove’s torso and abdomen.  “Oh a baby?” he grinned softly and sweetly.

“Uh-huh…!” Dove whimpered with glee.

“Oh, congratulations!  That’s incredible!  I’m so happy for you!”

The two reunited friends came together again in a tender embrace.  Gideon felt Dove’s belly pressed firmly up against his, with the unborn baby inside of her moving and kicking inside her womb with excitement.  “Oh!” they both chirped in happy unison, each friend treasuring that moment that would live on in their memories for the rest of their days.

By this time, Brad had caught up to them, bewilderment in the husband’s mind at seeing his pregnant wife full body embracing another man.

“You know this man?” asked Brad.

Just then, Mackenzie and Fernanda exited the apartment with one moving box each.

“Oh hey Brad!” shouted Mackenzie, smiling nonchalantly.

“Ghah!!” cried Brad, recoiling back a couple of steps, at seeing the tech sergeant again.  

“You know this woman?” asked Dove, raising a suspicious eyebrow.  Her tongue-tied husband could not even string two words together in response.

Mackenzie realized that only she had the power to break up the awkward scene.  After placing her box down in the wagon, she walked up to Dove, who reluctantly shook the Melah woman’s hand when it was offered to her.

“Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson, US Melah, at your service.”

“Dove Jewel,” the madam replied.

“And this is my assistant, Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Jewel,” said Fernanda.

“Uh-huh…” said Dove, with a blank look.  

“Professor Lapwater and I were discussing official Melah business yesterday evening, when your husband paid us a little visit,” explained Mackenzie.  

Dove wheeled toward Brad.  “Honey!” she exclaimed.  “Was this the man you were planning to evict yesterday??”  

The sheepish husband shuffled his feet for a moment.  “Maybe…”

“I must’ve told this story to you over a dozen times, Brad!  About the man who saved my life in upstate Maine on that dreadful mission to find Noble Basin?  Professor… Gideon… Lapwater?”

“Look, I’m sorry!” cried Brad.  “I thought this was a different Gideon Lapwater!”  

Dove let out an exasperated sigh.  “My dear, how many Professor Gideon Lapwaters do you think there are on this planet?”

Now that matters had been straightened out, it was now Brad who was getting all choked up, the source of his emotion being toward Gideon himself.  

“I am in your debt, sir.  For saving my little Dove’s life all those years ago.  Ever since I met her, she has been the most… incredible blessing in my life that has ever happened to me!”

“Awww… I love you so much, Brad!” cried Dove.  

“I love you so much too, Dove!” he replied, as they shared a small, sweet kiss.  

Brad redirected his attention back to the professor and grabbed his hand, before Gideon could even offer it, and shook it firmly, almost to the point of pain.  

“An honor, sir!  To have met the man who saved the woman who would eventually go on to become my wife!”  

“Don’t mention it, Brad,” Gideon muttered, while being unable to extricate his hand from the other man’s hand.  “It was my honor to be of service in this fashion.”  

“No, I’m serious!  The honor is all mine!”

The handshake went on for way too long.  But soon, Brad was getting all misty-eyed again, and he decided to further express his gratefulness by yanking Gideon Lapwater forward and giving him a huge bear hug.  “Thank you sir, thank you!”  Brad cried, nearly squeezing all of the air out of the professor’s lungs.  

Brad beckoned with his right hand for his wife to join his expression of gratitude.  Dove did so most ardently, wrapping her arms around both men.  The man beckoned again, this time with his left hand, silently inviting the Melah women to get involved in the group hug as well.  Fernanda giggled and marched forward, without hesitation.  Mackenzie smiled, actually it was more of a smirk, but even she modestly strolled up and made the embrace a quintet.  A sextet, counting little Dove or Brad Jewel Jr.

After the hug had concluded, Brad joyfully backed away in the general direction of Fisherman’s Market, but he never broke eye contact with the professor.  “You ever need anything sir… anything… EVER… you come and find me!  Brad Jewel.  Brad with a ‘B!’”  At long last, he swiveled around and started back toward the merchants.

“Here’s our address, Gideon,” said Dove, beaming with pure joy as she handed Gideon a small parchment with the Jewel Family information on it.  “Wow.  I’m just… so happy right now!  You better write me back immediately, I want you at our baby’s christening no matter what!”

“Absolutely!” promised Gideon.  “I will write you a letter as soon as I reach Mystic today!”

“Great!  Then I’ll plan to see you again real soon, my friend!”  

Dove gave Gideon one final warm embrace of thankfulness, then looked in the direction of the Melah women.  “A pleasure to meet you ladies!  A true pleasure!” she cried, with sincerest gratitude, as she turned and happily rejoined her husband across the street.

“Small world,” commented Mackenzie to the professor.  

“Yes, a very small world,” agreed Gideon, overcome with relief at finally being able to confirm his long-lost friend’s continued livelihood. 

“Well, wagon’s fully packed, we should go.  Time to get in the back with your possessions, professor!”

With everyone on board who planned to head back to N.E.A.T. Mystic, Fernanda made one final comment before departing:  

“Noank was nothing at all like I expected it to be!  Everyone is so friendly around here!”  

Mackenzie giggled and then gave the command for the horses to go.  

Upon returning to N.E.A.T. Mystic, Fernanda, Mackenzie and Commander Inez Sinclare went about the task of helping Gideon transport his possessions from the wagon to his new living quarters.  Another two soldiers on base were then ordered to take back the horses and wagon to Noank and return to headquarters on foot.  Inez and Fernanda returned to their duties shortly after, leaving Mackenzie and Gideon alone in the professor’s new living quarters, along with his neatly-stacked boxes and the provided Melah furnishings.  

“Do you require any more help unpacking?” asked Mackenzie. 

“Thank you, but no,” replied the professor.  “I have so much I need to sift through, it’s just something I need to do on my own.”  

“Very well.”  

The two stood face to face.  Gideon made a long expression, realizing Mackenzie was about to depart for good.    

“Thank you, Ms. Jefferson.  For getting me out of there and for giving me this opportunity.  I promise to work with a spirit of diligence and excellence in this job the Melah has blessed me with.”  

“You’re most welcome, sir.  It has been a pleasure.”  

“Oh!  Before you go, I just wanted to let you in on a little something, tech sergeant!  I already know the answer!”  

“The answer to what?”

“To the Melah’s current airship dilemma!  The answer is heleon!”  

Mackenzie looked puzzled.  “Huh.  Theoretically, that sounds sound, but it is such a rare element inside the earth’s atmosphere.  I’m not certain where you could find enough helium to keep the fleet-“

“No, no,” said Gideon.  “Not helium.  Heleon!”  

“What is heleon?  Like a hybrid of helium and neon?”  

“Exactly!  I came into knowledge of this extremely stable compound during my time with the lighting company!  There are huge, abundant pockets of this gaseous compound in the mountains of Pennsylvania, along with several other pockets up and down the Appalachians!  Before today, I would never have had the time, resources or finances to plunge headlong into such a comprehensive review of said compound.  Now, because of yours and the Melah’s kindness and generosity, I do!”  

Mackenzie smiled.  “Sounds like a promising hypothesis!  I can’t wait to see the results of your efforts!” 

“Thanks to you, Mackenzie, you will.  Thank you again, for turning my life around.”

“And thank you, sir.  For joining up with the Melah and for helping us.”

“Yes, of course.  You are quite welcome, my dear.”

Mackenzie hesitated, unsure of how to adjourn from Gideon without it appearing awkward.  Choosing to go the heart route, she swooped in and gave the professor a soft peck on his cheek.  It was her first time as a fully-grown woman that she had ever kissed a man with a beard.

“You have my personal thanks too, good sir.”  Mackenzie’s smile was sweet and innocent, even as her return to shoulders-back, chest-out, military posture hinted at some of her best, physical attributes.  The move was not entirely without flirtatiousness.  

Gideon smiled back, a scarlet granule of Mackenzie’s lipstick now stuck in his whiskers.  “You are too kind, my dear.  Until next time, beautiful mademoiselle.”  Mr. Lapwater lifted up Ms. Jefferson’s hand and kissed it politely. 

The two exchanged one last, friendly embrace.  “This is not goodbye forever, Mr. Lapwater,” said Mackenzie.  “I’m only one small state over, and I’ll be back around from time to time to see how you are doing!”  

Gideon and Mackenzie grinned at each other one last time, and then the tech sergeant departed to make her final debriefing with the duty officer.  

Inez was nowhere to be found in the Military Auxiliary Radio Complex.  Fernanda informed Mackenzie that the commander had finally made the decision to take her rightful place in the Officer’s Building, as the one currently in charge.  The tech specialist from Ecuador realized that this was the last time she would see her friend on that particular mission, and so she reached out her arms and received Mackenzie in them with a gentle hug.  

“Don’t be a stranger now, mi amiga buena,” said Fernanda.  “We’ve done good here this week, you and I!  Melah Mystic and Melah Providence, working together again in peace toward the greater good!” 

“We made a great team, my friend,” replied Mackenzie, thankful for her new amiga buena.  “I will be back here again before you can blink an eye!”  

“I know you’ll do great with Ms. Wilderon as well.  Just be yourself, and everything will go according to plan!”

“I will.  Goodbye, Fernanda.”  

“Goodbye, Mackenzie.  I’m sure we’ll see each other again real soon!” accurately predicted Fernanda with a grin.

Mackenzie had one final stop to make in Mystic.  

“Come in,” said Inez, to the woman knocking on her office door. 

“I just wanted to report, Commander Corporal Sinclare,” said Mackenzie, “that Mr. Lapwater is all settled in and is prepared to work with you and your Mystic ladies in any way and capacity that he is needed.  Oh!  And I almost forgot!  Here is his signed contract, please file this in the appropriate database.”  

“Understood,” replied Inez, accepting the paperwork from the tech sergeant’s hand.  “We will begin orientation with Professor Lapwater starting later this afternoon.  We have several vacant labs, so he can pick the one he likes best for his permanent facility.”  

The tech sergeant realized that she had sort of walked into the middle of something.  Inez had been reading an open letter that came from an envelope with international postage on it.  

“Family, corporal?” asked Mackenzie.

“Uh, yes,” replied Inez.  “From my blood relatives, my cousin and her family in Nigeria.  Just arrived today via airship mail, with a New Year’s Day postmark.  The very moment that my relatives heard about The Centennial tragedy, they immediately wrote to me to make sure I was safe and to express their sincerest condolences.”  

Inez folded her hands.  “You know, if there’s any good to be said of this currently messed-up world that we live in, it’s the stellar efficiency of both the African and the American Postal Services!”

“So long as their hydrogen tanks hold until the Melah can come through with a safer alternative for everybody, I pray,” mumbled Mackenzie, before changing the subject.  “Say, do you mind if I ask a personal question, commander?”  

“No.  I don’t mind…”

“The name ‘Inez.’  That is a Hispanic or Portuguese name.” 

Inez nodded.  “You’re right.  It’s not an African name.  That’s a bit of a topsy-turvy story too.  I was born in Honduras and immediately put up for adoption in an orphanage.  My adoptive mother is a Scottish missionary, that’s where the ‘Sinclare’ comes from.  She herself was an orphan as a child.  Anyway, she fell in love and married a Honduran man.  They’ve gone on to have eight children, my youngest sister is only six-years old, but they adopted me first before any of that and named me ‘Inez.’  Certain translations of both my first and last names mean ‘pure.’  I think my mother did that on purpose.”  

“So, you’re doubly pure then,” concluded Mackenzie.

Inez let out a rare chuckle.  “Jury’s still out on that one, Mackenzie.  Anyway, I am extremely grateful for my adoption and my upbringing, and I consider my adoptive parents to be my true mama and papa.  My family immigrated to the United States when I was ten, one thing led to another, and here I am:  in charge of an entire US Melah base!  At least temporarily…”

Mackenzie frowned.  “I’m sorry that I was harsh to you when I first arrived here, Inez.  My conduct was unbecoming, both as a woman and as a representative of the Melah.” 

Inez put her elbow on the desk, placed her head on her open-faced palm and stared off to the right.  “At least you took my being the one in command seriously, Mackenzie.  Hardly anyone else did, except maybe Fernanda.  And you reminded me that I was capable of doing so much better than what I had become.  So I… thank you… for giving me a wake-up call from my own complacency.”  

Mackenzie nodded.  There was silence for a few seconds.  But in that moment, both women realized that an unspoken truce between N.E.A.T. Mystic and N.E.A.T. Providence had just taken place. 

Inez reopened the conversation.  “So, you’re still planning to head off to Hartford before going back to Rhode Island?” 

“Yes, that’s where I’m headed next, commander,” Mackenzie replied.  “I don’t like that I was never informed about Ms. Wilderon at all by my superiors, and I am hoping that, maybe, I can convince the retired soldieress, disagreeable as she may be, to help us active Melah women in our mission to reestablish our military airship presence.  And I think, knowing my commanding officer, it’ll be better to ask for forgiveness later, than seek permission first.”

Inez stood up, and the two ladies shook hands, both hoping for a brighter future between the two camps.  “Well, safe journeys.  It was nice working with you, and I am looking forward to working again with you and the other Providence ladies real soon.”  

The tech sergeant saluted the commander.  “Thank you, Inez.”

Commander Sinclare grinned and saluted back.  “Anytime, Mackenzie.  Dismissed.”

Chapter 8:  Metamorphosis

Mackenzie enjoyed listening to the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the roof and the windshield of her vehicle, as she made her two hour journey to the northwest.  It relaxed her, a comfort, knowing that her upcoming afternoon would likely be met with disappointment, frustration, and animosity.  Based on what limited information Gideon and Fernanda had provided, a preconceived notion was already forming in her mind.

Wendy Wilderon is obviously going to be an extremely reclusive woman.  She may possibly be a hermit, a languished soul, doing little more than wallowing in her own destitution, staying alive for no other reason than to reach her dying day.  This woman could easily be living in squalid conditions even worse than Professor Gideon Lapwater.  

Mackenzie gathered that her unannounced presence would be responded to with anger, bitterness, a deep cynicism, mockery and an overall general disdain for her and her active Melah service and uniform.  That is, if Ms. Wilderon even opened her door for the tech sergeant at all.

I am NOT looking forward to meeting this woman, Mackenzie thought, despite the fact that this deviation in the mission was her idea in the first place.  

And yet, based on Ms. Wilderon’s last known whereabouts, the tech sergeant found herself driving closer and closer, not to some suburban slum, but straight into the heart of the city of Hartford.  She knew little about the small metropolis, besides being the state capital, for the simple reason that it lay outside the military triangle she had become so accustomed to.  After glancing down at her map on the passenger seat to make certain she hadn’t gotten lost, Mackenzie looked up just in time to see the road sign that matched the name on the address.  Having almost missed the street entirely, the tech sergeant succeeded in course correcting herself and swung a right onto the final leg of her vehicular journey.  

Lining the residential street on either side of her stood several two and even three-story Victorian-style homes, in close proximity to one another.  Each yard had an assortment of exquisite landscaping, expensive shrubberies and lavish birdbaths.  Large fountains that had been turned off for the winter season were present on some properties, while others had statues of lions and well-defined individuals of ancient folklore.  Pretty gazebos beckoned the summer months to arrive, so that they could host their regal tea parties and lavish events once more. 

To the right, the Wilderon residence had a pretty gazebo too, a pink one, albeit smaller than the ones Mackenzie had just passed.  In fact, the entire well-to-do, two-story property, with the white picket fence encompassing its borders, was downright conservative compared to the picture-perfect architectural and topographical wonders that towered even just a block behind her.  Parking her jeep in front of the large, similarly-Victorian-style structure, Tech Sergeant Jefferson remained in the driver’s seat and pondered her situation for a moment.  

“Well, this is unexpected,” she said.

So Ms. Wilderon has a nice house.  It didn’t quell her apprehension of meeting the lady of the home by much, however.  

What made matters worse was that the rain was now falling from the sky in buckets, coupled by a wicked wind, and Mackenzie knew she was going to have to plunge headlong straight into it.  Part of the little girl in her wanted to make a hasty advance to the front door to stay as dry as possible.  But no, Melah protocol would win out once again as she marched, in proper military fashion, the several yards needed to reach her destination.  Fat raindrops, showing no mercy, buffeted the poor tech sergeant, mocking her every step of the way.  

She managed to reach the front door.  Even though the entryway had a modest awning, Mackenzie was still at the mercy of the torrential elements and side winds as she stood at the threshold.  The water had now soaked completely through the shoulders of her uniform and onto her skin and her bra straps beneath.  Her body temperature was dropping by the second.  

Mackenzie took one deep, loud, nervous breath.  “Be yourself.  Just relax.  I am Melah,” she said to herself, giving herself one final boost of bravery, confidence and encouragement.  Letting out one quick, final exhalation, she lifted her hand and clutched the exquisite bronze door knocker.

Knock, knock, knock, knock.

It didn’t take long for someone to answer.

Greeting Mackenzie was a wrinkled, older lady, with exquisite, snow-white hair, worn loose down to her shoulders.  The woman had on a ravishing, maroon-velvet dress, which cascaded all the way to her ankles.  Resting between her neck and her bust line was a beautiful and intricate necklace, made entirely of flawless garnets.  Her makeup personified perfection.

The woman smiled.  “Hello, dear.  May I help you?”

Having heard the lady’s sweet voice, and having been ensnared by gazing into her compassionate, mahogany eyes, Mackenzie was mesmerized.  For a moment or two, she was a child again, staring into the face of her kindly governess who tenderly welcomed her back home every day from elementary school.  Every muscle relaxed in Mackenzie’s body, as she bathed in the woman’s radiant countenance, magnified by the delightful way the greeter carried herself, full of grace and confidence.

“H-Hello.  A-Are you Wendy W-Wilderon?” asked Mackenzie, her body noticeably shivering from the cold and rain.

The lady’s eyes brightened.  She nodded with enthusiasm.  “Yes!  Yes, I’m Mrs. Wilderon!”  Wendy’s pupils focused in on the Melah soldier’s insignia.  “And you appear to be a Melah tech sergeant!”

“Th-That’s correct ma’am!” Mackenzie exclaimed, before standing at attention and saluting.  “T-Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson, US Melah.  At your service.”

Wendy beamed through pearly-white teeth, her face glowing.  

“Well isn’t this an unexpected surprise!  Please!  You must come in out of the rain immediately, Ms. Jefferson!”

For a second, Mackenzie had to wrestle with the fact that she had just been cordially and voluntarily invited into the residence of Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon Retired.  But the tech sergeant didn’t have to consider the invitation for long.  Her ears were beginning to drip water, and so she entered the home with gratitude, in order to get dry.

Wendy led Mackenzie to the kitchen and dining room area, just off to the right of the front door and the upstairs stairwell.  

“I just made a fresh pot of tea, would you like some, dear?” she asked.

Despite the warm, inviting environment circulating throughout the entire home, Mackenzie still shivered from having been out in the storm, so tea sounded most inviting at that moment.  

“Uh, yes!  I’d be happy to have some, Mrs. Wilderon!”  

It felt so weird calling her host ‘Mrs.’

“Oh, please, child!  Call me ‘Wendy!’  Oh, I’m so glad to have a guest this afternoon!  Travel far?”  

“Not very far, just from Providence.”  

“Ah yes.  ‘The Renaissance City.’  Lovely town, friendliest people.  You from there originally?”

The tech sergeant found it difficult to wrap her head around Wendy’s kindness and courteousness, the antithesis of what had been described to her.

“Madam… don’t you even want to know why I’m here?” asked Mackenzie. 

“Cream or sugar, dear?” 

“Uh, neither.  Thank you.” 

“Right.  Follow me then, my sweet child.”  

Having placed two saucers, two teacups and a teapot full of hot liquid on a tray, Wendy escorted Mackenzie past the stairwell again, in the opposite direction, to the main parlor, where they both then sat down.  The host then poured the hot beverage, first for her guest and then for herself.  

“Now.  Tell me, my dear.  How may I help you and the Melah?” Wendy asked.  

Mackenzie raised her left eyebrow as she raised her teacup.  “You… are the same Wendy Wilderon assigned to the three-year Melah mission in upstate Maine, gathering and compiling data on noble gas samples… aren’t you?”

“Yes, my dear.  The very same,” replied her host, her voice floating across the room like a gentle breeze.   

“Well, as you probably know, there was a horrific airship disaster that took place just over a week ago in the nation’s capital.”

“Yes, I know,” said Wendy, shaking her head.  “Oh dear, a horrible, horrible tragedy.”  

“Well, part of my mission is to take steps to make sure this never happens again.  The Melah believe that the gases used to inflate The Centennial itself played a huge role in the disaster.”  

“Hydrogen,” said Wendy, matter-of-factly.

Mackenzie nodded.  “Correct.  Anyway, the N.E.A.T. is testing some hypotheses on developing newer, safer gaseous compounds to ensure that future airship flights do not suffer the same fate.  My superiors are even considering plans for a new mission to Noble Basin to that end.” 

Wendy was taken aback.  

“Ah!” she squeaked.  “Now why would the Melah even consider going back to a horrid place like that?”  

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Wendy had every intention of answering the question, but Mackenzie kept right on speaking.

“Anyway, I came here today, hoping you might be willing to share any insight and experience you had during your assignment there.  In the hopes that it may provide valuable insight in preparation for this potential mission, or any other possible missions the Melah might undertake.  But even more importantly, any information you may be willing to disclose that would be beneficial to getting the Melah Airship Program back off the ground again.  Literally and figuratively.”

Wendy had just completed a sip of her tea.  “Oh.  Well yes, of course, dear!  I’d be only too happy to help!”  The elder woman cocked her head as she locked onto the younger woman’s gaze once again.  “You seem surprised, my sweet child.”

“To be honest, Wendy, I am a bit surprised,” said Mackenzie.  “Professor Gideon Lapwater, whom I just met yesterday, painted a much different picture of you in his description.  More…” 

“…Ornery?  Cantankerous?” 

Somewhat caught off guard by Wendy’s bluntness, Mackenzie grimaced and shrugged her shoulders at the awkward pause in the conversation, but said nothing.  

Wendy’s voice returned to sweet timbre.  “And he would be right, dear!  I was ornery during his short stay with me in Maine and throughout a great majority of my mission and my career!”

“Must have been a terrible assignment.  You, living in complete isolation for three years, with no other human interaction, save the professor.”  

“I was given the choice to take or decline that mission, I should add…”

“I take it that assignment was why you retired shortly after that, after what I assume was a lengthy and noteworthy career with the Melah,”

“And why do you assume that, Ms. Mackenzie?” asked Wendy.  “I was only in the Melah for a total of twelve years!”

“But you’re obviously well on in years.  Did you join the Melah later in life?”

Wendy’s eyes narrowed.  “My dear child, how old do you think I am?”

Mackenzie felt uncomfortable trying to guess another woman’s age.  “Uhhh… I don’t know.  Sixty?  Sixty-two?” she stammered.

“Then… your superiors… didn’t… tell you?”

“My superiors didn’t mention you at all, madam.  I only found out about you through Mr. Lapwater and a Melah tech specialist stationed down at N.E.A.T. Mystic who had heard about you!”

Wendy put down her cup and saucer and folded her hands.  

“Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson.  Would you be willing to entertain my testimony this afternoon?  That your ears will scarcely be able to believe, but that is true in every way?  Before we speak on the matter that you came here to discuss?”

“Yes, of course, madam!” replied Mackenzie.

Wendy closed her eyes, took a deep breath in, then let it out in a slow whisper.  

“I am thirty-five years of age.  Thirty-six next month, my dear.”

The tech sergeant’s eyelids blinked three times, her eyes grew wide, and her jaw dropped ever so slightly.  “What?”

The elder woman became quite solemn.  “My time in upstate Maine aged me.  And I’m not talking about premature aging caused by undue stress or poor health or extreme poverty.  No, there was something in that place that makes the human body physically age ten times faster than the normal aging process of anywhere else in the discovered world!”

“Extraordinary!  The irony is that legends say that the Fountain of Youth Geyser also exists somewhere in Noble Basin!”

“Quite the opposite, dear.  As… you… can plainly see.”  

Mackenzie was beyond intrigued.  “Please, Wendy,” she implored, “I want to hear your whole story!”

***

“My three-year mission began in the summer of 1894, just a little over five years ago.  I was an angry, embittered, thirty-year-old drill sergeant at the time, teaching basic training to new recruits in Fort Lang.  New Hampshire.  My soldiers hated me, as I believe did many of my superior officers.  I had Code of Conduct violations a mile long.  

“So one day, my commanding officer pulls me aside and bluntly gives me a choice.  I could accept this mission, to study noble krypton gases as they relate to laser weaponry and the hopes of improving it.  I would even get a promotion to ‘Lieutenant’ out of the deal.  Or, I could be dishonorably discharged.  The first option seemed like a perfect solution for all parties involved.  The Melah brass would be rid of me for three whole years, and I would get the peace and solitude that I craved, to wallow in my own bitterness and cynicism.  So I took the job.

“The location was so remote, that the Melah transported me there by air.  Two specialists delivered me to the top-secret site via a small, hydrogen airship, just me and my tools, supplies and equipment.  From that moment on, I would be a true pioneer woman, responsible for coming up with my own food and shelter, alone for thirty-six months.  Thankfully, plant and animal nourishment is abundant in Maine, and I, a skilled hunter and tracker, made good use of my skills.  I also brought blueprints for a wood shelter, which I quickly built by myself with ease.

“Even as I was building my cabin though, my body immediately began telling me something was wrong with it.  I mean, there were the constant headaches, but I figured that was a result of the poor air quality from the gaseous compounds in the geysers next to my camp.  Then the cramping and the bleeding began, unlike any menstrual cycles I’d ever experienced before.  I mean, just imagine what it would feel like to have your own uterine lining being torn in one-tenth of the time of your regular periods, ten times a month, Mackenzie.  Anyway, while still able to conduct successful hunts for food, fire-starting and a well-built cabin, I was always in some sort of irksome pain and fatigue during my entire time there.

“Despite these symptoms, it took me about three months to realize that my body was aging unnaturally faster than just simply the natural stress I was putting on it.  I mean, who would?  After all, time acceleration is the stuff of fiction novels!  I think it was the rate of my hair growth that finally clued me in, and how often I’d have to cut it.  By the time a year had passed, I now displayed the body of a woman in her forties.  I had lost an inch off of my total height, my joints and muscles had obviously stiffened, and I had grey hairs sprouting up everywhere on my scalp.  By the end of the second year, I had turned the equivalent of fifty and had completed full, onset menopause.  I could see the joints of my now-bony fingers, age spots all over my body.  I had more grey and white hairs than brown hairs by that point.  Wrinkles everywhere.  I ached everywhere.  I’d say, if not for my healthy diet of the native plants and animals, my condition would have been much, much worse.

“This unnatural, debilitating aging process turned me into an even more disdainful individual.  By the time Professor Gideon Lapwater arrived, I had already purposed in my heart that there was a good chance I would not live to see the end of my three-year mission, if the Melah even decided to come back for me at all.  I was so defeated inside my head at that point, that Mr. Lapwater’s presence in my camp meant nothing more to me than an unwelcome annoyance.  One which I wanted gone as soon as possible, so I could resume living in solitude again and then, at long last, to die alone.  I reluctantly allowed him three days in my presence to recover from his failed expedition.  I cured his wounds, fed him, then supplied him with enough rations to give him a reasonable chance at escaping that place and sent him on his way.  He would have aged about a month for the half-week he spent at my cabin, barely noticeable for a man for such a short amount of time.  I said nothing to him about the accelerated aging effects of that place.  I honestly doubt he has any idea what actually happened to him.

“One night, about four months before the end of my three-year mission, I developed a high fever, constant vomiting, stomach cramps and hallucinations.  I figured it was probably due to the latest effect of my unnatural aging, possibly the last step to my final demise.  I lay in bed that night half-dead, falling in and out of consciousness, and prepared to meet my Maker.

“There was this bright light, I could only assume it was Heaven, and this incredible feeling of peace wrapped around my entire body, like a cocoon.  I heard a voice call out my name, and the voice told me that I would not taste death until I lived out the rest of my days in a full and abundant life here on earth, surrounded by love, joyfulness and family.  And then that peace became palpable, rushing into my body through my mouth and nostrils.  I could feel myself being healed from the inside out, healed from the emotional scars I had been carrying for so long inside.  This… tangible, loving, peace!  Literally erasing my bitterness and hatred, supernaturally transforming my mind!  When I opened my eyes again the next morning, alive, I was a completely different person.  A better person.

“The caribou herds had migrated unusually far south that year, and it turned out my episode was actually from a serving of poorly-cooked caribou meat from the night before, not from my accelerated aging process.  Still, I have never been the same woman since that night.  The Melah faithfully came back for me exactly three years to the day after I had arrived, even sending the same two soldiers to get me.  They can testify, albeit in initial disbelief, that it was I, Wendy Wilderon, whom they brought back with them.  Wendy with the now-snow-white hair, sagging skin and bony hands and feet, with facial fissures and canyons unheard of for a woman in her thirties.  But with the brightest, most radiant countenance of any living creature they had ever encountered.  And here I am before you today, Ms. Jefferson!  And that’s my story!” 

*** 

“Absolutely incredible.  And you have no regrets about what happened to you?  None at all?”  asked Mackenzie.

“No.  None whatsoever, my dear child,” replied Wendy.

Mackenzie smirked.  “You know, you even talk like a sixty-year-old.”  

Wendy grinned and pushed back some of her ivory hair.  “Aw, thanks!  That’s because I’ve been practicing!  I want to sound like a sixty-year-old woman!  I want to be fully grafted into this sixty-year-old lifestyle!  This beautiful, new lease on life I’ve been so blessed to have been given!  To have become a woman of advanced years, I’ve never been so happy, my heart has never been so full!”  

“You amaze me, Wendy.  Truly amaze me.”  

Just then, the front door opened, and somebody else entered the house.  

“Afternoon!  I’m home, dear!” a man called out.

Mrs. Wilderon remained smiling.  “Ah, perfect timing, Mackenzie!  My husband’s home from work!  I’m in the parlor, dear!  We have a guest!”  

“A guest?”

The women arose out of their seats, as another white-haired individual stomped into the room, wearing his work suit and tie.  His physique showed him to be fit and in an excellent state of health for a man in his 60’s.  He removed his fedora and awaited introductions from his wife.

“My dear,” said Wendy, “may I introduce you to my new friend, US Melah Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson, from Providence, Rhode Island!  Ms. Jefferson, my husband of two months, one week, one day and three hours, Mr. Henry Wilderon!”

With honor, Henry reached out his hand and shook Mackenzie’s.  “A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jefferson!” he exclaimed.  His deep, rich, bass voice practically shook the nearby walls.

“Likewise, Mr. Wilderon,” replied Mackenzie.  

“Well.  Please don’t let me interrupt, ladies!  I’m just going upstairs to change out of these wet clothes.  Man, it’s really coming down out there.”

“Of course, my dear,” replied Wendy.  “I’ll plan to start dinner in about an hour or so.”

“Nice to meet you again, Ms. Jefferson.”

“You as well, sir,” replied Mackenzie.  

Mackenzie had met interracial couples before.  But there was an undeniable, palpable spark shared by Mr. And Mrs. Wilderon.  Mackenzie could tell right away that this relationship was extraordinary.

“My husband is also an unexpected blessing of my transformation,” Wendy explained, adding a little epilogue to her testimony, as the two ladies sat back down.  “Upon returning to civilization, had I not received the body of my future older self, and therefore not chosen to engage in social activities that a normal sixty-year-old woman would pursue, I would never have met my Henry down at the Hartford Dance Hall!  He’s sixty-four, and will be retiring next year.  It’s his first marriage too!”  

Wendy then began to lose herself in her feelings.  “He knows all about my story, and my true age, and yet still chose me to be his wife, to love me and cherish me, as long as we both shall live.  He… he gives me such joy, such love, more love than I ever thought any man ever could love a woman!”  Wendy’s eyes pooled up with happiness.

“I am truly happy for you madam.  Sincerely,” replied Mackenzie. 

“Hey, I’ve got a wonderful idea, my dear!  Why don’t you have dinner with my husband and I and spend the night here at our place of residence?”

Mackenzie shook her head.  “Oh no, Wendy, I, I couldn’t possibly impose on you like that!  I can always come back tomorrow-”

“Oh, nonsense, dear!  No imposition at all, we’d be more than happy to attend to you for the night!  We can discuss more of your mission after mealtime!”  

“Mrs. Wilderon-”

“Wendy, my dear.  I will not take ‘no’ for an answer.  Besides, it’s much nicer here than in some drafty inn you would lodge at in Hartford.”

The tech sergeant looked down at her feet.  “Well…”

“Please.  Tell me you’ll stay here for the night!”

Mackenzie shrugged and nodded.  “Okay.  I’ll stay here for the night.”

“Oh, excellent, dear!  Excellent, excellent!  I’ll have my Henry make up the guest room, and we’ll get you all settled in later!  Oh, I’m just so excited!”  

Wendy Wilderon’s joy and enthusiasm brought delight to Mackenzie.  The tech sergeant had never been so happy to have misjudged someone as much as she had that day.

Dinner was a nice, home-cooked meal of green beans, grits and fried chicken.  Other than the two or three pork rinds she ate at Bethany’s, this was the only non-military food Mackenzie had eaten in quite some time.  Conversations were light, mostly about what Henry did for a living, more about the Wilderons’ dating and courtship down at the Hartford Dance Hall and finally, a roundtable of everyone’s favorite dance and why.  After the meal, Henry proceeded to clear the dishes and prepared to wash them over by the kitchen sink, while the ladies remained at the dining room table.  

“Do you need someone to help dry the dishes, Mr. Wilderon?” asked Mackenzie.

“Oh thank you my dear!  Much obliged!” called out Henry from behind her, already beginning to soak the first set.  The tech sergeant arose and came over to Henry’s side.  Wendy turned toward the kitchen. 

“I was happy to hear from you that Professor Lapwater lives, my dear!  How is he doing these days?”

“Oh, not well I’m afraid, until just today!” replied Mackenzie, reaching for a dish towel.  “He was out of a job for six months, living in a low-income apartment in Noank, and was nearly on the verge of being evicted!”  

“Ah!  The poor man!”

“Fortunately, the professor and I were able to work out an agreement this morning, and now he is working for the Melah at N.E.A.T. Mystic, helping us try and get the airship program off and running again!” 

“Well, that’s good to hear, child!  You know, he never once said a stern word to me during our time together in Noble Basin?  I wish I could say the same about my own conduct.”

“Well, now that the Melah has identified his whereabouts, and have relocated him to our Mystic base only two hours from here, you could make plans to reconnect with him in the near future.  Wish him well and everything.”

“Oh believe me, dear, I plan to.”

Mackenzie began stacking clean plates to her right, while redirecting the conversation to the new information she had gained earlier that afternoon.  

“So I guess my plan now will be to report back to Providence tomorrow and make a concerted effort to dissuade our leaders from considering any future missions to Noble Basin.”

“Well, you know the reasons why now.  It should be an open and shut case,” replied Wendy.  “Still, I hate to have been the one to have also dispelled the centuries-old myth about that place.  The fabled Fountain of Youth Geyser has been a dream of men and women, ever since the pilgrims landed at Brant Rock!”

Mackenzie came back to the table to collect the remaining silverware still left behind from dinner.  

“You know, Wendy,” she said, “you should come with me tomorrow.  Back to Renaissance City.  You could back me up on my recommendation not to return to Maine and my counter proposal regarding the heleon gas option Professor Lapwater recommended!  And I’m sure there’s all kinds of insight our active Melah women could learn from you!”

Wendy’s face dropped, her bright countenance snuffed, as she listened to the tech sergeant’s suggestion.  There was nervousness in her eyes, as they looked back toward the kitchen and met Henry’s.  His gaze was cold.  But it was a sad cold, not an angry one, as if it said, I will respect the decision you make on the matter either way, my beloved.  

Frowning, Wendy squinted hard, as if something from her past tried to push its way forward, and she had to mentally push it back.  

“Mackenzie,” she said finally, “I made a lot of enemies during my military career, before I saw the light.  I’m not sure my presence back in the Melah would be very welcome.” 

“Hmm.  Well just think about it tonight?” asked Mackenzie.

Wendy’s smile returned.  “Okay,” she said, hoping for a quick subject change.  

Time passed, as the ladies’ conversations switched to small talk for awhile, back at the dining room table.  The dishes had all been washed, dried and put away, and Henry had retired to his study upstairs.  Eventually, the discussions began to wind down for the night.  

“Wait, so, he was born a slave?” asked Mackenzie.

Wendy nodded.  “Yes.  Remember, dear, Emancipation didn’t happen in this country until 1845.  At just four years of age, he and his mother managed to escape the plantations and get to the Underground Railroad, where they were able to make it to New England.  Henry’s lived in or around Hartford ever since.”

“Wow…” 

“He doesn’t talk about it very much, only has vague childhood recollections.  Ahhhh, but we do love to talk… is everything alright, my dear?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” replied Mackenzie, faking a smile.

“Hey, Mackenzie!  Would you like to have a glass of wine?” 

The tech sergeant shook her head.  “Oh.  No.  No, thank you, Wendy.  But thank you for offering…”

“Always Melah, always on the job, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Alright, grape juice it is then.  I’ll pour myself a glass as well.” 

“But-” 

Wendy leaped from the table and soon returned with two wine glasses of non-alcoholic grape from the fridge.  Sitting down again, she lifted her glass.  Bashful, Mackenzie nevertheless followed suit and raised her own glass as well.  

“A toast!” said Wendy.  “To the New England Airship Triangle ladies!  May your hard work be fruitful, and your successes multiplied, until you are back up in the clouds once again!”  

Mackenzie had a toast to make as well, a much more solemn one.  “To The Centennial,” she said.  “To those souls taken from us way too soon and who can not lift up a glass with us this evening.”  

“Here, here,” agreed Wendy.  The women clinked their glasses and took a sip of juice.  

As soon as Mackenzie’s first sip was swallowed, she started to giggle in uncharacteristic and uncontrollable fashion.  

“What?  What is it, Mackenzie?” Wendy asked.

Mackenzie tried to breathe normally.  “You said, ‘Be fruitful and multiply!’” she gasped.  “I’m not certain the Melah could run a tight outfit if everybody got pregnant all at the same time!”  

Wendy realized that she could have chosen her words a bit more carefully.  She began laughing as well, creating an unforgettable moment between two new friends. 

The time had come to retire for the night.  Wendy first showed Mackenzie the second-story washroom, about halfway down the corridor and to the left.  She welcomed her guest to make use of it at any point in the night, should she have the need.  The host then introduced her new friend to the guest sleeping quarters at the end of the hallway and to the right.  With Mackenzie now content in her room, Wendy wished her a warm, motherly “Good night,” before shutting the door behind her.

After about an hour of light sleep, Mackenzie realized that she would indeed need to make use of the washroom that had been offered to her.  Once she had relieved herself and washed her hands, she left the facilities and prepared to head back toward her room.  But the moment Mackenzie took the first step, she heard the high-pitched gasp of a woman’s voice behind her.  And then the quiet resumed again.  

As Mackenzie tip-toed down the corridor in the opposite direction of her guest room, she heard the same woman gasp a second time, this time in direct response to a man’s voice. Both voices were interspersed between irregular, heavy, co-ed breathing.  It was definitely her house hosts, the Wilderons.  But by the time Mackenzie’s mind had groggily put one and one together, it was already too late.  She had already reached the doorless entryway on her left that led to Henry's study and was peeping around the corner.

***

Mackenzie’s worst nightmare had come true.  Flinging the door wide open, she looked across the room in utter horror, shrieking out loud.

***

Requiring every restraint within herself not to shriek out loud, or make any noise for that matter, Mackenzie reminded herself that this was not the same set of circumstances.  Thankfully for her, Wendy and Henry were still standing up, both were still fully clothed in their nightwear, and both seemed unaware of anyone else in the vicinity.  However, based on their elated expressions, their deep, intimate kisses and their gentle, mutual caresses, Mackenzie realized that there could be only one obvious outcome to this rendezvous.

Noticing the entryway leading to the owners’ Master Bedroom on the other side of the hallway behind her, Mackenzie deduced that her position would soon be compromised.  Her mission now was to retreat back to the guest room without being detected.  Between the creaky floorboards in the hallway, and the situation getting quickly out of hand in the study, she would have to be stealthy.  With what little time she had left, Mackenzie took her first step backwards in retreat.  And, right on cue, the first floorboard creaked.

Noank will be a cakewalk, compared to this mission, she thought. 

It was time.  

Mrs. Wilderon communicated to her husband with only her eyes.  They cried out to him in sweet resignation and surrender, beseeching him to make love to her.  

In quiet, gentlemanly response, Henry whisked Wendy off her feet and carried her toward their bedchambers.  In joyful bliss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, helplessly aroused by his dark skin and his astonishing athleticism for a man of sixty-four years of age.  All those hours stretching and dancing down at the Hartford Dance Hall have most certainly paid off!  

Having reached the hallway, Henry and Wendy heard the unexpected sound of the guest room door shutting softly at the end of the corridor.  The couple stared quizzically down the hallway for a moment, smiled dismissively and then continued their journey toward their marriage bed, closing and locking the bedroom door behind them as they went.  

  

Part 3:  Gold

Chapter 9:  The New Operation

As the pale light of a new day illuminated her room, Mackenzie could not believe how refreshed and rested she felt.  

The torrent of precipitation the evening before had been reduced to small, manageable drops right outside her window.  The woman was again whisked away to an earlier time, where she would wrap herself in the covers as a little girl and listen to the morning rain on the roof.  The child in her wanted to reenact that moment in the present day, to lounge in that luxurious bed as long as she possibly could, just taking it all in.  

But the realist part of her knew that she needed to return to duty in Renaissance City, before Captain Alyssa Pudens had a nervous breakdown. 

Wearing only her slacks and her tank top, Mackenzie exited the guest quarters, daintily tiptoed barefoot down the hallway to use the facilities, reapply some toenail polish, and then proceed toward the study and the Wilderon’s master bedroom.  As she skulked down the corridor a second time that morning, she noticed the door to her right was open.  Gingerly peeking in, she saw the masters of the home.  Once again, they were fully clothed in their nightwear, the husband holding his wife in a tight, loving embrace of tranquility, as the two stared out their bedroom window into their yard and the world beyond it.  

Mackenzie tapped on their open bedroom door. 

“Good morning, my dear child.”  Wendy’s voice was deep and sultry, as she continued to stare out the window.  “Sleep well?”  

“Yes!  Very well, thank you,”  replied Mackenzie.

Wendy closed her eyes and grinned wide.  “So did I,” she whimpered at the high end of her vocal range, before lifting up her face and accepting Henry’s lips against her own lips once more. 

After a few seconds however, he pulled his face away.  His expression was forlorn.  

“You should tell her.”  

With great reluctance, Henry released his wife and headed toward the hallway and the stairs.  “I’ll go make coffee for everybody,” was his kind announcement, leaving the women to nod in acknowledgment.  

The tech sergeant watched him leave, then turned back toward the glowing Mrs. Wilderon.  Wendy’s face was flushed, her eyes were twinkling, and her giddy-as-a-schoolgirl grin was undeniable.  Mackenzie had never seen a woman so completely satisfied in her matrimony as she did staring into Wendy’s eyes that morning.  

“Tell me what?” Mackenzie said finally.  

Wendy’s reply was bittersweet.  “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer, my dear.  I would like to accompany you back to Renaissance City today.  That’s why Henry is so downcast, because the two of us will be apart during that time.  It would only be for a few days at most, of course, just time so I can provide my endorsement and moral backup for your superior proposal.  But also, to make certain that no more women are put into harm’s way over this Noble Basin nonsense.”  

“Oh, that’s great!” exclaimed Mackenzie.  “Thank you!  You don’t know how much this means to me, Wendy!”

“I’d be only too happy to help.  Well!  Guess I’d better get washed up and track down my old greens.  If you would excuse me, my dear.”  

“Of course.  I’ll see you downstairs in just a bit,” said Mackenzie, before adding, “You okay?”

Without hesitation, Wendy pounced on the opportunity to shatter decorum.

“Oh, yes, YES, my dear!  Oh my word!  If only there was such a man for you as well, Mackenzie!

With a subtle shake of her head, to no one’s attention but herself, Mackenzie looked down at the floor.  “Perhaps Mr. Wilderon has a long lost brother,” she offered back, her voice constricted.  

Wendy giggled, like a woman in love.  “You go on, my sweet child.”  She then added, with double entendre, “I’ll come back down shortly.”

Henry had finished boiling the water and then filtered it through the New French press.  

“And here is some coffee for you, madam,”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Wilderon,” replied Mackenzie. 

“Please, my dear.  Call me Henry.  Any friend of Wendy’s, is a friend of mine.”

“Okay.  Say, do you mind if I ask you something, Henry?”  

“Not at all.  What is it?”

“You seem to be a very nice gentleman.  Why is it that you never got married earlier in life?”

Henry beamed with joy, more than willing to lift up his wife to a place of honor.  

“Well, for the simple reason that I never found the right woman before my Wendy!  I knew that if I remained faithful and patient, no matter how long it took, I knew this season would come.  I know she gave you her testimony yesterday.  I believe it was those very extraordinary and miraculous events that had to happen to her exactly the way they did, for my wife and I to be together today.  As far as I am concerned, Wendy is a Godsend.  And I love her with all my heart and with every fiber of my being!”  

Mackenzie just smiled and nodded.

Later, as the tech sergeant took her last sip of coffee, Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon Retired made her way downstairs.  She was in full uniform, even down to the Melah-authorized forest green cap and lieutenant insignia.  Wendy wore her hair down to her shoulders, instead of a bun, although no one at N.E.A.T. seemed to be enforcing hair protocol at the moment.  The lieutenant did use the approved military makeup, however.

“Look!  Old uniform still fits!”  Wendy seemed to be more excited about that than anything else.  

“I had no doubts that it would,” replied Mackenzie.  “You’ve kept yourself in amazing shape, Wendy!”

“For a sixty-year-old…”

More female giggling ensued.  

Henry walked over to his uniformed wife, pecking her on her cheek.  “You look absolutely amazing, my love,” he gushed.

“Aw, thank you, Henry!” Wendy replied, before turning to Mackenzie.  “Anyway, my dear, the shower is open.  Feel free to use it at your leisure!”

The tech sergeant nodded.  “A shower?  Okay, I’ll use it right now!”

“I’m going to start breakfast for everyone shortly.  Do you like omelets?” 

“I love omelets, thank you so much, Wendy!”  

“Of course, my dear child!  See you in a bit!”  

After Mackenzie had headed up the stairs, Mrs. Wilderon turned to her doting husband.  “What?” she asked.

“I’ve just never seen you in uniform before,” Henry replied.  “You never told me how gorgeous you looked in Melah greens!”

Wendy frowned.  “Henry, it’s… not easy for me to bring this chapter of my life back up to the surface.  I disgraced this uniform.”

Henry smiled and shook his head.  “But even with all that, you were still given God’s grace!  And mercy!  Don’t you see what’s happening, my dear?  You think Ms. Jefferson just showed up at our doorstep yesterday by accident?  This very day, you’ve been given another chance to bring honor to The Lord, and to your uniform, by making a difference in the lives of these active military women!”

“You really think I can still make a difference?  After everything I’ve done?” 

“Absolutely!  You have become a new creation now, my dear, the old things have passed away.  And remember this:  Whatever happens from here on out, know that I will always love you!  You are my wife, my lover, my best friend.  You are a beautiful person, inside and out, Wendy Wilderon!  Never forget that!”

Henry went up to his wife and wrapped his arms around her from behind, placing sweet kisses on her neck.  Wendy gasped and grinned, rolling her head back onto his shoulder and closing her eyes in joyfulness and thankfulness, lost once again in his embrace.  

“You make me feel so good every day,” she moaned.  

Mackenzie sat down behind the wheel of her jeep, waiting for her new friend to join her for their departure.  Before long, Mr. and Mrs. Wilderon emerged from the house together and ambled down the steps, across the front walkway and out onto the sidewalk.  

Wendy smiled.  “Don’t worry, my dear.  I promise I will be back before you know it!”  She softened her voice, so that it was out of earshot from anybody.  “Maybe I’ll even keep the uniform on just a little while longer for you, the day I get back.”

Henry’s eyes widened.  “I think I’d like that very much… sir.” 

The two giggled like love-struck teenagers.  They made out for about 15 more seconds, before Wendy prepared to go.  

“I love you, Henry.”  

“I love you, Wendy.”

Wendy then placed her large duffel in the back of the jeep next to Mackenzie’s, hopped in the passenger seat and nodded to the tech sergeant that she was ready.  

“You sure you’re alright?” asked Wendy.

“I’m fine,” quipped Mackenzie.  “It’s… just… high time for me to get back to my military routine.”  

The jeep drove away, leaving Henry to smile through his lipstick-stained mouth, until the vehicle was out of sight.  Rubbing as much of the crimson paint off as he could with his bare hand, he turned the opposite direction and began his walk to work. 

“Thank you.  Over and out,” Captain Pudens grumbled through the intercom.  

Alyssa’s hair was a bit more fried than usual that day.  And once again, she hadn’t have time to put on makeup.  She did, however, have enough time to pop a couple more water-free aspirins into her mouth, before her grossly-tardy, ‘Assistant to the Captain’ tech sergeant appeared in the doorway to the office.

“Ah.  Mackenzie.  How nice of you to join us,” said Alyssa, obvious sarcasm in her tone.  “You want to explain to me why you are nearly twenty-four hours late reporting in, with no clue of your whereabouts?!  I was just about to send out a search party for you!”

A second woman appeared in the doorway.  “And who are you?” the captain asked.  

“Captain Pudens,” said Mackenzie, “please allow me to introduce to you:  Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon, Retired.”  Both ladies entered the room.

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” said Wendy, standing at full military attention and saluting.

“You can’t be Lieutenant Wilderon!” cried Alyssa.  “Lieutenant Wilderon would have been in her early thirties when she resigned from the Melah only a couple of years ago!”

“Permission to approach, sir?”

The captain looked over to Mackenzie, who nodded.  “Uhhhhh… granted?” Alyssa replied. 

Wendy continued.  “Sir, I brought with me my Military ID card.  Note the date of issuance, and compare the woman in the photograph to the woman who is standing before you.”  

Alyssa alternated her gaze between Wendy and Wendy’s ID card for several seconds.

“No.  It can’t be!”

“It’s true, sir,” said Mackenzie.

The captain was flabbergasted.  “You… are the same person!” she exclaimed, handing Wendy back her ID.  “Somehow… it is you!”  

Mackenzie put on her trademark smirk.  “Based on your reaction, sir, I can see that you were never informed about the intimate details of the lieutenant’s final mission.”

Alyssa pointed her finger at Wendy’s face.  “This… happened to you while you were stationed in Maine??”

“That is correct, sir,” replied Wendy.

“Sir, I sincerely apologize for reporting in a day late,” said Mackenzie.  “I was given a lead to Lieutenant Wilderon’s whereabouts during my time at N.E.A.T. Mystic, and felt in my gut that I needed to follow it.  The lieutenant has additional information I think would be beneficial in guiding our airship relaunch in the right direction.”  

Alyssa looked over at Wendy.  “Ms. Wilderon, would you mind-”

“‘Mrs.,’” corrected Mackenzie.  “She’s married now.”  

“Mrs. Wilderon.  Could you please wait outside my office for a couple of minutes?  And close the door behind you?”  

“Of course, captain,” replied Wendy, as she headed to the exit.  

Alyssa looked down and pretended to organize some random papers scattered across her desk.

“I was told she was trouble-”

“She’s not, sir,” interrupted Mackenzie.  “She’s a changed woman.”

Alyssa squinted.  “You just cut me off again.  Do you think you might’ve let this promotion go to your head just a little, tech sergeant?”

Mackenzie had no clue that she was exuding that kind of impression.  “No sir.  Not at all, sir,” she replied.

“Hmm.  While I do appreciate your initiative on a personal level, Mackenzie, your orders were to locate Professor Gideon Lapwater and attempt to recruit his civilian services to assist the Melah!”

“Oh, I found Mr. Lapwater as well,” replied Mackenzie, reaching into her satchel.  “Here is your copy of the contract that the professor signed.  He has fully accepted the terms of our offer and is now being orientated by our Mystic ladies, even as we speak.”

Alyssa’s head bobbed in several different directions, not sure which route to take.  “Alright then,” she said.  “Thank you.  For successfully completing your mission.”

“Yes, sir,” Mackenzie replied, reassuming military posture, but then adding, “Permission to-”

“I already know what you’re going to say, Mackenzie.  It’s about Mrs. Wilderon, isn’t it?”  

“With all due respect, sir, it would have been nice to have known about Lieutenant Wilderon’s expertise, her experience and her existence before I started this mission!”  

“I wasn’t given the option when my orders were handed down to me,” explained Alyssa.  “And as far as I was aware, Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon wanted nothing more to do with the military after her retirement and then disappeared, assumedly still living in relative seclusion and isolation in her civilian life!  It was not a deliberate attempt to mislead you Mackenzie, and I am truly sorry if I made you feel that way, my good friend.” 

“Understood sir.  Thank you.”  

Alyssa sighed.  “A lot has changed around here, even in just the two days you’ve been gone, tech sergeant… I would like both you and Wendy to report to the mess hall and eat some lunch.  Then report back to my office in one hour for a private debriefing.”

“Yes, sir.  The lieutenant as well?” clarified Mackenzie, right before she departed. 

“Affirmative,” replied the captain, her rate of speech slow and deliberate.  “The lieutenant as well.”

Sixty minutes later, Alyssa resumed the conversation with Mackenzie and Wendy, right where she had ended it before lunch.

“It’s like I said earlier, a lot has changed around here in the last forty-eight hours.  General Brookefield has just authorized another mission to Noble Basin in upstate Maine.  With Major Latrell’s full backing.”

“What?!”  Mackenzie was incredulous.

“Even as we speak, command is beginning to seek out willing Melah volunteers within N.E.A.T. Providence to take part in this latest initiative, while the general has already gone back to Boston to solicit the same.  N.E.A.T. Mystic won’t be too far behind.  The Melah has already received permission from New France to enter their country and then approach the basin from the northwest.  They’re calling this:  ‘Operation Quimby.’”

“With all due respect, Captain Pudens, this mission isn’t necessary,” said Wendy.  “There is no advantage to going back there in direct correlation to relaunching the Melah’s airship program!  It’s… krypton geysers and a few minuscule trace elements of other gases that can be found in greater abundance elsewhere!  Any officer who has read my mission log and my findings would come to the same conclusions!”

“And I have fulfilled my mission too sir,” added Mackenzie.  “Even to the point where I believe I have enough information to recommend to leadership a hydrogen alternative and details as to its whereabouts of greatest supply!”

The captain folded her arms.  “I wasn’t finished, you two,” she scolded.  “It gets worse.  Starting tomorrow, I have been informed… that Melah upper leadership is beginning preliminary meetings for a likely collaboration… with the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate.” 

Alyssa’s second update made Mackenzie visibly upset.  And hurt.  “Oh no,” she growled through clenched teeth.  “No.  That organization exploits children!”

“Look, I’m not any happier than you are about it, but my hands are tied!  These decisions were made from higher up!”  

“I don’t understand, sir!  You told me before I left that our superiors wanted our own airship program to continue!  Not have it contracted out to a private organization with nefarious business practices!  Did General Brookefield change her mind?  And if she did, why wasn’t I immediately recalled back to Providence?  What will become of the N.E.A.T.?  None of this makes any sense!” 

“Well perhaps if your walkie hadn’t been switched off for the past thirty hours, maybe you would have been informed about these directives much sooner, tech sergeant!”

Wendy realized that Mackenzie was about to get herself in trouble.  “Take it easy, my dear child,” she warned her friend, before turning back to Alyssa, in an attempt to deflect the topic.  “Any other bad news we should know about, Captain Pudens?”

Alyssa’s frown nearly reached her chin.  “Yes,” she replied, beckoning the two women to lean in closer to her.

“This is not to be spoken of, outside the three of us.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes, sir,” both replied.

Alyssa took a deep breath.  

“I have heard rumors, that if the new mission to Noble Basin goes extremely well… that the Melah may even consider building a permanent base there.”

“Good heavens!”  This time it was Wendy who cried out.

“It would be small at first, just enough soldiers to manage day-to-day operations, each soldier’s tour lasting three to six months.”

“Three to six months?!” cried Mackenzie.

“Sir, that whole area is under a curse of time acceleration!” Wendy exclaimed in vehement opposition.  “Three to six months would age a woman… two-and-a-half to five years!  Certainly enough to notice, but also not enough where Melah leadership couldn’t falsely attribute the results of their premature aging and increased menstrual cycles to a number of other possible factors!  Captain, they know!  It is the only explanation!  If they didn’t, then why wouldn’t they have planned the tours to go on longer?”

Wendy Wilderon was not talking like a sixty-year-old anymore. 

“We don’t know anything of the sort!” replied Alyssa.  “Three to six months is a perfectly normal duration of time for a tour of duty in similar situations and environments!”

“Yes, but leadership should already know about the pitfalls of Noble Basin, based on Lieutenant Wilderon’s mission logs!” Mackenzie pointed out.

Wendy became overcome with emotion.  “Why did the Melah not consider consulting with me first before coming up with this operation?” she cried.

“I don’t know,” replied Alyssa.

“Why were three years of my military career expunged from the Melah Personnel office and replaced with falsified discharge records?  And why now is information from my mission logs regarding time acceleration being withheld by upper leadership?” sobbed the former lieutenant.

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Alyssa repeated.  “I’m sure this is all some sort of gross misunderstanding that can eventually be sorted out!”

The lieutenant jumped to her feet in defiance.  “Well.  If they want physical proof that this is a horrible idea, this…” she directed her hand to her face, “and this…” she pulled back her Melah sleeves as far as they would go, revealing the chapped and wrinkled skin with the large, purple age spots, “…are the results of my three years spent in Noble Basin, Captain Pudens!”

“Just calm down, lieutenant,” said Mackenzie.  “Please, just, sit down, Wendy.”

“All those poor, young, unsuspecting darlings who would get stationed there!” wept Wendy as she sat down, but under protest.  A couple of tears fell from her eyes.  

“Sir,” said Mackenzie to her captain.  “In light of these… ‘gross misunderstandings,’ don’t you think it would be prudent to at least ask Major Latrell to try and get General Brookefield to table the mission?  Until the lieutenant and I can meet with the major directly to present our evidence, express our concerns and recommend my alternative plan?”

“Absolutely.  I agree completely,” replied Alyssa.  “I’ve come to realize that Linnea’s a reasonable woman, let me reach out to the major right after this meeting and see if I can schedule you two an appointment with her as soon as possible.”

“Also, Captain Pudens,” sniffed Wendy, “would it be possible for me to visit the lab on base this afternoon?  I’m curious to see what kind of preparations have been made so far for this new operation!”  

Wendy’s request was too much for Alyssa.  “Mrs. Wilderon, I’m sorry, but you’re a private citizen now!  I can’t just let private citizens into our Melah labs-”

“Then I formally request that you reinstate me into temporary active military duty, captain.”  Wendy’s tone was resolute.  

The captain grimaced and looked over at Mackenzie.  

“You can trust her, Alyssa.  I trust her…”

Wendy smiled, her eyes getting glassy again.  She had never heard those words, spoken about her, from a fellow Melah soldier before.  

Alyssa pursed her lips, drummed her fingers on her desk for a couple of seconds, then threw both hands in the air.  “You know what?  Fine.  Request granted.  I hereby reinstate you to active duty, Lieutenant Wilderon.  I’ll track down the appropriate paperwork sometime this century.  And I’ll also allow the two of you access to the lab.  But just for today.  I’ll just reassign the current lab technicians to other duties for now.”  

The captain leaned forward.  “Do not tell another soul about what you are doing.  And Mrs. Wilderon is your personal responsibility Mackenzie.  Don’t let me catch her wandering around by herself in places she’s not authorized to be!  Understood?”  

“Yes, sir,” Mackenzie replied.

“I want you two out of that lab by 2000 hours this evening, not a minute more!  And I will call you here in just a bit, after I have asked Major Latrell for a meeting.  Dismissed.”  

As Mackenzie was leaving, Alyssa called out to her.  “Oh, and tech sergeant?”

“Sir?”

“I’m really putting my neck out there on this one for you.  I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, Mackenzie.  Don’t make me regret my decision by committing additional, unexpected breaches in Melah protocol!” 

“Understood sir.  Thank you, sir.”

As soon as they were out of sight, Alyssa swiveled her chair 180 degrees and rubbed her temples with her fingertips as hard as she could.  

“Agh, I have such a headache…” she said to herself, as she reached for her communicator.  

“Major Latrell’s office, Major Latrell speaking, over,” was the voice on the other side of the wire.  

“Hey, Linnea, it’s Alyssa.  Tech Sergeant Jefferson has returned, and she’s brought an unexpected guest with her.  Are you familiar with a retired lieutenant by the name of Wendy Wilderon?  Over.”  

Active Lieutenant Wilderon and Tech Sergeant Jefferson marched side-by-side, stride-for-stride, at a hare’s pace toward the lab.  

“There can be only one reason Melah leadership wants to expand operations in Noble Basin, Mackenzie,” said Wendy, under a full head of steam.  “Further advancement of weapons technology.  And working with the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate would certainly give them the bandwidth to do so!  Why rebuild the Melah’s own airship program when you can join forces with one that is already also well-established?  And that doesn’t have disgraced blood on its hands from a recent airship disaster?”  

The pair reached the lab, and now it was Mackenzie’s turn to grouse.  “Yes, but, why the change of heart from the general all of a sudden, Wendy?  I feel like I was just sent away on a two-day mission for no reason whatsoever!”

“At least you know that your mission will be recorded, tech sergeant!  I feel like the last three years of my military career never even existed to them!  Guess I know where I rank in this organization!”  

Wendy’s hand shot up to her mouth in regret and embarrassment.  “I’m sorry…!” she whimpered.    

Mackenzie hadn’t really been paying attention.  She had begun making a preliminary scan of the lab, knowing the lieutenant had just said something about her falsified records, but wasn’t quite sure what her friend had done wrong.  “Sorry, what?” she asked.  

Instant Wendy was now standing nose-to-nose with Mackenzie, both hands clutching the tech sergeant’s shoulders with considerable pressure.    

“I’m so sorry for what I just said to you, Mackenzie!  Please forgive me!” 

Mackenzie shrugged, confused.  “Wendy, you don’t have to apologize to me for being understandably frustrated…!”

“No, but I do need to apologize to you for the way I expressed that frustration!  It always starts out small, like cynicism or sarcasm.  And before you know it, hatred and bitterness have consumed your entire life, and you end up spreading that hate to others!  I know this to be true, and I never, EVER, want to go back to that dark place ever again!”

A few silent seconds passed, and the scene was becoming awkward.  “I… forgive you?” said Mackenzie.

Wendy breathed a sigh of relief as she released her iron grip.  “Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes as wide as silver shillings.

Mackenzie grinned nervously.  “Listen, Wendy, I really need to use the facilities.  Why don’t you do a preliminary inspection of the lab while I go to the bathroom, and I’ll be right back?”  

Wendy nodded like an obedient puppy.  “Okay.”

The tech sergeant shook her head as soon as she left the room and away from the lieutenant’s direct line of sight.  There seemed to be something a degree or two off about her new friend.  Mackenzie began to second guess herself if she had made the right decision in inviting Wendy to come, and then lending support to reinstate her to active duty. 

“I have good news and bad news.”  

Mackenzie made the announcement as she returned from the restroom.  

“What’s the good news?” Wendy asked.  

“Alyssa just radioed in to me.  Major Latrell has agreed to meet with you and I tomorrow at 1500 hours, to discuss our objections to the mission and to hear us out on our alternative plan.”

“Good, because we need to put the brakes on this operation immediately.”  

Mackenzie frowned.  “Well, that’s the bad news.  It’s confirmed:  General Brookefield has completely signed off on Operation Quimby.  She wants to get the Melah and its flightwomen back up in the sky as quickly as possible.  So much so, that she is assembling a small New England Melah and M.A.S. delegation who will be headed to Washington DC at 1500 hours on Monday… to promote the operation to President Ellen Grant!”

Chapter 10:  Clues and Betrayal

“President Grant?” exclaimed Wendy.  “Why her?  I mean, isn’t it Congress who is going to have to pass a measure to get the Melah back up in the sky again?”  

“Well,” replied Mackenzie, “with The President of the United States endorsing it first, I would suspect passage of such a measure through The House and The Senate would be assured.  Or, Ms. Grant may very well try and push the envelope herself, her also being Commander In Chief and all…”  

The lieutenant shook her head.  “This is all wrong.  We have an uphill battle here, my friend.  We have to get my reports about Noble Basin into the hands of Major Latrell.  Convince her to convince General Brookefield to scrap this entire plan, and then try and promote your heleon proposal!” 

“I agree,” said Mackenzie.  “So have you taken a quick look around the lab?  I mean, it definitely looks different than the last time I was in here!”

“Precisely!  This lab most assuredly is not set up for airship program experimentation!  It’s not even set up for weapons technology experimentation!”  

“Not weapons tech either?  Then what’s it set up for?”

Wendy made a dumbfounded face.  “I have no idea!” she exclaimed.  “I mean, just based on my preliminary evaluation of the lab, I would need hours just to study it further to even come up with a simple hypothesis of what they’re working on in here!”

“But you don’t think it’s linked to the airship program or the weapons program in any way whatsoever?”

“Well, just take these drawers right in front of me, for example!  I mean, gas masks might make sense in higher altitudes for oxygen’s sake on an airship.  But then next you’ve got:  sedative injections, a bunch of seemingly-unrelated compounds stored together in various compartments…”  Wendy pulled out the bottom drawer.  “Ah!  Do airships come standard equipped with knockout sphere-bombs now?”  

“Okay, okay,” said Mackenzie, becoming increasingly concerned as well.  “Well, we do have hours, but I also need to get a more formalized draft of my heleon proposal created this afternoon for tomorrow’s meeting.  Should we stick together?  I could bring my work in here…”  

“Yes, I think that’s a good idea.  Before you start though, can you help me with something I’m still curious about?”  

“Sure.  What is it?” 

“This ‘Operation Quimby.’  Do you know why General Brookefield would call it that?  Does someone in the Melah Officer’s Club have that name?” asked Wendy.   

“No.  Not that I’m aware of,” replied Mackenzie.   

“I wonder why they chose that name.  Tech sergeant, contact the Personnel Office in Boston.  See what you can find on Melah personnel, present or past, with the last name ‘Quimby.’”  

“No problem, sir.  I’ll contact them from my office while I’m getting my proposal paperwork and then come right back.”

“Okay, thanks.  I’m going to start taking inventory of everything I see here in the lab.  Hopefully that’ll assist me in reaching a hypothesis of what on Earth they’re working on.” 

Mackenzie returned a short while later. 

“What’d you find out, my dear?” asked Wendy. 

“Not much, I’m afraid.  Seventeen matches with the last name ‘Quimby,’ eleven of those are active.  Highest ranking in either set was a sergeant stationed down in South Carolina.  Nowhere near the New England triangle.”

“Very odd.”  

“I also asked Alyssa if she knew anything about the meaning.  She said she didn’t, but she believes that it was Major Latrell, not General Brookefield, who actually came up with the name.  No one else has questioned her on its origins until us.” 

“So, did Latrell just pick a random name out of thin air for secrecy’s sake?  Or is there some sort of hidden meaning to that title?”  

Mackenzie sighed.  “At this point, does it really matter?”

“I don’t know yet, my dear.  But yes, we have bigger things to worry about right now.  Let’s get to work on our respective tasks, while we still have time.” 

Darkness was descending over N.E.A.T. Providence.  Mackenzie and Wendy went to the mess hall for a quick dinner and then sprinted back to the lab.  Less than an hour remained before the 2000 hour deadline.

Mackenzie sighed in resignation over what would have to be her final draft of the heleon proposal, before glancing over at Wendy.  The exhausted lieutenant was hunched over in her seat.  Her index and middle fingers kept tapping against her temple, while her lips kept repeating the same thing over and over again.  

“Latrell… Latrell…” 

“What’s going on with you, Wendy?” asked Mackenzie.  

“That name!  The more I think about it, the more I swear I’ve heard it from somewhere before!” said Wendy.  

“Well, it’s not a super common last name…”  

“Say, what do you know about Major Linnea Latrell, sergeant?  About her background?  Her military record?”  

“Very little, I’m afraid, sir,” Mackenzie replied.  “Personnel would have her military record, but they’re closed for the day.  And even if they weren’t, it would arouse suspicions if I were to call back right away, trying to dig up information about my own commander.”  

The tech sergeant put her finger to her pert, ruby-red lips.  “I do have the major’s picture on the bio sheet that everyone was given when she first arrived…”

Upon retrieving the paperwork from her satchel, Mackenzie handed it to Wendy, and the two studied it together.  

“Major Linnea Latrell.  Age:  35.  Melah Ground Forces.  Fort Lang, Portsmouth New Hampshire,” read Wendy. 

“Huh.  Same age as you, sir,” noted Mackenzie.  “And the Portsmouth connection as well!  Do you recognize her in the photo?”  

Wendy nodded.  “Yes… yes.  I’m almost positive I’ve seen this woman before.”  

“One of your commanding officers before going to Maine, perhaps?”  

“Uh, no.  No, I, think she was one of my Melah recruits when I was a drill sergeant!”

“Basic Training?”

“Yes.  Would have been one of the earlier ones though, when I first started training soldiers.  I trained hundreds across that part of my career.  Mackenzie, can you grab me the file I brought that should be right inside my duffel?  It has lists of all the companies of all the recruits that ever graduated basic training under my supervision.”

The two began scanning the lists for any matches.  

“Hey look,” exclaimed Mackenzie.  “There’s a name ‘Opal Latrell,’ right on the second page!”   

Wendy pondered for a moment.  “Hmm… that could be her.  I have these lists arranged from oldest to newest, and Opal would have been in the second or third company I ever trained.”

“Did she use her middle name, perhaps?” 

“Possibly.”  

“Do you recall anything that stood out to you about this soldier?  Anything at all?” asked Mackenzie.  

Wendy thought as hard as she could, but eventually shrugged her shoulders.  “No, I’m afraid not.  And believe me, there were some recruits I unjustly scrutinized from those first couple of companies, whose names will forever be inscribed inside my head.  Opal Latrell wasn’t one of them.  She probably stayed under my radar and graduated from basic training with solid results.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Just over ten years ago.”

“Huh.  She started late then, twenty-five-years old.  Actually, really late to be at the military rank she is today!  Sir.  Assuming it is the same person, is it even possible to go from ‘Private’ to ‘Major’ in just ten years?”

“By the official Melah handbook, no,” replied Wendy.  “‘Captain’ is statistically possible, but a private would have to work her bottom off to make that happen!”

“But then again, we had all those high ranking Melah officers who perished on The Centennial!” Mackenzie pointed out.  “Since then, there’s been all kinds of staff realignments, promotions and advancements.  Like me jumping two ranks straight to tech sergeant!  Maybe she could have been promoted to ‘Major’ in similar fashion!”

“Have you met her in person yet?” asked Wendy.  

“No, not yet.  Saw her when she first arrived though, when she made an inaugural speech to the entire camp.  Strangest feeling it was…”

“What was?”

“The speech wasn’t even that good,” Mackenzie recollected.  “And yet, it felt like the room was electrified with positive ions.  Looking back on it… the cheering… applause after applause… the praise just didn’t feel… in proper proportion to the speech given.  Does that make any sense, sir?”  

“Sure.  A little Melah intuition in there too, maybe,” added Wendy.  

“And that photo on her bio just creeps me out, every time I look at it.” 

“I mean, your captain got us an audience with Major Latrell tomorrow afternoon.  All we can really do is simply hold onto our questions and curiosities until that time.” 

“I guess you’re right,” conceded Mackenzie.

“What time is it, anyway?” asked Wendy.

“Uhh, about 1930.  Yeah, we need to high tail it out of here quickly.”  

“You go on, Mackenzie.  I just need a couple more minutes to gather my things, and then I’ll head to the Melah Guest Compound and try and make something more out of these notes.”

“Wendy, that’s a quarter mile off base!  Alyssa made you active military, I’m sure I can get you some closer quarters on this campus-”

“No, no it’s fine!  Gotta find ways to keep this body in shape at my age anyway…”  

“Alright then.  I’ll make sure to have the gate officer prepare another day pass for you tomorrow before I go to bed.  Don’t forget to stop by there on your way out tonight.”  

“Got it,” said Wendy.  

“Let’s you and I plan to meet right outside this lab tomorrow at 0900 hours, sir.  Oh, and lieutenant?” 

“Mmm?”  

Mackenzie smiled.  “Thank you again for coming along, Wendy.  You’ve been a great help and support so far.”

“Of course.  You’re quite welcome, my dear child,” replied sweet, old Mrs. Wilderon.  

Wendy watched Mackenzie vacate and then stared out the doorway into the empty hallway for a few more seconds, listening to the tech sergeant’s fading footsteps.  Wendy barely had time to turn back around to place her file folder back in her duffel when, suddenly, she heard louder, faster footsteps approaching her position at an alarming rate.  A shiver ran down her spine.  

Someone had entered the room again and was heading straight for her.  She wheeled around to see who her would-be assailant was.

“OH!!  Ms. Jefferson!!” Wendy shouted in relief.  “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”  

Mackenzie looked pale.

“Look, I’m sorry, Wendy.  But I just can’t shake this feeling that something terrible is about to happen!  You and I both know that things are seriously not right here, and I honestly don’t think we have until tomorrow’s meeting before things get really bad!  Look, I know we’ve only known each other for just over a day, but you have to believe me!  I get a real sense for these things!” 

Wendy made a few quick nods and patted Mackenzie on her shoulder.  

“Okay… okay.  I believe you, Mackenzie.”  The lieutenant looked to her right and to her left before bringing her face close to the tech sergeant’s and providing further instruction.  

“Tell you what we’ll do, now listen carefully, because we have so little time, my dear.  I need you to get me a fully charged, standard issue, Melah walkie before you go off duty.  Activate the dual walkie synchronization mode setting between your walkie and my walkie, and then provide me with the spare device.  If either one of us encounters anything out of the ordinary before we meet up again tomorrow, the one of us alerts the other through the walkie, and we find each other using our prearranged tracking signals.”  

Wendy could see Mackenzie’s obvious hesitation and apprehension.  

“Look, I realize this plan violates Melah protocol, something you pride yourself in, Mackenzie.  But you told me this afternoon that you trusted me.  So I’m asking you to trust me again now.  Because if your suspicions are correct, then in less than twenty-four hours, we’ll be dealing with a problem much worse than a violation of Melah protocol.  And if they’re not, then, at least we were prepared either way.  Are we in agreement, my friend?”

“Alright.  That sounds… feasible,” replied Mackenzie.  

“Alright then.  Then make it happen, and then come right back to the lab.  I’ll wait for you here.”  

“Yes, sir.”

As Mackenzie’s steps faded away for the second time, Wendy also felt several times more apprehensive now.  Taking a cautionary look over her shoulder, making 100 percent certain that there was no longer anyone else around, she reached under the counter and began brazenly loading additional items from the lab into her duffel, drawer by drawer.  Right as she stowed her last item, something unexpected caught her peripheral vision.  She turned her head.

“Oh now wait a second!”

Wendy spotted three large boxes on the opposite diagonal of the room, stacked on top of one another.  Whether she had glossed over them earlier, or someone had been in the lab while she and Mackenzie were away at dinner, she couldn’t say.

The lieutenant approached the cardboard containers on tiptoes, noticing that the top unit had already been opened with a box cutter and then closed again with one small piece of tape that had been reapplied after the initial unveiling.  The inquisitive woman peeled back the tape with care and opened the box to see the contents for herself.  

“What in the…?”

The shipment contained items that looked like some sort of modified nasal spray bottles, like the ones used in higher-class society to combat weed and pollen in the warmer months.  Only these all-grey models were three times bigger and contained not just one nozzle that went up one nostril, but twin nozzles that went up two.  Wendy’s eyes widened, as she took out one of the devices, shook it with caution and then pushed up on the applicator base with her thumbs.  The unit fizzled with a small puff of air, tickling the cilia around her nose.  The lieutenant squinted in discomfort.  After placing the nasal spray bottle back in its individual divider, the lieutenant slid her hand down the side of the inside of the open box, passing each row of cardboard dividers.  She plucked out an identical bottle from the very bottom row and added it to her duffel as well.

Out of breath, Mackenzie returned to find Wendy sitting, smiling and waiting patiently.  

“I have them.  Here’s your walkie, Wendy,” said Mackenzie.  “And I’ve already activated the dual tracker function on both.”

“Okay, excellent,” replied Wendy.  “Let’s get to the gate officer now to prepare my day pass for tomorrow.”  

“Sounds good, my friend.”

That night, from out of the shadows, a nefarious-looking figure skulked down a thoroughfare and into her victim’s sleeping chambers.  

Trying to conceal her breathing as best she could, the intruder tiptoed closer and closer to their intended target.  The maiden remained at rest, with her back to the encroacher.  Before going any further, the sinister figure produced a large, grey object from her uniform, held it in position with her gloved, right hand and took two large steps forward.  Taking in one final breath, the invader pounced, reaching around the sleeping soldier, pushing the nozzles up both nostrils and pumping a foreign substance deep into the woman’s nasal cavity.  

The Melah woman awoke with a jolt and a gasp, instantly feeling the effects of the intoxicating concoction beginning to circulate around her brain.

 

The next morning, a grey, dimly-lit sky occupied the early daylight hours of Renaissance City.  

Mackenzie awoke with a jolt and a gasp.  The sidearm on her blanket almost fell onto the floor.  

While the night before last was probably one of the best night’s sleeps Mackenzie had ever had, the following night was probably one of her worst.  She had slept with her weapon the entire night, her body shooting straight up into a sitting position whenever she thought she heard a noise.  I am Melah.  Melah do not fear, she had kept muttering to herself over and over again, attempting to talk herself into believing it.  Thankfully, no one ever broke into her office.  

That is, she didn’t remember anyone breaking into her office.

Mackenzie groggily disrobed and stepped into her private shower.  The soothing sensation of the warm water from the shower head splashing onto her bosom and flowing over and down her toned body, almost lulled the half-asleep tech sergeant unconscious again.  Afterwards, she had difficulty concentrating on her daily uniform, hair and makeup routines.  From somewhere in the back of Mackenzie’s mind, she recalled that she had planned to meet up again with Wendy at the lab in about fifteen minutes.  But for the moment, she just stood there over the sink, staring into the mirror at her baggy eyes and shaking her head, wondering if she had lost hours of restful sleep, fretting for nothing. 

Maybe I was wrong, she thought.  

“TECH SERGEANT JEFFERSON!  PLEASE COME IN, OVER!!”  

The frantic cry over the walkie came from Alyssa.  It startled Mackenzie so bad, it caused her hands to slip off the front lip of the porcelain sink.  “Tech Sergeant Jefferson here, over,” she answered, fumbling her communicator.  

“Come to Major Latrell’s office IMMEDIATELY, Mackenzie!  Something terrible has happened to the commander!  Over!”  

Mackenzie’s heart sank.  “On my way, sir!” she said, forgetting to even retrieve her firearm from the bed.  

  

From a distance down the hallway, Mackenzie could see Alyssa standing outside Linnea’s office, the distraught captain covering her nose and mouth with her right hand.  

“Captain?  What has happened?!” exclaimed Mackenzie.

“Don’t ask questions, sergeant, just head into the major’s office,” gasped Alyssa, still covering her face.  

As soon as Mackenzie was inside, Alyssa dropped her hand, revealing the huge, chapped, rosy rash that had fantailed below her nostrils and was spreading onto her upper lip.  With perfect military posture, robotic mannerisms and a blank facial expression, she stared ahead, turned around, stomped her heel and followed her subordinate into Linnea’s office.

“Lock the door behind you, Alyssa,” ordered the mayor.  The captain did so without hesitation.  “Has the entire Officer’s Complex been completely cleared of all personnel?” Linnea continued.  

“Yes, major,” replied Alyssa.

Mackenzie looked to her left and right to see two other familiar, unwelcome females in the room, wearing civilian business suits.  

“Hyder?  Phillips?  What are you two doing here?  What’s going on here, sirs?”  

“What is going on here, Tech Sergeant Jefferson, is that you are being reassigned,” replied Linnea, her hands folded on her desk.  She sat upright in her cushy, office chair and looked over at the captain.  “Continue.”  Alyssa walked up next to her in the semi-darkened corner, picked up the hairbrush on the desk and resumed attending to the major’s soft, long, obsidian mane, brushing it with gentle strokes.   

“Reassigned?  I-I don’t understand.  To where?” asked Mackenzie.

Linnea looked at Alyssa again.  “Captain?”  

“Morale Officer,” replied Alyssa, her voice soft, sweet and eerie.  She didn’t even bother to look up from her current task.

“Exactly.  In a very short period of time, Ms. Jefferson, you will be promoted to ‘Lieutenant’ and assigned to promoting and exhorting Operation Quimby to the multitude of soldiers who are stationed on this base!”  

Mackenzie tried to keep calm, but inside she was beginning to panic.  

“With all due respect, sir,” she said, her voice constricted, “I was under the impression that you were willing to reconsider that operation!  You had scheduled a meeting this afternoon where-“

“Yeeess, well plans change quickly sometimes within the Melah.  Isn’t that right, Captain Pudens?”

“Absolutely.  No question,” replied Alyssa.  The tone of her voice was as if she was under some sort of hypnotic suggestion.  

“Alyssa, you were convinced that Operation Quimby was a mistake too yesterday!” Mackenzie protested.

Eyes wide, Alyssa looked over at Mackenzie and smiled.  Her hand kept moving Linnea’s hairbrush in perfect, synchronous rhythm.         

“Yes, well, Major Latrell was able to show me just how wrong I was!  Operation Quimby is a glorious undertaking!  Once I finally realized that, I told Linnea about your reluctance as well, and about Lieutenant Wilderon’s arrival at Providence yesterday, and that’s why the major has scheduled this emergency meeting with you this morning, Mackenzie!  We want to make sure you are wholeheartedly behind this operation as well, so that both you and Wendy can encourage more soldiers on base to volunteer for the new mission to Noble Basin!”

“What??  Alyssa, you sold me out??” cried Mackenzie.  

“She did nothing of the sort, tech sergeant!” interjected Linnea.  “People have the freedom to change their minds and fix their mistakes all the time!”  

The major signaled the captain to stop brushing.  “Fiery little soldier.  Isn’t she, Alyssa?”  

With unwavering obedience, Alyssa placed the brush back down on the desk and continued to talk in sweet, docile tones.  “Yes… Your Majesty.  But as I mentioned to you before, her fire gives her passion and strength.  As does her initiative and ingenuity.  She will make a fine addition to our inner circle!”

At that point, Mackenzie was borderline terrified.  Where was Wendy?! 

“Alyssa, what are you talking about?  ‘Majesty?’  ‘Inner circle?’  What has gotten into you?!”  

And that’s when Mackenzie noticed it.

“What… what’s happened to your nose?  It’s all… chapped and rosy!”

Her friend was reluctant to reply.  

“It’s alright, captain, you can tell her,” said Linnea.

“It’s just, an unfortunate side effect to my revelation.  It’s only temporary, it will go away soon,” explained Alyssa.

Mackenzie turned her neck from left to right and refocused her attention again to the civilians who had crept up from behind and now loomed over her.  “And what of these two… traitors?” she sneered.  “Are they part of your ‘glorious’ operation as well, ‘Your Majest-’”

“Yes, yes they are,” snapped Linnea.  “These are our new liaisons from the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate.  They will be my eyes and ears between the Melah and the M.A.S., and I have officially pardoned them for any previous wrongdoings they may have committed in the military!”

Mackenzie’s frown deepened, her nostrils flared.  

“Well, as far as myself and a couple of other women I know are concerned… you two will always be traitors.  And thieves.”  

Without even a word, the two female M.A.S. agents proceeded to attack the tech sergeant, in an effort to restrain her.  Mackenzie fought back, focusing her struggle against Hyder on the right, as Phillips tried to grab the tech sergeant’s left arm.  Mackenzie reflexively yanked it from her side and over to the right half of her body.  

But two former, recent Melah corporals would easily be able to overpower one insubordinate tech sergeant, to say nothing about a potential four-against-one.

“Alyssa!” cried Mackenzie, “Alyssa, why won’t you help me?!  What has she DONE to you?!”  

A twinge of remorse flashed through Alyssa’s mind.  “Your Majesty-”

Linnea’s hand shot up.  “Be still, Alyssa,” she commanded.  The captain returned to strict, military posture and spoke not another word during the battle.  

All of a sudden, Mackenzie yelped out in pain.  Still reaching across the sergeant’s body from the front, trying to restrain her lower arm movement, Phillips decided instead to claw her three middle fingernails through the skin of Mackenzie’s left hand like talons.  Three blood-red welts, each at least three inches long, instantly formed on the back of her wrist.  The tech sergeant looked up at her commanding officers, in utter shock, dismay and dumbfoundedness that they were actually allowing this assault to take place.

Alyssa remained silent, with her eyes turned away.  Linnea stood up, but she wasn’t even looking at Mackenzie.  She was looking down into her own hand, shaking her head and sighing.  

“Please don’t rough her up you two, just hold her steady.  Do not be alarmed, Ms. Jefferson, it’ll be alright.  Everything is going exactly according to plan, thanks to you…”

“Congratulations, Mackenzie,” said Alyssa.  “You have fulfilled the first part of your mission with excellence.  We couldn’t have done this without you.”

 “Professor Lapwater and Lieutenant Wilderon also send their warmest regards and gratitude for your efforts, tech sergeant,” Linnea added.

Having now been fully restrained by her captors, the tech sergeant nevertheless remained defiant.

“You’re a liar,” Mackenzie growled under her breath.  “Wendy and Gideon would not betray me by collaborating with you and your… treachery against the Melah.” 

“Oh… my dear child… that’s what she calls you, isn’t it?  You are gravely mistaken.  You dropped your guard and allowed your personal feelings for these friends of yours to cloud your 

judgement, thus allowing both my informants to infiltrate two key sectors of your Melah organization.”

My dear child.  Mackenzie’s heart broke, her eyes began to tear up, at hearing Wendy’s once-warmhearted and sincere term of endearment for her now being used against her in such a cruel and sadistic fashion. 

“No.  I don’t believe you.” 

“So be it,” said Linnea.  “But we are done talking about this, Ms. Jefferson.  It is time now for you to accept your new promotion and reassignment.”  

The major held up a peculiar object, resembling some sort of modified nasal spray, only with two nozzles.

“What is that thing?!” shouted Mackenzie.

“This?  This device contains your revelation and your devotion to your next task.  I’m going to shove this device uncomfortably up your nostrils, after which time you will receive a heavy dose of concentrated liquid straight up into your nasal passage, causing a partial shutdown of your brain.  Within moments, your mind will then be reconditioned to embrace your new assignment with gladness and obedience.  And to recognize me, and me alone, as your supreme leader.  After that, I’ll release you back to active duty!” 

“I don’t want that thing up my nose!” 

 “It’s alright, Mackenzie!” said Alyssa.  “They did it to me and now everything makes perfect sense!”

Mackenzie’s vision began blurring in and out.  “What’s happening to me?” she gasped.  It felt like she had become instantly drunk.  She tried speaking again, but could only manage a few intoxicated squeaks and helpless chirps.  

“Just relax, tech sergeant, and you will feel no pain,” Linnea purred.  “Soon, you will recall nothing of your former military obligations.  Upon your induction, you will verbally renounce your allegiance to the Melah and joyfully declare your loyalty and admiration to only me, obeying my every command with the utmost devotion and sacrifice.  Oh, I am so looking forward to seeing the high quality work and dedication you’re about to perform for me on the other side, Mackenzie Jefferson!”

The major handed the nasal spray to her captain.  “Alyssa?  Would you please complete the honors?”

“With pleasure, Your Majesty.”

The captain approached her subordinate with confidence, a terrifying smile on her face as she came.  But the strong resistance within Mackenzie allowed her to temporarily snap herself back into her right frame of mind.  She started to struggle again, as hard as she possibly could, but the M.A.S. agents continued to restrain her.  

“No!  No!  I don’t want it!!” Mackenzie screamed.  

“Don’t fight this, Mackenzie!” exclaimed Alyssa.  “Just breathe it in fully!  This will all be over in a few seconds, and then you’re going to feel so… good…”  

The device was now only a few feet away from the tech sergeant’s face.

“No… please no, Alyssa…” begged Mackenzie, her voice fading.  

There was a strange sound at the back of the room, like what a small musket ball would sound like if it was rolling down the deck of a Providence Class airship.  Every woman in the room froze, attempting to ascertain what was going on.  

The hallway door had somehow gotten unlocked and reopened just a crack.  The rolling object continued to make its way toward the epicenter of the office.  Alyssa looked behind Mackenzie, Hyder and Phillips to try and identify the object.  Linnea, who was the furthest away, could only hear the sound.  Soon, it had rolled far enough into the room where everyone could see it.  The fuse was almost completely burned away.  Mackenzie recognized the item from the day before and instantly realized what was just about to happen next, a split second before the rest of the room did.  The door slammed from the outside.  Mackenzie’s and Linnea’s eyes locked one last time with the same revelation.

Without further suspense, the knockout bomb exploded, rendering the entire room unconscious in an instant.

Chapter 11:  An Unlikely Alliance

She was resting.  At peace.  Her captors no longer had a hold on her.  Her muscles were relaxed.  She had no need to struggle anymore, no need for resistance.  There was only the rumbling of the engine and the sound of the open road.  

But then suddenly, she was back in the room again, strapped into a chair.  Her left hand began to throb.  She perceived something being shoved up her nostrils.  Latrell!  The spray went off, deep into her nasal passage.  

Mackenzie’s torso lurched forward.  “My nose!!”

“Whoa, whoa, Mackenzie!  It’s okay, it’s okay!  It’s me!  Wendy!  You’re safe now!”

Wendy had somehow acquired the tech sergeant’s jeep and was driving it.  Sitting in the passenger seat, Mackenzie deliriously fumbled around her face, feeling her mouth and nose for any signs of the same roughness and discoloration that had formed on Alyssa’s face.  Feeling nothing unusual, the unconvinced tech sergeant reached up and clutched the rear view mirror, angling it toward her own visage.  Reflecting back at her were her lips and nose, still as fair and as smooth as the rest of her glamorous, twenty-something face.

“The major!  Did she… get to me…?!” cried Mackenzie, still terrified and disoriented.  

“No, fortunately I got you out of there in time,” replied Wendy, angling the rear view mirror back to the driver’s side direction.  “I had to knock out the entire room to rescue you!  I’m terribly sorry for having to render you unconscious as well, but there was no other choice!”

“No, no, it’s, it’s okay, Wendy,” Mackenzie moaned.  “I… thank you for rescuing me.  How… how long have I been out?” 

“About seventy-five minutes.  Just sit perfectly still, Mackenzie, the disorientation will wear off shortly.”

Mackenzie looked down at her hands and studied the prominent scratches on her left wrist.

“How did you even know what was happening?  Where to find me?  Never mind, of course!  Our dual tracking beacons!  But how did you even know something was wrong?”  

Wendy explained.  “Right before I left the lab yesterday, I noticed several boxes of brand new, empty nasal spray bottles, the same type they just tried to use on you.  I decided to come into the lab fifteen minutes early this morning and immediately realized that there were several noticeable changes in the room between last night and this morning.  Misplaced items, things moved around… several nasal containers had gone missing!  Then, I barely made it out of the lab undetected, because someone then placed a guard at the door right at 0900!  It was then that I realized something was definitely about to go down, and I activated our tracking beacons right there and then!”

A feeling of relief came over Mackenzie.  “I knew you wouldn’t consciously betray me and the Melah, Wendy, I just knew it!  But… the… the room I was in was locked!  How did you even get in?” 

“I picked the lock, opened the door ever so slightly and rolled a knockout sphere-bomb into the middle of the room!”

“From the lab?”  

“Yes.  Mackenzie, I… I committed a sin last night.  After you confronted me about your forebodings, I… confiscated a few items with me from the lab back to the guest quarters as a precaution, without Melah permission and without telling you.  I’m sorry.” 

“No, Wendy.  Don’t… don’t be sorry.  Your instincts were absolutely spot on!”

“Not as spot on as your premonition…”

“And, to your credit, you are really good at stealth!  I didn’t hear a thing this morning!  I don’t think anyone in that office did!”

“Yes… I’m like a ninja!”  

Wendy’s face lit up, in almost a psychotic fashion, to try to back up her unexpected comment.  

Mackenzie was having none of it.  “How can you possibly make light at a time like this?” she complained.

“No, you’re absolutely right, dear.  This is no time to be jovial, you and I are in a lot of trouble!” 

“Where are we, anyway?”

“About 30-40 minutes outside of N.E.A.T. Mystic.  If we continue to drive much longer after that, we’re likely to get picked up.  We should at least try to get sanctuary there for the time being.  And yes, I am avoiding the freeways on purpose!”

Mackenzie’s mind tensed up again.  Mystic?  But Gideon’s there!  Do we even know if we can trust him at this point?  But she held her tongue on her most pressing concern, expressing a different concern instead.

“Wendy, if everyone else in that officer’s room is waking up at about the same time I just did, they’re bound to call ahead to Mystic, make up whatever story they want about us, and we’ll get arrested!”  

“No, I injected everyone else in that room with a medical sedative, something else I stole from the lab last night!  They’ll be unconscious for at least another 60-75 minutes behind a locked door, which gives us our window of opportunity!”

The driver turned her head to see her passenger grimacing with emotion.  

“What is it, my dear?” asked Wendy. 

“What… what did they do to her?  Alyssa, my commanding officer, my… friend?” whimpered Mackenzie.

“I’m still trying to figure that out, my dear child.  I brought all the research I spent hours working on last night with me, along with the nasal spray canister that they were about to use on you.”

“Any… hypotheses yet?”  

“One really big one,” replied Wendy.  “After taking inventory last night, it was all just confirmation that there were very few items or compounds in the lab that would suggest work on airship or weapons technology!  There was:  ethanol, midazolam, sodium thiopental… at least a half-dozen other compounds even I’ve never heard of or seen before!  All I know is, such a cocktail sprayed directly into the nasal passage as a propellant would almost certainly and immediately affect a human’s higher brain function!”

“Even to act against one’s own conscience?  To commit treason??”

“I think there’s something else in that cocktail too, Mackenzie.  Some sort of… animal instinct response otherwise foreign to humans.”  

Mackenzie, still a bit groggy, stared down at her feet.  “I don’t understand.”  

“You are right when you say no one would willfully go against their own conscience,” continued Wendy.  “But… what if that moral mechanism in the brain was rendered inactive somehow and substituted for an animal instinct inside a human?  I know this next part is going to sound ridiculous at first, but hear me out.  The female worker bees and ants of this world all gather around one central insect leader, defending her at all costs even up to their own lives.  What if… and stay with me here… what if… Major Latrell found a way to inject her own Homo Sapiens essence into this complex cocktail we confiscated and then passed it on to Alyssa or whoever else inhales it?”  

Mackenzie’s jaw dropped.  “Wendy, are you suggesting… mandibular pheromones… but for humans?”

“Yes!  Exactly!  The major produces a pheromone from her own body, which she then incorporates into this formula, and then shares it by injecting it into the minds of others with the propellant liquid!  Those infected women immediately develop not just an overwhelming sense of devotion and admiration for the major, but a sense of actually belonging to the major as well!”  

The fog had now fully lifted from Mackenzie’s incapacitation.

“Okay, I believe I understand!  And in this hypothesis, after enough Melah soldiers are infected with this compound, then the real work to do Major Latrell’s bidding begins!  In this case, the development of a new Melah base at Noble Basin for the purpose of weapons advancement!  Colony productivity!  The infected Melah soldiers won’t care if they get prematurely older by half a decade each tour they spend there!  Just as long as their sense of belonging to Major Latrell remains intact!”

“Yes, but a couple of things would have to happen first, before she can get to that point.  Right now, I believe she is in the retinue stage.  Forming attachments with a close circle of Melah soldiers and officers.  Then, once she has a sufficient number of close followers, they in turn will pass on the compound to a much larger Melah population.  With Major Latrell as the self-appointed queen bee.”

Mackenzie’s eyes popped open in revelation.  “Oh my goodness gracious, Wendy!!”  

“What is it?”  

“Operation Quimby!  The name is a mondegreen!  Quim-BEE, Queen BEE!”

Wendy grinned wide.  “Bravo, Mackenzie!  I missed that entirely!  Glad to have you on the good girl side still!”

“And yet, something still doesn’t make sense.  If Linnea was just going to turn me anyway, then why even bother lying to me in the first place?”

Wendy made a long face.  “Because she knew she had to try and break you first.  She’s afraid of you, Mackenzie.  Because she knows you’re a woman of great character and integrity, who is strong enough to resist her.”

Rather than allowing Wendy’s words to fill her with haughtiness, Mackenzie simply smiled meekly and nodded humbly.  You are too kind, my friend, she thought, but, I’m not feeling so strong right now…

Wendy continued.  “You realize, of course, that you would have been part of that inner circle, the major’s retinue, if they had successfully drugged you all the way.  And then you, in your delirious state, probably would have helped drug me, in order to tap into my vast knowledge surrounding Noble Basin, for Latrell’s nefarious purposes.  We’re fortunate to have gotten you out and to have obtained the retinue dosage of the compound for our research!”

The tech sergeant’s head dropped.  “Yes, but who’s going to approve of us doing this research?  N.E.A.T. Mystic??”  

“You have your affairs in order with the Mystic ladies, don’t you?”

“I think so,” replied Mackenzie.  “I’m sure Fernanda would back me.  But you haven’t met Commander Inez Sinclare yet!  She’s… well… let’s just say I have no idea what mood she’ll be in, or how she’ll respond to these developments!  Or if she’ll even believe us!  But… I’m afraid we don’t have much of a choice, Wendy!  We have to try!  If for no other reason, for Alyssa’s sake!  I owe my friend that much…!”  

Wendy nodded.  “I solemnly vow to you, Mackenzie,” she said, “that I will do everything in my power to try and free your captain from the effects of this queen retinue spray!  Oh dear, they must have narcotized your friend so badly…”  

Mackenzie’s lower lip formed into a pout.  “Wendy?  When I first walked into that room, Alyssa was… lovingly brushing Linnea’s hair.  Grooming her, like she was the Queen Bee… Wendy, she kept referring to Linnea as ‘Her Majesty!’”

“That title isn’t exactly consistent with Melah protocol, is it?”

Mackenzie finally broke down.  “Oh Wendy, I was so scared back there!  I am not accustomed to being frightened!”

With her right hand, Wendy patted Mackenzie’s thigh.  “There, there, my sweet, sweet, precious darling.  You’re safe with me now.  We will get through this, I promise.  And we will come out victorious.”

After switching seats with Wendy just before arriving at N.E.A.T. Mystic, the tech sergeant approached the main gate with caution.  Mackenzie recognized the exact same soldier manning the entrance from three days earlier.  The woman greeted the unannounced duo with her customary blank look, again said nothing, but nevertheless allowed the ladies access onto the military facility.  Through the rear view mirror, Mackenzie noticed that the soldier’s head was sticking out of the guard house, still watching them from behind.

Mackenzie wasted no time in driving straight to the Officer’s Complex, hoping that Commander Corporal Inez Sinclare would still be there, but more importantly, in her right state of mind.  

The corridors inside the complex were just as empty as the first time Mackenzie had been there.  “Oh, no!  We’re already too late!”  cried Wendy.  “Latrell must have infected Mystic first!”

“Be still, my friend!” Mackenzie exclaimed.  “This is how I came across this building the last time!  The entire base has been left without an officer-ranked commander since the tragedy!  Since then, the officers’ roles have all been carried out by enlisted non-officers!  Listen!  Do you hear that?”

Inez immediately stopped typing and stood up from her desk, at seeing Mackenzie enter the room, followed closely behind by an older woman.

“Tech Sergeant Jefferson!  What are you doing here??” 

“It’s a long story, Corporal Sinclare,” Mackenzie replied.  “Has anyone in Providence or Boston been in touch with you today?”

“No… not today… Mackenzie, what is going on??  Who is this with you?”  

Wendy introduced herself and saluted.  “Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon, Corporal Sinclare.”

Inez folded her arms irreverently.  “Ah, yes… the elusive Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon… oh, forgive me madam.  I expected you to be a bit… uh…”

“…Younger looking?  Yes.  I get that a lot.”  

“Look, I can fill in the gaps for you later,” said Mackenzie.  “Right now we have a major problem on our hands.  Are you still the commander of N.E.A.T. Mystic?”

“For the time being, yes,” Inez replied.  “But I just received word yesterday that Mystic will be receiving a new commanding officer no later than the beginning of next week!”

Wendy tugged on Mackenzie’s sleeve.  “Mackenzie!” she whispered.  “The complete officers circle in the entire northeast could be infected by then!”

“Wait, what did you just say?”  Inez had heard every word.

Before the conversation could continue, another set of footsteps were heard running toward the commander’s office.

“Mackenzie?”  

Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz had just popped her head in the doorway.  “I just saw your jeep come in from a distance!  What’s going on here?  Commander Sinclare?”

“Fernanda, come in, and shut the door behind you,” ordered Inez, before turning back to Mackenzie.  “Okay, tech sergeant, now just start from the beginning.”  

Meanwhile, Wendy introduced herself to a confused Fernanda.  “Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon,” she whispered.  

“Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz,” Fernanda whispered back.  “Welcome to Mystic, lieutenant.” 

Mackenzie took a deep breath.  “Alright, Inez.  The entire Melah airship program is on the verge of being shut down permanently!  Major Latrell is abandoning everything the N.E.A.T. has ever worked for, and having it contracted over to the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate!  While in the meantime, the Melah is going to pursue a huge expansion of their defense and weaponry programs instead!”  

“Sergeant, Providence doesn’t have the authority or jurisdiction to sign off on something like that on its own!” Inez replied.  “It’s a joint decision!  Mystic and Boston would have to agree to this course of action as well!”  

“Not as far as General Brookefield is concerned!  She resides over the entire N.E.A.T. triangle!  If she herself also says the plan moves forward, the plan moves forward!”  

“And your orders were to casually drive over to Mystic and tell me this in person?  I don’t think so…!”  

Apprehension began to build up in Mackenzie.  “Lieutenant Wilderon and I were scheduled to talk to Major Latrell in person this afternoon, to discuss our objections and to offer up the Melah airship proposal that I’ve been working on for the past four days.  Instead, this morning, I was physically assaulted in Latrell’s office by my two commanding officers, and two members of The Syndicate, to try and get me to go along with their operation!  Wendy here, was able to get me out of there, but now we’re on the run, and the entire N.E.A.T. Providence will be on a manhunt for us any minute!”

“Wait, what??” exclaimed Inez.  “I find it extremely hard to believe that two Melah officers would physically attack one of their own soldiers, in order to bully them into submission!” 

“Not bully, commander corporal.  Control!” corrected Wendy, showing Inez the nasal spray container.  “I confiscated this from the Providence labs!  It’s a nasal spray that, when shot up into the victim’s brain, causes delirium, the shut down of several higher brain functions and an unwavering obedience and loyalty toward the initiator!  In this case, Major Latrell herself!”

“There are dozens of these sprays all loaded up and ready to be used against us!” cried Mackenzie.  “Captain Pudens has already been infected, there may also be others in upper leadership, maybe even General Brookefield herself, that already might be under the influence of the major as well!” 

The commander had heard enough.  “You two are crazy!  Mind control?  Are you serious?”  Inez made a grab for her communicator.  “You know what?  I’m going to call up Providence right now, get to the bottom of this!”

“Wait, Inez,” said Fernanda.  “What if Mackenzie is telling the truth?  I mean, if she was trying to mislead us, then why would she go through that entire mission last week?  Put her life at risk in Noank to recruit a man that we weren’t even positive would agree to join us at the time?  And why would the Melah take such pains in suppressing the truth about Lieutenant Wilderon and falsifying her records?  You were right there with me in the Radio Room last Thursday, you heard the whole thing!”

“Or perhaps, this is all just one big M.A.S. conspiracy, meant to pull the wool over N.E.A.T. Mystic’s eyes!” Inez sneered.

Fernanda rolled her eyes.  “Inez, please don’t do this again!” she implored.

Mackenzie had tried to keep her superficial injury concealed from view during the debriefing.  But now, she angrily pulled back the sleeve of her uniform with her right hand and flashed the back of her clawed, left hand in the commander’s face.

“Oh, and I suppose you think that I made these horrible scratches on my wrist all on my own!  I was held against my will by M.A.S. agents Hyder and Phillips, while Captain Pudens and Major Latrell almost shoved one of those things up my nose!”  

Wendy tried to be the voice of reason.  “Look!  If we could all just calm down and-”  

“Hold it…”  Inez’s hand shot up to silence the lieutenant.  “Did you just say Hyder and Phillips did this to you, Mackenzie?”

“Yes!  They did!” Mackenzie cried.

Inez broke her gaze and began to snicker.  “Those two wenches are back at N.E.A.T. Providence??  Girl, sign me up for the resistance…!”  

“So… you believe me?”

“Well, no offense, Mackenzie, but having seen the immaculate way you care for your skin and your face, I think you’d get upset if there was so much as a pimple on your nose!  You’re sure not going to scratch yourself like that on purpose, and you sure wouldn’t have come all the way back here to Mystic to spill your heart out to a hothead like me, unless you were truly desperate and in trouble!  Plus you know exactly how I feel about Hyder and Phillips!  You need help from Mystic?  I’ve got your back, Tech Sergeant Jefferson!  Fernanda here and I will assist you in any way we can!”  

“Absolutely, my friends,” agreed Fernanda, right on cue.

Everyone in the office could immediately feel the huge drop in tension.  “Thank you, commander corporal.  Tech specialist,” said a grateful Wendy.  

Just then, the commander’s radio began to light up with a Priority One incoming transmission.  Tensions rose once again.

“Listen!  That’s Providence calling us now, commander!” exclaimed Fernanda.  

“Commander, please,” begged Mackenzie, “you can’t let them know we’re here!”

“What am I supposed to say to them?” returned Inez.  “If they think in any way that I’m lying, I’ll get booted out of the military!”

Mackenzie pressed her hands together in a praying gesture.  “Please, Inez.  You have to come up with something!  You and everyone under your command, all of us, are in very real danger right now!”  

Pointing her finger to the ceiling and nodding, Inez picked up the receiver, but left the call in broadcast mode for the rest of the room to hear as well.

“N.E.A.T. Mystic, Acting Commander Corporal Inez Sinclare reporting in, over,” Inez introduced herself.

“This is Major Linnea Latrell, Commander of N.E.A.T. Providence, over,” came the drowsy voice on the other line.

A cold shiver ran down Mackenzie’s spine.  

“A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, sir,” Inez said cheerfully.  “How may I and my team be of assistance?  Over.”

“Well, I wish it was under better circumstances.  We have a big problem.  We have a Melah traitor at large.  Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson.  Turns out she has been secretly leaking confidential information regarding our Melah ship designs and noble gas technology to our international enemies for some time.  Over.”  

“I see, sir.  Oh, my!  Over.” 

Mackenzie pursed her lips and shook her head from side to side.  “No!” she whispered, tears welling up.  

The major resumed talking.  “We tried to apprehend her this morning, but she managed to escape with the help of a disgraced, retired Melah officer whom Jefferson had recruited during a recent mission.  I know that Jefferson was in contact with you and your women during that mission and may try to seek sanctuary at your base there now.  If that is indeed their plan, they could be arriving at your doorstep even within a matter of minutes.  And if that occurs, your orders are to arrest them immediately, and report back to me regarding their capture.  They are driving a standard issue Melah jeep, you should already know Jefferson’s description.  She would most likely be accompanied by an old, ugly, white-haired woman, spouting psychotic delusions about being younger than she really is.  Over.”  

Wendy folded her arms and expressed a look of indignant disgust.  “No need to be insulting, Ms. Latrell…” she murmured.

Somewhere during Linnea’s speech, Inez’s eyes glazed over.  Her blank facial expression suggested that she was hanging on every word, influenced by every syllable the major dictated to her.  Mackenzie feared the worst.  

“Acknowledged, sir.”  Inez’s voice into the communicator was slow and steady.  “If I see a jeep arrive here that matches your description of the traitors, I will make sure to arrest them immediately and notify you immediately afterwards, major.  Over.”

“See that you do, Corporal Sinclare.  Major Latrell out.”  

The call had ended.  Inez sauntered her way around her desk and smiled.

“Now you just have to make sure that I don’t see your jeep, Mackenzie.” 

Mackenzie breathed a huge sigh of relief.  “Thank you, Inez.  From the bottom of my heart.” 

Inez waved her hand dismissively, as she looked for her tech specialist.  “Fernanda, would you please go find the first aid supplies and then come back and clean and bind up Ms. Jefferson’s wrist?”

“At once, commander,” replied Fernanda.  

“As for you, Tech Sergeant Jefferson, go… cover your vehicle with a tarp or something, while I track down Professor Lapwater!”

Mackenzie was beyond grateful, even going as far as saluting Inez.  “With pleasure, Commander Corporal Sinclare!”

Chapter 12:  A Decision to Command

“Look, I know what you’re thinking-”

“Oh, you do, do you?  You’ve barely been here two days, and yet somehow, you’ve contracted female Melah intuition?  You don’t have the faintest idea what I’m thinking, Evan!”

“Who’s… Evan?”

“Sorry… Gideon.”

Professor Lapwater did not have a good track record on opening statements.  This time was no exception, after he listened to his friend describe her harrowing morning to him.  Nevertheless, Gideon remained calm and professional, in response to Mackenzie’s outburst.  Sitting next to her right outside the conference room, he saw the anguish lines beginning to form on her forehead, her quivering lips bending into a deep frown.  She could barely look him in the eye.

“Madam,” Gideon replied, “I don’t have to be a woman to see the pain that’s cutting deep into your soul right now.  Now, I don’t know what they told you about me back there, what lies they spread about me.  But I am not an M.A.S. informant.  I’d be an absolute fool to double-cross the Melah.  I owe the Melah my life!  Not to mention, if your leaders even have half a molecule of that determination and spunk that I see in you, I’d be a goner, Ms. Jefferson…”

Gideon’s voice trailed off, replaced by the sound of Mackenzie’s nervous, yet relieved giggles.  He placed his hands on top of hers, and she let him.

“You were there for me.  Now let me be there for you,” he continued.  “Let all these supportive women be there for you too, my dear!  We’ll help you through this!  You don’t have to do it all by yourself anymore.”

Mackenzie’s eyes misted up.  “I don’t?”

“No.  You don’t, Mackenzie.”  

“You don’t know.. how long… I’ve yearned to hear someone say those words to me, Gideon,” she cried.  “Are you sure you don’t have Melah intuition?”  

The professor patted her hands with his.  “Just the observations of a gentleman and a friend, my dear.”

Just then, Wendy and Fernanda appeared at the end of the short hallway.

“Come, ladies,” said Gideon, beckoning with his left hand.  “Ms. Jefferson needs your support right now.”  

Upon their embracing her, Mackenzie broke down into a torrent of tears and deep sobs.  For the first time since being disowned by her parents, she allowed herself to accept the grace and compassion of others, the exact thing she needed for her healing to begin. 

A short time later, the resistance members entered the conference room, where Commander Inez Sinclare met them.  

“The five of us have passed the point of no return,” Inez began, opening the emergency round table meeting.  “We’re now completely isolated off from Boston and Providence, and every action we take from this point forward is in direct and deliberate opposition to Operation Quimby.  We still have the element of secrecy.  My deflection of Major Latrell’s inquiry bought us some time.  But our time is not infinite.  We will be found out eventually.  So our total success must come quickly, before this infection can spread to Mystic and the rest of the Melah.  I’m willing to hear any recommendations the four of you have for our next course of action.”  

“Commander,” Wendy replied, “the first thing we must do is deconstruct the contents of this canister in one of your labs.  To confirm that this is indeed a mandibular pheromone that can be used on humans.  Do you have a library on base?”  

“We do.”

“Permission to please use your library and then one of your labs.”

“Of course.  Permission granted.”

“Allow me to provide you my assistance for this effort, mademoiselle?” asked Gideon.  

“That was to be my hope, yes,” she replied.  “There are some delicate steps I will most certainly require an extra pair of hands for.”

“Of course.  And please use my lab.  It’s fully stocked and ready to go.” 

Wendy turned back to Inez.  “Commander, would you be agreeable to a debriefing on the results of this experiment by say… 1600 hours this afternoon?  I believe that is all the time I will need, maybe even with a possible antidote.”

Inez grinned.  “Melah efficiency, ingenuity and expedience.  I love it.  Again, granted.  I do have one specific order for all of you, however, before you are dismissed:  Get some lunch in you from over at the mess hall, I don’t care if you take it to go.  I have a feeling each one of us is going to need all the energy we can get in the hours and days to come.  Understood?”

“Yes, commander,” everyone replied in unison.  

“Dismissed.” 

As everyone was leaving, Inez pulled Mackenzie to the side.

“What are we doing, Mackenzie?” Inez whispered.  “A five-person resistance team versus an enemy who can turn free women into slaves in seconds and is intent on becoming queen over the entire Melah organization?  I feel so in over my head right now…”

“Inez, you’re doing a great job!” said Mackenzie.  “You’ve already proven that with your initiative and leadership, to say nothing about the way you handled that priority call!  I think you’re going to make an amazing officer someday!”  

“Thank you.  That means a lot to me.”

And yet, despite Mackenzie’s reassurances, Inez was still vexed with indecision and second-guessing herself.  During lunch, she sat in her proxy office, a dozen different possible scenarios with a hundred different outcomes racing through her mind.  The corporal thought about her career and the current path she was on that would probably end it.  She thought about faithfulness to her new friends versus loyalty to her superior officers and the Melah chain of command.  Meanwhile, a few feet away, sat the communicator device which she had recently used to deceive a high-ranking official of The US Melah.  

Just then, an audacious notion formed in Inez’s mind out of thin air.  The voice inside her head sounded like Major Latrell.  

It’s not too late, commander.  There’s still time for you to reverse course.  The Providence MP’s could be here by 1600 hours.    

One call, Inez thought.  That’s all it would take.

Wendy sensed a certain tension with Gideon the moment they left the conference room.  He appeared eager to volunteer right away to help her, but later it seemed like he might have an ulterior motive.  The professor kept staring at her at the mess hall, and later at the library, with very few words exchanged between the two of them. 

Gideon’s lab was clean and organized, a return to the spirit of excellence he once displayed prior to his firing at The Syndicate.  Wendy made all the necessary safety preparations at her station, while the professor retrieved all the supplies needed to carry out the lab work.  This included two gas masks, the same type he used in Maine.

The final preliminary step was to prepare a syringe with a knockout sedative.

“This nasal spray has contents under extreme pressure,” said Wendy.  “Now, if something goes catastrophically wrong, and the queen pheromone substance somehow gets inside my body, I don’t want you to hesitate to incapacitate me, professor.  Understood?” 

“Understood,” replied Gideon.

“Any questions before we begin?”  

“Just one, my dear.”

“Yes?”

The professor frowned.  

“I was in that basin for three days.  Did I age a month?”

Wendy bristled at the question, turned her neck and looked Gideon straight in the eye.    

“Yes, you did,” she admitted.  “It’s also why your hands healed so quickly, once we got the medicine on them.”

Gideon made a long face and nodded.  

“I could never put my finger on it until just a moment ago… but my next trip to the barbershop did seem to come early after that expedition,” he said, chuckling nervously.  

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you, Gideon.  And for the way I treated you the entire time.  Will you forgive me?”

“Madam, you saved my life, of course I forgive you!”

Wendy shook her head.  “No, no.  I don’t want you to forgive me conditionally.  I want you to forgive me because the way I treated you was wrong, and I am asking for your unconditional forgiveness for what I did.”

Gideon’s former combatant offered out her right hand, which he accepted.  “I believe you are sincere, Mrs. Wilderon.  Yes.  I forgive you unconditionally.”

A weight was lifted off of Wendy.  “Thank you, sir,” she said.  

“You are most welcome, madam.  Shall we begin?”  

The professor produced some protective gloves for the two of them.

“Last time I used a gas mask without gloves, I ended up with second degree burns on my hands.  I’m not taking any chances this time.”

“I promise to be careful, my friend,” replied Wendy.  

At 1600 hours, Wendy and Gideon met back up with the other members of the resistance, and the debriefing continued.

“I can now confirm that, not only is this a Queen Mandibular Pheromone, but that this is also a QRP, a true Queen Retinue Pheromone,” began Wendy.  “A compound designed to bring unwitting Melah women into Major Latrell’s inner circle and to helplessly obey her every command. 

“According to my research, the chemical makeup of the QRP I analyzed is quite similar to that found in honey bee retinues, the worker bees who work in direct contact with the queen bee.  This compound causes the shut down of certain parts of the human brain, resulting in an immediate mental renunciation of the victim’s free will and independence.  The victim’s mind is then reprogrammed to obey their new queen without question, even if she asks them to give up their own life for her.”

“Yes, but how did Major Latrell get this ability?” asked Fernanda.  “Did she like… accidentally disturb some sort of poisonous beehive as a child and develop this power?”  

Inez was fidgeting.  Her eyes did a quick glance toward the closed doorway. 

“That is unclear at this point,” replied Wendy.  “I do have my suspicions, however, that Major Latrell is not acting completely under her own power or free will either.  Or that there may even be a true Linnea Latrell that has been enslaved to whatever is happening inside of her as much, or even more so, as the women she is infecting.”  

“She seemed pretty in control of her faculties when she tried to take me out, lieutenant,” grumbled Mackenzie. 

“I’m not defending what she did to you in the slightest, my friend.  What I am trying to do is determine the root of the problem and to pluck it out at its source.  The confirmation of QRPs is a start.  The problem here, however, is that once a person is infected, the QRP acts like a host to that particular victim and is extremely hard to eliminate.  It has a half life of at least twice the average human life cycle.  So one dose is all it takes per victim.  Not to oversimplify this, but someone who is under the influence of a QRP… it’s like being intoxicated from alcohol, only they remain in a constant drunken state for the rest of their lives.”  

“Wendy, are you saying that, if we don’t do something soon, these infected women and men could suffer long-term damage to the rest of the body?  Heart Disease and Liver Cirrhosis?  Cancer?  Things like that?” exclaimed Mackenzie. 

Wendy looked grim.  “Yes.  I’m afraid so.” 

“Please.  Tell me you have an antidote for Alyssa?” 

“I believe that we do.  Professor, care to explain?”

“Of course, my dear,” replied Gideon.  “It’s a complex formula, but it basically boils down to the ability to educate other parts of the victim’s body to safely metabolize and expel this QRP compound quickly.  Like a body naturally would after the consumption of alcohol.  So for our dilemma, the QRP, which has a half-life of 130 years, is drastically reduced to a half-life of… 30-45 seconds with the proposed antidote.  And it does so without harming any of the body’s vital systems!  Within… four or five minutes, the infected individual would be completely back to his or her right frame of mind again!” 

Wendy held up another peculiar item to the team, something that looked like a modified aerosol spray bottle.

“This, ladies, is our very first antidote test sample.  It is released as an aerosol mist into an enclosed environment and is inhaled by the infected.  Much easier than trying to get close to a QRP victim through injection or ingestion, and could potentially disinfect multiple victims at the same time!” 

“But how are we able to test the efficiency of this antidote spray?” asked Fernanda.  “We have nobody here to test it on!”

“We need to find a way to get to someone who’s already infected,” replied Wendy.

“There’s no way we can go back to Renaissance City,” said Mackenzie.  “Even if you and I stayed behind, Wendy, there’s no way you Mystic ladies would be able to even get past the front gate!  By now, Major Latrell will have the entire camp on high alert!”

“So then, what would be our next move?” asked Fernanda.  “Do you know of any other locations with less heightened Melah security that may have infected Melah soldiers?”

Wendy thought for a second.  “Well, the only other place Mackenzie and I know of that may have infected women in the near future is…”

“Oh, no!”  Wendy and Mackenzie both cried out in unison.

“What is it?” asked Inez.  

“Commander, we have a much bigger problem on our hands right now than where to distribute the anti-retinue spray!” exclaimed Wendy.  

“Tomorrow’s delegation!” agreed Mackenzie.  “We have to warn The President of the United States of America!”

“Delegation…?” asked Inez.

Mackenzie explained.  “Right before Alyssa became infected, she told me that General Brookefield plans to lead a delegation to meet with President Grant in DC at 1500 hours tomorrow, to promote Operation Quimby to her directly.”

“Having proven my hypothesis correct,” Wendy added, “there’s a high likelihood that Latrell will infect the general and her staff with QRPs no later than tomorrow morning, right before they all head off to Washington!”  

“Wendy!  Can you imagine what will happen if Major Latrell somehow manages to infect President Grant too?!” exclaimed Mackenzie.

“I’m trying not to, my friend.  The question is:  how do we three enlisted women, one civilian professor, and one semi-retired lieutenant, convince a US President that our testimony is reputable?  I mean, we can’t just simply call in to the White House directly and tell her the meeting is a trap…!”

Inez kept nervously looking over at the closed doorway, as if expecting someone from the outside to barge in at any moment.  Her late afternoon debriefing had deteriorated from the bizarre to the totally outrageous, and it was high time for her to end it.  

“I think…” began the commander, rising to her feet.  

“…that our best chance at success is to physically arrive in Washington DC before the delegation does!  We may not be able to speak with the president in person, but at least we can relay a warning message to her through her staff that would cast doubt and suspicion on Latrell’s entire operation.  Maybe even shut it down altogether!  And would hopefully prompt an increase in White House security and successfully spare Ms. Grant from infection!” 

“Commander,” said Mackenzie.  “Even if we showed up in person, our credibility would still be suspect.  If you were Madam President Grant, given the choice, would you take the word of a corporal?  Or a general?” 

“Then, we’ll simply have to take action to increase our credibility several times over,” replied Inez.

“Commander, you’re also forgetting that there is probably a military-wide manhunt for Mackenzie now as well,” added Wendy.  “Any ground transportation we try to take to Washington runs an extreme risk of getting intercepted by Melah patrols or checkpoints!” 

Inez grinned from ear to ear.  “No.  Not ground transportation.  We take to the air.”  

“Commander?” said Mackenzie. 

“Professor Lapwater,” continued Inez, with a fresh sparkle in her eyes, “you told me this morning that our first tanker trucks filled with heleon arrived at 0900 hours, is that correct?”

“Yes, madam.  Tech Specialist Ortiz and I checked them in ourselves,” replied Gideon.  

“Fernanda.  Would you say that there is enough heleon from those trucks to fully inflate a Providence Class airship?”

Fernanda pondered the question for a second.  “Barely, commander.  Even with a lighter weight advantage of limited cargo and a minimum, four-person Melah crew, based on the increased atomic mass alone, there would be extremely little room for error.  Any less than ninety-seven percent on our total envelope inflation capacity, and we don’t get off the ground!  But, we have no such airship at our disposal!”

Inez was suddenly brimming with confidence.  “Oh yes we do.  When the US Government called for the immediate grounding of our airship program after the destruction of The Centennial, they meant immediately.  Each ship that was currently on patrol was to land at the mooring station closest to their coordinates.  We have a ready-to-go Providence sitting in dry dock over on the Mystic Seaport edge of our base!  I checked in the pilots and crew myself that day!”

Gideon voiced his objection.  “With all due respect, Commander Sinclare, that first shipment of heleon was to be used for initial samples and testing!  We cannot simply jump straight to a trial run on an actual airship!  If anything was to happen to any of you fine ladies as a result, I could never forgive myself for giving such errant advice on our counter-operation!”

Inez smiled at the professor.  “I appreciate your care and compassion for our well-being, sir.  And for your candor.  But the burden would not be yours to carry.  I will make the final decision, being that I am currently the highest Melah-ranked member on this base who isn’t dead, AWOL, retired or suspended.”

“Ladies and gentleman, I think Commander Sinclare is onto something!” exclaimed Wendy.  “We’d literally be the only Melah vessel in the sky in the entire world during our heleon maiden voyage from Mystic to DC!  Not only do we remove the risk of being pulled over by ground patrols, but a successful flight using this new gaseous compound would cement our credibility and our alternate operation plans in lieu of Operation Quimby!  The US Government will have no choice but to take notice of us!”

“Or,” Mackenzie grumbled, “Washington DC Police and Melah ground forces could shoot us out of the sky, the moment we come within weapons range!”

“Not if we didn’t fly directly into DC,” offered up Fernanda.  “Commander, Nacotchtank Airfield is nearby in Virginia and has only been open for three months!  You could call it the weakest link at the moment, especially after the forced groundings!  I’m fairly certain they have absolutely no procedures in place at the moment for dealing with small airships showing up at their front door without clearance!  And even if they did get their act together and demand we surrender and land immediately, that’s exactly what we would be doing anyway!”

Inez folded her arms in satisfaction.  “So what say all of you?  Do we vote to move forward with this plan?  With… ‘Operation Mystify?’”

Wendy nodded.  “I vote in favor.”

Despite her reservations, Mackenzie knew that there were not many alternatives.  “I’m in as well.” 

Fernanda flashed her radiant, trademark grin.  “Well you know I’m in!”

Gideon was still pensive.  He stared across the room at nothing in particular, without a word, arms and legs crossed.  Recognizing his apprehension, Inez walked over, stretched out her hand and turned on her feminine charm.

“Professor Lapwater?” she said, speaking in deep, sultry tones.  “Even though you are not a soldier, you have been made an official member of the Melah.  And I, along with the other women on this base, consider you as such.  I value your input in this decision as well…” 

Gideon sighed with reluctance, but reached out his left hand to accept Inez’s right.  Expecting to feel the rough, cold, abrasive epidermis of a veteran soldier, he instead felt the soft, warm, smooth, moisturized skin of a well-manicured woman.  He looked up at the commander in surprise.  Their gazes locked, and Gideon was unable to turn away.  Knowing she had him, Inez slid the fingers of her other hand between’s Gideon thumb and forefinger, widened her eyelids ever-so-slightly, batted her eyelashes and put forward the most alluring pout he had ever seen.  A waft of Inez’s Melah perfume entered Gideon’s nostrils, and in his very next breath, he received it into his lungs with gladness, taking a deep, voluntary,  intoxicating inhalation.  The room melted away, leaving only a beautiful woman standing before him, a woman he now desired to please more than anything.  

 “It would be my honor to work with you four intelligent and beautiful ladies on this mission!  You have my full support!”  Gideon’s mouth spoke before his brain even had time to protest.

The commander grinned.  “Thanks, Gideon,” she said.  Inez withdrew her elongated fingers and nails as she moved away, sliding them along the entire length of the professor’s hand, from wrist, to palm, to phalanges to fingertips.  Gideon’s whole body trembled with delight. 

The commander refocused her attention back on the entire group.  “It’s a unanimous agreement, then!  Operation Mystify is a go!”  

Dusk had arrived by the time the resistance team arrived at dry dock.  

“Well, here we are, ladies and gentleman,” said Inez, introducing the team to the historic Mystic Seaport, the staging area for the resistance’s counter-operation.  The airship storage warehouse had its own lighting system, which the commander corporal located with ease.  A golden illuminance was cast all about the beautiful, yet formidable vessel, an incredible and breathtaking sight to behold.  Especially, and surprisingly to the others, for the professor.

“Magnificent,” Gideon exclaimed.  

“Even compared to The Syndicate fleet?” asked Inez.

“What is there to compare, my dear?  The Syndicate ships are cookie cutter, assembly line behemoths of cold brass, steel, silver and gold!  The Melah vessels are paragons of beauty, each craft formed and designed from the heart of a woman, with the passion and the attention to excellence that each lady possesses!  Made from the finest cherrywood!  Oak!  And maple!  Vessels of wood and earth… vessels of honor, just like the gorgeous, unique, exquisite and delightfully mysterious female vessels who created them!”

Nobody wanted to say a word after that captivating speech.  All three unmarried women were too busy making flirtatious eyes at Gideon.  Even Wendy was platonically mesmerized.  The professor began to suspect he was being watched.  Realizing this, the Melah ladies averted their eyes away from him and back toward the ship for a few more seconds, giving the moment the quiet reverence it deserved.  But not before all four pairs of maiden lips let out a high, fervent, feminal sigh, in unison.  

“How long you think it’ll be before we can away, Fernanda?” Inez asked finally.

“I mean, the ship’s only been down for just a little under two weeks,” replied the tech specialist.  “So… routine maintenance checks:  rudders, furnace, emergency supplies and what not.  After that, getting the steam engines up and running with a cold restart should take care of the mechanical part!  Long part’s going to be getting the envelopes inflated from square one!  Inez, I recommend we could really use some help from some of our other brightest, young

technicians on this effort!  If we start now, employing a standard airship mechanics crew of twelve… I’d say we could be fully inflated and ready to go by 2330 hours!”

Inez nodded.  “Right.  Then we leave on the zeros.”  

“That soon, sir?” 

“Yes.  We’re nearly four hundred miles away from DC.  And flying at eighty percent speed capacity, because we don’t want to push it any higher with this untested new gaseous compound, we’re looking at about a ten hour flight!  And that estimate is assuming the heleon mixture itself is a success and the night weather cooperates!  Fernanda.  I want you to assemble the ground crew team.  I trust your judgment.”

“Yes, commander.  And, if I may be so bold, commander?  I just can’t wait to get started!” exclaimed Fernanda.  

Inez smiled.  “Then gather around, everybody!”  The four ladies and one man formed a huddle.  

“To ‘Operation Mystify!’" Inez shouted.

“Operation Mystify!!” echoed the others. 

The commander turned the key in the creaky lock, until it released with a loud snap.  Upon entering the bridge of the airship, she was caught up to by a perky Ecuadorean.  

“Is our ground crew fully assembled, Fernanda?” asked Inez. 

“Yes, commander,” replied the tech specialist.  “All they’ve been told is that Melah leadership has ordered a fast track on airship gas substitution, capped off by a nighttime test flight to an undisclosed location, in order to gain program approval with one of our top commanders.  I didn’t tell them that the leadership was you, the location was DC and the commander was Commander In Chief Ellen Grant!”

“Excellent.  Good job.”    

Fernanda smiled, but then it faded.  “You nervous?”  

Sighing, Inez nodded, but said nothing.   

Fernanda put her reassuring hand on the commander’s shoulder.  “You got this, Inez.  When we pull this off, and we make it back here to Mystic, no one on base will ever question your leadership abilities again.  They’ll see the good leader in you that I’ve seen in you all along.”

Inez’s mind was put at ease.  “Girl, you’re so loca,” she chirped.  

“You know I am…!” Fernanda replied with a grin.  

The commander laughed.  “Alright, then.  Let’s get this bird ready for flight.”  

“Hang on, Alyssa.  Hang on just a little bit longer.”  

Around the same time that the enslaved Captain Pudens was settling down into bed and a resting pulse rate in Providence, her friend was ramping up her own pulse rate in Mystic, as she ran a series of tests on the underbelly of the Providence Class airship.

“Sorry, I didn’t get that, over,” came a chipper voice on the other end of the tech sergeant’s communicator.

“I said, the rear port and starboard rudders are not in sync!” Mackenzie exclaimed into her walkie.  “Fernanda!  You’re going to have to do a full diagnostic on the navigational alignments for rudders three and four, over!”

“Acknowledged, tech sergeant!” replied Fernanda, who was on the bridge.  “I’m initiating restart sequence for back quarter navigation, now!  Over…”

“I’m going to check on the lieutenant’s progress and come back to this!  Jefferson out!" 

Meanwhile, Inez and Gideon were making inspections topside on the back side of the ship.  

“Those tie down ropes don’t nearly have the slack they need!” cried the commander.  “Our last crew must’ve really loved living life on the edge!  Professor!  Follow me up to the aft, and help me retie these!”  

Gideon stood behind Inez on deck, as she ascended the steep wooden planks which led to the upper deck and the offending ropes.  The commander completely missed the third step, causing her entire body to come careening down into the arms of her male partner.  Holding his own, Gideon managed to keep Inez from crumpling into an embarrassing kneeling position and from having a stair slam into her lower jaw from below.  Regaining her footing again, she turned to him and basked in the glow of his personal space for just a few seconds longer.  

“Thanks, Gideon.”  

“You’re welcome… Inez.”

One floor below, Mackenzie met up with a sooty Wendy Wilderon.  Wearing her trendy, shaded goggles and stripped down to just her green Melah tank, trousers and boots, the resilient lieutenant scooped up another shovelful of fuel into the burners.  The muscle tone in her arms was admirable for a woman with the body of a sixty-year-old. 

“How’s the engine test going?” Mackenzie shouted over the roar of the engine.  

“Works like a dream!” replied Wendy.  “More coal supply will be helpful though, if you want to account for at least twenty-four hours of roundtrip air time as a safety net!”  

“We’ll get it!  And don’t put any more coal in, until we reevaluate the navigation and bladder levels of the envelopes!”

Meanwhile, above all the bustle of ground crew and air crew, the envelopes slowly inflated with heleon.  Various members of the team, whoever was closest, would replace empty heleon tanks with full ones when the need arose, in order to maintain a continuous inflation process.  As the supply dwindled, concerns arose among the crew that there would not be enough heleon to complete the task.  The time had come for the tech specialist to provide the verdict.  

Fernanda yelled into her walkie.  “Attention, everyone!  Heleon transfer is complete, that’s every last molecule we’ve got!  General heleon inflation level is at… 99.2 percent!  Well done, team!  We’re good!”  

Applause could be heard from various parts of the hangar, from the ground floor, to the airship engine room, to the main deck.  With pride, Fernanda carried herself from console to console on the bridge, making one final analysis that all the other vital systems were within Melah safety protocol limits.  Satisfied with the results, the happy tech specialist checked her Longine.  It was 2332 hours.  

The Providence Class vessel stood ready to depart.  Wendy, Mackenzie and Fernanda took their positions, leaving Inez, Gideon and the ground crew as the last ones remaining on solid earth.  

“I hope that I will be able to accompany you fine maidens on one of these incredible vessels someday,” said Gideon to the commander.    

“And you will very soon,” replied Inez.  “But we need you on the ground here in Mystic for now, should anything go wrong.  You’ve been briefed on my support team while we’re gone, reach out to one of them for anything you might need until our return.”

“Understood, commander.”  

“Go get some rest, sir.  You deserve it.  Well done.”  

“Thank you, Inez.”  

Ms. Sinclare and Mr. Lapwater both looked toward the ship to make sure no one was watching.  And then the two wrapped their arms around each other in a full body embrace, at which time the lady whispered something unexpected in the gentleman’s ear.  

“I just love the sound of your voice, Gideon.  Especially when it calls my name.  I just thought you should know that before I go.”

Her genuine interest in Gideon sent warm shivers throughout his entire body, searing a lasting impression of Ms. Sinclare in his mind he would not soon forget.  Pulling away, Inez resumed military position and saluted the professor.  

“Until our return, Professor Lapwater.”

Gideon returned the salute.  “I sincerely… sincerely… look forward to it, madam.”

The professor watched the commander turn around, and then he followed her ascension all the way up the rope ladder to rejoin her crew, paying close attention to her safety, but also to her phenomenal backside curvatures.  This time, she hit every rung without falter.  With a final smile and a wink at the professor, Inez boarded the vessel.  

Without further delay, the ship and crew lifted off the ground with the new hydrogen substitute.  Success was theirs.  The Melah Airship Program had resumed once more, albeit without military clearance and without most people knowing about it.  Nevertheless, the valiant and resilient quartet of female resistance members were now on their way to the nation’s capital to complete their mission.  

“Godspeed, ladies,” said Gideon, flanked by the Mystic ground crew.  He watched the departing airship until it was no longer in view, before he walked back to his quarters for the remainder of the night.  The professor shook his head, unable to shake the fiery, passionate and beautiful image of Commander Inez Sinclare out of his mind. 

And that incredible hair! 

Chapter 13:  Executive Assumption

The day of the Washington DC delegation had arrived, and Alyssa’s face was like that of a hand-painted, fragile, porcelain doll, similar to the ones found in museums.  The captain arose in the wee hours of the morning to ensure perfection of her outward appearance.  Not one single hair was out of place.  Not one nail was left broken or unpainted.  And her makeup, which took over ninety minutes to perfect, rivaled even her master’s.  Even her fading facial rash had disappeared, hidden masterfully under layers of concealer.  

Alyssa donned her military dress uniform, which she had washed and ironed the night before, tied her black necktie with meticulous precision and affixed her captain insignia in its rightful place.  Also, the boots on her feet were polished and laced to perfection.  Marching in perfect posture, Alyssa went straight to her base commander’s office.  

Commander Major Linnea Latrell was equally prepared with her own personal grooming.  After all, it wasn’t every day that she would have the opportunity to meet, and later own, a US President.  M.A.S. agents Hyder and Phillips were standing by once again in the back of the major’s office.   

“How long will it take until we get to DC, Alyssa?” asked Linnea.  

“Once we reach the freeway, about six hours, sir,” Alyssa replied.  

Linnea pursed her lips.  “Any news on our little firebrand and her grandmother yet?”  

“Nothing yet, Your Majesty.  The search continues.”  

“Hmm.  Then, it looks like I may have to speed things up just a bit…”

Just then, General Joan Brookefield entered the room, followed by her aide to her left and the commander of N.E.A.T. Boston to her right.  Salutes went all around.  

Linnea grinned.  “Welcome back, General Brookefield.  Fellow officers…”

“Thank you, Major Latrell,” replied Joan.  “Well, if everything is in order-”  

“Just a moment, sir,” interrupted Linnea.  “Before we depart, there is an urgent matter that I must quickly discuss with you in private.  Permission to have our other esteemed Melah colleagues wait outside for like, three minutes?”  

Joan was confused, but nodded.  “Alright.  Three minutes.  Ladies, could you wait out in the hallway for just a moment?”  

Once the door had been closed by the still-present Hyder and Phillips, the general turned back towards the major.  “Linnea, our transportation to Washington DC is waiting just outside your office door!  What is this pressing matter you wish to discuss?”

“It’s just one quick item of business, sir.  Are you sure you want to be with us on this delegation?”  

“What do you mean?  Of course I’m sure I want to be on this delegation!”

Linnea remained smug.  “No, no… I know you think you do.  Still, I just think, deep down inside, you’d rather be doing something else today.”

Hyder and Phillips overpowered Joan from behind, as they prepared the general for integration, making sure her nose was fully exposed.  Meanwhile, Alyssa, who had been gravitating closer and closer, pushed two small nozzles into Joan’s nostrils and sprayed a generous mist of exotic, pheromone-laced chemicals into the general’s nasal cavity.  

General Brookefield’s knees buckled, her body held up only with the M.A.S. agents’ support.  Staggering to keep her balance, she felt like she had just drunken an entire bottle of cask whiskey.  Joan let out a high pitched yelp, as her mind raced to discover inclinations to exercise free will that no longer existed.  Gazing into the major’s eyes in bewilderment, Joan began to perceive how drawn she was to Linnea.  How great her desire became to serve her, to please her!  

No, not just to please her… I wish to be owned by her!  

Having now been released by her captors, Joan’s brain received another jolt, a euphoric blend of affirmation and encouragement for her new servitude.  She chirped in joyous and unconditional reverence, knowing that Linnea was near.  Her mind could no longer comprehend rank or military hierarchy.  Only total surrender and devotion, to the royal standing before her.  A woman Joan no longer recognized as Melah Officer Major Latrell, but as her queen, her supreme master, and her owner.  

Linnea spoke in soft, hushed tones.  “Joan?  Joan, can you hear me?”  

Joan’s pupils rolled back behind her fluttering eyelids.  “Yes.  I can hear you.”

“Good.  You are now my slave, Joan, and I your master,  Your orders have changed, my servant.  You will no longer be going to Washington with me today.”  

“I… I will no longer be going to Washington with you today.  So… how is it that I may serve you instead?  Your Majesty?” 

Linnea folded her arms in satisfaction.  “First, bring your aides back into the room, as I will need to ensure their loyalty to my cause as well.  Alyssa?  A quick tutorial for former General Brookefield, if you would be so kind?”

Alyssa gave her eager new recruit basic instruction on how the nasal spray worked, before handing her one.  “Just one push at the bottom like this is all it takes,” she said.

“Understood, sir,” Joan replied, even saluting her subordinate.  

A minute later, Joan’s entourage returned to the office, after which time each aide received a similar, foreign object shoved up into her nostrils by Alyssa, Joan and the M.A.S. agents.  Within a matter of seconds, they too were swimming in intoxicated anticipation, swaggering to try and keep their footing and awaiting their orders on how they could best please their new master.  

Linnea, The Queen Bee, spoke to her new subordinates and liaisons.  “The time has nearly come for me to execute total dominion over this camp, my loyal subjects.  This order must be ready to be carried out by tomorrow, upon my return from Washington.  Therefore, I command that you ladies stay behind for the next day-and-a-half and do my bidding while I am away.”  

“Yes, Your Majesty,” all three women said in unison.  

“On these lists are compounds and instructions to create additional QRPs and QMPs.  Proceed to my lab and create these compounds while I am away.  Take whatever normal mealtimes and restroom breaks you need, so as to not arouse suspicions.  Use the Senior Officer’s barracks for sleep during the night.  Once you have successfully created the quantities of compounds I require, you will then transport them into the empty containers provided.  You must make certain to order the entire camp that you are not to be disturbed for the next two days.  And, above all else, tell no one what you are doing.  Do you understand, ladies?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the women repeated, as each one received her list.  

“Captain Pudens, escort these fine ladies to the lab.  You know which one.  Then return to me for further instruction.”

“Gladly, Your Majesty.  It is my pleasure to serve you,” replied Alyssa.    

As Alyssa led former General Brookefield and her team to the lab, Linnea looked over at Hyder and Phillips and smiled.   

“This is way too easy, girls.  Boston and Mystic don’t stand a chance.  And neither does Washington.”

  

***

Right as the grey, January dawn broke, a middling, solitary airship emerged out into the open sky, having finally been released from the obliging, cumulus clouds of the night.  While the queen retinue infection was beginning to spread a couple hundred miles behind them, the independent, intelligent, beautiful and determined Melah resistance women sailed full steam ahead.  

Mackenzie entered the engine room where Wendy continued to faithfully tend to the coals when needed.  

“I brought you some coffee,” said Mackenzie, handing the good lieutenant a cup.  “We’re about two hours out from the airfield now.  All systems within Melah protocol tolerance.  Weather couldn’t have turned out any better than it did.”

“Did you get any sleep during the night?” asked Wendy.  

“A few hours.  I took the first sleep schedule.  Inez slept a few hours after me.  I don’t think Fernanda’s slept at all.”

“That’s because she’s as excited as a kid at Coney Island.  Can’t blame her really.”

“You didn’t get any sleep either?”

Wendy scrunched up her wrinkled face.  “Nah.  I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead.  I’ve got too many waking moments to catch up on before then.”  

The lieutenant moved over to the nearest window and sat down in an obliging chair.  She pulled up a second chair within an arms’s reach and beckoned her friend to join her.

“So I’ve told you my story, Mackenzie.  Now what’s your story?  What’s a nice girl like you, doing on a Melah airship like this?”  

Mackenzie shrugged.  “There’s not much story to tell, really.  I was once a rich woman’s daughter.  An heiress even.”  

“An heiress?” 

“Mm-hmm.  In other words, a snob most of my childhood.”  

“Oh, hogwash.”  Wendy scoffed at the notion.  

“My parents were… are… wealthy, high-level executives… with the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate.  When I was barely old enough to walk, my mother became friends with another rich, Syndicate family, whose mother had a son, Evan, who was my age.  We grew up together as good friends.  As we got older, my parents took note of our attraction to each other and eventually decided that the two of us should be betrothed to be married, when we were of age.  Evan’s parents approved of the match as well, and the plan was that we would be wed at the beginning of the summer the year we both turned eighteen.  Evan and I enjoyed talking to each other a lot… kissed a few times, nothing outlandish.  I thought at the time that I would have been perfectly happy spending the rest of my life with him.

“A couple of weeks after I received my high school diploma, a few weeks before we were to marry, I went over to Evan’s house early one afternoon, unannounced, and caught him in bed naked, about thirty seconds away from committing full-blown adultery with my naked twenty-four-year-old cousin!”

Wendy was shocked and saddened.  “Oh, no, Mackenzie!  No, no, my dearest child!” she cried.

“I cannot begin to convey to you the depths of my despair,” Mackenzie continued, anger starting to build.  “When my parents found out, they blamed me!  They actually had the audacity to blame ME!  For not fighting for him hard enough, for not… being attentive enough to his needs!  They told me I was the one who had disgraced their family and that my inheritance was now in jeopardy.  I told them, in no uncertain terms, that I would not be played the scapegoat for someone else’s indiscretions.  I may have cursed a bit too, when I told them which of their respective bodily orifices they could deposit my ‘inheritance’ in.  And then, utterly humiliated, I ran away and immediately enlisted in the Melah, at the recommendation of a Melah recruiting officer I had met right before graduation.  I’ve not spoken to my parents, my family, or Evan, ever since.”  

“My poor darling, I’m so sorry!”

“No, it’s alright now!  The Melah gladly took me in, accepting me as I was, like I was an adopted daughter!  They took a severely depressed, confused, insecure, heartbroken, young belle, trained her in the ways of service and compassion, duty and honor, and made her into the confident, dutiful and honor-seeking woman that stands before you today.  And for that, I will be forever grateful.  The Melah has become my family now.  You.  Fernanda.  Alyssa.  Gideon.  Even Inez.  All these amazing women and men I’ve worked with, up until now.  Maybe I don’t look the part all the time.  But deep inside, my heart is full.  The only home I know now, is here with the Melah.”

Mackenzie’s squeezed her eyes shut and furrowed her brow. 

“…Which is also why this false witness against me on Latrell's part is so painful for me as well!”

Wendy reached out and brought Mackenzie close to her bony bosom.  “Oh my sweetest, dearest Mackenzie… of course we’ll be your family!  And, as family, we will stand by you!  And we will help you reinstate your good name and military standing!  I promise!”

Mackenzie nodded, grateful for her adopted family.

 

***

“Madam President?”

“Yes, what is it, William?”  

“Madam, your eleven o’clock meeting with the Secretary of Agriculture will need to be rescheduled.  All three of her daughters have come down with influenza in the past twenty-four hours.”  

President Ellen Grant sat behind the Stalwart Desk in the White House’s Yellow Oval Room, when William Craig, Chief of Presidential Security and President Grant’s own personal bodyguard, delivered the news.  

“Oh no!” she cried.  “Very well, tell Meredith I understand, and that I wish her family a speedy recovery!  See if she is willing to reschedule for this same time one week from now!”

“At once, Madam President.”  

Alone again, Ellen sighed and looked at her favorite deck of playing cards stacked in a neat pile on the upper right hand corner of her desk.  

“Looks like a Solitaire morning for me,” she said, preparing for what she believed would be a rather pedestrian day. 

The same could not be said for the employees of a nearby airfield, where a Providence Class airship hovered just a few feet off the ground over a runway.  Two women stood opposed to one man, a plucky, yet also edgy and insecure groundsman who, at the moment, appeared to be the only obstacle standing in the way to a successful mooring.

“Look, I’m telling you ladies, you can’t dock here!  All air traffic has been grounded until further notice!” the nervous man kept repeating.

“Sir!”  Wendy called down to him from the railing of the deck.  “Don’t you have like a director or somebody I can speak with?  We just need to relay an extremely important message to President Grant as soon as possible, and then we’ll be out of here again!”

“Listen, ladies.  You do not want my director to come down here!  She’ll go crazy!”

“She doesn’t have to come down here!” Inez tried to explain.  “If you’ll just… toss up… your communicator to us we can-” 

“No!”

The commander rolled her eyes and growled at her shipmate.  “Aaaargh!  What are we supposed to do, lieutenant?  Just hover here over the tarmac for the next hour or so?”

“Please, just be patient, commander!” said Wendy.  “This airfield has barely been open three months!  Fernanda said it herself, they’re still working all the bugs out!  I’m absolutely certain that tarmac delays in all US airports will be a thing of the past in the next… five to ten years or so!”

Inez leaned over, put her elbows on the railing and placed her head into her open hands.  “Little good that does us now…” she mumbled.

William returned to the Yellow Oval Room in little time at all, apologizing profusely.  “Please pardon the interruption again, President Grant…”

“It’s alright, William,” replied Ellen.  “What’s wrong?”

“I am getting reports of some… unusual activity over at Nacotchtank Airfield!”

“What kind of unusual activity?”

William picked up a separate phone in an open alcove on the back wall, specifically designed for that room of the White House, and resumed a conversation he had been having at his own desk.  “I’m getting reports of a… Melah airship, Providence Class, attempting to moor there!”

“Providence Class?  As in the delegation??  They’re several hours early!  And who gave them permission to fly in here??” President Grant demanded to know, folding her arms.

“Details are… still coming in…”

Ellen uncrossed her arms and threw up her hands.  “Alright!  Alright!  It has to be General Brookefield we’re talking about here, she must’ve had her reasons!  Don’t we have someone in A.T.O. over there?”

“I believe so…”

“Well then, get them to get that ship moored, and then have them bring the members of the delegation straight to the White House and directly into my office!  I want to know exactly what’s going on here!“

“Yes, Madam President.”  

William’s face was turning a bright shade of red, as the minutes wore on and the president kept staring at him.  He was back on the presidential alcove phone, having an animated conversation with… somebody.

“Yes.  Look, I don’t care if she’s having a late breakfast, get Teri down to the tarmac immediately!  President Grant’s orders!” 

“Uuuuh!  Finally!” exclaimed Inez.

Several high-end automobiles had come onto the runway, led by a limousine.  The caravan approached the airship in a procession-style formation, before stopping a short distance away.  At the front of the procession, a winsome A.T.O. employee in a business suit stepped out of the passenger side of the limo and walked within speaking distance of the Melah ladies, all four of whom were now present and peering out over the railing.  

The woman introduced herself as the C.O.O. of the entire Air Traffic Organization.  She then politely, but firmly, ordered the four Mystic ladies to dock their vessel in a nearby hangar, after which time they would all accompany her into her vehicle.  Then she got back into her limo, and it took off toward the hangar, breaking rank with the other idling vehicles.

“Wait.  Leave the airship here, unattended?” said Mackenzie.

“It’ll be alright,” replied Wendy.

The airship was guided inside a hangar specifically designed for their Providence Class make and model.  The Mystic crew moored the Providence vessel as ordered, at which time each and every lady disembarked and entered the back of the limousine which awaited them on the hangar floor.  With just one word from the C.O.O. to the limo driver, the vehicle left the airfield and headed to a destination unknown.  No one from the flight knew what was going on, but nobody wanted to speak up either.  

Naturally, it was Fernanda who broke the silence.  “Do you have any idea where they’re taking us?” she asked under her breath.

“I don’t know,” replied Inez.  “But what I do know is that the Air Traffic Organization is part of the newly founded Federal Aviation Administration.  I don’t think we’re in any danger.”  

A short time later, the limo made its last turn, on route to its final destination.  All four members of the Melah Resistance let out a collective gasp.  There, before the women’s disbelieving eyes, stood The White House, a beautiful, ornate piece of architecture that had housed every single US President since John Adams.  Albeit at half staff, in memoriam to the lives lost on The Centennial, the twenty-four star United States flag nevertheless flew proudly above the ivory, portico-columned structure, surrounded by tended lawns, flower gardens and fountains.  The vehicle parked next to the curb directly in front of the White House grounds, and then the woman in front turned to the back seat.  

“Everyone please exit the vehicle and follow me.”

The Melah ladies stepped outside, taking in the extraordinary view and feeling the crisp, cold, winter air pass through their lungs.  The small band reached the halfway point of the lavish front yard.  “Stay here for a minute,” said the A.T.O. employee, walking ahead to meet a solitary man coming out of The White House.  The four Melah ladies watched, as the two federal employees begin speaking privately to each other from a short distance away, their backs turned. 

Their discreet conversation went on longer than expected.  “What do you think they’re talking about so intently?” whispered Fernanda.

“Us, obviously,” replied Mackenzie. 

Inez shook her head.  “I take back what I said earlier.  I think we’re all in a lot of trouble!”

  

“You owe me a free breakfast.” 

William almost burst out laughing, but managed to keep his professional composure.

“A small price to pay to keep my job,” he replied back with a smirk.

“Saturday then?  I know this great little breakfast nook in Alexandria…”

“You don’t tarry around, do you, Teri?”

“What can I say?  I know what I want, and I know how to get it.”  

“Saturday, then.  I look forward to it.”    

“Splendid.  You have my number, of course…”

“Yes, ma’am!” William exclaimed, making certain that the guests heard him as well.  

“Sounds good!  They’re all yours, sir!” she exclaimed back, winking as she walked away.

The man made an official introduction to the Melah women.  “William Craig, White House Chief of Presidential Security.  If you would accompany me please, ladies?”

William led the way toward the mansion, followed by Mackenzie and Wendy, followed by Inez and Fernanda.  

“Is he actually taking us to see the president?” Fernanda whispered to Inez, both ladies in awe with what was shaping up right before them. 

“Is he actually taking us to see the president?” Wendy whispered to Mackenzie, both ladies in awe with what was shaping up right before them.

Each and every Melah lady’s jaw dropped upon entering The White House.  For all the little girls who ever desired to be the future leaders of America as they played with their dolls, The Presidential Mansion was their fantasy dollhouse.  But in this case, the entire dollhouse had been built to human scale.  It was a delight to every woman’s senses, like being in a dream, upon seeing all the ornate architecture, lavish floral arrangements and exquisite artwork. William was accustomed to this reaction from first-time guests and graciously allowed the New England women some time to take in as much of it as they could. 

The ladies were then escorted to a large oak security table with two armed guards standing behind it.  “Ladies,” said William, “you will need to check in your sidearms here, you will get them back upon your departure.  Also, please place your bags and satchels on this table for a security inspection.”  

Tensions rose among the Melah resistance, but the women did what they were told without objection.  After all, this was the US Government they were dealing with, a respected and trustworthy entity.  And besides, none of the women carried possessions that would raise any suspicions.  That is, except for Wendy, who appeared to be having the most difficulty with her routine bag inspection.  

“What’s this?” asked the burly security guard, pulling out the aerosol spray with the retinue antidote.

“It’s… spray…” replied the lieutenant matter-of-factly, pantomiming hair spray being used around her head of white hair.  “We just sprayed her hair this morning,” she continued, first pointing her index finger at Mackenzie’s blonde hair and tight bun and then making an invisible orbit around the tech sergeant’s head with her hands.  Mackenzie just smiled.  

The security guard rolled his eyes and put the aerosol can back in Wendy’s bag.  He pulled out another item.  

“My makeup kit.”  Wendy giggled, waving her hands again and bobbing her head.

Having completed the security inspection, William then led the ladies straight to The Honorable Madam President of the United States of America herself, Ms. Ellen Penelope Grant.  William opened the door to the Yellow Oval Room, allowed the ladies to pass through first, and then slipped in behind them.  

“Madam President?  Here to see you are Melah Retired Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon, Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson, Corporal Inez Sinclare and Tech Specialist Fernanda Ortiz,” announced the head of security, before he turned to leave.  

“Wait, William,” said Ellen.  “Please remain in the room with us, while I sort this whole thing out.”

“Of course, Madam President.” 

Ellen stood up and did a casual stroll directly in front of her desk, with her arms behind her back, and then did a 180 and retraced her steps the opposite direction, as she glared at the unexpected, unprofessional lot.  The president noticed one lady’s face had noticeable coal dust on it, which that woman had hastily tried to wipe away most of before arriving.  Another lady had a meticulously-bandaged left wrist.  It looked like all the women had been wearing their disheveled, wrinkled, Melah greens for at least a day.

“Do you ladies like to play cards?”

President Grant followed-up her unusual question with a rationale.

“I have found that there’s much you can learn about someone you’ve just met for the first time, based simply on their favorite card game.  So what’s yours, ladies?”

Ellen pointed to the corporal in the back.  “You there.  Ms. … Sinclare.”  

Inez had to think for a second.  “Uh… ‘Poker?’” she answered.  

“‘Blackjack,’” replied Wendy.  

 “For me, it’s always been ‘Go Fish,’” answered the always-bubbly Fernanda. 

Mackenzie frowned.  “I was never really big into card games.  I’ve always preferred playing ‘Jacks’ or ‘Marbles’ since I was a little girl.”

“A perfectly acceptable answer.  Thank you, Ms. Jefferson,” replied the president.

Ellen made the short journey back to her chair, stood in front of it and leaned over, placing her hands flat on her desk.

“I am not certain I understand, ladies.  I have, standing before me, a retired lieutenant, a tech sergeant, a corporal and a tech specialist?  A straight flush, to be sure, but a low card one!”  Ellen sat back down.

“THIS is the Melah delegation they chose to send to Washington??” 

“A straight flush uses five cards, not four…” whispered Fernanda to her teammates, before getting elbowed in the ribs by Inez.  “Ow!” the tech specialist cried.  

“Delegation?” asked Wendy in confusion, before connecting the dots.  “Ahhh.  If I may explain, Madam President?”  

“I wish you would,” Ellen replied.

“I’m afraid there has been a misunderstanding.  We are not part of the N.E.A.T. Providence, Rhode Island Melah delegation that is set to meet with you this afternoon!  We are Melah from N.E.A.T. Mystic, Connecticut!” 

The president nodded.  “I see.  Go on…”

Wendy continued.  “We came to Washington on our alternative-gas inflated airship, simply to pass on a message to this administration, and a warning, and then immediately depart again.  We had also planned to submit to you, in writing, an alternative proposal to the Providence delegation proposal that is set to be presented to you later today.  Knowing that a face-to-face interaction with The President of the United States would be nearly impossible for a quartet of loyal-yet-lower-ranked Melah soldiers, we had planned to give these messages to one of your aides, who could then forward the information directly on to you.  The four of us had no idea that we would be mistaken for the actual Providence delegation and have the distinct, serendipitous pleasure of meeting you in person!  For the confusion regarding our presence here, I and my team sincerely apologize to you, Madam President.”  

Ellen pursed her lips to one side for several seconds.

“It’s alright,” she said finally.  “In fact, the fault lies completely with me, ladies.  For making an assumption without checking all the facts.”  

With a silent wave of her hand, The President of the United States dismissed William from the room.  With the door to her office now closed, Ellen leaned back in her chair, smiled at the Melah quartet and clapped her hands together in curiosity.  

“Well!  Since you’re already here now… why don’t you simply relay your message directly to me?  What… warning… does this administration need to be aware of?”

The clock edged closer to lunchtime and to the mid-afternoon presidential appointment with N.E.A.T. Providence.  Wendy felt like she had the best chance of convincing President Grant of the authenticity regarding their counter mission and their plight.  But even she was having a hard time selling it to this administration. 

“No.  No, no, no, I declare, this cannot be.”

“It’s the truth, Madam President!  Every word of it!” Wendy exclaimed.

“No!” cried Ellen.  “The Melah delegation that is coming in a few hours is supposed to be led by General Brookefield, a good friend of mine for many years, someone I’ve come to know and trust!  I was a Melah general too once, you know!  You’re expecting me to believe that Joan would betray my trust and her uniform as well?”

“Madam, she most likely won’t have a choice in the matter!”  

The President of the United States shook her head.  “No,” she insisted.  “Mind control through nasal sprays?  Military takeovers?  Time acceleration??  You have presented me with the most outlandish allegations I have ever heard in my three years as president!  How am I supposed to take you and, the most motley assortment of Melah women I have ever hosted in my entire life, seriously?”

Wendy leaned over The Stalwart Desk, a bit borderline foolishly.

“Mark my words, Madam President,” she predicted, “General Brookefield will come to the White House this afternoon, happier than a clam about this merger with the Manhattan Airsuite Syndicate, and will insist on putting Major Linnea Latrell in charge of the entire operation, every single detail of it!  Or, General Brookefield will ‘suddenly’ come down with a cold or something at the last minute, will not be able to attend this meeting, and will defer the entire Melah delegation to Latrell right from the beginning!  You cannot allow that woman to get within an arm’s length of you, Ms. Grant!”

“Preposterous!  If one of those scenarios actually ends up happening, I’ll… I’ll… eat that deck of playing cards sitting on my desk right there!”

“President Grant?” interrupted a male voice.  The direct line of sight between Ellen and William was partially blocked by Wendy hovering over the president.  

“One second, sir,” sighed Ellen, staring back at Wendy.  “And I suppose that’s my White House Chief of Presidential Security coming to deliver the news to me right now!  Alright, what is it, William?”

“Madam President, I’ve just received an update from the Melah delegation.  General Brookefield sincerely regrets to inform you that she has been taken ill with a high fever this morning and will not be able to attend the meeting this afternoon.  She does however, wish to convey a message that she has all confidence in Major Linnea Latrell taking over the proceedings and reaching an equitable arrangement for all parties involved.  She wishes to express her personal regret for not being able to come, by sending a gift… that the major will present to you personally on the general’s behalf, upon their arrival.”  

Wendy straightened her posture, folded her arms and smiled with a kind of I-told-you-so smirk.

Ellen’s nose flared, as she glared at Wendy.  “You daughter of a gun,” she growled.

The president stood up again, walked behind her desk, pulled back the curtains and looked out the window.  “I… I need time to process all this.” 

“With all due respect, Madam President, we don’t have that much time,” replied Wendy. 

“I realize that, lieutenant.  But your report has just taken on a whole new air of believability, and I need to balance this all out in my head so that, whatever the outcome, suspicions aren’t raised.”  

Ellen’s eyes narrowed.  “Either you four Melah women have taken complete leave of your senses… or you have willingly risked sacrificing your integrities, and your careers, in order to bring me information that is one hundred percent accurate and truthful!  Mr. Craig!”  

“Yes, Madam President?” William replied.

“It’s almost lunchtime.  Please take these women to the kitchen and allow them access to any of the incredible sandwiches or hors d’oeuvres we have on hand.  Afterwards, bring them right back to the waiting room next door to my office and await my further instruction.”

“It will be done, Madam President.”

“We just had a brand new kitchen installed in the White House about six months ago,” said Ellen to the Melah quartet.  “Amazing facility, with all the latest state-of-the-art appliances and utensils around.  I would join you for lunch but… I appear to be experiencing a sour stomach at the moment.”

“This way, ladies,” said William.

As they were leaving, Fernanda put up her hand.  “Oh!  Madam President-”  

“I’m not eating the cards!” President Grant snapped.  

Fernanda put her hand down and kept walking.

Chapter 14:  Which Path to Take

After lunch, President Grant agreed to sit down in the adjoining parlor to the Yellow Oval Room and discuss Operation Mystify with the team from N.E.A.T. Mystic.  Mackenzie took point, explaining their recruitment of former M.A.S. employee Professor Gideon Lapwater, the recommendation that heleon would be the best substitute for hydrogen gas on airships, and stressing the successful maiden voyage that the resistance had completed that morning from Mystic to DC in a heleon-infused, Providence Class vessel.  Ellen listened intently and respectfully to the peculiar delegation’s entire proposal, taking notes and finding merit in what they were recommending.  

With the N.E.A.T. Providence delegation now less than an hour away, President Grant ordered the N.E.A.T. Mystic women to remain in the parlor until called for, assigning William to tend to any of their needs for the duration.  As soon as Ellen had left, Mackenzie immediately asked William for a favor.  He headed to the parlor phone and began making inquiries.  

The waiting was dreadful, like being in a hospital lobby, with each resistance member waiting with apprehension for the doctor to call her name.  Even laidback Fernanda was pacing.  So was Inez.  Wendy and Mackenzie sat down at a table across from one another, wringing their hands.  

Before long, William approached Mackenzie with some news.  “Madam, I tracked down that information you were asking about.  Captain Alyssa Pudens is one of the members of today’s Melah delegation.”

Mackenzie smiled.  “Thank you, William.”

“Thank you for looking into that for us, Mr. Craig,” Wendy concurred, face freshly washed from any residual coal dust left over from her airship responsibilities.  Once William had returned to the other side of the room, the lieutenant leaned in toward the tech sergeant.  

“I still have my aerosol antidote,” Wendy whispered.  “Once the Providence delegation is confronted, if the conditions are right… I’m going to release it into the Yellow Oval Room.”

Mackenzie’s eyes widened.  “You’re going to try and use it on Alyssa?”  

Wendy nodded.  

“What do you think will happen?” asked Mackenzie.

“Hard to say,” Wendy replied.  “Several factors could play into this:  barometric pressure, size of the room… your captain’s response to the gaseous compound could go anywhere from vague recognition of her true identity all the way up to full-blown deliverance.  I’m hoping the antidote might even affect Latrell in some way!  Just keep a close eye out on Alyssa’s reactions, my dear.”  

 

While plans were being made by the N.E.A.T. Mystic resistance, the N.E.A.T. Providence delegation, consisting of Major Latrell, Captain Pudens, and M.A.S. agents Hyder and Phillips, were only a few short miles away from The White House.  They too, were making plans.  

Linnea informed the rest of her entourage about the security check-in and the requirement of turning in their firearms.  While the Providence delegation was willing to comply with these demands, what would not be revealed to the security team would be the small laser stun gun that the major would be concealing in a hidden pocket on her person.  Nor the hidden switchblades that the M.A.S. ladies would have hidden away either.

Alyssa, who was behind the wheel, rolled her eyes and shook her head.  “Your Majesty, I don’t understand why you think these additional measures are necessary!  President Grant is going to love you!  And before long, she will become part of your inner circle and love you even more!” 

“Be that as it may,” Linnea replied, “I’m not taking any chances.  Nothing must prevent Operation Quimby from being adopted!”  

Soon, the N.E.A.T. Providence delegation was at The White House front entrance, checking in their weapons and completing their bag inspections.  Once they had been cleared, William led them to the president. 

“President Grant?  The members of the Providence Melah delegation, led by Major Linnea Latrell,” said William.  He then moved to a strategic position between Ellen and the women standing just inside the office doorway. 

Linnea feigned elation.  “A true honor to make your acquaintance, Madam President!” she exclaimed.

President Grant remained seated at her desk.  “Major,” she said.

“Allow me to introduce my staff.  This is Captain Alyssa Pudens, and these are my M.A.S. intermediaries Ms. Hyder and Ms. Phillips.”

“Welcome to the White House, ladies.”  Again, there was little emotion in Ellen’s voice, and she barely even looked up.

“As you know, President Grant, General Brookefield expresses her true sadness that she was not able to attend today’s meeting.  But she wanted you to have something.  A gift for the president, if I may approach-”  

“You may not…” interrupted Ellen. 

Major Latrell blinked twice in confusion.  “Madam President?”

“Ever since The Centennial’s destruction, there have been several threats made against The White House and against this administration.  We’ve had to tighten up security tremendously since that event.  Nothing personal, major.”

“I see,” Linnea replied, feeling a bit perturbed.  She could sense the outline of her hidden gun pressing into her thigh. 

“Do you ladies like to play cards?”

“I’m sorry?”

Ellen rose from her chair to explain her previous question.  “I have found that there is much you can learn about someone you’ve just met for the first time, based simply on their favorite card game.  Do you have a favorite, Major Latrell?”

Linnea tried to keep a reserved demeanor, but deep down inside, she was already growing impatient.  “With all due respect, Madam President, I fail to see what that has to do with this delegation or the pressing matter at hand.”

“A perfectly insightful answer.  Thank you, Major Latrell.”  Ellen sat back down.

Linnea shrugged.  “So?  Are we going to go somewhere else in the White House to discuss and secure your final approval of Operation Quimby, Madam President?” 

The president smiled.  “Eventually,” she replied.  “However… I’ve also got another offer on the table already.  Came in a few hours ago.  I’d like to review the proposals simultaneously, and then make my final decision.”

Linnea was beside herself.  “Another offer?  What… what are you talking about?”

Ellen looked to her left.  “Bring them in, William.”  

The head of security opened up the side door, allowing Mackenzie, Inez, Fernanda and Wendy to enter the room.  William then made another strategic move to the other side of the office, opposite the N.E.A.T. Mystic ladies.  During the reintroduction, Wendy made certain that she was the last one to enter, so that she could activate the anti-retinue aerosol spray, right before she stepped through the doorway.

“What is this??” exclaimed Linnea, incensed at seeing the ragtag group of Melah soldiers standing before her.  Especially Mackenzie Jefferson.  The two glared at one another, each pair of eyes shooting death rays at the other person. 

“This?  Why, this is the Melah delegation from Mystic, Connecticut!” replied Ellen.  “You were not aware that there was another delegation scheduled to arrive earlier today?”  

“President Grant, you can’t be serious!”  

“I am dead serious, Major Latrell!  Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon here, has brought to my attention a counter-proposal, drafted by her aide, Tech Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson, that I’d like the benefit of reviewing in its entirety as well!”  

While President Grant was speaking, Alyssa’s devotion began to waver.  Her dead stare was replaced by slow closing and opening eyelid movements.  Mackenzie took a sideward glance toward her friend to see what kind of effect the anti-retinue gas might be having on her.

Linnea was becoming increasingly angry and indignant.  “Madam President,” she said, “you have been gravely deceived by these women!  Ms. Jefferson is a traitor!  A Melah fugitive who has been on the run for well over a day!  And Ex-Lieutenant Wilderon is a disgraced, dishonorable, delusional veteran who still thinks she’s thirty-three-years old-”

“Thirty-five-,” groaned Wendy, as if somehow that was the gravest insult among the slurs that were hurled at her.  But Linnea kept right on talking without skipping a beat.  

“And then you have these other two… nobodies… who just happened to tag along for the ride from… who knows where those two drones came from!”  

Fernanda’s jaw dropped at hearing Linnea’s contemptuous comment.  And Inez’s expression read, ‘Girl, you did NOT just say that about us.’

“Madam President,” Linnea concluded, “I have the personal endorsement of General Brookefield, along with the entire Melah organization, on my side!  Call the general up now, I’m certain she will back me!”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will, major,” replied Ellen.  “But I already know what she’s going to say!”

“And I suppose that’s because Jefferson and Mother Time here already filled your head with a pack of falsehoods!” 

None of the three Providence delegation members standing in front of Alyssa could see the abject shock and horror spreading across her face.  Mackenzie, however, saw it.  Their eyes met.  

“These Melah women from Mystic,” exclaimed Ellen, “have presented me with… a remarkable story!  Truly staggering and preposterous!  And yet, based on the evidence thus far, including now seeing your obvious contempt for women of the lower ranks, I’ve actually got half a mind to believe every word of it!  At least all four of them answered my card game question.  You weren’t even capable of doing that!”

“Madam President,” said Linnea, through clenched teeth.  Something in the room didn’t smell right in the major’s nostrils.  And she found herself having trouble concentrating. 

Ellen Grant rose to her feet, folded her arms and spoke with authority.  “Look, I am The President of the United States of America, so this is what I say is going to happen!  We all disperse for about thirty minutes, to allow our emotions to cool just a bit, and to allow your two respective teams to prepare your proposals!  Then we all reconvene in the White House Conference Room, where the Mystic Team and the Providence Team delegations will make their cases, starting with Lieutenant Wilderon’s team!  Then, once both proposals have been fully presented to me, I will decide which one I would like to recommend to Congress!  ‘Operation Mystify?’  Or ‘Operation Quimby?’” 

While the president continued to talk, Linnea’s lapses in concentration worsened.  She squeezed her eyes tight, but could not shake the fog descending around her brain.  And that smell! she thought, even though she was the only one in the room who seemed to notice it.  Keeping her face forward, her eyes darted to her right, toward the Mystic Team.  

A vapor.  

An airborne compound appeared to be leaking out of Wendy’s satchel.  The wall behind the lieutenant was distorted, as if some foreign gas in front of it was causing the major not to be able focus on it clearly.  Linnea’s eyes grew wide, white-hot emotion flooding her insides.  She looked back at the president one last time, in utter panic and alarm.

Uh, oh, thought Wendy.

“You know what, major?” concluded President Grant.  “Can we just drop the pretense and just call it ‘Operation Queen Bee’ from now on?”  

At that moment, Linnea aborted the mission.  She retrieved her hidden laser pistol and pointed it straight at the president’s heart.  

“Major!” cried Hyder in fright.  

William went for his gun.  But Linnea turned and fired first, scoring a direct hit and sending his body careening into the wall behind him, before he crumpled onto the ground, unconscious.

The Providence delegation disintegrated into disarray.  Hyder gasped.  Alyssa yelped in disbelief, wanting to scream, but no additional sound came out.  Phillips hollered, “You never said anything about actually shooting somebody!”  

Linnea didn’t care.  She had refocused the laser back on Ellen and was slowly pulling back on the trigger.  “Sweet dreams, Madam President,” she snarled.  “You belong to the Queen Bee now!!”  

From out of nowhere, Alyssa attacked Linnea with a loud shriek, wrapping herself around the major’s arms from behind and placing every ounce of energy she had into restraining the major.  The laser blast Linnea fired was redirected, burning a hole in the rug directly in front of The Stalwart Desk.  And even though President Grant was startled and frightened, she remained otherwise unharmed.

All four members of the Mystic resistance team sprang into action.  

“Get down, Madam President!” shouted Mackenzie, running toward Ellen and pulling her down behind The Stalwart Desk for cover.  Hyder and Phillips flanked the struggling Linnea and Alyssa, as an added layer of protection for the major.  But Inez and Fernanda rushed The Syndicate members, plowing the full force of their bodies into the respective agent they had chosen to attack.  Wendy meanwhile, ran across the room to the injured William, stripping off her outer jacket and placing it on top of him.  

“Sergeant!” cried Ellen to Mackenzie, as they remained prostrate behind the desk.  “I have a laser pistol in the bottom drawer of my bureau there!  Take it!”  Mackenzie obeyed, opening the Stalwart Desk drawer from where she lay and pulling out the weapon right where the president had said it would be.  

While Inez struggled to get her hands around the neck of Phillips, and Fernanda knocked Hyder to the ground, Linnea continued to try and break free of Alyssa’s grip on her.  The major shuffled her way backwards and slammed the captain into the rear wall.  Alyssa cried out, but held on tight.  

“Primary laser power is dead,” said Mackenzie, reaching for something in her satchel.  “Charging up secondary battery to get a stun setting!” 

Linnea was back in the middle of the room, still wrestling with Alyssa.  In a huge surge of adrenaline, the major wriggled free enough to elbow Alyssa’s stomach with significant force.  As the captain doubled over, Linnea then slammed that same elbow with all her might into Alyssa’s temple.  The captain went flying backwards into a small, wooden coffee table, destroying the table with her body and knocking off the lamp on top of it back as she fell, shattering it just few feet away.  Having now been released, Linnea refocused her gun on where the president had been just a few moments before.  But there was nobody standing there anymore.  

The anti-retinue gas continued to pour out into the room.  Linnea began convulsing in violent and uncontrollable spasms.  Her eyes blinked rapidly.  Incoherent speech poured out of her mouth.  All fighting ceased for a moment.  Everybody in the room froze, with all eyes focused on what was happening to the base commander of N.E.A.T. Providence.  

Linnea appeared disoriented and absolutely terrified.  Looking around the room in dismay, her eyes fell upon Wendy, who was still tending to William.  The two women’s gazes locked, as a most peculiar petition escaped from Ms. Latrell’s lips.  

“Help me, drill sergeant!” she cried, in a high-pitched plea.  

Wendy’s eyes grew wide at hearing Linnea’s supplication.  But rather than elaborating, the major backed away, limped out the door and began scuttling down the hallway, away from the battle.  

Hyder was the first to resume fighting.  Fernanda, who at last glance had straddled the M.A.S. agent who lay under her, took a fist straight into the side of her nose by the former Melah corporal.  Meanwhile, the standing Inez and Phillips resumed determining whose stranglehold was stronger.  Wendy jumped up from tending William and ran toward the doorway of where Linnea had exited from, but not before stopping by the also-injured Alyssa.  

The captain was not thinking of her injuries, however.  Coming around, she opened her eyes, looked straight at Wendy and shook her head.  

“Don’t… don’t let her get away… that’s an order, lieutenant,” Alyssa whispered.  

The lieutenant didn’t have to be told twice.  Wendy sprang to her feet and bolted from the room in hot pursuit of Linnea.  

Panic set in for Hyder and Phillips, as they were now the only loyal members left of the failed Providence delegation still in the Yellow Oval Office.  They broke away from their attackers at virtually the same time and attempted to make their way out the same door that Linnea did.  But Inez and Fernanda were as quick as she-wolves, pouncing in front of the exit, crouching and blocking their escape.  The commander corporal had obvious claw marks on her neck from her assailant, while the tech specialist had a bloody nose from hers.  

“Traitors…” hissed Inez.

“Thieves!” cried Fernanda.  

“Well, well, well,” smirked the commander.  “It would appear that your ‘Queen Bee’ has just left the hive!”  

Hyder looked over at Phillips.  “Enough of this,” she growled, and the two both pulled out their hidden knives simultaneously.  “Out of our way, you two!  We’re leaving as well!”

“Oh no you’re not!” said Fernanda.  

Inez agreed.  “You two hussies are going to have to get past us first!” 

“Yes, well we’re the ones holding the blades!” said Hyder.  “We’re about to slice past you like butter!”  

“You two are about to hurt so bad,” jeered Phillips.

While they were still mocking, no one had noticed that a lone figure had risen up in slow motion behind The Stalwart Desk.   

“Hey, ladies!  Do you like card games?”

The two M.A.S. agents turned to see Mackenzie pointing the president’s laser pistol in their direction. 

“Gin!” she shouted, at which point she incapacitated Phillips and then Hyder with two direct hits from the weapon. 

President Grant pulled herself up and joined the tech sergeant in a standing position.  “Ms. Jefferson!” she exclaimed.  “You stole my line!”  

“Apologies, Madam President,” Mackenzie replied, with a sober demeanor.  

Fernanda and Inez helped Captain Pudens to her feet.  Seeing that nothing in her body was broken, Alyssa dashed towards Mackenzie and placed her head in the tech sergeant’s bosom, crying in hysterics, barely even able to speak.  

“I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry, Mackenzie!”  

Mackenzie wept with her.  “It’s okay, Alyssa!  All is forgiven!  We got you, sir!  We got you out of the darkness!  You’re safe now!”  

Linnea continued to stagger down the White House hallway, like she was in some sort of drunken stupor.  Half bawling like a little girl, half screeching like a banshee, her dual, conflicted mind could agree on only one task:  get away from this place. 

From behind, she could hear distant footsteps approaching her position.  With a renewed sense of resolve, The Queen Bee straightened up and began marching toward the front door at a swift pace.  The two guards who had been manning the security desk wheeled around to intercept her.  The queen managed to get the first shot off, knocking out the guard on her right.  The one on her left fired back, but Linnea was able to dodge the laser blast with an inhumanly quick swivel of her torso, before incapacitating the other guard with a second discharge from her weapon.  Having reached the security station, the queen recovered her original sidearm from the desk drawer, then overturned the heavy table like it was the weight of a feather.  She then continued to the solid-oak front door which led to the White House lawn, flinging it wide open and making her way outside.  

The Queen Bee surveyed at least a dozen uniformed and plainly-dressed security officers and police coming in from the street and advancing on her position.  Linnea was gripped in a new wave of human fear.  She retreated back into the White House and slammed the door behind her before anyone could come within firing range.  Retracing her steps in desperation, Linnea tried to find another way out.  

But Wendy had just rounded the corner and then came to a screeching halt, now standing before her adversary face-to-face.  

“YOU…” The Queen Bee growled, with the greatest amount of hate and contempt that a queen bee could muster.  “I should shoot you right where you stand for your interference.”  

The queen aimed her laser, but the lieutenant neither flinched nor budged.  

Wendy’s voice was soft and resolute.  “You’re surrounded, major.  Shooting me won’t get you out of here, it’ll only make things worse for you.”  Despite her resolute exterior, she was quivering on the inside, wishing now she had at least taken William’s weapon, rather than engage Major Latrell unarmed.

The Queen Bee placed her finger on the trigger.  But the Linnea Latrell side of her continued to resist, fighting herself to prevent the gun from going off.  The queen realized at that moment that there was only one way to put a stop to the internal conflicts inside her brain once and for all.  She smirked at Wendy as she took a couple of steps forward.  “Very well,” she said, as she placed her gun against her own temple.  

“…But you still lose.”

“Major!” Wendy cried in alarm.

Beads of sweat glistened across Linnea’s forehead.  “Call off the attack, now!” she ordered.  “Or I pull this trigger!”  

The lieutenant could sense the major wasn’t bluffing.  “Mackenzie, are you there?” she cried out into her communicator.  “Tell everyone outside to hold their positions and not to engage!"  

Mackenzie’s voice crackled on the other end of the line.  “Tech Sergeant Jefferson to security team!  Do not engage!  I repeat, do not engage!  Hold your positions, and await further instruction!”  

The queen sneered at Wendy.  “I know what you want.  I know what all of you want!  You want to know how I do it!  You’re jealous of me!”  

“Sir.  Please,” said Wendy.

“You just want to keep me alive so you can take me to your lab, poke me, dissect me, see what makes me tick, then bottle and sell me!  Well, you can’t have me!  None of you get to have me now!”  

The Queen Bee squeezed her eyes tight and prepared to fire.

“NO!” cried Wendy.  

But Linnea couldn’t bring herself to do it.  Still reeling from the retinue antidote spray, the woman’s entire body convulsed, sobs of anguish gripping every muscle in her face.  

“Please, I don’t want to die,” she whimpered.  

“You don’t have to die,” said Wendy.  “You don’t have to do this, Opal, keep fighting!”  

Linnea stopped trembling in an instant.  “You remembered my old name, drill sergeant!” she exclaimed, her eyes popping open.

Wendy smiled.  “Of course I remember your name, my dear!  You were Private… Opal… Latrell!  You went by ‘Opal’ when I instructed you a decade ago in Basic Training-” 

“NO!” shouted The Queen Bee.  “That name!  That… woman!  No longer exists!  I am The Queen Bee now!”

“But she does still exist,” Wendy insisted, taking another small step forward.  “You called out to me in the president’s office, Opal, remember?  You were always dedicated… a good, hard working soldier… who bore my drill instruction with patience, dedication, class.  You are an extraordinary woman and an extraordinary officer.”

“Stay back!”  

“Just consider what you are about to do, sir.  The Opal I remember would never take away another woman’s freedoms.  Or point a gun at another person in anger.  Or try to take her own life.  The real Opal I knew would never do these things!  

“I can’t pretend to know what’s happening inside of you right now.  The battles you must be fighting within your own soul.  But you can resist, you can fight back, to come back from the dark place that you find yourself in!  Please, let me help you!”  

Linnea’s face softened.  “There is something I’ve always wanted to say to you… Wendy.  May I call you Wendy?” she said, smiling.  

“Of course, my sweet child.  What is it, dear?” Wendy replied, in a tone just as pleasant.

Ms. Latrell’s sweetness descended into hideousness, as she opened up her mouth again and refocused her gun back on Mrs. Wilderon.

“YOU… were a terrible drill sergeant.”

Wendy’s countenance dropped at hearing those words, like a boulder falling to the bottom of a lake.  She knew that someone, someday, would confront her in this fashion.  She dreaded that day.

With her jaw clenched tight, empowered by queen bee passion, Linnea raised her free hand and wagged her angry index finger straight at Wendy’s heart.  Her pent-up words were then unleashed upon her former drill sergeant like effluent from a recently-opened sewer valve.  

“I watched you… berate, bully and intimidate other young women in my company within an inch of their sanity through your cruelty and contempt.  I watched you… single out women at random and reduce them into crying little girls, prostrate on their stomachs, practically drowning in the mud and the pouring rain at three in the morning!  As those of us who stood around you who were not the target of your wrath that particular exercise, just shook our heads at the inhumanity of it all, wondering what twisted, evil routines you would come up with for us with the next sunrise!

“I shall never forget what you said to me and my company:  ‘YOU’RE… WORTHLESS.’  It took me a long time to shake those words from my conscience.  Not everyone was so lucky.  The irreparable harm you caused to so many women is beyond belief.  We’re both queens, you know.  But you are the Queen of Bitterness and Brutality, admit it!  Right here in the heart of the nation’s capital for the whole nation to know about!”  

Wendy’s eyes fell, her head drooped.  “I do not deny it,” she confessed.  “Everything you just said about me is absolutely true.”  

The major smirked, feeling at least some sort of satisfaction at hearing the former drill sergeant’s admission.  “You see, Wendy,” she continued, “I didn’t work hard to successfully complete Basic Training, because I was a naturally hard worker.  I did it so that I would never have to see YOUR face EVER AGAIN!!”

Linnea’s voice boomed off the White House walls.  Wendy looked downward to the left and to the right of her and realized in alarm that she could no longer move her arms or legs.  Whether her paralysis originated from hearing the cutting words from Linnea, or from some unknown pheromone emanating from The Queen Bee, she wasn’t sure.  Either way, her adversary picked up on it, as she crept toward the lieutenant’s position with boldness.  

The Queen Bee within her then went on to taunt Wendy, as the woman made a full, 360 degree victory lap around the paralyzed lieutenant and eyeballed her enemy’s appearance.  

“And now look at you.  I’ve known all along that chronologically, we’re the same age, you and I.  But just look at yourself, compared to me!  Look at the skin you’re wearing, you pathetic, frail, feeble, old woman!”

Moving with incalculable speed, The Queen Bee’s spare hand was now holding President Grant’s ‘gift’ within an inch of Wendy’s nostrils.  

“With one push of this, I could make you my slave, you know.  A human shield to escape.  And you, and your addled brain, would gladly offer yourself up to die for me.”

Wendy closed her eyes and held her breath, in preparation for what was coming next.  I love you, Henry, was what she wanted her last conscious thought to be.  The eternity of a few seconds passed.  

The Queen Bee smiled.  “No,” she said.  “You live.  As you are now.”

The major pulled the spray nozzles back and away from the lieutenant’s nose, sending Wendy into hysterics.  After a loud, high-pitched gasp, she hyperventilated, breathing in short, awkward puffs.  The pent up tears that had been held back a moment before were now streaming down her face.

“Your mindless sacrifice would still not be enough for me to escape this place alive,” Linnea explained.  “And a queen bee never surrenders.  My death is now all but certain, thanks to you and your… resistance.”  

The major’s words were biting yet calm, sorrowful, yet resigned.  With the tranquility of a mortally-wounded soldier who had accepted their fate, Linnea returned the QRP to her satchel and returned to her previous position, placing the gun back against her own temple.  “Besides, I want you to remain alive, after I’m gone,” she said to Wendy.  “To reflect on your failures and your grotesque, bodily sentence.  That is your punishment for what you did to us, your just desserts!  You’ve gotten exactly what you deserved for your abject cruelty!”  

Wendy’s head remained drooped in expected defeat, a hundred different angry, negative and toxic thoughts and emotions vying to try and make their way to the surface.  And yet, the same peace that captured her heart in Noble Basin, now beckoned her once more.  Wendy took in a full, cleansing breath, feeling and recognizing the filling and emptying of her two perfectly-healthy lungs.  Her perception of the miracle of human breathing itself, coupled with remembrances of her own miraculous life story, reminded her that God wasn’t through with her yet. 

Wendy smiled and shook her head.  “No, Opal,” she said, lifting up her face again.  “The punishment I deserved was death.  But God, in his mercy, spared my life.  He brought me to a place of love and peace… a ceasing of my inner turmoil… Opal, you don’t have to die, you can be set free too!”

Linnea paused in curiosity.  “You’ve changed,” she said.  “You’re not the same woman you were ten years ago.  Where is your anger now?  Your bitterness?  Your cruelty!”  

“It’s gone, gone forever.  Only love remains.”  

Wendy was walking again, much to the disbelief and dismay of The Queen Bee.  “I’m not going to harm you, Opal,” she promised.  “I won’t let anyone take you to a lab and dissect you.  All I want is for you to put the gun down, and let me help you.”

Tears of hopelessness began to well up in Linnea.  “It’s… it’s too late for me, Wendy.  Just… rage at me one last time, drill sergeant, and let me die,” she murmured.  

“I’ll not do that to you ever again,” replied Wendy, continuing her soft, steady advance.  “Opal, I was wrong for what I did to you and the women that I was supposed to protect and care for.  And I am truly sorry.  Please forgive me for what I did.”

“I…”

“It’s not too late for you, Opal.  Cast aside your weapon.  Accept my hand and live.  Please.”  

Wendy now stood face-to-face in front of her foe.  She offered out her right hand, as Linnea trembled.  With every last ounce of resistance the original Opal Latrell had left in her, she forced her shooting arm downward until the barrel of the gun was no longer pointed at her head.  Then, in one final, defiant gesture against her alter ego, she flung the weapon away and clutched Wendy’s hand with all her might.  Wendy pulled her in close, and the two collapsed onto the ground.  Linnea began to sob profusely.

“Why did you have to come back?  You ruined everything!  I was going to be… The Queen Bee…”  

“I know you were, Opal.  I know…”  

Linnea took a huge breath in the midst of her despair and anguish.  “I HATE YOU!!!” she wailed.  

“I know you do,” wept Wendy.  “I… am so… sorry… more than words can say…”  

Wendy’s tank top was now covered in the tears, mucus and saliva of her former apprentice.  “What is happening to me, drill sergeant?” Linnea whimpered.  “It’s so strong in my head… losing myself…”  

“There, there, my dearest child,  You’re with a friend now, my sweet Opal.  I won’t give up on you.  I won’t let you go… I won’t let you die.”

Chapter 15:  Forgive Our Foes 

Kittery, Maine, United States of America, July 1900, of the Usoniamatrist Timeline

On a sunny summer morning in New England, recently-promoted First Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson began some well-deserved, short-term leave from her duties at N.E.A.T. Providence. 

But before driving her trusty and reliable Melah jeep up the northeastern seaboard for a week of anticipated rest and relaxation, Mackenzie made a chivalrous detour in the opposite direction, so that she could pick up Mrs. and Mr. Wendy Wilderon, the cutest old couple she had ever met in her entire life.  The trio of friends then proceeded to reach their Atlantic coast destination in New Hampshire, way ahead of schedule.

While en route, Wendy had a special favor to ask Mackenzie, however.  She asked if they could make one additional stop, just beyond their original destination.  Having become close friends with Wendy, and because they were early, Mackenzie said “yes,” even after being told what the favor was.  Henry remained behind to shop for a couple of hours, as the ladies drove northeast.

It was only after they had arrived at their second destination, just across the border into Maine, that the women’s misunderstanding took place.  

“So what do you say, Mackenzie?”

“Absolutely not!”  

“Why won’t you?  You forgave me…!”  

“There’s a huge difference, Wendy!  Your impropriety was a slip of the tongue!  Hers was trying to change us into… mindless automaton slaves!”  

“But you see, there is no difference between the two in God’s eyes!” Wendy tried to explain.  “If you truly understood that, you would understand why Opal needs your forgiveness too!  You know, I heard it on good authority that even Alyssa forgave her?”  

“Well hoorah for Alyssa,” Mackenzie replied.  “You know, Alyssa also nearly quit her job over what happened to her!”  

The memories just after DC were still fresh in Mackenzie’s mind.  Back at Renaissance City, she had to talk Alyssa down, right after she shattered a glass aspirin bottle by throwing it into the office wall, and then collapsed in the middle of the office with a nervous breakdown.  Mackenzie sat down on the floor next to her and held her close, with Alyssa sobbing in the sergeant’s chest for four hours straight, until the Salem ladies arrived.  She ended up in counseling for three months.

“But, my dear,” Wendy replied, “don’t you remember what happened afterwards?” 

***

“Please turn around, ladies.”  Filled with gratitude and respect, President Ellen Grant addressed each woman individually, as the awards ceremony continued.  

“Lieutenant Inez Sinclare.  Your leadership and initiative during the recent crisis just goes to prove that you are the right choice to retain the title:  ‘Commander of N.E.A.T. Mystic.’  You are a great asset to the Melah Airship Program and will make an incredible addition to the Melah Officer’s Club.  Congratulations, and thank you for your service.” 

“Thank you, Madam President,” replied Inez, as a Presidential Medal of Honor was placed around her neck.  She turned her head to look into the jubilant crowd and gave Gideon Lapwater a conspicuous wink and a kind smile.  The professor winked back, beaming with pride.  

Ellen giggled as she came to the next soldier.  “Ah, yes.  Tech Sergeant Fernanda Ortiz.  When I first met you, you took everything I said way too literally.  But I realize now, it was because your purity of integrity is unsurpassed, and your heart is enormous.  Not only do you have a fine military career still ahead of you, but I know that your infectious optimism and your joyous personality will also make you an amazing wife and mother someday.  Congratulations, and thank you for your service.”  

“Thank you so much, Madam President.”  Fernanda’s Ecuador smile lit up the stage, as she wrapped her arm around her friend and commander Inez.  I can’t believe this is happening!  Who needs patent recognition justification?  We’ve just been awarded Presidential Medals of Honor from The President of the United States herself!!    

President Grant then sobered up.  “Lieutenant Wendy Wilderon.  You may have had a checkered career with the Melah.  But in the end, you renewed and redeemed yourself with strength, bravery and wisdom, just like an honorable Melah soldier should be.  You are to be commended for your efforts.  Congratulations, and thank you for your service.”  

“Madam President,” a humble Wendy replied.  Henry’s vivacious applause could be detected above the applause of the crowd.     

Ellen stood before Mackenzie.  “First Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson.  Adopted daughter of The US Melah.  With loyalty and perseverance, you have proudly served your military family.  And, in the eyes of your president, have brought honor unto yourself and to your uniform.  On behalf of a grateful nation, I commend you and recognize you for your strong dedication to the protection of this office, to the Melah, and to this country.  Congratulations, and thank you for your service.”

“Thank you, Madam President,” replied Mackenzie.  Somewhere in the crowd was her real mother and father.  She scanned for them in the sea of faces, wondering if they would choose to remain there after the ceremony and if her distant dream of familial reconciliation could still become a reality.  

President Grant paused, her thumb examining the metal ridges of the final award resting in the palm of her hand.  Taking one large step to the right, and taking a deep breath, she made her final recognition of the ceremony.  

"Captain Alyssa Pudens.  Not long ago, fate dealt you a cruel blow, making you a sort of prisoner of battle, locked inside your own head.  But when set free, your very first actions were to protect the health and well-being of another:  me.  I will not forget it as long as I live.  It is therefore with intentional recognition, and extreme personal gratitude, that I present you with this final Presidential Medal of Honor today, for your courage and heroism.  Congratulations, and thank you for your service.”  

“Thank you, Madam President.”  Alyssa felt undeserving of the honor, but also grateful for her friends, her fellow soldiers, who rescued her from a life of slavery and poor health.  She smiled, recalling also the hatred she once harbored for her captor.  But now, that hatred had been erased completely.  

***

Wendy reminded Mackenzie that, despite all that Alyssa went through, she was still able to find it in her heart to forgive Opal Latrell.  And that President Ellen Grant even made it a special point to wait for Captain Pudens to recover, so that she could be included in the Presidential Medal of Honor ceremony as well.

Mackenzie looked down at her thighs as she continued to sit in the driver’s seat of the parked jeep.  “I’m… just not sure I’m ready yet.”

Wendy was highly disappointed in her friend.  “After all you’ve experienced this year, you still don’t get it?  Unforgiveness is what crept into Inez’s and Fernanda’s hearts when their patent was stolen!  It’s what drove a wedge of hatred between Mystic and Providence for years!  If you don’t forgive people, no matter their offense, you’ll end up as a bitter and angry old woman, like I once was!  Jesus Himself said ‘Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do,’ even as He was wrongly and unjustly being crucified!  

“Here, before you, is all the proof you need not to harbor bitterness, resentment and unforgiveness in your heart, Mackenzie.  If you haven’t learned that by now, well then… You know what?  I don’t want there to be a ‘then.’”  

Wendy hopped out of the jeep in disgust, eager to take her leave of the first sergeant.  “Just think about it?  Please?” she cried through the open, passenger-side window, before storming towards the residence.

“So, you and your husband never had children, Mrs. Latrell?” asked Wendy.

“Actually, we do,” replied Ruby Latrell, Opal’s decade-older sister.  “We have a grown daughter:  Hannah.  She’s twenty-one and will be attending her senior year at Scheele University down in Boston next fall!”

“Ah.  And you yourself never carried any of the mandibular pheromone symptoms that Opal carried from her mid-twenties until now?”

“No, never, Mrs. Wilderon.”

“How is your sister doing?”

Ruby smiled.  “Much, much better, I think.  She’s taking her medicine daily as prescribed.  And willingly too.  I can see she genuinely wants to be the same old sister of mine she was, prior to… well, you know…”  

Given Opal Linnea Latrell’s erratic mental and chemical imbalances which led up to her felonies as The Queen Bee, it was decided that she would be given mercy by being placed under a lengthy home detention, as opposed to a harsh prison sentence or a mental infirmary.  Mrs. and Mr. Ruby Latrell had graciously volunteered to look after Opal, under extreme watch and care inside their own home.  Arrangements had been made to give Wendy permission to revisit her old rival that day.  

Although not nearly as exquisite as Wendy’s own residence, the elder Latrells nevertheless had a comfortable middle-income, two-story home right at the gateway into The Pine Tree State.  Ruby escorted Wendy up the stairs and down the hallway to the doorway of the large room where the younger sister spent most of her waking hours.  

“My husband and I set aside a room of our house as an art studio for her.  She’s going to be so excited to have company.”

A Melah soldier stood guard outside Opal’s studio.  She acknowledged Ruby and Wendy and stepped aside at Melah attention.  Ruby nodded and departed, leaving only Wendy at the open doorway.  The former Queen Bee was standing in the middle of the room, painting on a large canvas.  She did not appear to see Wendy standing there at first.  

“Hello, Opal.”

Opal’s head shot over to the entryway.  “Drill Sergeant Wilderon!” she exclaimed in surprise.

The white-haired woman smiled.  “It’s just… Wendy Wilderon now, my dear.”

“Please!  Come in, Mrs. Wilderon!”

Wendy stepped into the room.  “Wow!  This is your art studio?  These are all your paintings?”

Opal beamed with pride.  “Yes.  I’ve found that I’ve had an inordinate amount of free time on my hands lately, ever since my career with the Melah ended,” she sighed, adding a few more brush strokes to her current creation.  “I haven’t painted like this in fifteen years.  This is the latest creation I’ve been working on.  A self portrait, if you will, after being set free.  I’m hoping people will come away with some sort of interpretation of that, after it’s finished.”

The beginnings of a daisy field could be seen, as well as what appeared to be an image of Opal herself, hands raised in the air and smiling.  The woman depicted was experiencing a literal breakthrough, her body having shattered a huge, human-sized honeycomb behind her.  

“Well, it’s amazing so far, Opal!  And I can definitely pick out the meaning of this work of art!” 

“I’m hoping to incorporate some sort of daisy chain crown in this,” added Opal.  “You know, to replace my old bee crown.”  

The former major put down her brush, looked at Wendy and just shook her head.  

“You know, I never really wanted to join the Melah in the first place.  No offense, Mrs. Wilderon…”  

“No offense taken,” replied Wendy.  

Opal invited her former drill sergeant to sit down with her on a couple of short stools nearby, where she continued her testimony.  

“But something just seemed to take ahold of me in my mid-twenties that prompted me to enlist.  Probably the initial effects of The Queen Bee in me.  My inclinations were too weak to use on you at the time, drill sergeant.  But, as I made my way up the ranks, my abilities increased.  I quickly realized that I had this new, unnatural power that drew people to me.  Something in my life I had never experienced before!  

“I could have done something about it right then and there.  But it made me feel so good.  I loved having that power and being able to wield it however I pleased, on anybody I pleased!  Soon, The Power to Attract became The Power to Control.  And eventually, The Power to Own.  I knew what I was doing to others wasn’t right, and I kept telling myself to seek help.  But I kept putting it off.  I would always feel guilty later, every time I manipulated someone against their will.  But by that point, there was more Queen Bee in me than Opal Latrell.  I started going by my middle name, Linnea, burying my former self once and for all.  And of course, you know what this all led up to eventually.

“I saw the destruction of The Centennial, and its aftermath, as my perfect opportunity to establish myself as supreme royalty.  Not just over the military, but over the US government and civilian affairs as well!  So I took the opportunity.  If you hadn’t interfered, I might easily have succeeded.  I literally had the potential to ‘rule the world,’ as the old cliché goes.”

“Opal,” said Wendy, “do you still resent me for what I did back in DC?”

Opal shook her head.  “No.  I resent myself for what I didn’t do, back when I had a chance.”

“I know I said that I hated you, Wendy,” she continued.  “Well, I don’t hate you anymore.  I’m actually very thankful for what you’ve done for me.  And… I want you to know that I’ve done what you asked.  I’ve forgiven you, for what you did during those initial weeks in basic training.”  

Wendy was beaming.  “Oh, my sweet child!  You don’t know how much joy that brings to me!”

“Please tell me that you forgive me as well.”  

“Oh, my dear, my dear, of course I forgive you too, my precious thing!” cracked Wendy’s sweet, sixty-year-old timbre. 
  The former Melah officer frowned.  “I know I too, have a huge road of absolution ahead of me.  All those civilians, officers and soldiers I’ve hurt and manipulated over the past ten years.  Do you have any idea what it feels like, to feel like you’ve literally lost ten years off your life, just like that?”

“Actually, I think I do,” chuckled Wendy.  “Oh, my sweet Opal.  I just wish Mackenzie Jefferson outside could hear you speak right now!  She’s having such a battle in her heart to forgive the people that have hurt her in her life, even her own family!”  

Opal’s eyes popped open in surprise.  “Ms. Jefferson’s here?  Out there, right now??”

“Why yes, dear.  She’s the one that brought me here today.”  

Opal sprang up from her stool and rushed to the barred studio window facing the driveway and where the jeep would be.  “Oh, I see her!” she cried.  “Oh, this is wonderful!”  

“It is?” asked Wendy.

Opal wheeled around.  “Mrs. Wilderon, there is something I would like you to do for me!”

“Anything, my dear Opal!”

Opal sprinted to another part of the room which had over a dozen finished paintings sitting on a storage rack.  She started rifling through her finished works, before pulling out the specific, mid-sized canvas creation she was looking for.  “I would like you to give something to Ms. Jefferson from me,” she said, handing the painting to Wendy.  “This is a gift I made specifically for her!”  

“You did?  Good heavens!  This is absolutely exquisite!  You did this all from memory?”  

“Yes,” proudly replied Opal.

“It would be my honor to present this gift to her on your behalf, my precious Opal!”

“Thank you.  It would mean the world to me.  Oh, you don’t know how happy you’ve made me by coming back to see me today!  A huge burden has been lifted, from the moment you arrived to talk to me!  Thank you so much, Mrs. Wilderon!”

“The honor and the pleasure is all mine!”  Wendy replied.  

Mackenzie stood in the shade of the large oak tree in the front yard and remained there until the meeting ended.  Once Wendy reemerged from the house, the first sergeant begin strolling toward the jeep.  

“Ready?” asked Mackenzie.

“No,” Wendy replied.  “Before we leave, Ms. Latrell had a message that she wanted me to relay to you.  And to give you something as well.”  

“Really.” 

“That’s right.  She says she completely understands that you aren’t ready to forgive her yet, and that someday you might be able to, maybe even become friends.”  

The first sergeant rolled her eyes.  “She’s so manipulative.”  

“Well,” replied the retired lieutenant, “perhaps you’ll reconsider how you feel after you see… this.”

Wendy turned the front of the canvas toward the sergeant and showed her the finished painting.  With reluctance, Mackenzie turned her head towards the image.  Suddenly, she gasped, her right hand shooting up and covering her mouth.

Staring back at First Sergeant Mackenzie Jefferson was a head-and-torso oil painting portrait of Mackenzie Jefferson, wearing her Melah greens and her former tech sergeant insignia.  Her eyes were fixed toward the sky, her right arm in a Melah salute.  For the backdrop of the painting, Opal used the stars and stripes of Old Glory and an elegant Providence Class airship soaring through the atmosphere.  

“Wait, she… she painted this herself??” Mackenzie cried in disbelief, as her friend handed her the work of art.

“She did!” replied Wendy.  “Read what it says on the other side!”  

Mackenzie flipped over the canvas to an attached card stock parchment on the back and read the message aloud.  “This painting is for, and is dedicated to, Mackenzie Jefferson, the young Melah visionary who, with her strong hands, her big heart and the help of her kind friends, lifted The United States Melah Airship Program off the ground again…” Mackenzie’s eyes got misty as she continued to read.  “…and redirected humanity… back towards the stars again.”  

Enough moisture had collected in her tear ducts to ruin her mascara.  “Bit of an exaggeration, don’t you think?” she blubbered.

“Not to her,” replied Wendy.  “And certainly not to me either.”  

Frantically, Mackenzie flipped the work of art back around and looked at the image of herself once more.  Her perspective shifted.  She was seeing herself through Opal’s eyes, the way Opal saw Mackenzie.  The normally-stoic Melah soldier couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. 

“Nobody’s ever painted a portrait of me before,” sobbed Mackenzie.  Her red eyes blurred.  Mascara mixed with tears streamed down her face, as she allowed her guard to come down again, in a rare moment of vulnerability.  

Wendy held her good friend close, giving her the time she needed to heal and recover, before speaking again.  “So what do you say, Mackenzie?  Would you reconsider talking to Opal?” 

Opal was back at work on her latest painting.  Only this time when company came to call, her peripheral vision did catch someone in her doorway.  

Ms. Latrell put down her brush, removed her paint frock and watched Mackenzie take a few steps forward.  Remaining silent, Opal made a long face, took a couple of steps forward of her own and nervously held her arms out.  Each lady took a deep breath, in unison.

“Not because you painted me a painting,” Mackenzie wanted to make abundantly clear, “but because holding back forgiveness to someone who has asked for it is wrong.”  

Opal gave a slight nod, before Mackenzie walked up and embraced her.  “I forgive you, Opal.  Your painting, by the way?  It is extraordinary.” 

“Thank you.  For your forgiveness,” replied Opal.  “And I’m so glad you liked the painting too, Ms. Jefferson.”  

“Please.  Call me Mackenzie.”  

The former Queen Bee backed away a couple of feet, but the two ladies continued to hold each other’s arms.  

“You must know,” Opal continued, “surely you must know… that you are the only reason I’m a free woman today.  If you hadn’t sought out Mrs. Wilderon, and made the friendships you did with Ms. Sinclare and Ms. Ortiz, my deliverance would not have happened.  I am forever in your debt, Mackenzie.”  

“You are not in my debt,” Mackenzie replied.  “Because the forgiveness I freely give to you is without condition.  Therefore, you are truly free.”  

“Again, thank you!” cried Opal.  The two embraced once more.  Wendy smiled from the doorway, overjoyed to see the thing she hoped would happen come to pass.  

After making their final goodbyes to Opal and Mr. and Mrs. Ruby Latrell, Mackenzie and Wendy slid back into their respective seats of the Melah jeep.  Wendy could already sense a change in her friend.  The emotional weight that had been lifted off of Mackenzie’s chest had altered her entire countenance for the better.

“Ready to head back to Hampton Beach?” asked Mackenzie, excitement in her voice.    

“Well, that’s where the party is, right?” replied an equally enthusiastic Wendy.  “Not to mention my husband.  Oh, I can’t wait to see that absolutely gorgeous man in a bathing suit…”  

Mackenzie giggled a bit as she backed the jeep out of the driveway.  Even her jealousy towards Wendy and Henry’s relationship had disappeared, another gracious side effect of her healing process.

“Say,” added Wendy, “I must remember to thank Alyssa for opening up her beach house for us, especially allowing my Henry to come too!  Did you ever find out if Tech Sergeant Ortiz and Commander Lieutenant Sinclare were able to get the week off as well?”  

Mackenzie smiled and nodded.  “Yes, I got the message that Fernanda and Inez were already on their way, while you were inside the first time.  They also convinced Gideon to come with them!  He was in the vehicle as well!”  

“What?  They convinced the professor to come too?  I knew him to be a workhorse, albeit a gentlemanly one, but I’d never thought of him as a beach boy!” 

“I think his reasoning for coming was that there were things in this world much more desirable than money.”

“Women?” chuckled Wendy.

“He didn’t say that…” replied Mackenzie with a smile.  

“No, but he was thinking it, I bet.”  

“I also think it was partly Inez’s idea.  Last time I was in Mystic two months ago, those two couldn’t keep their eyes off each other!”  

“Ooooh!  A little mysterious Mystic romance, maybe!  Oh, they would make an adorable couple!”  Wendy took in a full breath of fresh air.  “Ah!  The weather is just perfect!  Woman, I can’t wait to try out my new bathing suit!  You know, I really wish you would have gone out and bought yourself a new bathing suit too, my dear!  You’re going to look so out of place at the beach, being the only one in uniform!”

Mackenzie got all military-like.  “Oh, don’t be absurd, Lieutenant Wilderon…” she began.  

 “… My bathing suit’s only a year old, and I did bring it with me!  It’s under my uniform!”

Wendy’s laughter filled the jeep.  “Under your uniform?  You never cease to surprise me, First Sergeant Jefferson… wearing a bathing suit!”

“You’re not going to report me for violating Melah Protocol, are you?” asked Mackenzie.  

Wendy patted her friend on the shoulder.  “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, my darling.”

It was the perfect summer afternoon at the New Hampshire beach for seven good friends to reunite.  Mackenzie, Wendy, Henry, Gideon, Fernanda, Inez and Alyssa all gathered in Alyssa’s beach home, quickly changed into their swimsuits and, with childlike exuberance, sprinted out onto the warm sands.  A roving photographer for hire just happened to be in the vicinity, so the Melah seven decided to hire the gentleman right there on the spot for a couple of hours.  It had been a slow day so far for his photo business, so their generous patronage was much appreciated.    

After several standing all-group shots, the photographer moved to specialty shots:  Two men.  Five women.  Two men kneeling down on the sand, flanked by five women.  The Operation Mystify Team.  Mackenzie and Alyssa.  Mackenzie and Wendy.  Mackenzie and Fernanda.  Inez and Fernanda.  Wendy and Henry.  Henry ‘consulting’ Gideon, who was pouring sand from a beaker into a test tube, while the five women looked on, over the professor’s shoulder (Gideon had brought his trusty science bag to the beach, for some reason).  Henry and Gideon with Wendy and Inez kissing each man on their respective beau’s cheek (Gideon’s shocked but amiable expression of feeling Inez’s lipstick-soaked lips against his face was quite prevalent) and one final group shot of a joyous and celebratory group of good people, but even greater friends.  

The man with the camera continued photographing the amazing, beautiful people who hired him, but in a more relaxed and casual atmosphere.  Using up roll after roll of black-and-white film, he captured each and every member’s joyful radiance as they laughed, played together on the beach, waded into the ocean and celebrated life.  

Coming in off the Atlantic coast at that very moment was a Melah Providence Class airship.  Navigating through a few, small, puffy clouds scattered amongst the brilliant sunshine, it had just concluded its daily duty rounds on a full supply of heleon and a fully-restored Melah airship program. 

The End