David Golemon - Event

"You have got to be joking."

"Major, all I can say is, there she is. You decide. Her electrical-powered engines are in some ways far more advanced than what we have today and far more efficient. We've had people from General Dynamics Electric Boat Division here who swear this thing was a model of efficiency."

"Don't tell me this is the Nautilus."

"No, I'm not telling you that because we know her real name. We discovered her commissioning plaque only five years ago encased in mud just aft of her control room. Her name was Leviathan. The senator suspects that Mr. Verne may have modeled his vision after a real craft. It's just speculation of course, but a sound theory."

"Her crew?" Jack asked.

"Went down with her. Carbon-14 dating places her right around 1871, but her demise could have been anytime within fifteen years of her commission. We know she was manufactured in 1871 because of the engravings on her gauges. That coupled with testing is tantamount to gospel." She hesitated. "Only thirty-six of the crew remains were discovered inside the Submarine. But we know her ship's roster was close to a hundred due to the berthing areas we found."

"Amazing," Collins said, looking at the rusted skeletal remains.

"We have all the data there is to collect. The Woods Hole Oceanographic Institute has been working on her for the past thirty years."

Collins acknowledged the name of the prestigious oceanographic institute. "Are they a part of the Group?"

"A few are consultants trusted with our existence. They owe us for"--she paused for dramatic effect-- "certain things we've sent their way."

Collins caught the innuendo. One thing he knew on the subject of the Woods Hole institute was that the oceanographer Dr. Robert Ballard was a part of the institute, and it was he who discovered the resting sight of RMS Titanic. He just shook his head.

Sarah was just turning to go on to the next Event vault she had in mind when they were interrupted.

"Attention, all department heads are to report to the main conference room immediately, all department heads to the main conference room. This is Code One Active. Major Collins, please contact 117, please call 117."

"Well, Major, I've never heard that call sign given since I have been here." Then she explained, "That's the director; code one active is an alert for an Event, the big kind. The phone is right there." She pointed to a wall line next to one of the vaults.

Jack removed the handset and punched in the number 117, then looked at Sarah, who was ashen. There was an audible click and then Alice picked up.

"Major, please meet Mr. Everett up on level seven. He'll show you how to get to the conference room, and step on it, Major, Director Compton is ready to bust about something," Alice spoke quickly, and hung up.

"Sorry, Sarah, I have to cut this short." He turned away toward the circular hallway and the elevators beyond.

"I understand. In the elevator hit the red EXPRESS button, that will ensure no stops between here and seven," she called after him.

She watched him vanish beyond the curve of vaults.

Code One Active. Sarah shivered at the thought of those three words. She had heard rumors of what those words represented. Code One Active--a possible Civilization Altering Event.

The sound of a small engine perked Buck's ears up. Both sets of eyes were drawn to the desert to their right. The old man saw the small dust cloud and shook his head.

"That damn fool kid's gonna break his neck someday on that smelly thing," he said aloud as he started his trek toward the mountains again.

The noise grew louder and the old man finally spied the red, four-wheel ATV and its small rider. The all-terrain motorcycle was zooming through the old washouts and jumping clear to the opposite sides. Then the rider noticed Gus and Buck and turned their way, one hand in the air, wildly waving. As he approached, the kid didn't see a rather large dip of another wash. While his hand was raised in greeting, disaster was there to welcome the boy as the front wheels hit the dip and dug deeply into the sand. The only thing that Gus was able to see from his vantage point was the rear end of the small machine go flying up in a cloud of sand and dirt, obscuring the bone-breaking crash Gus knew to be happening.

"Son of a bitch, he did it! Went and kilt hisself!" he yelled as he dropped Buck's reins and ran to the scene of what he knew must surely be the boy's death. Pots, pans, and shovels clanged as the mule ran along noisily behind.

When he arrived, he saw the kid sitting on his butt, splay-legged and trying to remove the red helmet he wore. Besides being covered with dust and a little blood on his upper lip from a nosebleed, he looked alive. Gus jumped down into the small arroyo, carefully avoiding the still-turning front wheels of the ATV.

"Good goddamn, William! You took a good enough spill that time, boy." Gus placed his arms under the boy's and lifted him up.

"What happened?" Billy Dawes asked when he finally twisted the helmet off.

"What happened? You got throw'd is what happened, you young fool." Gus held him at arm's length to look him over.

"Damn," the boy exclaimed as he brushed the dust from his face and clothes.

Tilly released him and stepped back to take the boy in. Nothing looked broken. The small motorcycle-lookin' thing looked all right. Just to be sure, Buck, who had come down into the washout without being heard, nudged the boy with his nose, knocking him down across the ATV.

"Hey!" the boy cried out. "What ya do that for?" he asked the now innocent-looking mule.

Gus helped the eleven-year-old to his feet again and brushed him off. Billy just looked at Buck and shook his head. The mule just twitched his ears.

"Now you watch that mouth of yours, boy, your ma wouldn't appreciate your cussin' like old Gus none too much."

"No, she would probably take the soap and scrub my mouth some."

"Does your mama even know you're out here?" the old man asked, squinting his left eye and leaning toward Billy.

The kid wiped the blood from his nose and lip, then grinned at Gus. His silence was answer enough.

"Boy, you know this desert can kill you six ways from Sunday. What if you broke your legs and old Gus wasn't here to help ya?"

"Well, I didn't," young Billy protested. Then a look of deep thought suddenly crossed the boy's features. "You ain't gonna tell Mom I was out here, are you?"

Gus pretended to be thinking this over, then turned his back on the kid. "I don't know... that was a serious fall you took. You're blooded and everything."

"Aw, it's not bad, Gus, really, I never crash like that. You know I'm good at riding out here."

Gus tilted his head to let Billy think he was thinking this over. "All right then, you get back on that thing and scoot back to your ma." Gus pointed to the overturned ATV.

"Why can't I go with you and Buck for a while? It's Friday and you know what that's like at the bar. I'd just be in Mom's way."

Gus looked around and up at the noonday sun, half hearing Billy's plea. He removed the old fedora and wiped the sweat from his brow once again. Then he replaced the hat and looked toward the mountains ahead of him a good two miles distant. For some reason just the sight of them today made him a little edgy. He shook his head as if to clear it.

"Senility settin' in," he mumbled to himself.

"What, Gus?" the boy asked, pausing for a moment from brushing at his clothes to look at his old friend.

Gus turned and looked at Billy, then smiled, his false teeth gleaming in the sun. "It's nothin'. Well, wouldn't hurt none if you tag along for a bit, I guess. But I want you to head for the house when I say, deal?" He stuck out a gloved hand.