Fable Hill Read online

  The only other passenger in the cargo bay was a young loadmaster named Jerome, who spent most of the flight checking and rechecking his payloads, meticulously calculating and tightening tow straps. Frank was impressed with the man’s devotion to his craft. He remembered the sometimes lazy loadmasters that accompanied him on many deployments around the world. Until he became a pilot, that is.

  “All crew and passengers, prepare for landing,” the captain said over intercom.

  The aircraft yawed slightly then banked sharply, leveling out and beginning a steady downward descent into Nagoya’s training facility, tucked deep within the Transantarctic Mountains.

  The landing gear engaged with a loud cranking and whining from cold metal. Three skis covered the plane’s wheels, specially designed for landing on ice. With a swift bump and slide, the plane landed at the Ohio Range Research and Training Center’s ice-covered airstrip.

  Coming to a stop at the taxi destination, the captain came over the intercom once more. “Welcome to Ohio Range. The temperature is -13 degrees Fahrenheit with a windchill index of -63, winds out of the east at 30 miles per hour.”

  The cargo bay ramp lowered, filling the interior of the plane with blinding sunlight, forcing Frank to don sunglasses. Stepping out onto the icy, snow-swept runway, Frank made his way to the expansive Ohio Range Center. In the distance, two snowmobiles revved their engines and sped across the snowy runway to meet him.

  “Welcome! You must be the new pilot!” one of the snowmobile riders exclaimed.

  “Yes I am, Frank Nash!” Frank took off his thick glove and extended his hand in a greeting. The air attacked his skin and he immediately regretted his decision.

  “Andrew,” one of the riders replied. He shook Frank’s hand without removing his gloves. “This is my colleague, Rod.”

  Putting his bags onto the sled, Frank bummed a ride to the facility. The training complex was only two stories but sat on adjustable stilts which made it look much taller.

  The building had very few windows. Generators sat to the side of the structure and billowed white smoke, magnified by cold air. Loading docks lined the side facing the runway and there was no terminal for passengers. The snowmobiles climbed an ice-covered ramp into a vast warehouse where a fleet of tracked vehicles were housed and serviced.

  Men and women with plump blue jumpsuits ran forklifts, moved boxes and supplies, and conducted maintenance inside the warehouse. Frank removed his hat and iced-over sunglasses.

  “We will get you a pair of proper goggles,” Andrew laughed.

  Frank slung his bags and luggage and waddled towards the main door with a sign that read “Processing”.

  “They will get you situated with your paperwork and quarters. Your training begins in the morning, I believe,” said Andrew. His skin was tan and peeling around the eyes.

  “Thank you. Will I be seeing you around then?” Frank replied.

  “I don't doubt it, everyone kinda runs into everyone down here,” Andrew said, shaking Frank’s hand. “Good luck.”

  As Frank walked into the next room. A man sat staring at a digital welcome board. His coffee mug spewed steam and his coat was a thick designer parka.

  “Frank Nash, you finally made it!” the man proclaimed with jubilation. Frank recognized the man’s face from the Nagoya training literature. It was none other than Nao Tajika himself, the CEO of Nagoya Industries. “Here, let me get your bag for you,” Nao said, seemingly overjoyed at his new prospect.

  “I'm honored to be here, sir.” Frank gave an awkward bow.

  “You don't have to bow here, Frank, we aren't in Japan anymore,” Nao said with amusement, extending his hand instead. “Come, I want to give you the tour personally,” he said, waving in another employee who grabbed Frank’s luggage and tossed it on a dolly.

  “Don’t worry about your bag, walk with me.”

  “What about in-processing?” Frank asked, feebly glancing at the empty in-processing desk.

  “I already took care of it.” Nao put his hand on Frank's back and led him out onto the warehouse floor. “Our astronauts are treated first-class here, Frank,” the CEO said with pride. “We must streamline the bullshit so you can get to training right away. I’m afraid your team has been together for a few years now.”

  Frank hesitated for a brief moment. He knew what it meant to walk into an already established group of people. He would be considered an outsider.

  Nao could sense his new pilot’s concern. “You leave for Mars in one month, which means we have to fit two years’ worth of training in about thirty some days.”

  The two men walked past the heavy machinery and steel trusses of the cold Ohio Range warehouse. They entered through a pair of doors, down a winding staircase, to a warmer corridor. Glass-paned rooms lined the long hallway as scientists and engineers ran experiments. Beakers and vials boiled chemicals, while other rooms sat empty and without lights.

  Nao waved his wrist over an access terminal, opening a security door at the end of the hall. Inside, men in white coats ran tests on a small engine. A 3D printer worked the finishing touches on an unknown engine component. The busy men inside the room ignored Nao and Frank.

  “We have many facilities like this in Japan, but none dedicated to our mission quite like Ohio Range,” Nao said, inspecting schematics splayed out on a nearby table. “Purely R&D right now, everything is already constructed for your mission to Mars. It's our work ethic that keeps us innovative and ahead of all other space companies,” piped Nao, impressing himself as he spoke.

  Nao showed Frank out the door and down the hallway to another room. The sound of muffled gunfire could be heard inside. Nao handed Frank a set of hearing protection. “Safety first.” He smiled.

  Inside the room, a small two-point firing range with connected test chamber could be seen. Men in blue jumpsuits tooled around with an unorthodox-looking firearm. Nao opened a glass container with the push of a button and grabbed an unfinished rifle. “Is that for the mission too?” Frank asked.

  “Uhm, no it isn't, actually,” Nao insisted, adjusting the buttstock on the weapon. “The technology used here is related though.” Nao activated a keypad on the receiver and unlocked the weapon’s security feature.

  “The Type 10 fully automatic and semi-automatic rifle.” Nao held up the rather large rifle for Frank to hold. “It uses caseless ammunition that is replenished by a built-in 3D printer inside the stock. The gas pressure cycles the turbine and charges the battery.”

  “You fit all of that in here?” Frank pointed.

  “Nanocomposites, tough as steel,” Nao stated with a smirk.

  “Can I take this with me to Mars, then?” Frank asked, semi-serious.

  Nao got quiet and gazed at the floor. “Careful what you wish for, Frank.”

  “What do you mean?” Frank handed back the Type 10.

  “There are other countries headed to Mars, you know.”

  “Like China?”

  “Like China.”

  Chapter 5

  Fierce katabatic winds blasted the Antarctic facility throughout the night. As the northern hemisphere entered winter, the South Pole was enjoying summer, with its higher temperatures and perpetual sunlight.

  Frank slammed the snooze button on his alarm clock, almost breaking it in the process. It was another sleepless night as he struggled with horrible nightmares—deep scars from a lifetime of war.

  Nine months after losing his legs, he was finally settling into a consistent routine. Upon waking he would clean the stubs of his legs with alcohol wipes before applying a thermal sleeve and prosthetics.

  After a series of stretches and a hot cup of coffee for breakfast, Frank was ready for the day. Since showers were restricted to every seventy-two hours to conserve water, he had to skip that part of his routine.

  Frank's quarters were small. He suspected he was supposed to have a roommate, but enjoyed having the room to himself. It reminded him of the cramped Navy ships during deployments.
/>   A black rosary hung from the mirror above his toiletries. Frank said a quick prayer and put on his company-issued, insulated flight suit. The one thing he missed most was wearing a flight suit.

  “So comfy,” he sighed.

  The station was unusually quiet. His watch read 0437 hours. He had a 0730 show time in the briefing room and was determined to get a workout in.

  His doctors who oversaw months of physical therapy were impressed at the speed of his recovery. Frank secretly prided himself on being a bit of an overachiever, a survivor.

  Frank entered the fitness room and was surprised at the scale of it. Two rooms combined together with one side dedicated to anaerobic and the other aerobic. A small track circled the room.

  At the far end, Frank noticed he was not alone. A woman with headphones playing loud music was power cleaning a 140 pound bar. Sweat glistened and trickled down her light brown skin. Every rep she completed was accompanied by grunts of exertion.

  Frank nonchalantly made his way towards the free weights, trying not to stare. He couldn't help but take quick peeks in her direction. She was gorgeous and strong, her muscles lean and well-developed.

  If she's an employee here, I might just stay in Antarctica, Frank thought.

  The woman glanced in Frank's direction and eyed his prosthetic legs. She stared at them for a brief moment and took a swig from her water bottle. With fierce determination, she returned to her high intensity workout.

  The clock displayed 0730 as Frank sat alone in the conference room. He checked and rechecked his schedule to make sure this was, indeed, the right place.

  As the clock hit the top of the hour, members of the crew began to file in with breakfast and coffees in hand.

  Civilians . . . . Frank judged them as they took their seats around the table. He had spent his entire career arriving early and wasn't used to tardiness.

  A man with a look of authority and the jacket to go with it entered the room. “I need everyone to sign these insurance forms.” The man began handing out forms to the crew members. He glanced around the room at every face and locked on Frank's. “Welcome,” he spoke softly to Frank. “My name is Jaxon Gladkowski, I am the Program Director here at Nagoya.”

  Frank gave a small smile and extended his hand in greeting.

  “Where is Mia Beckham?” the director inquired.

  “Keiko went to get her sir,” a man said with “Team Leader” emblazoned on his flight suit.

  “Ok, we are going to get started. I want to introduce our newest member. Frank, could you come up here and introduce yourself? Frank here will be replacing Ken Beckham as pilot for the Yamada,” Jaxon said as two women entered the room. Frank saw the young Japanese woman from the bar. With her, the woman from the gym. “May he rest in peace,” Jaxon said, aware that Ken's widow had entered the room.

  Frank rubbed his clammy hands against the fabric of his flight suit before standing to speak for the first time. Why am I so nervous? he thought.

  “Good morning, everyone. My name is Frank Nash. I am retired from the Marine Corps of twenty years. I flew the F-35 for eight years, and before that I was infantry. Been pretty much all over the world, so . . . yeah.”

  The team leader clapped his hands in approval. The rest of the crew followed suit, albeit grudgingly.

  “Thank you. I am very excited to train and become a contributing member of this crew,” Frank finished and sat down.

  The program director touched his chin in contemplative thought. “That’s fine. You will have plenty of time to get to know everyone, I'm sure. Let's go around the room. Everyone stand up and tell Frank a little about yourself.”

  The team leader, already standing, was the first to speak. He was considerably older than the rest of the crew, with a pock-marked complexion and graying stubble.

  “My name is Roland. I am Team Lead and Captain for the Yamada I mission to Mars. I was born in Toronto in 1990.”

  “Good year,” piped one of the other male crew members.

  “You were still a twinkle in your father's eye, Alexei,” Roland quipped, to a room full of laughter. “I studied at Toronto University and received my PhD in physics. I also have degrees in mathematics and education.”

  “Math teacher,” Alexei said, once again to sustained chuckles.

  Frank couldn't help but make small glances towards the woman from the gym named Mia. Her beauty was intoxicating. She had her arms crossed, in deep conversation with Keiko. They whispered incessantly to one another, paying little attention to the group.

  “I guess it's my turn to introduce myself,” Alexei said. He stood up from his chair, but was pushed back down by Roland.

  “Sit down. Let's let Renee go next,” Roland said, motioning towards an older woman in the corner.

  “Oh, it's my turn, is it?” Renee said, her face flushed but animated. “Well, my name is Renee Emerson. Unfortunately, I am just the lowly medical doctor,” she gleamed.

  “The most important member of the group!” Alexei chimed.

  “Here, here,” Roland affirmed.

  “Renee is our resident physician, one of the best in all of Britain,” Jaxon interrupted. “We are very fortunate to have her with us.”

  “Thank you, Jax. I was a little fearful of taking the Yamada mission, but we have a very talented and squared-away crew, I love it,” Renee said.

  Frank was amazed at the camaraderie displayed. It reminded him of the Corp. I'm surrounded by great minds and they are just as tight knit as Marines, he thought.

  Alexei Pavlov introduced himself next. He was a nuclear engineer, graduating from the University of Moscow before being kicked out of the school twice. “Let's just say I burned down the Krikalev dormitory one too many times,” Alexei boasted.

  Keiko and Mia shared laughs with the group and they all made fun of Alexei in stride. He enjoyed the attention.

  “I was hired on, to do man things.” He finished.

  “Eh..hem. Alexei is in charge of maintaining our two reactors.” Jaxon said while looking at Frank.

  The program director introduced Keiko Tajika next. She was a marine biologist and her job would be cultivating the horticulture gardens on the ship and on Mars. She was the eldest daughter of Nao Tajika and heir to a portion of the company. “I volunteered to go to Mars.” Keiko said.

  Mia Beckham stood and briefly touched on herself being a planetary scientist before sitting back down in angst. After everyone dispersed for training, Keiko remained behind, alone with Frank inside the conference room.

  “I guess I should be kissing your feet right now for giving me this job,” Frank said.

  “No, I should be thanking you. We are just glad to have a pilot again.”

  “It isn't what I expected,” Frank said.

  Keiko looked surprised by his response. “It isn't?” she replied.

  “No.” He shook his head. “I was expecting really smart, really nerdy . . . oh, I don't know, robotic personalities, in a way.”

  “You don't think we are smart?” Keiko said with a raised eyebrow.

  “That's not what I meant. You are all just regular, normal people to me, nothing like you are portrayed in the media,” Frank reiterated.

  “That's because we are. When does the media get anything right?” Keiko scoffed as she edged closer to the door.

  “I also noticed you are the only Japanese person on a mission built by a Japanese company,” Frank pointed out.

  “None of that PR bullshit matters to my father. He chose everyone based on their skill sets,” she said.

  “Even me?”

  “Well, no, I chose you because you are a war hero and brave. Don't make me regret that decision now,” Keiko said with playfulness.

  “I won't.”

  Keiko turned to leave the room but stopped short of the door. “Look, Frank, these people have been training together for two years, three if you count the hiring and admin portions. Training for two years, secluded and isolated here in Antarctica. They're going
to be a little weird.”

  •••

  A peculiar-sounding jet engine woke Frank from his slumber. The blanket he rigged as a temporary curtain fell down from the intense vibration.

  Frank had not slept well. The constant sunlight from the Antarctic summer messed with his sleep schedule. He glanced at his watch—0500 hours, it twinkled pale yellow as he silenced all alarms for the day.

  Hearing the familiar roar of a jet, Frank was intrigued into investigating. He got dressed and wandered through the station's corridors to find an exit.

  Frank opened a random side door and cold-blasted the interior hall. Just a peek, he thought to himself.

  In the sky, a lone craft zipped and yawed above the Transantarctic Mountains in the distance. It traveled at immense speed, imprinting the sky with purple shock diamonds.

  “It's beautiful, isn't it?” Roland asked from behind. “I'm sure no one here appreciates that more than you do, though.”

  Frank just smiled, enjoying the free airshow in the sky. “What is it?” he asked.

  “Hypersonic high-altitude research jet,” Roland replied.

  “That isn't a mouthful.”

  “It runs on water,” Roland said, awaiting a reaction.

  “Really?!” Frank's interest made him forget about the cold that thrashed at his skin.

  “It separates the hydrogen and oxygen, achieving higher speed and altitude because it supplies its own oxygen.”

  “Fascinating,” Frank said.

  “It won't stay up there for long, however. It burns through the water very fast.” Roland turned to escape the cold.

  Inside, Frank made his way to his first training class. His instructor, a rather tall man sporting a full sleeve of tattoos, was waiting for him.

  “Hello, Frank. My name is Douglas Meekins,” he said, extending a crushing handshake. “I will be your instructor for the flight simulator.”