Returned

Dispatch

Eight

Dispatch

The Javelin 149 Smart Airliner shot through the night like a large spear thrown across the Atlantic. It was a cozy comfortable flight, and Tesla’s latest invention for the Moon and Mars travels. But they were also used for normal global flights within earth’s altitude, especially where unprecedented speed was needed. Instead of the nearly twelve-hour flight in a Boeing Jet Airliner from Washington to Chad, the Javelin Smart took five hours at most. There were just two occupants in the passenger’s cabin, Prescott and Bruno.

Roger Prescott had had a busy day. His wife and two kids where already fast asleep when he had gotten home. He had just joined his wife in bed when the Administrator’s voice message had come in, urging him back to headquarters ASAP. He knew the call was a red call from the screen indicator, and had rushed back to the office to find Brannon and Bruno waiting with a few other staff.

“You are on dispatch to Nigeria, effective immediately!” Brannon had said without hesitation. “You are going in with Bruno. Your drop will be made in southern Chad. You will make contact with the CIA station Director at the local base for provisions and on-the-ground transportation. This is a covert operation, code name – Sneaky Shadow. You have only one task, debrief Tile Atu and his companions and bring them in. Everything you need to know about Sneaky Shadow has been uploaded to your pamphlet. The CIA station Director will provide all the logistics you will need to bring in these targets. There is no room for questions, and zero room for excuses. You are expected to make contact with the target in twelve hours from now. Good luck and God be with you.”

Prescott looked out the window to the dark clouds fleeting by. The waning moon seemed just in the neighbourhood of their vehicle, and he wondered that people were living there now. He had always wondered what it would feel like, retiring early from service when he still had strength and residing with his family on the moon. With all those wealthy men who had all bought up most of the goddamn thing, the moon was now something like the headquarters of the universe. He had been saving quite a lot to make sure he kept this promise to his family. He turned and picked up his electronic pamphlet by his side on the seat and took another look at it. Of all the electronic gadgets he had used, the Samsung Pamphlet seemed to be more resourceful and handy. It was a special design by Brannon himself, who had commissioned Samsung for its production for comm and dispatch.

He looked at the faces on the screen and wondered how possible it was that a human being had survived in the Kuiper Belt for thirty years. That must have been quite an experience… and adventure of course. He secretly envied the staunch-looking Nigerian whose hard appearance had some uncanny mixture of softness that drew him in. His present task too bothered him. He had been a space station agent and not some CIA field agent who knew their way around. Although he had been drafted into covert operations before, most of those were military. But now he had to find his way around in a territory that was in outright friction with the United States, and to go into its hinterlands and possibly engage force on civilians if they were non-compliant. What if these were stubborn civilians? What if they never complied? Now, they were being shielded by a very powerful billionaire who was directly involved with the rivaling Chinese. What were his chances of getting into the premises without attracting the Chinese attention? Although Brannon had mentioned the CIA, it was stated clearly in his Pamphlet that the CIA’s involvement was only at the level of logistics; they were not to know about Sneaky Shadow at any cost. Now, it was just he and Bruno… again.

He turned and looked at Bruno, who sat still like metal. Sometimes Prescott couldn’t help but wonder what the thing was thinking in its head. No matter how accurate and coordinated his thoughts and actions were, Bruno had never been human, and would never be. He returned to the Sneaky Shadow program on his gadget. Somehow, he felt like the Nigerian would comply with him, only the Australian magician with his piercing gaze seemed troublesome… recalcitrant even. He went over all the details of his mission once more. After some time, he dropped the gadget by his side and turned to Bruno.

“Hey, how are you holding up?”

“Cool,” the boring metallic voice said flatly.

“It’s you and me again, once more.”

“It always is. I think we are making a good team already,” Bruno said without a sense of humor.

Again, Prescott couldn’t help but marvel at the thing’s logic. No matter how close together they got, Prescott always had time to remind himself that Bruno was a machine and could malfunction anytime. God help him if such a day came and Bruno went rogue on him. When he looked again in Bruno’s direction, the suspicious look that lingered in his electronic eyes made Prescott wonder if he was even hearing his thoughts too. Or was it him being paranoid?

Looking at the jumper suit he had on, Prescott felt now like a robot himself. The metallic suit gave him the look of Ironman in the old Marvel movie he watched as a kid. And now he had to admire Bruno. The robot didn’t need a heavy suit to jump from an aircraft at this distance like he did. He just needed to adjust some settings in his machine-clad body, and he was ready. But Prescott thought it was impressive the speedy way in which Artificial Intelligence and Nanotech had revolutionized human-machine-binding technology in the last ten years, and was positive that the human body would soon be adjusted to work at the speed of light and with in-built adaptive mechanism like the robots.

‘This is the Pilot of Javelin 149 Smart 003; we are entering the West African time Zone, all your gadgets will automatically adjust to the time zone as at now. It is 4:25am and we are fifteen minutes from the drop spot. Agents for Mission Sneaky Shadow are to prepare to make the drop,” the robotic voice said over the cabin announcer.”

A female robot approached from the rear and walked majestically to Prescott. She was the only hostess on the plane.

“Hello sir, will there be anything you will need?”

“Nope. I am well provisioned,” Prescott said smartly and smiled.

The robot turned to Bruno, but didn’t say anything; she only smiled and straddled back the way she had come. Prescott watched as she disappeared in a rear cabin. He took his Pamphlet and put it in a special place designed for it in his rucksack. He pressed a few buttons on the wrist of his jumper suit and a glassy helmet emerged from the collar of his suit and covered his head and face. A comm system wired around his right ear automatically.

“Ready?” he asked Bruno within the glass.

Bruno nodded to affirm that he had received signal. He, too, opened a keypad in his left arm and pressed a few beeping keys. He closed the latch and stood up. Prescott stood up too, took his rucksack and heaved onto his back. They both stepped into the aisle and started walking towards the rear of the plane. When they got to the dead end of the plane’s aisle, they stood there for a few moments until the countdown began. It was the metallic voice of the announcer again.

“Drop will be made at ten… nine… eight… seven… six… five… four… three… two… one…”

The rear latch opened and, without warning, both Bruno and Prescott jumped as if their movement was automated. The latch closed back as soon as the drop was made, and the Javelin Smart tilted upwards like a rocket, altering course. It was the instruction that its signal was not to be read on the radar of the Chadian Airport Authority.

Prescott and Bruno lowered down at a considerable speed. The Jumper suit aided Prescott’s drop as he jumped straight down to the ground. It took them ten minutes to land. They all dropped with a heavy thud and the dust rose high, taking several seconds to settle. From where they stood, Prescott could see the headlamps of three vehicles on a small hilly area five yards away. “Transportation,” he thought.

Prescott quickly removed his iron-clad garment and adjusted it into a small handy pack. He changed from the NASA uniform he wore underneath his iron suit and into a mufti. He took his rucksack and handed Bruno the iron pack.

“That’s our transportation there pal. Let’s sneak in on them.”

But as they made to step forward, a searchlight beamed on them sharply.

“Who goes there?” a voice shouted in American.

“John Wilcox, National Geographic,” Prescott said, the lie he had been instructed to say.

“And with you?” the voice demanded sternly again.

“My risk manager.”

“Good,” the searchlight went off.

The man with the voice walked towards them now. He was accompanied by three other men in arms.

“Wrong timing,” Prescott thought. He had hoped to comm headquarters before making contact with the CIA. Brannon was overseeing the mission personally.