Free Beyond Armageddon V: Fusion by Anthony DeCosmo

why!”
     
    Omar followed Lori Brewer around what had once been a garage housing Ferraris but now served as his personal laboratory. Since the earliest days of the post-Armageddon struggle, Omar worked in this shop to understand the technologies brought to Earth by the invaders.
    Over the years he had grown accustomed to interruptions. Sometimes General Jon Brewer, occasionally Gordon Knox, and often-times Trevor Stone. On this day Lori Brewer—the Imperial Administrator—visited his habitat. As usual during these interruptions, the accent in Omar’s voice grew more pronounced the longer she lingered.
    “I do not know what it is you are wanting me to be saying.”
    The short-haired brunette stopped at a glass case displaying a de-constructed Chaktaw rail gun. A half dozen assistants in various combinations of lab coats, overalls, and casual dress tinkered with items at work benches and tables around the garage.
    She explained to him again, “My job is allocating resources. And then people make things from those resources. And then I have to make sure that those ‘things’ get put on trains or in trucks and make their way to where they are needed. So here’s the point, Omar. You get a lot of resources. You get technical people. You get lab equipment. I spend a lot of Continental dollars on your storage depots, on your personnel, on the recovery teams, even on the power you use. The question is, what am I getting for it?”
    She gave him an opening and Omar replied from what he perceived as a position of strength: “What do you get from my humble efforts? Let us see here—hmmm—have you noticed those really big fancy ships with aircraft upon them? What do we call them…”
    Lori tapped her foot and rolled her eyes but allowed Omar to vent.
    “Oh, yes, the Dreadnoughts. And then there are the active camouflage suits if I am recalling correctly, and the Eagle transports that have been known to pitch into the effort.”
    “Omar,” her patience ran out. It usually did. “What have you done for me lately? Our resources are running out. The matter-makers down in Atlanta are running full-bore for bullets and fuel. In a few weeks those facilities may be in The Order’s bombing range. Meanwhile, I’ve got the Excalibur over in Pittsburgh that isn’t back in the game yet because we don’t have the people or the parts to finish its repairs. I’ve got to start making some decisions on what gives us the most hope of staying alive. I hate to say this but—“
    One of Omar’s assistants cut dared cut in to the conversation, “Dr. Nehru?”
    Both Omar and Lori shouted with dueling aggravation, “What?”
    The man held a phone. “Phone call. It’s Red Rock. They say it’s an emergency.”
    Omar’s cigarette dangled from his half-open mouth. As he reached for the phone his expression turned into one of dread, like a soldier’s parent receiving a phone call from the army in the middle of the night.
    “Yes, this is Dr. Nehru. This is about my wife, isn’t it?” as Lori listened to his side of the conversation she found it amazing how clear and plain his English became. “When did this happen? Is she okay? Of course I will be there as quickly as possible.”
    He hung up.
    “Omar, what is it?”
    “It’s Anita. They say she has gone mad.”
     
    The white and black Internal Security helicopter circled the Red Rock facility on its way to the landing pad. Through the windows Omar spied the 1960s-era remains of the topside Air Force base including an old tower complete with a radar dome. The main building—constructed of sturdy but nearly featureless concrete—served as the tip of a structural iceberg.
    The chopper landed with a soft thud. The rear passenger door opened a split second after the skids hit the ground. Omar hurried out with his lab coat billowing in the rotor-wind. Lori Brewer struggled to keep pace.
    The Colonel who ran security at the Red Rock facility met Omar on the tree-lined path leading away