Domes: The Discovery

Copyright © 2020 Mark Kramer

domestheseries@gmail.com

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All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the prior written permission of the copyright owner, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Paperback: 978-0-578-72225-2

Hardcover: 978-0-578-72223-8

Ebook: 978-0-578-72224-5

Editing by Joel Pierson

Cover and interior layout by Alysha Smagorinsky

Table of Contents

The Great Wall

At Sea

Trinity

Roswell

NORAD

Wormwood

Mount Deception

The Escape

The Cavern

Thin Air

Russia

Transformation

Colorado Incident

The Surge: Vanishings

Washington, DC

Reactors

The Council

Quantum States

Replication

Pursuit

Encounter

Tensions

Thefts

Dimensions

Time

Revelations

Questions

Post-Scour: PINK States

The Big Scour

The Mission

Discovery

The Last Stand

Aftermath

1

The Great Wall

June 1429 AD, China. Ming Dynasty

Z

i Ling was standing guard on the Great Wall, the structure called Chángchéng. From his perch on Nine-Eye Tower, he had a commanding view of the mountain valleys to his east and west. Below him, on either side of the north-south wall line, were thick, verdant forests, where an approaching enemy could hide from view. But it was from the north and west, from the distant provinces, that an enemy was likely to come: Mongols, Manchurians, even Russians. It was Zi’s job not to fight an advancing enemy but to signal the approach to garrisons of soldiers to his south and north.

One such stronghold, south of Nine-Eye Tower, was called the Beijing Knot, a site where several sections of the wall met and formed a union. There, soldiers were stationed, always prepared to advance to meet an adversary. From Zi’s station at Nine-Eye Tower, he could light a beacon fire, one that would be seen at sites to his south, where additional signals would be lit to alert troops at the Knot. To his north was a small contingent of soldiers at the farthermost section of the Jiankou Line.

He was instructed to light a signal fire at the topmost level of the tower. From that perch, regardless of the direction, the nearest wall sentries would see the light. If the beacons were lit in the daytime, he would place freshly cut green boughs on the pyre, which would generate a towering plume of white smoke. Those who could see the signal would send troops to his location. If an enemy did arrive, even though Zi’s duty was to light the beacon, he was instructed to remain on the wall, even if it meant sacrificing his life.

For several days, Zi Ling paced the parapet of the high wall, keeping a watchful eye on the terrain below. Sometimes in the early afternoon, Zi would descend to the bottom of the wall, using well-hidden interior steps. He would spend time surveying the area around the perimeter, searching for any signs of intruders, occasionally exploring the many rock formations in the region. In the evening, he would fix a meal of cooked rice and dried fish, foods that were brought periodically by members of the roaming wall guard. At night, he usually slept in one of the small rooms near the top of the stone tower. But tonight, Zi decided to sleep on the wall itself, resting on his bedroll. Above him, the deep summer sky provided a banquet of sparkling stars. Tired from his daily hikes, Zi fell into a deep sleep.

As he slept, he had a vision. Zi saw a great host of the enemy advancing against his position. The ground shook, and a great, searing light flashed over the entire region. The light grew in strength until it forced him to look away. Then a thunderous clap rolled and echoed over the mountainside.

Zi awoke, startled, the dazzling light still visible in his eyes. When the light subsided, the tower guard knew it had been a foolish dream. He laughed at his own creation. Still, there was an odd odor in the air—smoke and burnt wood. But it was nothing, he thought to himself. Content that all was well, the young sentry fell back asleep.

In the morning, a bright-yellow sun rose in the east. Zi hurried from his bedroll and walked to the eastern side of the wall, hoping to see the beauty of the new day.

But that was not what he saw. Before him to the east, and as far as he could see, all of the forest that had been alive yesterday was gone. The trees were not to be seen. In their place were dark plumes of curling, roiling smoke. Not one green plant remained on the treacherous mountainsides. Even where the tree roots should have been, there was nothing. The soil seemed burned and crisp, as if some murderous dragon had breathed fire over the countryside. Zi could feel the heat rising from the land below him. To either direction on the eastern side of the structure north or south, and up to the sprawling base of the wall, nothing of the forest remained. Everything that had been growing was now gone. All that could be heard was an eerie, frightening silence. Barrenness.

A great, smothering fear enveloped him. Zi worried that the world was ending. He turned to the west and raced to the opposite side of the fortress. To his surprise, the world had not ended. The land on the west side was the same as it had been. Even to the south, toward the Beijing Knot, all was well. West of his position, north, and south, the land was green, and a rich, fresh scent of forest drifted over the crest of the wall. For a second, his hopes rose.

And then Zi remembered his dream.

If there had been an enemy, perhaps some god had destroyed it. But so much had been lost. It would take generations for the trees to regrow—if they could ever grow again. He had been charged with protecting the realm, and he had failed. Frightened that he would be punished or even killed, he decided on a course that would change his life. With no reason to guard the wall any longer, and fearing reprisals from the government in Peking, Zi Ling left his post and traveled north into unknown lands. He did not return.

2

At Sea

July 1660, Eastern Atlantic, off the northeast coast of Africa

T

he HMS Bradford turned west, luffing into a scant breeze that was pushing its way toward the Azores, heading for a brief port at Ponta Delgada. In the light wind, topgallants filled, blooming with air that pushed the ship along its course. Behind the Bradford, two gunships, the Landry and the Belgrade, tacked in the same direction, keeping a mile of distance from the Bradford’s slow, rolling wake. With little wind, the sound of even a small wave slapping against a ship’s thickly cased hull could alert a vigilant enemy. And with a fog cloud that could form at a moment’s notice, an enemy ship could be hidden in an impenetrable mist.

Evening was rushing toward them, and to the west, deep on the watery horizon, the sun was sinking into a wistful sea. Now and then, a slight breeze would jostle the halyards, and if a rogue wave broke over the bow, the sound of water pouring into the scuppers resonated over the wooden deck.

On the Bradford, Captain Jeffery Willingham stood on the forecastle of the helm deck, watching for signs of Spanish marauders. He had been dispatched by King Charles II to clear the British shipping lanes to the Ivory Coast of Africa. In the last four days, he and his small three-ship armada had sunk two Spanish warships, which had been attacking English naval vessels as they entered the waters near the Azores.

As the sun’s last rays splintered over the western horizon, Willingham shouted out orders to his second in command. Trim those foresails, Lieutenant. We’re in a calm, it seems.

Lieutenant Randall Avery barked the same orders to the crew.

In seconds, three large main topsails, as well as the topgallants and foresails, were drawn and set, leaving the three-masted ship nearly dead in the water, floating softly in the now-calming sea.

On the flanks, the crews of the Landry and Belgrade followed the same orders. All three ships were now more like wooden corks, bobbing only slightly. In less than an hour, the hues of dusk were like dull shadows. Take a reading, Lieutenant, the captain said. Plot our course for Gibraltar. We’ll meet His Majesty’s ships there after we port for supplies at Ponta Delgada. I think our work is done here.

It wasn’t long before darkness enveloped them all.

Avery took his sextant and recorded several readings, using the North Star as his posting beacon. Under a small candle lantern, he jotted down the readings and then blew out the flickering light. I have set the course for the Mediterranean, Captain. We will be at Gibraltar in less than three days.

The captain nodded, then walked casually to the wainscot and leaned over it, scrutinizing the dark water. He’d been a captain for less than two years but still found his job to be the most exciting he could imagine. He missed his wife and two sons, but his time at sea always comforted him. And while there was still the chance of not making it home, he never feared it. If the sea claimed him, it would be a worthy death.

The night just over the ocean was now dark; but above, the stars twinkled and glittered like rare jewels, so that one could see nearly every constellation that was visible on the ecliptic. Just visible on the far horizon, a thin sliver of moon was rising.

Ship’s put down for the night, Captain, Avery said in a soft voice. Orders, sir?

Have the main crew sit for dinner, Lieutenant. I’ll remain on deck. I think I’ll look for shooting stars tonight.

Avery saluted. As he walked toward the crew’s stairway, he could see a small fire bloom near the captain’s face. There was a sudden glow of deep-red ash, as the captain’s pipe tobacco ignited in the calm air. Before Avery made it to the crew’s entrance, the scent of East Indian vanilla surrounded him.

While the crew ate, the captain studied the night skies: Virgo, Scorpio, Cassiopeia, the seven sisters, known as the Pleiades. Several small streaks traced a thin line of yellow light across the heavens before they disappeared entirely.

Then, as he watched, Willingham noticed something moving toward them from the coast of Africa. At first, it seemed to be a visage of a silhouette, something with form, yet not really visible. But the countenance was too large and too bright to be a mere shadow. As the shade moved in front of the stars, it blackened that part of the sky. Occasionally, but briefly, the shade transformed into something physical. It was alternating between dark and light, between substance and specter. Some distortion of the night, he thought to himself.

The captain moved toward the port side and followed the form as it neared his position. Several of the deckhands stopped to gaze at the curious apparition.

One of them, the sounder, spoke to the captain. An evil wraith, I’ll wager. Seen it, I did, once, off the coast of Madagascar, I think. We was drawin’ brown spices from India. Looked sort of like that. But this seems different, Captain. This is darker somehow.

The captain said nothing but strained his eyes toward the object, which was now quite close. It was changing erratically; first, a shade of faded light, then a large, circular entity framed by definite lines. There were small lights along the perimeter of the object. Whatever it was, it was flying.

Get the lieutenant, the captain said to the sounder, his voice uncharacteristically anxious.

The sounder nodded and strode toward the crew’s galley entrance.

Willingham pulled his telescope from its rough leather scabbard and aimed it at the specter. As he focused the lens, he gasped. The object was resting, stationary in the sky, probably four thousand feet above them but slightly west of their position.

It was round, or so it looked, at least when it was visible at all. From his vantage point, it wobbled, if only slightly. The flickering continued; as the object remained stationary, it looked to be more evanescent than anything material. But it was there.

Lieutenant Avery arrived on deck in time to see the object emit a brilliant beam of white light that shot downward to the ocean’s surface. The beam lit the entire area, yet it looked only to be perhaps a foot in diameter. The light was pure white and was pulsating, like heat rising over a desert dune. Willingham stepped back, nearly tripping on a coil of rope. What in God’s name? he muttered. Avery said nothing. Silently, he prayed.

Where the light touched the water, there was a frothing and churning, as if the water was being heated. Then suddenly, without warning, the light beam began to widen on the water’s surface, growing into a great circle, expanding outward until it lit and covered all three ships. As the strange light fell over the Bradford, Captain Willingham felt a queer sensation, like someone tickling him with a thin feather. On all three ships, the men on board cowered. Even those below deck felt a strange, eerie vibration move through the ships’ decks. For some, there was the taste of bitters, as if someone has sprayed a mist of the concoction directly over them.

Slowly, the light, which now took the shape of an inverted funnel, began to move westward, covering an area of the sea less than an eighth of a mile from the three ships.

The diameter of the light continued to widen. As it continued west, it illuminated at least ten square miles of open water, perhaps more.

Avery was too stunned to speak. As the crews below found their way to the top decks, they watched as the light expanded further over the ocean, covering an even larger expanse.

What is this thing? Willingham finally managed to say.

God help us, Avery mumbled, crossing himself, his heart beating wildly. It’s of the devil, if such things have any meaning at all. We should hoist sails, Captain, or strike the oars. We need to leave this place.

The captain didn’t hesitate. He gave the order to hoist the sails. The Bradford’s helmsman flashed a signal light to the other ships. In seconds, the first of the sails were being raised on all three vessels.

The object then began to ascend into the sky. The light that emanated from its belly grew brighter. Soon, the light covered nearly thirty square miles of ocean. From the heavens, if anyone had been able to see it, the light shining on the Atlantic water was a perfect circle.

As the crews battled to raise the sails, the wind died entirely. The sea’s against us, Captain, Avery said in an anxious voice.

Strike the oars, Lieutenant. Be quick there. I think we have little time.

A worried expression covered the young officer’s face. For the first time, he was afraid for his life. He thought of his wife, who would, he thought, miss him terribly.

The light grew in intensity. On the Landry and Belgrade, there was chaos. The junior officers had lost control of their crews, who were just now lowering several of the smaller lifeboats into the calm sea.

Fools, Willingham said aloud.

Abruptly, the object moved slightly more westward, but the three ships were still just to the edge of the light’s circle.

What’s this? Avery said.

Some worse devilry, the captain replied. Oars in, he yelled to the crew.

The oarsmen dropped their oars into the water and began pulling with all their strength. Although warships did not usually use oars for propulsion, there was always the option. Slowly, the Bradford began to crawl east, retreating only slightly from the perimeter of the strange light.

As the Bradford slipped away, the sailors in the remaining vessels struggled to abandon their ships. Several men fell overboard. One vanished in the dark water.

The light now pulsed brightly, so bright that no one could now look at it. They hid their eyes, nearly overwhelmed by its intensity. Several crew members who refused to look away were blinded, their eyes seared by the penetrating radiance.

A strange vibration again ran through the water until it carried itself into each man.

We’re done for, Captain, Avery cried out.

We’re not done, Lieutenant, Willingham shouted. We can still escape to the east.

Below, in the ship’s belly, the oarsmen, who were protected from the worst of the light, reset their oars and began pulling with all their might.

There came a jolting, great clap of thunder. The light expanded outward, racing away at incalculable speed. Another sound followed, one that shook the entire ocean. The men on the deck fell to their knees, crying like children.

God help us, the captain said in a resolved voice.

Then the light was gone. No warning before, none after.

Stillness crushed them with its sudden contrast. Silence shrouded the frightened men.

Wallingford stood up from the deck, brushing the dust and dirt from his faded uniform.

There was a queer, unknown odor in the air, like that of metal on metal when great heat is struck from coarse friction.

The only light was from a sliver of a rising moon, which now provided a silver contrast to the darkness around them.

Captain, the crow’s nest shouted, there, in the west.

The captain squinted in the moon’s growing light. He ran to the port railing and gasped.

What ho! he screamed in a loud, frightened voice. What is that gaping hole in the sea?

On all three ships, those of the crew who remained on board stood frozen, looking outward and downward into a dark, gaping maw.

By all that’s holy, Avery shouted. The ocean is gone.

From the crow’s nest, the scene was surreal. Beyond, less than one-tenth of a mile from the Bradford’s bow, and where the circle of light had just been, was now nothing. The water was gone. It had been sucked, or drawn, or steamed away by the scorching, pulsating light.

All that was visible was a vast chasm, one whose walls seemed themselves alive, moving with the same flow and consistency of that fluid. But the walls were sheer and steep as if something had carved out the sea. It was a gaping, open wound in the ocean, and those on the ships could smell the rich, redolent odor of seabed.

It can’t be, Willingham stammered.

We’re too close, Avery! the captain screamed. Oarsmen, pull to the east, he shouted, his voice trembling.

The order was relayed below, through the Broadgate, to the oarsmen, who were now prepared to row for their lives.

But there issued from the massive hole a strange, guttural noise, like the sound of wailing. Around the edges of the abyss, the water now began to swirl in a vast, endless circle. It’s filling in! the crow’s nest screamed. It’s filling in.

The Landry and the Belgrade, which were now even closer to the waterline, began moving counterclockwise, pulled by the nascent funnel that was now forming.

As the Bradford turned into the edge of the whirlpool, the ship began to list to the steepening contours of the developing drain, forcing it to lean to a forty-five-degree angle.

It was then that Willingham understood their fate. Once in the swirling vacuum of a mid-sea maelstrom, there was no escape, and Avery sensed it. As the men sat in their listing ship, they could see the Landry and Belgrade below them, slipping further down the sides of the funnel. The noise was now louder, and a tremendous pressurized spray began to blow around them, shrouding them in a stinging mist.

As the whirlpool strengthened, and as the three ships listed nearly over, Willingham looked up toward the night sky. Above them, still motionless over the turbulent water, the strange circular object issued another beam of light.

The light pierced the top of the funnel and illuminated a narrow vortex of water to the very bottom of the seabed. For just a second, Willingham looked down, searching for the meeting of their inevitable fate. In the dimness of their end, the bottom of the sea seemed inviting, like a web that entreats a hapless bug. But when his eyes returned to the top of the funnel, the ship and the light were gone.

The last sight Willingham saw was a shooting star racing in front of the distant visage of ancient stars. When it disappeared, so did the Bradford. As the water of the maelstrom collapsed entirely, the three ships and their lifeboats vanished, buried forever in the deep of the Atlantic sea.

3

Trinity

July 16, 1945, 5:29 a.m.

Alamogordo (Trinity Site), New Mexico

R

obert (Oppy) Oppenheimer, the director of the Manhattan Project, paced the interior of the Trinity Mission Control bunker, which was less than four miles from ground zero. The bomb tower, nicknamed Jumbo, was barely illuminated in the predawn light, so that it looked more like a lone metal sentinel, now standing in the middle of the New Mexico desert.

Near the top of the tower rested the world’s first assembled nuclear weapon, called Gadget. Less than three miles from the bomb was the McDonald Ranch House, as well as some outbuildings, erected to help calibrate the bomb’s yield.

Overhead, flying in a safe perimeter distance, were two B-29s that would be observing the detonation from the air.

The bomb was an implosion device, fused by ordinary explosives used to compress the bomb’s core, which was made of plutonium. When the explosives were detonated, they imploded the core, forcing the plutonium sphere into a super-hot critical mass. At that instant, a rampaging fission process began splitting neutrons, one after the other, until there was a tremendous release of energy.

At precisely thirty seconds to bomb time, as they called it, Oppy donned his protective goggles, a preventative measure to prevent being blinded by the fireball. The assumption was that the impending explosion would be equivalent to ten thousand tons of TNT, or ten kilotons. With observers in every direction, including overhead, the entire event would be filmed. If this test proved to be successful, the next weapons would be used in the war against Japan. At the time, it was felt that the outcome of the war would depend on the outcome of the Trinity test.

With twenty seconds left, the mission director gave a thumbs-up. If weather conditions were unsatisfactory, the test would be scrubbed. A recent rainstorm had passed in the early morning, and the wind was now at five miles per hour out of the west. Bomb time was a go.

As Oppy stood in front of the bunker window, the mission director counted the sequence down from T-minus ten seconds. For his part, Oppy was confident. But he was worried too.

At T-minus five, the forward observers, army regulars, in trenches less than a mile from ground zero, crouched in their four-foot-deep slots.

T-minus zero.

In the predawn hours, the detonating atomic bomb bloomed like a rising sun. The ignition lit up the entire desert, casting an eerie, surging light over part of New Mexico. As the fireball