Is Black 11 Still There?

Editor's note: Due to the high level breach of security in the area known as Black 11 and the possible illegal activities committed by the military intelligence as described below, we cannot publish the name of the dedicated Senior Staff member who wrote this story. Essentially, we hope to shield him from extralegal sanctions by all claiming to be "Spartacus".

     Palo Alto: A note from the government source we now call "Pandora" (see: Black 11: Has the Government Consulted Aliens?, vol. 3, Issue #11) found its way into my locked car the morning of August 26. It said: "Rusty Calley is a plant. It's still there." I had been on my way to visit Leslie Shepherd at Massaraty Asylum (see: Missing Third Eye Reporter found---Alive!, vol. 4, Issue #7) but the note sent my mind into high gear and instead I rushed back to the office to call her. Her parent's and doctor objected to my request to speak with her over the phone, but with time and petulance, I finally convinced them that I had only one question that needed her "yes" or "no" answer.

     "Is it still there?" I asked.

     Silence. I heard her struggling to breath normally; straining to admit to herself her experience was real.

     "Yes," she croaked.

     I contacted Pandora in our agreed cloak and dagger fashion. Fortunately, he anticipated my course of action and brought the necessary identification materials to our meeting at the Cedar Rapids Airport parking lot.

     He slipped into the back seat of my car. I had removed the rearview mirror so I couldn't see him. I never saw him and that made me uncomfortable and vulnerable. For all I knew, he could have had the muzzle of a 9mm scarcely a hair's breadth from the back of my head during any one of our few contacts. But my peace of mind didn't matter; that was the price I had to pay for his...and his information.

     "How do I get in?" I asked, staring straight at the odometer. It read 665.9.

     A packet landed on the seat next to me.

     The next morning, I pulled the big rented Olds up to the gatehouse. In the distance where the object called Black 11 had been stood nothing but vacant field and sky shimmering under the bright sun. I straightened my tie and put away my sunglasses. Pandora assured me everything would be taken care of. He told me repeatedly, "Get in, look around, get out fast and do nothing daring."

     The MP came out, I saw his side arm's dull gleam and stifled a shudder.

     "Good morning sir," he smiled. "Name?"

     "Hendricks, Lars."

     "Purpose of your visit?"

     "Conference with Colonel Eddings."

     "Please leave your vehicle and enter the building."

     I did so. He followed behind me by about a few feet, his pistol drawn. Inside, a counter with a mag-stripe reader sat beneath a camera and a small red light.

     "Please stand on the yellow 'X'," the guard said. When I had done so, he aimed his Colt .45 at my head. "Sir, you are about attempt to verify your identification to gain admittance to a classified military sector. Failure to successfully verify constitutes an attempt to commit espionage and I am authorized by law to execute lethal force against you. Do you understand this warning?"

     "Yes." I answered.

     "Card through the slot. Look directly at the little red bulb," he said.

     I swiped the card through slot and looked at red bulb.

     Nothing happened.

     The MP relaxed his stance and holstered his pistol. "Your identity has been verified. You are free to enter the sector. What areas will you be accessing today?"

     "All areas," I said, in as steady a voice as I could muster, relieved at not having filled my pants.

     "Are you all right, Sir?" he asked.

     "I really hate pistols being pointed---"

     "Sorry sir. Regulations," he interrupted. He went behind the counter and handed me an bright orange "Visitor" tag.

     I drove about a mile down the road until I came to the trio of trailers the MP had told me about and pulled over . As soon as I was on my feet, I suddenly felt overcome by a wave of vertigo. Something buzzed in my brain, setting me on edge. I fell on the Olds' hood, fighting the dizziness when suddenly I felt a hand on my arm haul me upright.

     "Steady there, Mr. Hendricks. It'll pass in a second. Your brain will soon figure out how to cope with the interference." a voice said.

     In a minute, the dizzy spell passed, and the buzzing faded a little. I saw a fatigue-clad bird colonel standing before me. "You never get used to it," he said. "But it's better than having the civilians around here killing each other."

     "Where is it?" I asked blinking, still leaning on the Olds.

     "Well, you're looking right at, sir," he said, almost surprised.

     I thought it was the dizzy spell, but not 100 feet away a huge mass of swirling sparkling gnats rippled up through the air for over a thousand feet and nearly half a mile on either side.

     "Incredible." I gasped. "I had no idea something like this could be done." For, once, I said to myself, I was telling the truth. It was the most amazing engineered feat of camouflage I have ever heard. Had the Colonel not explained it, I should have called it magic. Specially constructed electrodes and electron guns were placed at even intervals all around Black 11. Then, using the power of the object itself, the surrounding air was converted into a polarized plasma and controlled by a tuned magnetic field. The air next to the plasma became heated, growing denser momentarily against the plasma. That caused a mirage effect. With all land surrounding it for a mile under military control, Black 11 had been made invisible to the world.

     "A full report was filed---" he began, sounding irritated.

     "Compartmentalized information, Eddings. I didn't need to know until now." I snapped back, surprising myself at my abrupt tone. My jaw ached. Then I noticed the buzzing was making me grind my teeth.

     "Why did they send a Cleaner?" Eddings demanded. "Does Central have problems with the delay."

     "I'm here to put you back on schedule," I answered, recalling what Pandora told me in the car. "Senators are asking too many questions. Has the analysis been completed?"

     He shook his head. "We don't know what it is. The plasma field drains enough power to keep it under control. But we've only succeeded in fully countering the psychoreactive signals with inverted phase transmissions. It works until the damn thing changes its signal frequency. I had people shooting here only last week. I lost four men." His voice grew threatening, "Listen, those Observers' report is dead wrong. That thing is conscious! I know sounds crazy, but I bet my brass it knows what we're doing!"

     I really wanted to hit him then. Right in the nose. I don't know what made me so angry. I ground my teeth harder and suddenly I realized the buzzing had gotten louder. I mastered my composure by remembering the MP's gun aimed at my head.

     "Do you hear something?" I asked. "Like a cheap alarm clock?"

     He stared at me hard, "Yeah. So what if...Damn, not again!" He looked glanced back at the trailer. "Cover!" he shouted, diving to the ground in front of the Olds just as the shot rang out. I dove across the hood. The soldier at the trailer door fired a burst from his M-16. He laughed maniacally and opened up again.

     Eddings had his Colt drawn and ready, and was looking at me in surpirse. All I could do was looked very, very scared. I hadn't planned on berserk soldiers.

     "Where's your weapon!" Eddings demanded.

     "My dog ate it!" I yelled. A burst shattered the rear windshield and punctured the rear tire I had scrunched up against. I yelped sharply, and rolled towards Eddings.

     "Damn it! No weapon, never been shot at! You're not from the Committee!" he yelled, grabbing me by the throat and ramming the muzzle of his pistol hard into my temple. "I oughta waste your worthless ass right now! You're probably one of those panty-waste reporters, I bet! Goddamn it!"

     More slugs slammed into the side of car courtesy of laughing boy. Eddings popped up over the hood and fired twice back at him.

     "Either you kill me or he get both of us!" I shouted.

     "There's special places we keep your kind," he muttered. "Ever play Army?"

     I knew what he meant right off. I crept down by the back bumper of the car. At his signal, I jumped up and waved my hands and yelled "Over here, butthead!"

     Laughing Boy took aim at me. Suddenly Eddings fired and the sniper collapsed with half of his head blown away.

     "Move it!" shouted the Colonel, waving to go around the car and head towards the trailer in front of him. I'd hardly gone ten yards when something vaguely pineapple-ish clunked onto the ground in front of me.

     I came to in a heap on the ground. Gun fire still rang out around me. My butt and thighs felt sore and damp as if I'd just run a fraternity gauntlet. My hand came back covered with blood. Both legs and toes checked-in to say they were okay. I looked around but saw nothing. The buzzing seemed fainter. The now trashed Olds looked like it might just make it, flat tires and all. I got to my feet, winced at the pain in my butt, and shambled to the car. Sitting was hell, but I gunned its engine and spun the sucker around on the dirt road, fish-tailing like crazy. The MP at the gatehouse ran out and aimed his M-16 at me. I slumped down and jammed the pedal to the floor. The windshield dissolved overhead and I smelled the hot anti-freeze spraying onto the engine. The car shimmied violently, drifting off course. I looked up just as the car spun-out through the chain link fence. As soon as I hit black top, I floored it for about two miles when the shattered Olds uttered a steely scream and gave up the ghost with a cloud of steam.

     I wanted to be sure I wasn't being pursued. I stayed out of sight in Emmetsburg for four days to get my wounded butt taken care of by a friend of mine studying medicine at the U of E. He pulled out a chunk of steel about the size of a penny. After a few more days on the road, I wound up flying to Cedar Rapids from Chicago. I expected a note from Pandora, but there was nothing waiting for me.

     Black 11 is still, there, all right. Only, perhaps those who are trying to keep it in a cage are finding out that it won't stay caged for long.