The setting sun reflected off of the millions of mirrored surfaces in Antarctica City, giving it an unearthly glow. The huge cliffs of ice in the background only increased the ambassador's wonder.
His attention turned to the buildings that made up the city. Most prominent in his view were the Ross Perot Shipyards, huge blocks of concrete and steel that dominated the shoreline west of the city. Their classical rigidness and straight lines clashed with the curved flows of ice behind them. Of all the buildings in Antarctica, only one rivaled them in size: the Capital Pyramid.
Dominating the skyline east of downtown, the Pyramid rose higher than any other building, casting a long shadow across the suburbs to the southeast. Its ornately carved surfaces and tinted windows made it stand out dark and foreboding among the brightly lit chrome and glass buildings around it. The monolith of a structure served as a symbol of the solidarity of the Antarctican people as much as being the administrative center of the Republic of United Antarctica. Antarctica, founded recently by Americans who could no longer take the governmental handling of the economy, had very few political disagreements among its people, allowing it to present a front that was as strong and united as its capital building.
Lost in the majesty of the view, the ambassador failed to notice the dock until a jolt knocked him off balance and announced his arrival to the R.U.A. After regaining his balance, he was surprised a second time by the booming voice of the captain over the intercom.
"This is the captain. Antarctican Universal Transport wishes to welcome you to the Republic of United Antarctica." The captain droned on in a monotone voice for several minutes, describing the Antarctican policy on foreign visitation. "Please give our crew a few minutes to secure the boat to the dock, and then follow the ComScreen signs in the hallways to the nearest exit. Customs officials will meet you on shore. Thank you for sailing AUT and, again, welcome to Antarctica."
Ambassador Sanders picked up his laptop and trench coat from the table in the corner of his room. Looking over the luxuriously spacious room, he reminded himself why he took the extra days in travel by sea instead of by air.
As he reached for the knob, he heard a knock at the door. Upon opening it, he got a look at Commander Alex O'Connor, USN, the Naval Attache assigned to the Antarctican Embassy.
"Ready to go, sir?" asked O'Connor.
"Yes, I think I can handle steady ground again. I'll leave the seas to squids like you."
O'Connor smiled at that. The Ambassador's brief tour in the Army gained him respect from the military officers he worked with in the embassies.
"Well, let's head out," Sanders ordered.
"Aye, aye sir."
The two headed down the corridor, following the first class arrows on the ComScreen. As they emerged onto the deck, the first thing that Sanders saw was the huge ceiling of the John Davis Seaport. Weather in Antarctica made disembarking under shelter a necessity. In fact, Sanders realized, he probably would not be getting much fresh air until it was winter in the States. His gaze lowered to the huge crowds a few feet away at eye level. Surprised, he realized that unlike the huge staircase they climbed to board the ship in New York, a platform encircled the ship at deck level. The guard rails that once encircled the ship were now missing in several areas where passengers were simply stepping off. Both men quickly crossed onto the platform with the rest of the crowd into the first class section.
"Must be a bitch to keep the boat from rippin' this place apart the minute some waves get in here," O'Connor commented. Sanders silently agreed.
Upon reaching the center of the platform, he became aware of the enormity of the seaport. Crowds of people and customs offices extended into the distance, with no visible end.
After staring at the huge structure for what seemed an eternity, O'Connor motioned him towards an office marked "Diplomatic Affairs."
"That looks like the place we're supposed to go," said O'Connor.
Sanders followed O'Connor's lead through the crowd to the office. At the door, they were challenged by a sergeant in the United Antarctican Defense Force. Sanders recalled from his briefing that the UADF acted as both the military and the police force. The sergeant certainly looked more military than police.
"May I help you?" the sergeant asked forcefully.
"I hope so," replied Sanders, "I am Ambassador Sanders from the United States of America, and this is my Naval Attache, Commander O'Connor." The sergeant listened and saluted O'Connor in deference to his rank. He then turned his concentration to the TwoSight eyepiece attached to his helmet. Upon hearing Sanders' name and title, the helmet's computer automatically recalled the Ambassador's record from the central computer. It then projected it in front of the sergeant's left eye.
"Of course sir. Please follow me." The sergeant turned sharply and placed his wrist next to the ComScreen by the door. The door slid open, revealing a small reception area. A young man in a business suit came through a door in the opposite wall and hurried to greet them.
"Welcome to Antarctica, Ambassador. My name is Jeff Lawrence. I work for the Foreign Ministry," he said in an extremely friendly manner. "The rest of your staff is waiting for you at your embassy. How was the trip?" After exchanging the pleasantries required by protocol, Lawrence began moving toward the door he came in through. "Please follow me."
O'Connor turned to Sanders. "I'll be right there," said Sanders absentmindedly. O'Connor shrugged and followed Lawrence across the room.
Sanders then turned to get a last glimpse of the outside through the seaport doors. The water was filled with icebergs, lazily floating in the current. They would make a better symbol for this country, thought Sanders. Like the icebergs, most of this place is hidden deep, away from foreigners. And the president wants me to get it all out of the water.
With a deep sigh, Sanders turned away from the sea and followed the two men into the building.
And this iceberg is deeper than most. Very deep.
The insult was barked to a young corporal at the Charles Wilkes Ground Force Base's firing range. The corporal whirled around in anger, but that quickly turned to fear when he realized the speaker was Master Sergeant Isaac Harel. The corporal stammered a quick "Yes, sir," and hurried out of the range.
Harel laughed to himself quietly. He had been in charge of the firing range since it was built. A former member of the Israeli Defence Force, he immigrated to Antarctica to help establish the UADF. His skill with almost any firearm made him a natural rifle instructor. Practically everyone in the UADF received some training from him. He had been awarded several commendations from the Defence Minister and the President personally. He was a 54 year old living legend, with a salad bar of ribbons on his left breast to prove it.
Today was a slow day. Only a few privates and NCOs had shown up for practice. Most of the troops under Ground Forces command were conducting maneuvers on the Larsen Ice Shelf. One major had come down to requalify with the CR-17 Combat Rifle. Harel decided to check up on the officer.
"Nice shooting, Major. You might want to loosen your grip though."
"Thanks. I'll try that." Major Richard Nelson had been taught by Harel at the Academy, and he knew his advice was worth listening to.
Nelson was one of the lucky advanced recruits, educated when the UADF was founded. The greatest deficit that the Antarctican government faced initially was a lack of experienced officers and NCOs. To compensate, they accelerated training in the Academy the first four years to produce instant captains, majors and colonels. His excellent physical condition combined with his leadership abilities landed him command of the 1st Marine Air Cavalry Battalion, the only land force under AirNav control. He preferred it over the offer of colonel that Ground Forces Command had given him. An American orphan, he had no family to make him regret his high-risk position.
"Thanks to Operation Winter Readiness, you're the only officer I've seen all day. How come you always come here to qualify, instead of staying at Byrd?" asked Harel. He was referring to Richard E. Byrd AirNav Base, Charles Wilkes' AirNav counterpart, where Nelson was stationed.
"And miss the chance to hear your advice," replied Nelson with mock astonishment. He immediately became serious. "Actually, I need to ask you a favor."
"Shoot."
"AirNav Command wants to increase the 1st's combat readiness. Right now, my troops need more rifle training. Would you come over to AirNav temporarily, while Winter Readiness keeps Ground Forces busy?"
"Sure. When do I start."
"As soon as you can get to Byrd."
"I can be there tomorrow."
"Great." Nelson breathed a sigh of relief. "I really appreciate this."
"No problem. Things were getting boring anyway."
Nelson smiled. "So I'll see you when . . . 0900 hours?"
"Sounds good, sir," replied Harel
"Well, I should go file the orders. See you tomorrow."
"Later, sir." Harel saluted as Nelson hurried to the Trans station. Harel smiled as he saw Nelson leave. Harel had lost his only son to a PLO attack on a West Bank checkpoint several years ago. When he met Nelson at the Academy, they became fast friends and a father-son relationship developed.
Harel considered what his temporary rank would be. Senior Chief Petty Officer Harel. That has a pretty nice ring to it, he thought to himself. Yeah, that's not bad at all.
Work In Progress