The Search for Artemis

Chapter THIRTEEN

THE OLYMPIC TOWER


“How are you doing, Landon?”

Landon turned from the food services line; he didn’t recognize the voice, and he wasn’t sure why someone would stop him while he was getting his breakfast. Since the First Frost Frenzy ended a few days ago, Landon had received a confusing mix of praise, snubbing and contempt from his fellow students. His actions during the match, particularly with regard to Brock and the Crane twins, had placed him in a precarious position with the student body. Everyone had to now choose whether to support his challenging the most powerful students in the Gymnasium, to condemn him for embarrassing those same students, or to avoid Landon altogether, figuring that it would all blow over and things would return to normal.

To Landon, the First Frost Frenzy was just a game, and he was doing all he could to win. There was nothing more to it. A part of him wanted to make Brock, Jeremiah and Joshua understand that they couldn’t push him around like they did other students, but Landon never expected his performance in the game to stir such strong emotions within every student at the Gymnasium. He now understood that by eliminating the trio, he’d drawn the proverbial line in the sand and challenged the alpha male.

Landon was shocked to realize Cortland Cartwright was the one speaking to him. Landon had never met nor spoken to Cortland in the four months he’d been at the Gymnasium. They didn’t share a single training session together and were rarely ever in the same place at the same time. The only times Landon could remember even seeing him were in the cafeteria, but Cortland sat with Brock . . . so they’d never been introduced.

“Umm,” Cortland said after an excruciating period of silence. Landon had turned and was looking at him, but he hadn’t said a word. “I just wanted to tell you that you were awesome out there last Saturday. I don’t think anyone expected you to be capable of that.”

“Thanks . . . I think,” Landon replied. It took him a second to form the words in his brain. He couldn’t figure out if he was being praised or insulted.

“No, seriously, you were awesome.”

Landon continued to look at him strangely. He was having issues understanding Cortland’s intentions. Was he mocking him, as many others had in the past two days, or was he being genuine? By his demeanor and tone, Landon thought it was the latter. In the few seconds of knowing him, Landon felt like Cortland was just one of those naturally nice people with whom you couldn’t help but want to be friends.

“Anyways,” Cortland continued, “I was wondering if you wanted to sit with me for breakfast. I know we haven’t even spoken to each other before, but I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot more of you after your meeting, so I wanted to try and get to know you better. What do you say?”

“What meeting?” Landon asked, confounded as to what Cortland was referring. “And I don’t know if sitting with you, Brock and the Cranes would be such a good idea.”

“Oh, I’m not sure I was supposed to tell you about that,” Cortland replied. “And I’m eating alone. As his roommate, I’m sure you know. Brock’s not the biggest morning person, and the twins aren’t much better.” Cortland paused for a moment, turned and craned his neck, searching the cafeteria for something. “And it looks like Riley and Katie Leigh aren’t here this morning either, so you’d be eating alone too.”

“They normally get here a few minutes after me,” Landon quickly returned. He didn’t like being so predictable. He also couldn’t think of any excuse that would get him out of the situation, and Cortland’s insistence was making him feel an odd sense of acceptance, like being picked first for the kickball team at recess. “Lead the way, Virgil,” he said.

“What?”

“Sorry. Just something I always said to my mom.”

“No, I think I get it. Dante’s Inferno, right? Virgil was the guide. Just took me a second.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Landon replied.

Cortland asked Landon all the usual questions one asks when first meeting someone, but he did it in a way that was easy. That usual awkwardness that comes with Where are you from? How old are you? and What’s your favorite color? seemed nonexistent. It was comfortable, like speaking with a best friend he’d grown up with. Unfortunately, the conversation didn’t last long. About fifteen minutes into it, someone came and tapped Landon on the shoulder.

“Landon.”

Landon turned and was surprised to find Professor Clemens standing over him. Landon and Cortland stood up.

“Dr. Brighton would like to see you in his office.”

“Now? I have Tactometry with Professor Tzu in less than a half hour.” Landon turned to Cortland, hoping he might help him understand what was going on, but he just looked at him with an excited smile on his face.

“You have been cleared of all training for the day,” Professor Clemens replied in an professional, disconnected manner. “Dr. Brighton is in his office on the fifth floor, 568, between the Student and Administrative Towers. He’s waiting for you.”

“Go on,” Cortland urged. It was obvious to Landon that he knew what Dr. Brighton wanted to speak with him about, but he wasn’t giving him any hints.

Landon headed straight for Dr. Brighton’s office. As he left the cafeteria, he tried to avoid the watchful faces of the students who’d just witnessed his cryptic conversation with Professor Clemens. While taking the stairs, his mind reeled with theories about the imminent meeting. Something in his gut told him it wasn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, but Cortland seemed excited, so perhaps it was something good. However, that morning was the first time he’d ever spoken to Cortland and he did hang out with Brock, so Cortland might have been just as excited for something bad happening to him, like being expelled. But if Landon was about to be kicked out of the Gymnasium, why did Cortland show a sudden interest in getting to know him? Nothing made sense, so the quicker he got to Dr. Brighton’s office the sooner he’d have answers.

Upon turning into the fifth floor hallway, he found Dr. Brighton leaning against the wall outside his office with his arms crossed, waiting. Dr. Brighton glared at Landon strangely and ushered him into his office without even a word of welcome.

Somehow the office felt more congested than before, as if Dr. Brighton’s papers and books were viral and quickly growing into an epidemic. Landon lowered himself into the stiff chair across from the desk; he could feel a layer of sweat covering his body. His hands were clammy, and it was hard for him to catch his breath. It felt like someone was standing on his chest. As Dr. Brighton greeted him with a stiff demeanor and a serious scowl, Landon could sense a level of detachment between his favorite professor and himself. It was worrisome, and his nerves were getting to him.

Dr. Brighton shut the door and took a seat behind his desk.

“Landon, I have a question for you. What did you think our private sessions were about?”

“Helping me with my abilities,” Landon answered, almost as a question. He wasn’t getting a good feeling about this meeting. He was second-guessing everything, worrying that at any moment he’d be expelled from the one place that could help him. He had just started to feel like he was making progress.

“At the most basic level . . . yes,” Dr. Brighton replied coldly. “The sessions were intended to help you with your abilities, but there was more to them than that.”

“What do you mean?” a confused Landon asked.

Dr. Brighton clasped his hands together, set his arms on his desktop and leaned forward in his seat. He looked at Landon with a serious scowl.

“When we found you, we discovered that you had an uncharted amount of raw power. There hasn’t been a student before you with such potential. As such, we expected you to progress quickly . . . but that wasn’t the case. You proved to be one of the least adept students we’ve ever brought to the Gymnasium.”

“But I’ve been getting better,” Landon interrupted. He couldn’t help but try and defend himself. Dr. Brighton was speaking to him in a strange tone of voice. It was distant and formal, much like how Professor Clemens had spoken to him in the cafeteria. Landon had grown used to a more informal, quirky rapport with his professor. This was strange and foreign, but Dr. Brighton appeared to be having difficulty keeping up the façade. He was struggling to keep his emotions in check, but what scared Landon most was the emotion Dr. Brighton seemed to be fighting back. What Landon read on Dr. Brighton’s face was disappointment.

“What we failed to take into account was that when you arrived here, you weren’t just a massive source of untapped talent—you were broken. Something was halting your progress, and you only seemed to be able to use your abilities when you were angry or frustrated. Your powers were fundamentally linked to your emotions. I thought if I worked with you one on one, figured out what was holding you back, you might be rehabilitated into the exceptional student we all expected you to be.

“Initially, the sessions appeared to be working. You were improving and gaining control, but you were still far behind the other students. As I told you during our first session, your abilities are supposed to be instinctual, but you still had to concentrate and actively engage your abilities to use them. It was a serious issue. Drastic measures had to be taken.”

“Our last session,” Landon accidentally said aloud. His body trembled as he watched Dr. Brighton’s lip form every word. Why was Dr. Brighton telling him all this?

“Yes, our last session,” Dr. Brighton confirmed. “With every week that went by, you improved . . . some . . . but with every session, I slowly realized something. It wasn’t through our lessons, but through our conversations that I saw it. You would start to tell me stories from your past, stories about your mother, but just as you would start, you’d fall silent. You’d change the subject, even though I knew what had happened. I’ve experienced it, too. It’s the moment you realize you’ve lost something . . . forever.”

Landon’s mouth went dry and a lump formed in his throat. He fought to maintain his composure, but water welled up in his eyes. His world was crashing in around him, and he had no way of stopping it.

“I don’t think anyone had the faintest idea how much you were affected by your apocratusis. In hindsight, it seems obvious. Everyone’s apocratusis is tied to a moment of increased emotion, but few are as violent and tragic as yours. It makes sense that an event like that would block you off. Anger and frustration were strong enough feelings to break through the barriers your pain and guilt had built around your abilities. You needed closure, a chance to confront those feelings and free yourself of those barriers.”

“Can you just get it over with,” Landon interrupted, forcefully. He couldn’t handle it any longer. “If you’re going to expel me, just do it already.”

“Oh, we’re not expelling you,” Dr. Brighton dismissively returned. “We’re here to help you. Expulsion is counterproductive.”

“What is it then?”

“I’ve been asked to make you an offer”—Landon cocked his head to the side in confusion—“but before I ask you, I need you to understand something. What we’re getting ready to discuss is extremely confidential, meaning you cannot disclose it to anyone.”

Landon nodded. What is going on? he thought. What’s happening?

“This is very important, Landon. It’s imperative that you say nothing about what I’m about to tell you,” he reiterated.

“I understand,” Landon affirmed.

“We will hold you to that promise.” Dr. Brighton took a poignant pause before continuing. “While still training at the Gymnasium, select students are recruited to become members of an elite tactical team. They are tasked to carry out covert missions around the world, to collect information and eliminate threats to the safety of the United States. They’re called the Pantheon. On any occasion, they’re asked to use their gifts and risk their lives to do what’s necessary to keep the country safe, and we’d like you to join the team.”

Landon was speechless, but his mind was reeling. What? The Pantheon? How could there be a team of spies working out of the Gymnasium? How did I not see this coming? What else don’t I know about? And they want me to join up?

Landon looked down at his lap, weighing the decision in his mind. He could hear his last promise to his mother—I’m going to make this right. I will make you proud. Was this his chance to hold true to that promise? Landon also felt a pang of selfish motivation rise from the back of his mind. He couldn’t help but assume that by joining up he’d be given more access, which could lead to finding out the answers that had been looming in his mind since he’d come to the Gymnasium.

“I’ll do it,” he replied. “I’ll join the Pantheon.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Dr. Brighton didn’t seem excited.

Landon feigned a smile. It was all he could think to do as he was unsure how to react, especially since Dr. Brighton still maintained his detached demeanor.

Dr. Brighton stood up out of his chair. Landon followed suit, jumping to his feet.

“Please come with me. We have somewhere to be,” Dr. Brighton said as he extended his arm toward the door.

Landon moved toward the exit with caution. Where did they have to be? Judging by Dr. Brighton’s stern demeanor, he wasn’t sure it was somewhere he wanted to go, but he knew he no longer had a choice. He joined Dr. Brighton at the door and followed behind him down the hallway.

He escorted Landon to the first floor of the Gymnasium and soon came up to the secure steel door leading into the Restricted Tower. Landon’s mouth went dry. For months he’d wondered what was behind the large steel door. The thief’s question had plagued his thoughts and forced a plethora of theories to conjure themselves in his mind, but now he was going to learn the truth.

Save for that hint of anticipation, Landon felt nothing. As he stood in front of the door, Landon was numb. He had run the gamut of emotions within a short period of time and was exhausted. Concurrently, Dr. Brighton hadn’t done anything to even hint at what to expect beyond the secured enclosure. Dr. Brighton turned to him, grabbed him firmly by the shoulders, and bent down to look Landon in the eyes.

Landon jumped slightly, but Dr. Brighton’s forceful grip kept him in place. Dr. Brighton’s gaze was so piercing that it felt as if he was peering deep into Landon’s soul. But as Landon looked back into the professor’s deep green eyes, Landon noticed his mentor, not the hardened man from before, staring back at him. His eyes were strong, deep and compassionate—those of the man he’d grown to admire. For the first time in the day, Dr. Brighton’s face had broken from its cold expression.

“Landon, this is your last chance,” Dr. Brighton said, breaking the silence. His voice trembled slightly. Landon looked uncertainly back at his teacher. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eyes looked at Landon with a sense of concern. What had suddenly drawn out the true nature of the teacher he’d grown to look up to? “It’s not too late. You can turn around and return to your studies . . . no questions asked. All you’ll have to do is hold true to your promise and not tell anyone about the Pantheon. Right now, I’m the only one who knows you accepted our offer, but the second you walk through this door, it’s final. There’s no turning back.”

“I understand,” Landon replied. He diverted his eyes from his professor, turning them down as he weighed the decision in his mind. What had prompted Dr. Brighton to suddenly shift into the concerned teacher? Why did he appear so worried? Landon asked himself, What am I getting into? What could be wrong about joining a group of students who dedicated themselves to helping people? What was really locked away in the Restricted Tower? What was Dr. Brighton not telling him? What’s behind that door?

Before he could find answers to his many questions, Dr. Brighton continued hurriedly, emphasizing his concerns before some unknown deadline had passed. “Landon, what the Pantheon does is dangerous. You’d be risking your life! Are you sure you want that kind of responsibility? Just think about it. I have to open the door at nine o’clock on the second, so you must choose now. There’s no looking back after that. Whatever you decide, I will respect your decision, but I would not feel right without giving you a second chance.”

Landon looked back at his teacher. He’d never seen him appear so worried and shaken. Dr. Brighton always seemed so strong and rational; what was it about this organization that made him so unnerved? Landon didn’t know what to do. He’d agreed to become a member of the Pantheon, to fight to protect the United States. His brain kept telling him to turn back, that there was no reason to risk his life, but his heart kept reminding him that he needed redemption, a way to assuage his guilt. To make matters worse, Dr. Brighton’s shift in attitude had spiked Landon’s curiosities, which had been piqued the moment they’d headed toward the Restricted Tower. He knew he would finally get to know what was going on inside, and he always had a difficult time resisting his need to know.

“Dr. Brighton, I appreciate the concern,” Landon started, “but I told you in your office I would do it. Growing up, my mom always told me to trust my gut. I’m supposed to do this. She would want me to do this, and now that I know it exists, there’s no way I can go back to the way things were before. I need this.”

Dr. Brighton dropped his gaze and lowered his head. His grip on Landon’s shoulders slacked, and then his arms fell to his sides. After an extended moment, Dr. Brighton stood upright, and with a quick breath through his nose, shook himself back into the stoic professional Landon had interacted with throughout the morning.

He stepped up to the large steel door and placed his hand on a black panel to the right of it. A thin, glowing blue line oscillated up and down the screen a few times, scanning Dr. Brighton’s hand, and left a luminescent blue residual print on the screen as it processed. After a moment, a vibrant green bar stretched across the center of the scanner with the words “ACCESS GRANTED” visible in black type. Then, a loud metallic sound resonated from the steel door, followed by a high-pitched hiss as the airlock depressurized.

Landon felt like he had walked into the Pentagon. The entire tower seemed to be a single room. Desks were scattered with papers, and people worked diligently on computers. The walls were lined in massive concave screens. Some appeared to be performing some sort of complex search as images flashed at an incomprehensible speed. Others were broken up into a series of squares, each playing a different news station from around the world. The room was massive; the ceilings must have reached to the second, if not the third, floor, and the sound of typing fingers and multiple news anchors mixed with the bright video images, causing Landon to go into sensory overload. He didn’t know where to look. He never expected anything like this to be hidden within the tower.

He followed behind Dr. Brighton as he walked down a path toward the center of the room. Scanning the people at the desks, he recognized people he’d seen for the first time at Thanksgiving and in the First Frost Frenzy stands.

They reached a massive circular console at the center of the room. Landon paused beside Dr. Brighton, but he failed to notice why they’d stopped. He was too preoccupied scanning the room, attempting to soak in every last bit of stimuli that his brain hadn’t synced up with his body.

“Landon Wicker!” a voice exclaimed that jolted Landon back into reality. He spun his head around and found Dr. Wells standing before him with an excited look on his face and his arms outstretched like he was preparing to pull Landon into an uncomfortable hug. Luckily, a second later, he dropped his arms and turned his face up, as if he’d realized he needed to be a bit more professional in their current setting. “Welcome to the Olympic Tower. I’m pleased to find out that you’ve decided to accept our invitation to become a tactical agent in the Pantheon.” Without pausing, he turned his attention to Dr. Brighton, who was standing silently beside Landon, and said in a stern, authoritative manner, “Zeus, the others are awaiting your arrival at the Palaestra. You’re dismissed.”

Landon looked curiously at Dr. Brighton. Zeus? Is that why Sofia called him king of the gods. He was surprised when Dr. Brighton nodded and headed toward a staircase along the back wall. He couldn’t believe he accepted being dismissed.

“Well, Landon, shall we get started?” Dr. Wells asked, but before Landon even had time to give any gesture of affirmation, he continued. “This room is the Temple. It’s the command center of the Pantheon—the base of operations. Here we have analysts working around the clock to gather information, process it, then use it to develop and organize missions that the operatives will carry out.

“Right now, we have people scouring all forms of communications, both encrypted and open frequencies, for any potential threats to our national security. If something is flagged, it’s brought to logistics, which will work the case and determine if it requires action. They will work through the basics of the operation.” Dr. Wells circled around the room, pointing out the areas where these functions took place. “Now, if a mission is approved, the operatives will be brought to where we’re standing. We call it the Altar.”

Dr. Wells turned to the console and pressed a series of buttons. Suddenly, frosted glass walls rose out of a wide ring in the floor, secluding Dr. Wells and Landon. The glass made it impossible to discern anything outside of the Altar except for the dark silhouettes of people who passed near the glass. It also cut off all sounds, leaving them in a silent tube amidst the chaos on the other side.

Once sealed, Dr. Wells proceeded to enter a series of numbers into a keypad. As he input the appropriate commands, a large holographic image of an eagle holding an arrow projected up out of the console. He pushed a final button and a holographic map replaced the eagle, but Landon couldn’t determine what the map was of. It showed a building resting on a cliff side, and the details were astounding. It called out variations in elevation, foliage and roads, as well as a detailed schematic of the compound. Landon was entranced by it. He’d only ever seen things like this in movies. He never thought it could actually exist. Before he realized it, he was pressed up against the cylindrical console, his gaze never breaking from the projection.

“With the help of this system, you will be briefed on the mission and objectives to be carried out.” Dr. Wells pressed another few buttons, and a series of dots and arrows appeared on the map and an image of a grisly-looking man materialized above it. “We will detail the op, beginning to end, and then tech will come and take you through any necessary equipment that you will need to use to complete the mission. And then you’re off to carry out the op. It’s that simple.”

With the click of a button, the map and the image of the man disappeared from above the console, and the glass began to recede into the floor. As it did, Landon never took his eyes off the Altar; he scoured the panels and monitors trying to understand the mechanics and procedures necessary to operate it.

“Now, if you’ll come with me, I’ll show you the other areas of the Olympic Tower.”

Dr. Wells turned to the side and ushered Landon to walk beside him. They made their way to the back of the Temple and onto a wide platform. After both were settled, Dr. Wells unexpectedly said, “Forge,” and the platform began to rise. Landon hadn’t realized he was standing on a voice-activated lift.

They passed through the thick steel barrier separating the floors and stopped on the second level. The Forge was quite different from the Temple. Rather than noise and manic activity, this place was quiet, and Landon saw people sporadically walking the halls. Dr. Wells stepped off the lift and motioned for Landon to do the same.

“This is the Forge, the center for research and developent. Here, engineers work to develop efficient and practical equipment to help ensure the successful completion of a mission as well as study and experiment on some of the items we acquire during ops.”

A man emerged from one of the nearby offices and headed straight for Dr. Wells and Landon.

“Ah, here comes Verne. He’s head of the technology development program,” Dr. Wells informed him.

In no time, Verne was standing before Dr. Wells and Landon. He first shook Dr. Wells’ hand and gave him a warm salutation before turning to Landon to introduce himself.

“So you’re Landon Wicker, I presume,” Verne stated matter-of-factly as he extended his hand.

Landon was surprised by him. He was personable, charming and pleasant, not socially awkward like he would have imagined, and he appeared to be perfectly kempt. His dirty blond hair was cut short and neatly combed. He wore a pair of thick-framed, black-rimmed glasses and a dark button-up vest over a crisp white oxford shirt, which was tucked into a pair of well-tailored tweed pants. He was also surprisingly young looking. Mid-twenties, Landon thought.

After realizing he’d been staring at Verne for an awkward amount of time, Landon grabbed hold of Verne’s hand and shook it.

“Yes. Sorry. I’m Landon.”

“Great! Come with me. I’ll show you around.”

The tour of the Forge was quick and to the point. Verne traveled at an alarming speed. His gait was long and swift. Landon almost had to jog next to him to keep up. The main part of the Forge was a series of large rooms, each with a single expansive worktable and a small desk for a computer crammed into a corner. They reminded Landon of a zoo, or an aquarium, as each had a front-facing pane of glass that allowed the passersby to see exactly on what the lone engineer was working. As they walked through, most of them never even looked up from their work. Landon wondered if they were just so engrossed in their projects that they hadn’t noticed their presence, or if they had just gotten used to being watched. Landon felt awkward as he peered in on an older man who seemed to be having difficulty getting a set of wires to cooperate. He felt voyeuristic, like he was violating some unspoken law of privacy.

Soon they had made it around the R&D portion of the Forge and stopped before an office. On the door, a plaque with “Alexandre Verne – Ops Tech Director” printed on it let Landon know they had arrived at their escort’s office.

Before they could protest, Verne opened the door and ushered them inside, a proud smile beaming on his face. As Landon entered, he was comforted by the familiarity of Verne’s chaotic workspace. The room was a mess of spare parts, loose wires and papers. The walls were covered with photographs and strange, blueprint-looking drawings that Landon imagined were schematics for devices Verne was in the process of developing. His desk was covered with tools, a collection of empty, coffee-stained mugs, and a plethora of clear plastic wrap and crumbs from vending machine fare. It was what the office of a director of technology development should look like.

Verne shut the door behind him, pushed through to get to his workstation and began clearing away loose debris and food particles until an area of the tabletop was clear. Something small still remained at its center. Landon couldn’t help but move in closer to get a peek at what Verne had left for them to see. It was infinitesimally small, around the size of a pencil eraser, and wafer-thin—a black dot on the stark white surface.

“What is it?” Landon asked.

Verne’s eyes lit up with excitement. “I’m so glad you asked. I call it Janus. This is my greatest accomplishment since the A.R.G.O.S. system.”

“The A.R.G.O.S. system?”

“Automated Retrieval of Global Observational Systems. It basically allows us instant access to all public and unsecured security cameras across the globe by integrating a minuscule bit of code into their infrastructure, and it evolves intuitively to provide constant—”

“Verne,” Dr. Wells interrupted.

“Sorry, Dr. Wells.”

“Oh, it’s no problem, Verne, but we’re on a very tight schedule and must continue on our way.”

“Oh, yes, of course, of course,” Verne replied apologetically as he dropped his head. All the excitement that had boiled up within him as he explained his inventions was immediately stymied. Landon felt as disappointed as Verne looked, for now he wouldn’t be able to hear about the new gadget. He couldn’t deny that he was interested, but Dr. Wells guided him out of the office and back to the lift.

As they stepped onto the lift, Landon noticed a door just to the right of it. “What’s in there?” he asked.

“Nothing to be concerned about,” Dr. Wells replied. Landon opened his mouth to ask something else, but before words could pass his lips, the doctor clearly stated, “The Stable.”

The lift ascended to the next level. As it passed through the ceiling of the Forge, Landon and Dr. Wells emerged into an expansive aircraft hangar. The faint smell of gasoline lingered in the air and parked side-by-side were two awe-inspiring machines.

Landon couldn’t take his eyes off them as Dr. Wells escorted him onto the hangar deck. Apart from sitting in a commercial jet, he’d never been within any sort of proximity to an aircraft, let alone those for military use.

The larger one looked like some strange hybrid of a helicopter and a military transport plane. The main body of it looked like a standard transport helicopter, but rather than a large propeller mounted on the top, two short wings extended out if it. Each had its own pivoting turboprop attached to the end. The blades seemed shorter and thicker than what Landon had always imagined a regular helicopter to have, and the entire vehicle was covered in some strange material of a slate-grey color. On the side, a matte black decal showed the same symbol he’d seen initially in the hologram at the Altar—an eagle carrying an arrow. In small type below it, “Alpha Chariot” was written in a modern, all-caps typeface.

The aircraft next to it was some sort of jet. Of all the movies and military documentaries Landon had watched during his life, he’d never seen anything like it. It was short and narrow with a cockpit that looked to hold two, and it was made of the same strange grey material as its larger sister. Above the wing, just behind the cockpit, was the same decal and the words “Pegasus One” printed below it.

“This one here,” Dr. Wells began as he tapped the nose of the large helicopter-hybrid, “is the Alpha Chariot. More agile and faster than your standard tilt-rotor, this guy gives us the ability for vertical take-off and vertical landing like a helicopter, but giving us a wider range of travel.” Dr. Wells circled around the aircraft, pointing out to Landon the different features of the machine. Landon followed behind him, taking as much time as he could to understand everything Dr. Wells was showing him. “It’s large enough to carry the entire team of Pantheon operatives, but efficient enough for use in less demanding missions. We’ve also been able to make quite a few modifications to the standard military design. We’ve managed to muffle the engines substantially, while reducing heat emissions. And by covering the hull in this dark, reflective bicarbonate alloy we’ve developed, it makes it nearly undetectable to most radar.”

“So it’s stealth?” Landon asked.

“For lack of a better word, yes.” Dr. Wells then moved to the jet. “And this beauty is the Pegasus One. We developed it for the military as a multi-role fighter jet. It allows for the same vertical take-off and landing as the Alpha Chariot, but unlike its big sister, this one vector-thrusts using turbofans with rotating nozzles. It is highly maneuverable and able to travel at nearly supersonic speeds. It only allows for two passengers, so we use it primarily for solo missions. It’s also stealth.”

As they walked back to the lift, Landon took a moment to look around the hangar. He had never fully grasped the immensity of the towers of the Gymnasium. The two aircraft were dwarfed within the open two-story area, especially when it wasn’t broken up by any rooms or walls. Apart from a few large drums of gasoline and mechanical tools, the Stable was dedicated to the two vehicles. The roof of the Stable was made of reinforced steel with a curved seam running down the middle, which looked like a pair of sealed lips awaiting the command to retract and allow one of the vehicles to ascend out of its open mouth.

The immensity of what Landon had been introduced to since breakfast flooded his consciousness. He was overwhelmed, more so than when he first came to the Gymnasium and learned he was psychokinetic. What was this place, really? How had this entire operation been functioning right under his nose without him ever realizing?

“Who funds all of this?” Landon asked himself in little more than whisper. And how does Riley not know about it? he added in this thoughts.

“Zeus may have told you some, but the Pantheon is a covert organization that works outside the government. We handle matters of national security that are too politically threatening for the actual military, and we operate independently through a shadow company, the Pallas Corporation. We’re funded through ‘government defense contracts’ in reference to the purchase of our ‘scientific advancements,’” Dr. Wells explained as if it was normal, everyday knowledge, but Landon just stared at him, bewildered.

“What you’re doing—it’s very exciting,” he continued. “You get to do things that no one else in the country can do, or is aware of. Unfortunately, should anything unexpected happen while on a mission, you wouldn’t be given any form of amnesty as a member of a government agency. No one below the President of the United States and the Secretary of Defense has any idea of our existence.”

As Dr. Wells explained everything, Landon started to realize the severity of his decision. The Pantheon was truly fighting for the continued safety and freedom of millions of Americans, and now it was his job to carry out that mission.