The Kurian onslaught of 2022, with the civilization-shattering mix of seismic activity and the ravies virus, led a skeleton crew of key elected officials, staff, and support personnel to receive their orders to relocate to Mount Omega. As the disaster grew, a stampede to the lifeboat Mount Omega represented began, and only after the shootdown of flight 5X03 did planes cease landing at its little emergency strip of blockaded, reinforced -concrete highway.
And there, guarded by the best the army, navy, air force, and marines had to give under General Roma, they buttoned up.
This narrative will not attempt to answer the question of why the Kurians never attempted to take over Mount Omega. Of course it would have required launching an operation of the scope of the Grog-versus-human battle that took place in Indianapolis now recorded as Congress' hast Stand. There were certainly enough organized Grogs on Oregon's Pacific coast in the years following 2022, after they swept up through Mexico and into California. Perhaps Fort Roma's inarguably passive role in resisting the Kurians led to it being spared. Cynical humor holds that there weren't enough uncompromised human souls buttoned up in the underground refuge to make the game worth the candle, but the fact remains that a number of senators and congressmen indisputably left Mount Omega to make it back to their constituents and share their fate. Only a handful ultimately lent their names and voices to the Kurian Order, and those black names are recorded elsewhere.
Mount Omega was neither a sybaritic paradise where champagne was lapped from silicone-enhanced cleavage between banquets with Kurian diplomats nor a monastery to Truth, Justice, and the American Way where senators and cabinet officials wore sackcloth and ashes and debated the finer points of federalism by the light of candles, all the while making hand copies of the Constitution and Bill of Rights.
A social scientist or a psychiatrist might make sense of some of the oddities David Valentine saw on his brief visit to Mount Omega, but if any did, their observations aren't easily found. Self enclosed populations, as Darwin noted on his trip to the Galapagos, lead to a strange selection of attributes. Valentine himself, when asked his opinion of Mount Omega, always shrugged and said, "Three generations of cabin fever".
* * *
"That is one darling little helicopter", the corporal said.
Valentine didn't bother with the lecture on the difference between an autogyro and a helicopter.
He'd made Fort Omega in one long, exhausting flight with only a brief stop for refueling and sanitary purposes. The autogyro's stomach-tossing, bobbing motion left him feeling the same way he'd felt when climbing off the old Thunderbolt onto dry land - the odd sensation that the ground was swaying.
Mount Omega wasn't on any map; indeed, its "undisclosed location" wasn't even a mountain, more of a sheep-littered ridge on the grounds of an old army training base, a little west of an old, spent nuclear-fuel repository. Valentine simply skimmed the surface until he saw the skeletons of some stripped commercial jets beside a wide patch of concrete highway with a big Day-Glo X painted on either end, and then landed and waited for someone to come point a gun at him.
Several someones did, displaying admirable handling of their old, but immaculately maintained, weapons. Of course "old" was a bit of a misnomer, as they looked lighter and of better quality than even the products of the Atlanta Gunworks, with combat zoom sights, lasers, and 20mm integral support cannon. Leather and plastic knee and elbow pads were fixed over outer shells made from old ponchos. Wash-worn uniforms beneath showed signs of heavy patching and repair, but they were still men Valentine would have been proud to line up in front of one of Southern Command's staff inspectors.
They ordered Valentine to lie down on his face, and he complied.
He tried to speak, but they told him to "shut up" until they fixed his hands in what felt like plastic wire, perhaps ripped from one of the airliner carcasses lying by the side of the road.
"Let's have it", a lieutenant said. "Why did you not acknowledge radio signal and land without permission?"
"First, the radio's a piece of crap that's preset to only receive three Quisling frequencies. Second, I'm on Southern Command orders, Hunter comma Cat, precleared to contact civilian authority. I have a verification code that I will supply to anyone with the prefix".
"Shit. Let me get someone from liaison, sir. I'm afraid you have to stay under restraints and guard for now". He gave orders to a messenger, who double-timed off toward one of the grounded planes and disappeared up a nose ladder.
"If it's going to be much of a wait, I need a trip to the John. And I could really use a hot meal". Valentine couldn't remember when he'd last been so hungry, and wondered if Sir had permanently accelerated his metabolism or if he'd adjust in time.
"Understood, sir. We'll have to watch you, though. As to a meal, if you get taken Inside, the food's better than what we can give you out here".
After seeing to his comfort, they started making small talk about the gyro. A five-stripe came out to observe.
Valentine heard bicycle tires and a driving chain. A tall pipe cleaner of a man in civilian clothes, brown wool trousers topped by a khaki shirt, pulled up and removed his helmet and hung it on a hook on his belt. He took a courier bag off the bike's handlebars and trotted up to the soldiers, a holster bobbing at his hip.
"My name's Patterson", the man said, kneeling so his eyes were level with Valentine's.
"Valentine", Valentine replied.
Patterson took out a neatly printed card. "I'm your Professional Military Surrender Resource. I'm completely outside their chain of command, and my only concern is for your behalf. I'm here to see that you get food, medical care, legal representation, and religious or
social comfort between now and your release or execution. Do you understand?"
Valentine wondered how the title looked on the paperwork and smiled. "I just need to speak to the liaison officer".
"You should see him do this with Grogs", one of the older waiting soldiers told another, sotto voce. "Oooks and bobs his head and rattles beads until they head-butt him".
Patterson ran through a flow chart of questions regarding his treatment. Valentine denied being harmed or humiliated after his surrender.
"Captain Sagamoto is on his way", the lieutenant reported. "He'll verify your credentials and then we'll be done with you. Hope you're telling the truth, because otherwise..."
"Lieutenant, don't terrify the prisoner", Patterson cut in. "I'll have to log that".
"Beg your pardon", the lieutenant said, whether to him or Patterson Valentine couldn't tell. He backed off, and a five-striper nudged him.