Wall screens wrapped around the Albatross' flight deck, offering a 360 degree views of the world outside. Markov gazed straight ahead at the view in front of the Albatross. It was like looking through glass. He could see the White Spear, and its ring of six black towers. The White Spear stood at the centre of the Grand Plaza and was a kilometre high. Made from pale white stone and armoured glass, it was named after the sharp white spear that joined its tip to the surface of the transparent Dome Shield overhead. The Black Towers surrounded it at a hundred metre radius. They were two hundred metres shorter than the White Spear, but much thicker around their bases. Their armour and shields were second to none. Tower One and Tower Two stood to the North, while Tower Four and Tower Five protected the South. Tower three stood on the eastern side of the White Spear, and Tower Six protected the West. Together, the White Spear and its six black companions formed the hub of Central Command. It was the place where the security forces had amassed their strength for hundreds of years and the walls were steeped in history.
Markov watched the approaching buildings with a mixture of anticipation and excitement. The closest black tower had already launched an escort of Wasp Drones. Four small dots rose above Tower Four's flat roof, the shapes growing in size as they approached the Albatross. The Wasp Drones were there to offer a ceremonial welcome and to guide the Albatross home. Markov knew that each drone would be heavily armed and ready to assist if needed. He nodded his head, pleased to see that some traditions were still being honoured.
Checking his instruments, he watched the lower right corner of the front wall screen. A small overlay showed the rear view looking back from the Albatross. A larger copy of the view was displayed across the back of the flight deck, but the front overlay saved Markov from having to repeatedly twist his neck. Both views showed the Aristocrat Zone drifting away from the Albatross, sliding towards distant corn fields to the South.
Markov frowned. Memories stirred within him. The Southern Territories were a long way behind him now, but he would never be able to forget them. Alma Station's crew had spent their days working in the hellish environment of the fless caves. Many had given their lives to protect the people of the Orange Zone. The citizens took their lives for granted, not realising that their comforts came at such a high cost. Even as he left them behind, Markov knew that the Southern Territories would always be part of him. Suppressing the memories, he took a deep breath and stretched the knotted muscles in his neck. He had new challenges to face now. The weeks ahead would be difficult. He had no doubt about that.
Markov checked the front and rear wall screens. He checked the views that wrapped all around the sides of the flight deck. He saved the most disturbing view until last. Now that the Albatross was getting closer to its destination, the entire flight deck floor had turned transparent. Markov held onto the arms of his chair as he gazed down between his black combat boots at the outskirts of Cinnamon City below. The multicoloured box cabins of the Old Quarter slid beneath his feet. The buildings grew larger as the Albatross began its slow descent. He remembered how disturbing it had been the first time that he had experienced the illusion of sitting amongst the clouds. He couldn't allow himself to be fooled by the floor's transparency. He had to keep reminding himself that he had several layers of solid armour beneath his feet. There was no way that he could possibly fall through the clouds, and plummet to the ground below. The illusion was still powerful. His heart refused to slow to a normal beat.
Markov pushed such thoughts from his mind. Straightening his back, he stared at the front wall screen once more. The growing image of the White Spear reminded him of the great military heroes that had first inspired him to join the security forces. As a young man, he had been an avid reader of digital volumes about the great generals of the past. He had never dreamt that he would one day be a general himself. Those days seemed so long ago, after everything that he had been through, but Markov still had great respect for all those who had served before him.
General Anault Wolfhammer had defended Central Command during the Fless Wars in 418DS, almost three hundred years ago. He had been responsible for one of the greatest victories that Central Command had ever known. His skills had been legendary, and he had never been defeated on the battlefield. His tragic end had been the result of a cowardly assassination in the year that followed his victory. There was a rumour that the assassination had been carried out by Wolfhammer's closest friend. His killing had been sponsored by opposing political factions within the city. Many years of fractured reprisals had followed. Central Command had fallen into dark days for over a decade after his death.
It wasn't until General Morgan Henning had taken over twelve years later that true order had been restored. The people of the Orange Zone had been reunited under Henning's rule. He had been a key strategist, and had gone on to serve Central Command for more than fifty years. In his time as a general, Henning had written more than twenty digital volumes, covering the subjects of war, strategy and combat tactics. He had gained the respect of all by governing with strength, while making peace his only goal. Markov knew that when he took over the helm of Central Command, he would be following in the footsteps of a long line of distinguished and honourable leaders. He just hoped that he could live up to the legacy of his predecessors.
Orange warning lights blinked above the centre console. Blue light flashed between Markov's feet. The Albatross had re-engaged the matter obfuscators, increasing power to its lower shields. Markov tapped a series of commands into a small console that was moulded into the arm of his chair. When he requested an update, his console reported that there had been a disturbance in the Old Quarter. High energy ground-based weapons had been fired towards the Albatross. None had hit their target. The Albatross had automatically reconfigured its shields and locked Plasma Cannons onto the target, but it looked as though the Wasp Drones were already dealing with the situation. The drones were flying beneath the Albatross, blocking the attack, and counter-attacking with short-range weapons of their own. Markov's console reported another update. The security forces had deployed ground patrols to shut down the hostiles. The reports assured Markov that there was nothing for him to worry about. It was a small scale attack launched by a lone assailant using an outdated Scorpion droid. The target would soon be neutralised. Everything was under control. Markov made a note to check the reports later, and turned his attention back to the front wall screen. The Albatross would soon be reaching its final destination.
From a distance, the tip of the White Spear was little thicker than one of Markov's fingers, but he knew that the top of the tower featured a viewing platform that was at least as wide as the Albatross' flight deck. The platform was split into two levels, the upper half stood just above the Dome Shield while the lower half was just below it. The platform had been constructed to monitor the massive surface of the Dome Shield, as it curved down towards the horizon on all sides. It was one of only two places within the Orange Zone where it was possible to touch the Dome Shield above ground level, the other being the tallest peak of the Skybreaker Mountains in the Southern Territories, far to the South. Markov had never been so close to the Dome Shield, but he had read about generals who had. Times had been different back then. Both Henning and Wolfhammer had been closer to the lords than Markov would ever be.
As the Albatross approached Central Command, the White Spear's glossy white exterior became more detailed. A small opening appeared near the top of the tower. It looked tiny on such a massive structure, but the landing bay was more than wide enough to accommodate the long, sweeping wings of the Albatross. Markov watched as the Albatross slipped between the southernmost towers on its way to the White Spear. His consoles informed him that Tower Five and Tower Four had already extended their formidable shields around the Albatross, accepting it into their loving embrace. He watched as the Wasp Drones returned from their brief battle below. They sped past on both sides, their dual transparent wings working hard to pick up speed in the cool night air. After a ceremonial roll, the drones swerved away, leaving the Albatross with a clear path towards the White Spear.
Moving silently, it approached the White Spear's landing bay, exchanging a barrage of encryption codes with the surrounding towers. It was forced to identify itself with progressively deeper levels of authentication as it approached. If any code proved to be invalid, it would be only a matter of seconds before the towers opened fire from a hundred proton cannon and gamma ray emplacements. This close to the White Spear, there would always be a zero tolerance approach to security breaches. The security codes were accepted. Markov sat back in his seat, breathing a little easier. As the consoles cycled through their final pre-docking checks, he frowned at the message that appeared in front of him.
The Heart extends its welcome to General Alexander Markov on his return to Central Command. Lord Hades awaits you in the landing bay.
Markov wondered whether one of the commanders might be playing a joke on him. The Heart was the White Spear's central machine intelligence. It occupied an entire level of the building and acted as the central nervous system for the whole of Central Command. It had access to all the systems in every tower, and its influence extended to some parts of Cinnamon City and beyond. The Heart was the eyes and ears of the security forces, and it controlled the Dome Shield's complex energy sources. It acted as a constant record of events, archiving data that went back several hundred years. Markov had never been given security clearance to visit the Heart in person, but he had heard many strange stories about it. It had never spoken to him before. Had it really just welcomed him back?
The Wasp Drones returned to their vertical landing pads on top of Tower Four. A soft chime rang out across the Albatross' flight deck. The wall screens faded to black and the floor became a reassuring solid black mesh beneath his feet. A single word scrolled across the front wall screen in a recurring loop.
DOCKING
The Albatross began its final descent towards the White Spear's landing bay. Markov tucked one finger into his tight jacket collar and tugged it from side to side. Lord Hades would be waiting for him.