Part Five

They were walking in roughly a half acre of grass and young trees. There were picnic tables, permanently emplaced grills and even a small gazebo. This was on land which was part of the property belonging to the chemical storage and disposal project, but outside the walls of the compound. It also all looked very new. There were a few other people in the area, and almost uniformly they were smiling.

"This is beautiful," said Melody. "Like a city park. It will look even better once the trees get bigger. I have to wonder, though, if these plants are... out of place."

"This was Aaron's idea, and I assume he knows what will grow here," said Blackpool. "He said it would greatly improve morale, and - as usual - he has been proven right. Yes, keeping all this presentable is a challenge, and will be a bigger one in Winter. We may just put a greenhouse around it if the facility stays open for several more years. There's already talk of moving chemicals here from elsewhere for disposal. The effort would be worth it for the psychological benefits. Especially given the isolation and lack of vegetation in the rocky terrain around here."

He smiled and pointed.

"I occasionally find him - Aaron - sitting in the gazebo, with a distant, peaceful expression on his face. He told me, once, he was remembering the city park in Baton Rouge which he used to frequent. How, when he was a child, his parents would take him there for music and picnics. Later, in his teens, he would buy big, soft, salty pretzels, still warm from the vendor, and a mug of locally brewed beer, for himself and his date, as they listened to bands and singers."

"Sounds wonderful," said Melody, a bit surprised at the lack of craving from the mention of beer, but still finding the image this account evoked inviting. She favored her escort with a smile. "When is some empowered genius going to invent time travel?"

"According to everyone I've asked who should know, it's impossible. You can alter your rate of passage through time, but must always go forwards. Or sideways."

"Sideways?" she said, puzzled.

"Into alternate timelines. Aaron claims to have done that, as have a few others. However, none of those journeys have been documented, so they currently remain in the realm of tall tales which might just barely be possible."

"Speaking of sideways..."

Melody stepped a bit away from him and made a slow turn.

"I'm surprised at how much leeway you were given in running this place," said Melody. "Do your superiors even know there's an empowered research group working here?"

"I don't think they want to know. As long as the work is getting done safely they prefer plausible deniability. Remember, officially this place still doesn't exist."

"Don't dissemble. I know about plenty of secret and 'secret' installations, and they're all a lot more strictly controlled than this."

"One of the conditions from the feds for letting the empowered use the facilities here," said Blackpool, more seriously, "is that they help me recruit and teach more empowered, with the hopeful end result of convincing them to apply for federal law enforcement service."

"Everybody has a price," said Melody, philosophically. "Either for what they want, or what they'll do."

"Even Aaron," said Blackpool, nodding. "Though his price is... different from most."

He gave her a lopsided smile. It occurred to Melody that she and Aaron were probably the only people in the area who knew what he looked like under that mask. Which helped her visualize exactly what his expression was.

"Anyway, I'm glad you're getting along well here. Right now, though, I have some other duties I need to attend to. I believe you also have a scheduled activity coming up."

* * *

Michael Schmierer was a successful Los Angeles businessman. So successful that he had a private secretary/receptionist out front for his otherwise one-man operation. It just happened that his business was getting into other peoples' business. He was also empowered, something he didn't hide but didn't brag about. He figured those who needed to know that would.

Unfortunately, some of those who needed to know were employees of the Empowered Matters Agency. That didn't normally include Blackpool, but both Michael and his receptionist knew him.

On what would otherwise have been a pretty ordinary business day, Michael's phone rang, with a call from the reception desk.

"Michael?" said Charlotte. "Blackpool is here to see you."

The PI sighed, and nodded to himself.

"Send him in."

Michael had become a licensed private detective because he liked to solve puzzles. Unfortunately, Blackpool presented an enigma he wasn't allowed to try and solve. As a super registered with and licensed by the Empowered Matters Agency, Michael depended on their good will to continue his operations as a PI.

"Good morning," said Michael, as the all-black figure entered. "Have a seat?"

That last was deliberately phrased as a question; almost as a challenge. Because Blackpool's visits were usually very short. If he did take a seat, that meant the visit was likely going to be long, and potentially serious. Michael gritted his teeth as the other actually did sit.

"You're early."

"This isn't the scheduled inspection," said Blackpool.

That threw Michael.

"Why are you here, then?"

"Michael, you need to do more with your life," said Blackpool, leaning forward a bit. "You have incredible potential. I won't say you're wasting it, dealing with domestic problems, pursuing and recovering runaway minors and providing 'incentives' for others to behave. I'm saying that with the right application of your abilities you could contribute so much more to society."

"You mean, become a fed, like you? No, thanks..."

"There are other options. For example, I know a group which is offering to teach empowered how better to use their abilities. There's no charge, though they hope students will in turn volunteer to teach others what they know."

Again, Michael found this completely unexpected. However, the offer was also attractive. He now leaned forward, a bit.

"All right. Talk to me."

* * *

Meanwhile, back at the chemical repository, Melody was getting ready for one of the main reasons for her visit. Once appropriately clad, she was shown around the disposal room by a pair of similarly garbed technicians.

"Sorry for the awkward outfit," said the female tech, who had helped Melody get dressed in the protective garments. "We make everyone wear them, even those immune to toxins. Just to make decontamination easier if there's a leak."

"So far we haven't had even one leak, though," said the male tech, quickly, in a reassuring tone.

In truth, the disposable coveralls, hood, gloves and booties and the gas mask weren't all that uncomfortable. Melody had actually worn worse - and likely less protective - gear for an article on a heavily polluted abandoned lead refining site a couple of years before. Still, she had no reason to prolong the tour and accompanying demonstration, and asked few questions during it. Saving those for later.

The actual incinerator did not reveal much, at least from external appearance. The room containing it was surprisingly small, and empty except for the incinerator, the exhaust scrubbers beyond it and the track in the floor. This brought the containers of dangerous chemicals through the airlock and to the mouth of their doom. The entire room was kept at a slight negative air pressure during operation, with any liquids or solids left after incineration drawn into holding tanks where they were tested and - if necessary - neutralized.

One reason the construction of this rig had been technically difficult was that the containers for the various dangerous chemicals came in many different sizes and shapes. The solution was to put them on uniform wooden pallets, tied down with braided carbon fiber ropes. Smaller containers would be inside sealed uniform carbon fiber drums. Larger ones had to be reinforced individually.

The small tramway brought the pallets to the lip of the incinerator. An arm then swung down and pushed on the pallet, moving the load inside, leaving the trolley on the floor. The arm then swung back up, the trolley withdrew, the door swung closed, and hydrogen-oxygen jets of flame filled the refractory material of the incinerator. Everything was cooked to vapor, molten metal or ash, including the pallets and ropes.

The techs ran through a demonstration, using an empty pallet, though the furnace would not be activated while they were in the room. Melody was impressed with the results. Especially with how quickly each batch was completed.

"Depending on what's going into it, sometimes we need to clean out a residue from the incinerator itself," said the male tech. "Mostly, though, anything not completely burned goes out through the grates in the bottom. All that is analyzed to make sure it's completely free of toxic substances. Sometimes that requires a chemical treatment, on top of the incineration. We actually recover a small part of our costs from recycling steel and aluminum and sometimes other materials. We've actually recovered platinum! Our best guess is someone used a noble metal container for something corrosive."

Most of the technology here had nothing to do with empowered geniuses, being merely larger versions of incineration equipment used in some laboratories. What little empowered tech they did use was mainly add-ons, intended to make sure everything which went into that furnace was rendered harmless.

"Finally," said the male tech, indicating a large cylinder downstream of the furnace, "the still-hot exhaust runs through this catalytic converter. Not unlike those found on most road vehicles today, except we preheat it and add a bit of extra oxygen. Safe, clean and effective."

"The next room over is basically one giant filter, starting with a water shower to cool the exhaust and trap particulates," said the woman. "Then come sheets of HEPA filter material. The gasses are analyzed coming in and going out, just to make sure we don't release anything dangerous. The water goes into a settling tank and is reused, and both it and any residue are analyzed after shutdown.

"Nearly a quarter of the material stored here has already been destroyed," said the female tech, proudly.

* * *

As she tried - as it turned out, in vain - to get her hair back under control in the women's section of the locker room, after the tour was over, Melody mused out loud.

"Makes you wonder why this wasn't done decades ago."

The female tech - who was also brushing her hair - said nothing. She likely knew there had been influential people working against that. People who had vague plans for the chemicals, plans which required them to be stored indefinitely, rather than destroyed. Most of those influential people were long retired, in many cases dead. Some were currently fighting to stay out - or get out - of prison.

The locker room and showers had originally been men-only. As had the entire facility, misogyny being just one more sin added to the tally of those in charge. Interestingly, the place had been built with two sets of lockers and two showers - as required by federal regulations - though the twin facilities were paired in one room. All that was necessary to accommodate women was the addition of signs and one short wall.

Once reasonably presentable, Melody was escorted to the control room for the incinerator. She was pleased to see that Blackpool - back from his errand - was joining the group. This room was very clean - even sterile - in appearance, and the people in it very professional.

Melody watched as the personnel completed the demonstration burn. They explained in more detail than she really needed what was happening.

"Once everything is set up for a specific chemical, we run continuously until that is all gone," said Dr. Velter, the man in charge. He had PhD (or, as some joked, a PHd) in chemistry and experience in cleaning contaminated sites. Which was appropriate, since some of the drums stored here contained tainted soil. "We had to make a thorough inventory first, though, which is part of what took us so long to get started. Then we - very carefully - began with those storage containers which appeared damaged in some way, or were otherwise considered fragile. Some simply due to their age."

"Some of the containers had been just sitting around for decades," said Blackpool, elaborating a bit. He was obviously critical of the situation he had found himself in charge of. "Many were in such poor condition they had to be reinforced before they could be moved."

"Thanks to that inventory," said Dr. Velter, "we were able to identify several containers which needed immediate attention. Those occupied us for the first few months of operation. Once the damaged containers were safely destroyed we moved on to incinerating items based on age."

"Well, it looks like you're making good progress," said Melody, with a charming smile. "Congratulations. I just hope things continue to run smoothly."

"Next on the list, is a meeting of those participating in the upcoming rescue mission," said Blackpool, quietly, to Melody, as he escorted her from the control room. "Aaron insisted you be part of that, so if you're ready..."

"Lead on!"

* * *

This chapter is a bit short, largely because I didn't want to overdo the account of the technical process. The chemical repository and the disposal methods were largely inspired by - and partially based on - the storage and destruction of chemical weapons at the Blue Grass Army Depot. Which is something like a hundred miles east southeast from where I sit, typing this.