Practically speaking, Jessica had received a VIP all-access pass within Sub Terra HQ but was advised not to disturb busy personnel. She took the advisement under partial consideration. Pouring over the cave in her mind, she became giddy with every additional mystery in sight. That enthusiasm crashed every time someone opened the door to the shooting range. If not for the dampener glass, no one would have slept. As for the weapons tested, from the laser-like projectiles, she assumed they were magnetic.
Between a series of crates, the vigilant teenager eventually took Valerie aside. "I'm kinda sorry for doubting you, on the way here," she drawled. "I thought it was a calculated risk letting you lead us, but I was pretty wrong."
Valerie crossed her arms. "You apologizing is weird, so don't worry about it. Even I wasn't sure what to expect; but we're here, not dead yet, and that's all that matters."
"Agreed," said Shannon, trudging close. "What I would like to know, Val, is when the hell did you join this crew? Did you fill out a résumé or what?"
"One day, I needed money," she groaned. "Go figure. This job came my way through a cousin—mine so long as I didn't ask questions. When it paid well, I decided to keep it going, you know? I traded packages in New Sumer and kept it on the down-low before this uptight Azarean comes up to me and asks what I have in my suitcase. I wanted to be honest and say, 'I don't know.' But honesty is stupid, so I said it was marijuana for a clinic—"
"The short version, Val."
"Fine... I get caught. Toma: A Sub Terra agent saves me and tells me the truth about what's in the suitcase. Guess he felt obligated, maybe a little guilty, 'cause then he told me about the whole thing: Sub Terra, the cells, their mission. At first, I didn't care, like, at all. The more I thought about it, I realized Goliath and The Union were really up to some shit. I started to believe in what I was doing, so I kept workin' it."
Slowly, Shannon nodded. "Okay, you know what? That's cool. I was afraid you were an anarchist for a while. Or worse..."
"Anarchy is a theoretical status quo whose self-negation is evidenced by its inability to have a historical impact," Jessica rejoined. "But if you're a sheep, you essentially lack personality and buy VI's and games that other people buy even if they're crap."
"I agree, but that's not the point, Jess."
"Thinking out loud."
Their side-quest into the hangar surrounded them with more rock and shadow. Its concrete surface held the wheels of aircraft, several unique engines, all of them from decades past yet impossibly new. Elsewhere on the grounds lay a series of barracks neatly set in a row, each and every one of them with the same insignia. On uniforms, on banners, everywhere, a fist rising from the planet Earth. "It's definitely gripping." Jess tried not to giggle at her own joke.
One road across the cavern connected the jet hangar and barracks. Both ends terminated at magnificent metal doors, which could have led to the sky or deeper underground. Every damn observation tallied Jessica's mind with a new question.
"Where the hell did all this come from?" she whined then pointed at the nearest stranger, a young Asian man in blue coveralls. He gawked from beneath the beak of a black fuselage. "You! Where, the hell, did all this come from? Tell me right now."
The young man flinched. "You need some exposition?" he asked.
"Yes!"
"You're new," he remarked at her approach. "Are you the guys—gals that brought that creepy recording? Cuz I really hope it gets us somewhere."
"Yes." Valerie winked. "We came with gifts in the form of criminal evidence, black ops crap, and charm."
"In that order," said Shannon.
"That's hardcore," said the young man. "I'm Chris, by the way. Tsushimoto. Friends call me Sushi."
Jessica laughed. "NO-ho, they don't..."
He shyly snickered.
"Well, Chris, my name is Jessica Leibniz, but my friends call me Jess. It's not as appetizing."
"I'm Shannon."
"And you're Wildcat," finished Chris, pointing over Jessica.
"Does my reputation proceed me or something?" said Valerie.
"Something like that, but you have questions?"
"Yes!" Jessica rejoined. "For starters, I want to know if the 1990s called to ask for their junk back."
Chris snickered "After the 'invasion'"—signing quotes with his fingers—"trillions of dollars of military armament was decommissioned across the world. The whole world. You have to understand, friends, killing was a business back in the day. It was hella good. Super good, so why stop just because it's the end of the world?"
"Doesn't make good business sense," Jess added.
"Exactly! Gun pushers needed steady clientele once the governments went under. So, who did they go to?"
"Underground rebels," said Shannon. "Nick Cage got it right."
"Exactly!" Chris grinned. "You guys are smart."
"Either they sold to rebels or they sold to gun nuts," said Jess. "Also, militia, army wannabes, cults, extremists, and synonyms."
"Anything not in a museum was scrapped or sold to someone who could afford a crazy hobby, so long as the dealer didn't get caught. And you'd be surprised – Compared to today, the 21st century was one huge ammo dump. No proper recycle bins or bots. It's why people still stumble across old weapon caches.
"However, comma, you won't stumble across anything nuclear, thanks to the Fallout Directive. 5% of Russia looks like Chernobyl, thanks to the Azareans and the government's own naivety."
Jessica eyed Chris. "You're telling me things I've already explained to other people, Sushi."
"I get ahead of myself."
"So, you just found this old plane lying around?" Shannon said, pointing at the black metal machine.
"Yea! Can you believe this used to be the most terrifying thing in the sky? Now..." Chris drifted, chin downturned broodily.
"Alright, explain something," rejoined Jess, eager to get him back on track. "What's the point of this vintage scrap? You've got Azarean radar in every direction, which doesn't exactly leave room for recreational aeronautics. If you fly, space elves will follow. So, have any of these been retro-fitted with omni-signature reflection?"
"Not yet." Chris tongued his cheek. "But, imagine if we needed them and never had them? That's the brass' excuse, at least. This model is a viable scout. They can fly in the Old World, and there's no other way to get eyes in the sky unless Dissent, somehow, hacks a satellite. As for the rest of these..."
Despite the confidence in his voice, Jessica's critical gaze stung him. Chris wore skepticism on his sleeve, as her eyes chipped away at that confidence without either of them realizing.
"The Azareans did catch us, once," he said. "Their fighter—Coursers we call them—shot down a Sub Terra scout on the west coast. Good pilots are hard to recruit. Anyway, Azarean Courser that got Rick was recorded at Mach 7."
Jessica's brow lifted. "That's—"
"Not even possible, right? At that speed, kinetic force—the wind—would crumple the hull. Thing is, Coursers have a membrane, some kind of shield that's invisible until extreme stress. It looks like a bubble on fire."
Shannon leaned against the nearby crates. "Hey, Chris," she started. "You say that like you were there. You a pilot?"
"He is a pilot and engineer," Jessica said confidently.
"Mechanic," Chris humbly corrected. "I make sure this 'scrap,' as you call it, keeps working, even if they're outdated. Gives me something to do."
Valerie leaned a little closer. "What happened to the jet pilot and the Azarean ship?"
"Killed himself before crashing," he slurred in the attempt to sound casual, "but he knew the risk."
"What would you do with an Azarean Courser if you got your hands into one?" Jessica leaned in.
"Got me. Sure, it's a machine that flies, but what I know is still barebones when it comes to aviation. Not that I would mind digging into the engine, or whatever powers them. Normal radar won't catch them. At least, I'd get to see how they defy physics."
"Whelp, I hope to see one eventually! One that's grounded, obviously."
"Yea, me too..."
"Now, I've gotta see this computer geek Monarch mentioned."
"Just use your nerd radar," said Valerie.
Chris laughed.
"See you around Chris." Jessica waved off their new acquaintance and proceeded to the nearby block of terminals.
"Remember to stay in the dark," he said with a salute.
Over by the terminals, Jessica obliviously speed-walked to a series of motherboards just waiting for inspection. The rigs displayed a clash of old-school and modern ports. With no one around to stop her, she crouched and took the liberty of opening the closest tower. She tried. The hatch was screwed tight.
"What is this setup?" she whined, standing upright. "This thing looks pre-millennial 70s. Anybody got a screwdriver? Anybody know what that is? It's exactly what it sounds like."
"Shiiiit." Shannon froze. "She found the computers."
Jessica was already walking circles around the terminals, among which a user slept face down. She leaned over the slumbering stranger, to discover a game onscreen.
"Hey, it's Half-Life 3!"
"You always dive through people's things?" someone belittled.
She turned her neck to assign a face, then found her own glaring reflection in a pair of shades. Followed by tapering red hair, sideburns, and pasty whiteness. A complexion complemented by a black cap.
"Amon..."
ns 15.158.61.48da2
