--
The man sat on a wooden crate along the wall of the trench, the rain pattering on the mud, his helmet, and himself his only companion. The storm clouds that had gathered overhead were here for the long haul, as he could see whenever he mustered up the courage to stick his head over the edge. His rifle stood upright against the wall next to him. He could not say he was cold, or even uncomfortable. The Confederacy took care of its soldiers by means of its combat armour, its black veneer gone and replaced with a thin brown layer of mud and dust. The Heads-Up-Display projected onto his reflective visor displayed idle statistics, largely inactive when not in combat so as to preserve power. Thanks to mental interfacing technologies he could, even in the heat of battle, turn on information on wind speeds, air currents, positioning of allies and enemies, distance to the nearest supply depot, and even target weak spots if he spotted a soldier of the Wheel. This man was eighteen years old.
Someone tapped his helmet. He raised his head and saw the girl, saluting with her helmet under her arm. He saluted and then slid up his reflective visor, revealing himself to her.
“You should put that on. “He told her, pointing at the helmet. She smiled at him, running her hand through her hair, the bangs pinned to keep her right eye clear.
“I like to taste the air every now and then.” She said, unslinging her rifle. “Now get up, you’re in my spot.”
He got up off the box, picking up his own rifle and slinging it over his shoulder. He stood in front of the girl, who had put on her helmet.
“See anything suspicious?” She asked him. He shook his head no.
“Alright.” She said, gently knocking her helmet against his. “See you at mess.”
She sat down on the crate, he began to walk away.
“Oh yeah!” She shouted. He stopped, turning around. “I think I saw… Weston? Was that his name? The guy from physics class, in the hangar on my way here. D’you know who I’m talking about?”
“Yeah, I remember Weston.” The man said. “Small universe, huh?”
“Yeah.” She said, sliding down her visor. “Smaaaallll universe.”
The man turned back.
“See you at mess.” He said.
“Yeah.” The girl said.
He walked back the way she had come.
---
An older Jay and the *~mysterious~* girl get a cute moment on the battlefield. War is hell, folks. This next bit is also from episode four. I had always planned the bartender to have a bigger role, but I realized some foreshadowing might be appropriate and add some intrigue to the plot.
The last call had passed long ago and the radio’s smooth jazz played out to an empty bar. The bartender set down her rag, grabbed a pencil and paper, and turned the radio to a different frequency. It always took her some time to find it as the exact frequency changed each time. Every week she would receive a letter with nothing on it except a frequency, her employers coming back to keep her in check. She sincerely hoped this week would be a quiet one, as she had already done the job given to her by her other, much more mysterious contact. Sighing, she readied her pencil, and waited for the static to break.
As always, the transmission began with a short tune, seemingly played on a xylophone. Then the computerized woman’s voice began reading out words.
“Yankee. Hotel. Foxtrot. Yankee. Hotel. Foxtrot. Yankee. Hotel. Foxtrot. Yankee. Hotel. Foxtrot.”
Every transmission started with those words repeated four times. This was probably a test of the system, or to throw off anyone who might be listening in. The real instructions would come next.
“November. November. Delta. Sierra. November. November. Delta. Sierra. November. November. Delta. Sierra.”
The bartender sighed in relief. Another week of nothing. She had heard this particular broadcast enough to know what it meant without having to consult the notebook she had received more than four years ago. The broadcast always ended with the same xylophone tune with which it began. The bartender shut off the radio, sighing once more and turning off the radio. She walked beneath the bar and took out a small lighter. Lighting it, she brought it to the corner of the piece of paper she had used to write down this week’s instructions, watching as the fire caught and reduced the page to ashes.
She was lucky they were leaving her alone. One shadowy contact was enough for her.
SO MUCH MYSTERY! Right now I'm JUUUST finishing up a hugely expanded Cass section in Episode six. The problem is, I need some insider info on airport security procedures, so I've emailed Pearson International with a few questions. I'll be able to finish that when they get back to me.
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