Episode 3 | Chapter 17 - New Threads

Episode 3 - Plowshares

Chapter 17 - New Threads

I turn the alarm module I’m looking at in my hands, prying at a gap in the plastic with a screwdriver. The whole thing pops in half, revealing a tiny circuit board, the speaker and a few wires. I dismount the speaker and the circuit board and toss them into the plastic tubs I’ve been collecting the parts in, then drop the rest in the recycling.

The next one is the same brand and I crack into it as quickly and effectively as the first. Pooka gives a huge yawn at my feet, tucking his chin into his paws. I’ll lose my edge, slowly drowning in petty work like this, why can’t we do something else? Petty work like this is most of what humans and symbionts do.

“You takin’ lunch?”

I look up at the only other technology lab member, an older man who goes by ‘Junk’. He’s a hunched, crotchety old fellow, with pockmarks on his face, and I’m fairly certain Junk is not his real name. His symbiote is a Gypaetus and one of the few other vertebrates I’ve seen so far at Aquila. The symbiote is picking away at the other tubs of junk parts that have gathered through the years, breaking down anything metal into bricks of pure elements and rapidly degrading any other materials. Its beak clicks with dramatic dissatisfaction as it digs through one of the tubs, searching for scraps of gold and copper for us to reuse, its wings tented over its rounded shoulders and naked head.

“After a few more,” I reply, picking up another alarm module. Junk shrugs, and exits the lab without asking any further questions. His Gypaetus gives a squawk of annoyance and tosses a knotted mess of wires halfway across the room from its tub, tipping the contents across the floor. Pooka lifts his head, muzzle wrinkling into a snarl, and growls.

It’s been several days since I arrived at Aquila. Turns out the lab is actually an electronics and explosives lab. I'd describe it as a workshop compared to the chemistry labs I was used to at Murasaki. It's not quite the world I remember, but the smell of solvents is familiar enough. I've spent most of my days hiding down here since arriving. I scratch idly at the bandage on the small wound on my arm. The doctor who visited Aquila insisted on removing my old birth control implant for a fresh one. It’s worse coming out than going in.

Junk runs a tight ship, there’s a few large benches in the center of the lab, shelves and drawers keeping everything meticulously sorted around the periphery, and a small white label maker obsessively used to label every pull-out and box. Junk was quiet at first, but seemed pretty happy when he could leave me alone to work out how to repair a few detonators with the example of a working one. Since then, he’d dropped sensors and other electronics for me to tinker with, along with a few books on my desk which I’ve taken to mean he wants me to read them, most of them contain some basics of electrical engineering and math I remember from my education at Murasaki.

The next alarm module is a new brand. I turn it in my hands curiously, this one is held together with a few precision screws. I disassemble it just the same, but this time one of the sensors makes its way into my pocket instead of the plastic tubs. With a halfhearted sigh, I prod a few of the loose screws on my mat into the divots matching each one's size with the head of my screwdriver. Junk will be out for blood if I don’t keep everything sorted.

“Oi, our new dark and stormy Squall, I’ve been looking for you!”

I swing around on my stool, looking over at the door to see Shion leaning against the frame, her hands crossed. Today she has an elaborate pink wig.

“Why?” I ask.

“Been instructed by the royalty to get you some new clothes. Field work incoming this afternoon,” she replies with a theatrical wave of her hand.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” I’ve still been wearing my scrubs from Murasaki.

“Oh, honey. Let’s just say they are doing you no favors. And they don’t exactly scream Aquila, c’mon!” she sucks in a breath from her vape-stick and turns back out the door obviously expecting me to follow. I toss my screwdriver dramatically onto my mat, then pause, sniff, and place it properly in its mount above the bench. Then I drop from my stool and follow Shion to a lower level.

I watch curiously as Shion presses her thumb to a sensor. Murasaki was too big, and I was too unimportant, to ever have the need for security biometrically programmed to the individual. The door audibly clicks.

“Welcome, my sweetness, to the Armory!” Shion gestures dramatically as she leans backwards into a door, arm sweeping into the beyond.

The room is filled with just about every weapon I could ever imagine, Regina’s bag of tricks has nothing on this. Guns of all sizes are mounted in hand-crank shelving on tracks in the middle of the room. The upper halves have enough weapons in assorted sizes and styles to arm a small militia - assault rifles, handguns, shotguns and a few sniper rifles - the drawers underneath presumably filled with accessories. Melee weapons are distributed in the mix, short utility knives and batons among other things. The outer edges of the room are lined with body armor in various styles and sizes, and an assortment of other technology I’ve never even seen before, although some of the grenades, sensors, and explosives I’ve become more familiar with from working with Junk.

Beyond there are a few chairs arranged before a presentation area with a syn-screen, and to the other side a small seating area in front of a shielded and soundproofed underground gun-range. Curiously there is someone in there, hearing protection on and back to us, and the sound of loud music playing on the speakers beyond is just audible through the soundproofing. I can’t tell who the person is, but they are too tall to be Everett, and so physically imposing they might have been twice his weight.

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Shion gives me an appraising look, and passes me a change of clothes, “Here, these should fit. Get changed,” she demands.

“Where?”

Shion leans on one of the hand crank cabinets, “Changing rooms over there,” she says, gesturing with a nod of her head towards a door that leads to a number of plain changing rooms.

I emerge moments later in a black long sleeved shirt with an Aquila logo on the breast. The pants have an assortment of zips and pockets on the upper legs, and padded knee pads. Shion gives a satisfied purr and tugs my shoulders knowingly, then fits a vest of black body armor over my shoulders, adjusting the fit and showing me how the ballistics plates are replaced.

“This is hard armor, a little unusual for us. How's the weight?” she asks as she fusses with adjusting it.

“Uh, fine I guess? Do I need all this, I thought we were covert?”

“Sometimes,” she replies cryptically, and begins working on a piece that goes on each of my shoulders next. “Lift your arms up for me, anything in the way?” I obediently follow the instructions and shake my head. “When Nessa is back in town, she needs to start working you at the gym. You need more meat on you, my sweet Squall.”

“Excuse me for never doing this before,” I hiss.

“Ah ah, no no, I won’t fall for your sass. Do you know how to use a gun?” she continues as if it’s a normal question.

“No,” I reply shortly. Pooka whines gently at my side. You should learn, he reminds.

“Hmm, here take this for now,” she says passing me a modular tactical belt and showing me how it clips over the top of everything, she stuffs a few devices in the pockets for me calling them out as she does so, “Knife, multi-tool, first aid kit, grenades go in these ones eventually. Tablet goes in this one,” she says, poking a big pocket on the side of my thigh. “You will need some of these though,” she adds, beginning to pull some of the electronics from one cabinet that I recognize from my assorted tasks in the lab, “Junk been showing you round the symbiont sensors?”

The music in the gun range pauses, and the door opens for the giant stranger as he enters the room, taking his ear muffs off and resting them around his neck. He doesn’t look much older than me, maybe mid twenties. Immediately his face contorts into a suspicious frown.

“The newbie is coming?” he immediately questions. He’s wearing a tightly fitted, ribbed shirt and a silver chain around his neck, and a matching silver ring pierced through his septum.

“Calm down, Bullock. Newbies don’t learn to not be newbies otherwise,” dismisses Shion, giving my gear another tug and clicking her tongue with satisfaction. “Alright, take it all off and put it in that locker, it’s yours now. Bag in there too.”

“I’m not trusting a newbie to watch my back,” continues the man aggressively, folding his beefy forearms.

“Shut it Blake, nobody wants to hear it,” I turn to the familiar voice to see Everett entering, wearing a loosely fitting tank with open sides showing off just how much of his torso matches those lean, muscular arms of his. Pell has her legs wrapped around his left deltoid.

“I ain’t working with a newbie on a mission like this,” continues Blake, undeterred.

Everett leans against one of the tables with electronic sensors scattered across it, “Tough luck.”

“I’ll gladly not go,” I pipe in. Shion’s eyes glitter with amusement.

“I don’t care what you want,” replies Everett to me, rolling his shoulders. Then returning his attention to Blake, “You want her to blow something up Blake? That make you feel better?”

“Can she even? New meat ruins the dynamic, what's Regina even thinking?”

Shion clears her throat, “Squall here is a hard-tech asset in the making. And… her symbiont is more fire-power than the rest of us combined.”

“My name’s Conrad,” I interject. I grab a hard shell protective case to begin sorting a few of the sensors Shion had been handing me, giving a few of them a curious turn. I’m familiar with the tech, a few of the other R&D labs focusing on symbiont based technology probably developed half the patents they are using.

Blake scoffs, “You’re kidding me?”

I could bleed the big one dry, drain all that sweet, precious blood. Don’t perform for them, we don’t need to prove ourselves, it’ll only give them reasons to ask questions neither of us wants to answer. We’re not puppets for them to jangle about for their amusement. Pooka chuffs in agreement.

“Enough,” commands Everett, “She’s a last-resort asset. Conrada is already planned to be on the sideline for this one. Shion and Adrian will be running command, not me, so I won’t say it again. We gonna have a problem?”

“No’sir,” barks Blake stiffening his posture and suddenly shifting tone in response to the finality in Everett’s voice.

Shion hums with amusement, “I love when the wolf cub in our Little Prince comes out, so like your Mother.”

“Not in the mood,” replies Everett with an indifferent dismissal, and he opens what I assume is his own locker to begin sorting his gear.

“Times up kiddos, mission briefing is being called. Upstairs, please and thank you,” chimes in Adrian’s drawling voice in my ears. The sudden stiffness of everyone else lets me know they all heard it too.

“You’ll have more time to go through it later. I’ll escort you up,” replies Shion gracefully to me, “First time is always scary.”

Everett slams his locker shut behind us, and marches out ahead with his hands in his pockets, Blake following not too far behind.

We enter the private conference room on the same floor as the living areas, a large oval desk in the center surrounded by chairs with plenty of room around the edges for Adrian to get in and out in his chair. He’s already waiting for us with a second man I’d seen around but not been introduced to, who is messing with the power cords of the syn-screen. His symbiont, a white winged saturniid moth, is mounted on the top corner gently closing and opening its wings, flashing markings like vermillion demonic eyes.

As I enter, Everett is leaning against one wall looking sideways at a pot plant, a lily I think. Ever so gently, he stretches out a hand and brushes the single white flower that is blooming from the center with the tip of one finger. His mouth is downturned at the edges in a thoughtful frown.