Frederick waits, of course, and listens to Thérèse speak, stepping closer to her and leaning in so that he might better hear her over the general din of traffic. He turns slightly, too, so as to both better aim one ear and turn his face away from Urso and Spyridon. His head does bob once and then a second time as she's talking.
Thérèse looks uncomfortable, but with a visible effort, begins speaking just loudly enough to be heard over the round of the rain on the streets. "What you said up there, about... people... not trusting telepaths. While it may be true, we can't afford that on a mission like this one. If... we... can't trust you, none of us may survive this."
She shifts her position awkwardly, wiping rain from her eyes. "What I'm saying is... come with us tonight. We need to be a team for this, and that starts tonight."
"If you wish." Is his immediate response, the same calming smile returning after fading as he concentrated on hearing over the raucous clamor of New York's city streets. "While I do want to do some research my primary concern was your comfort; I had no desire to impede your ability to relax and unwind this evening.
"I see the merit in what you are saying, however, and if it is not an imposition I would enjoy joining the three of you."
Thérèse catches up with the rest of the group, Frederick in tow. She looks, if not satisfied, at least somewhat determined. "M'sieu Falen will be joining us after all," she announces, scanning the traffic for a likely-looking taxi. "So let's get going. I want to find someplace I can dance."
The four team members have little difficulty in hailing a taxi despite the hammering rains and make their way, at the cabbie's suggestion, to a classy nightclub in Manhattan called "The White Rabbit." Appealing to a wide variety of musical tastes by providing varying entertainment on each of it's three floors, the establishment manages to capture the essence of modern club themes while still providing ample room for wallflowers to sit and socialize off the dance floor.
Therese finds herself enraptured by the DJs, who are all quite skilled, and lets loose some tension on the dance floor, exhibiting the fluid grace of a skilled pilot. The others find themselves remarkably able to relax. Here, they were treated like people. No one knew they were psions. No one knew that tomorrow, they would be thrust headlong into dire peril. No one knew that these men and women might very well save their lives someday. All that mattered was the music and the moment.
The time melted away quickly and it was not long before the group realized that midnight was upon them. Despite Urso's pleas to stay until last call, the group managed to return to their hotel rooms and get a good night's sleep. The morning was soon upon them, and at noon that next day, they found themselves assembled at the Trinity office once again. Upon arrival, they were ushered to an elevator by a young man who led them down to the subterranean hangar where their transport vehicle and Daniel awaited them.
The vehicle was a fairly impressive sight. Painted jet black with tinted, anti-glare windows, it looked like something out of a super-spy holovid. The underslung laser turret was similarly matte painted and pointed imposingly forward as the group approached it. The vehicle itself was totally immaculate, free of scratches and dirt, possibly newly constructed or, at the very least, only barely used. It was nearly twenty feet in length and over 8 feet tall with a set of steps leading up to the side door which Daniel currently occupied with a smile, stepping out to greet the team.
"Gentlemen, Miss Beaupre, I give you... the Duskwing. A specially modified stealth atmospheric transport that will serve as your insertion and exfiltration vehicle for this mission. The loading crews are putting the finishing touches on your equipment as we speak. I estimate you will be ready for launch in less than two hours. You may feel free to explore the transport's interior and familiarize yourself with the controls at this time," Daniel smiled and shook hands with each of the team members in turn. "I hope that you all slept well. The next few days will not be pleasant for you. If you have any final questions or concerns, now is the time to ask them. Also, please pay a visit to our requisitions office. They will have your flight vests and armor for you there."
With that, Daniel gestured to a set of windows on the far side of the football-field-sized hangar where, housed behind reinforced glass, sat numerous varieties of weapons, armor, and other equipment for use by Trinity operatives. The team was not the only presence in the hangar either. Being prepped at the forward launch positions were a pair of Locust fighters, slightly different from the configuration Spyros and Therese had become familiar with. Prototypes, perhaps? Or had Orgotek released a new line that they hadn't heard about yet? Regardless, the two pilots were visible inside the cockpits, running diagnostics checks on their vehicles before departure. A moist wind rushed through the hangar as the massive exit doors groaned open, dripping from the rainstorm that had only finally abated a few hours prior. The Locusts' engines began to hum steadily...
Thérèse arrives the next day looking much calmer, much of the tension she carried the day before seeming to have drained away in the night's activities. She is wearing her Orgotek pilot uniform, which seems to fit her much better than her suit did yesterday - or maybe she's just more comfortable in it. She offers Hawthorne a small salute before shaking his hand, but there are no strange antics as there were the day before, and her smile at seeing her associates seems genuine.
"Gentlemen, Miss Beaupre, I give you... the Duskwing."
Somewhat against her will, Thérèse looks slightly impressed. Her fingers move involuntarily through the first part of a startup sequence as she looks the craft over, already starting to get a feel for it.
"Also, please pay a visit to our requisitions office. They will have your flight vests and armor for you there."
With a tiny sigh, Thérèse turns away from the Duskwing, looking around for the path to the requisition department. "First things first," she says to her companions.
Being prepped at the forward launch positions were a pair of Locust fighters, slightly different from the configuration Spyros and Therese had become familiar with. Prototypes, perhaps? Or had Orgotek released a new line that they hadn't heard about yet?
As she turns to walk across the hangar, Thérèse's eyes are drawn inexorably to the fighters she knows so well, but with a firm jerk of her chin, she looks away from them and back toward where she's headed.
When Urso reports in, he bears little resemblance to the boisterous, if slightly unkempt, man from last night. His many layers of clothing are worn, ragged, and filthy, with more than a couple tears that look suspiciously like knife punctures. His hair is at least four inches longer and so wild it clearly hasn't been washing in months. A thick, scruffy, matted beard obscures most of his face and makes him look like a madman. The vague scent of alcohol wafts off of him at irregular intervals and a faint hint of body odor is detectable at close range.
Beneath the layers of clothing, one can vaguely discern a bulk that could be body armor. Across his back, Urso sports an old but well-maintained bolt-action rifle and a plain, unassuming sabre. His hands are covered by patchy gloves wrapped in filthy rags, though there is a slight bulk to them that cannot be explained by the immense size of his hands.
The only sign of the Urso that hit the clubs last night are his eyes, which burn with a frightening intensity and concentration. After a few moments, he breaks into a grin and laughs.
"We are to blend in, no? You need to look the part, amigos. You are all too clean. Rub some dirt on those faces, let your hair down. Better yet, hack the ends ragged with a knife. Plenty of time after the mission for it to grow back. You are going into the jungle, and you need to become one of the animals if you are to survive."
Urso is happy, and perhaps a touch over-enthusiastic, to help any of his fellow crew adjust their gear and appearance to blend in a little better.
Daniel smiled and shook hands with each of the team members in turn. "I hope that you all slept well. The next few days will not be pleasant for you. If you have any final questions or concerns, now is the time to ask them. Also, please pay a visit to our requisitions office. They will have your flight vests and armor for you there."
Urso shakes Daniel's hand firmly, and then requisitions some loose ammo for his rifle to stow aboard the ship. Aside from finding a comfortable seat, Urso shows little interest in the craft.
...then requisitions some loose ammo for his rifle to stow aboard the ship...
Thérèse looks over the equipment provided to her approvingly, stopping only once to have a brief conference with Spyros and the quartermaster. She does not look entirely pleased at the result, but when she returns to the hangar twenty minutes or so later, the matter seems to have been forgotten. She all but runs up the stairs into the Duskwing, dropping her gear into a storage compartment on one side and sliding easily into the pilot's chair.
She begins the warmup sequence for the Duskwing, bringing up the piloting agent and running through the engine startup checklist. While she handles the mundanities of the craft's preparation, Thérèse tells the agent to start developing flight plans that bring the craft to 300 ft altitudes at least three miles away from the landing site.
Once the startup is completed, the Duskwing hums with a settled, contained energy, calm for now but ready to leap into the sky at a moment's notice. Thérèse smiles contentedly, then picks up her headphones and activates the radio. "Hangar control, this is Delta Whisky One-One-Three-Eight, ready for takeoff on schedule. Can you tell me if these fine gentlemen are planning to see us out the door?"
There is a moment's pause before a reply comes through. "Negative. Those pilots are prepping for an extraterrestrial run. Stand by until the flight deck is cleared."
The ship's agent, though somewhat dated, quickly prepares the flight plan and altitude managements according to Therese's specifications. The ship agent's avatar, a bald albino man with a vacant expression, flickers to life on the console's primary display only a few minutes later, as the equipment crew finishes loading cargo and secures all the latches on the hold. "Flight plan complete, Therese. Awaiting further instructions." The agent's voice was soft but haunting. Perhaps it earned the name "Specter" a bit too well.
As the remaining team members suit up and get a feel for the flexibility of their armor and familiarize themselves with the communications equipment, the Locusts' engines flare up, the rumbling being felt all throughout the hangar, and surge forth through the open doors at rapidly climbing speeds on an upward trajectory. In seconds, they have cleared the doors and the roar of their atmospheric drives grows quickly distant. Not more than a minute later, a small taxi vehicle rolls up to the front of the Duskwing, the driver offering a polite wave to Therese in the pilot's seat as he hooks the two vehicles together.
Daniel, still nearby to aid the team members with establishing their comm frequencies and answering a few last-minute questions, gestures to the stairs and everyone climbs on board. The stairs retract into the hold of the ship and Daniel taps on the doorframe as it closes. "Good luck." The doors seal with a small hiss of pressurization.
"Delta Whiskey One-One-Three-Eight, the launchpad is cleared. Standby for taxi," the stoic man's voice from the control room crackles over the radio as the taxi vehicle leads the Duskwing to it's launch prep position, only a few dozen meters away. The ship is pulled into a slingshot launch mechanism to help the ship reach it's takeoff velocity on such a short, and slightly inclined, runway.
Therese runs a final systems diagnostic, throttling the engines up and then back down to test the thrust. It is surprisingly quiet inside the ship, the only noticable sound being Urso's whistling. The massive hangar doors still sit open from the previous vehicles' launches. A minute passes by. It feels like an hour.
"Duskwing, you are cleared for launch."
The combination of full throttle backed by the slingshot nearly forces the passengers to swallow their tongues. Unaccustomed to slingshot-assisted takeoff, even Therese is a bit surprised by the sudden jolt but she adapts quickly, leaning back on the stick to propel the ship up the incline and out into the wild blue yonder. The intense acceleration falls off only a few seconds later as the craft soars high above the sprawling urban landscape below. Therese make a wide corkscrew pattern to gain altitude quickly, wanting to avoid the tall buildings in the immediate area and finally levels out at 5,000 feet above the city, turning sharply west towards their destination.
"Flight corridor reached. Engage autopilot?" Specter drones, his unfeeling face looking back at Therese accompanied by a green 'Yes' and a red 'No' button...
Thérèse pushes the "Yes" button, adding, "Signal me if you receive transmissions directed at us, instructions to deviate from our flight plan, detect traffic that will require us to change course to avoid it, or when two hours and thirty minutes have passed." She spins to face the others.
"The target area is 1,331 miles west of New York, 224 miles within the LAST Zone. We've got a planned flight time of 3 hours, six minutes, and will enter QZ airspace in two hours, 35 minutes. I'll take the stick while we're in the QZ, and we'll be coming in low and quiet once we get within visual range of the landing area. Hope you guys brought some magazines..."
Frederick Falen finds himself in the eye of the whirlwind of preparatory activity, carefully keeping himself out of the way as the varied individuals hurry about their separate businesses. Not that he is without things to do; he accepts all tools offered for use during the fieldwork and both watches and listens intently through whatever tutorials are covered on the items he's not extremely familiar with.
He wears another suit-- this one not quite as expensive as the last-- but is proactive in his asking for some more suitable attire, understanding full well that refugee chic is a far more appropriate look for where they're going. His briefcase is absent, replaced by a compact pack with room enough for his medical kit and supplies, computer, and a few other necessities. He's also come prepared with his firearm of choice, an Orgotek Stringer model that he's quite clearly familiar with.
Urso's unbridled enthusiasm does draw a smile out from behind the stoic, determined expression the ex-Doc had been sporting for most of the morning and he happily accepts assistance in arranging his attire and modifying his look that the large man might offer. Somewhere short, of course, of carving bits of his hair away-- mussing it up and smearing it with some grease and grime seem quite sufficient! It's likely that when the pair are done with their collaboration there's little chance most of Frederick's colleagues would recognize him should they pass on the street.
-----
As they sit, settled into the ship for the short ride to the shattered city, the young man busies himself with extraneous checking and re-checking of his essential equipment; primarily the biotech weapon and his medical equipment. His hands don't shake and his eyes don't shift nervously-- no matter how out of his element the other three might have expected Frederick to be going into this mission he seems to be facing it with the quiet calm and tempered optimism of a professional.
Of course it could all just be an expert ruse.
"Thank you, Miss Beaupre." Are his first words since take-off, issued along with a nod to their pilot. "And thank you again for convincing me to come along last night. It was quite the evening."
After carefully checking his gear, 10 spare magazines, and disguise several times, Urso settles into his seat and dozes lightly.
"Thank you, Miss Beaupre." Are his first words since take-off, issued along with a nod to their pilot. "And thank you again for convincing me to come along last night. It was quite the evening."
Thérèse grins at him - it still seems a little uncertain - and pokes the rank stripes on her Orgotek Operations Division uniform. "That's Captain Beaupre, at least while we're on board." The grin firms into a genuine smile. "Thank you for coming. It was an excellent time. Perhaps next time I will actually get to hear some of Spyros' stories about you" - she flashes Spyros a wink - "and we can actually get you two out on the dance floor for some real moves!" She chuckles at the memory. "Though it was worth it to see our dancing Bear..."
Thérèse grins at him - it still seems a little uncertain - and pokes the rank stripes on her Orgotek Operations Division uniform. "That's Captain Beaupre, at least while we're on board." The grin firms into a genuine smile. "Thank you for coming. It was an excellent time. Perhaps next time I will actually get to hear some of Spyros' stories about you" - she flashes Spyros a wink - "and we can actually get you two out on the dance floor for some real moves!" She chuckles at the memory. "Though it was worth it to see our dancing Bear..."
"Of course." Frederick catches himself, lifting a hand to ward off further reprimand, his smile matching Thérèse's. "Captain. I will blame the clothes; I'm falling into character and forgetting myself. My superiors would be ashamed." He issues a quiet chuckle, truly more relaxed in this closed, private setting than he ever allows himself to be in public.
"Spyros' penchant for exaggeration notwithstanding, we did work well together on Luna." He offers his fellow an askance look as he speaks but continues to focus the majority of his attention on Thérèse. "I fear we won't be able to rely quite so heavily on my ability to facilitate communication between parties on this particular soiree. We will see. I have other talents to fall back on when the need arises."
"Dancing is not one of them." He adds after a brief pause.
The autopilot coasts along with zero difficulty as the group continues to chat. Some forty minutes after take-off, the ship's communications panel chirps to signal an incoming message. Therese taps the console and out springs a 6-inch tall holographic representation of Daniel, looking somewhat concerned.
"Team, one of our satellites just passed over the operation zone. We took the opportunity to take a few photos before we lost the window and... what we found is going to cause some problems. It appears that, in the few weeks since our last scan, a large group of locals has moved into the airfield and it's surrounding areas. They've got a small motorcade clogging up the landing strip towards the northwest end, so you'll need to brake a bit harder than would normally be safe to avoid crashing into them. Then, of course, you'd have to deal with landing right in the middle of them..." Daniel hestitates, chewing his lower lip a moment. "The other option is to use a different landing strip. The nearest airfield is over a hundred kilometers away, but it's possible that you may find a suitable length of road nearby. It won't be smooth, but it should work in a pinch. Your call."
The holographic Daniel flickered slightly, shrugged, and waited for a response.
"Merde," Thérèse says succinctly. "Can you transmit the images, both of the motorcade at the site and any others of the area that might help me choose an alternative insertion point, if we choose that option?"
Daniel's holographic image nods. "Certainly. Uploading the images to your ship's computer now."
The holographic Daniel reaches out beyond the rendering range of his holoemitter, causing his hand to disappear "off-screen" for a moment. A second later, Specter's voice drones in: "Receiving data transmission."
The images depict a rather large motorcade occupying the northwest end of the airfield, including several heavy construction vehicles fitted with makeshift armor and high-caliber machine guns. The images show several shanties and tents have been erected around the airfield, suggesting the locals have reinforced the area and are using it as some manner of forward base. What purpose the base might serve is unclear. A conservative estimate would put the occupying force's numbers in the low hundreds.
Other images of the area suggest a few possible alternate landing sites, but the detail is not sufficient to form an accurate assessment. To truly gauge the safety of such a site, a low altitude fly-by would be necessary.
Urso lazily opens one eye at the announcement and then languidly stretches.
"That kind of weaponry could come in handy if it all hits the fans. It might be a good idea to land a few kilometers from the original LZ and see if I and Fred here can't make nice with the locals. Allies and intelligence are going to be out main tools."
Urso chuckles.
"And if that fails, we break heads."
Thérèse nods. "I'm willing if you are." She pulls up the photographs of the area, flipping through several before stopping at one and enhancing it on the holoprojector. Her finger traces a thin grey line, barely visible through cloud cover and wear, trailing away from the airfield to the south. "This looks promising," she says, "if there's a long enough stretch without obstructions. It looks to be an old roadway, and the terrain's essentially level through this section."
Spyros leans over Therese's shoulder to get a look at the map projection. He points loosely at what appears to be the ruins of some forgotten community. "So what do you think small town life looks like after a hundred years of ambient taint radiation?"
Spyros shakes his heads and smiles, "Place your bets boys and girls 'cause we're about to find out..."
Urso laughs boisterously and claps Spyros on the back. "Be wary, my friend, for here, the cookies eat you!"
Another hour passes as the team analyzes the satellite images and discusses their plan of action upon landing. As the Duskwing nears the communications terminator, Daniel contacts the team one last time to let them know they will be arriving near dusk and that it would be prudent to take a few sweeps of the area with the thermal scanners and on-board camera to get a better feel for the area. He then bids them good luck as the communication feed rapidly decays.
Flying into the setting sun, the team sees naught but blackened hills and ruined buildings ahead. Fields which once held the largest portion of the world's grain supply now lie fallow and untended. Great buildings lay low amidst the rubble of once-great cities now lost to overgrowth and decay. During the long silence that sweeps through the ship as the team looks upon the sight with awe, Specter chimes in with a droning "Communications terminator reached."
Therese immediately takes the helm, instructing the others to sit down and secure themselves. As she does so, she lowers the altitude of the craft considerably, more out of habit than anything else, just in case there happened to be some kind of advanced radar out here (unlikely as that may be).
The next hour is spent in nervous silence, approaching the operations zone. Therese throttles back the engines, minimizing the Duskwing's thermal signature and delaying their arrival until close to dusk, as planned. Upon reaching the ruins of a city whose name had been lost to the ravages of time, Therese completed several low-altitude sweeps of the area, verifying that her chosen landing spot was indeed adequate to the task. The wide-area thermal scans showed multiple points of light - small fires built by the locals scatter all over the ruins, but concentrated most heavily near the airfield.
As night falls, Therese signals her final approach to the others and swings the Duskwing out wide to the south, lining up to land on the stretch of highway to the south of the airfield. There is a moment of tension as the ground grows closer and the airbrakes whistle furiously with the wind whipping around them. Therese guides the ship perfectly, however, not straying even slightly from the straight-and-narrow. The back wheels hit pavement and the nose pitches forward smoothly, touching all three points with zero difficulty. It had been a long time since she had flown something other than a hybrid VTOL, but to the others it seemed as if she'd been doing this all her life. The brakes flared wide once more, killing the momentum of the ship. The Duskwing jostled and rocked a bit, owing to the uneven pavement, but the shocks and support struts, guided by Therese's expert hand, kept everything in perfect shape. After only a few seconds which seemed like hours, the ship came to a complete stop about a kilometer from the airfield. The engines cooled down, the humming dying down to a whisper, and the parking brakes were fully engaged with a slight hiss of hydraulic pressure.
"A few too many heads to break." Frederick observes as he considers the images after landing. "So it would seem that I get an opportunity to earn my pay."
He releases himself from the harness and stands, stretching his legs briefly before moving closer to a monitor in order to better observe the images feeding through.
"If we can find a sub-grouping of them-- a smaller camp-- somewhat removed from the main body that would be my preferred starting point. That way if initial contact does not go so well we have a better chance of subduing or eliminating the troublesome elements without drawing attention from their fellows."
"It might also allow us to gather some information on the host as a whole without drawing too much attention to ourselves." He continues to consider the video feeds as he slides into his back and buckles it securely into place, readying for when it comes time to step outside.
"A few too many heads to break." Frederick observes as he considers the images after landing. "So it would seem that I get an opportunity to earn my pay."
He releases himself from the harness and stands, stretching his legs briefly before moving closer to a monitor in order to better observe the images feeding through.
"If we can find a sub-grouping of them-- a smaller camp-- somewhat removed from the main body that would be my preferred starting point. That way if initial contact does not go so well we have a better chance of subduing or eliminating the troublesome elements without drawing attention from their fellows."
"It might also allow us to gather some information on the host as a whole without drawing too much attention to ourselves." He continues to consider the video feeds as he slides into his back and buckles it securely into place, readying for when it comes time to step outside.
Thérèse nods in agreement. "That seems like a sound approach," she says, powering down the Duskwing. "There is something else we will need to take into account, however." She gestures out the cockpit windows at the low, empty plain, shrouded for the moment in darkness. "I doubt there is much traffic on this road, and at night I would expect little or no movement in the area. But the Duskwing is exposed, and will be entirely visible come daybreak. With secure access to the airfield, we could have hidden it in a hangar, concealed from casual view, but that will not be the case here. We will need to find somewhere I can taxi or, if needed, fly to in order to hide the plane before dawn. This roadway leads to the airfield - I believe we can taxi onto the flight apron from the road, if we face no obstacles. If there is resistance, however, we might accomplish our mission at the underground complex only to return and find ourselves without a means of departure."
While the others discuss the matter, Thérèse rises from her seat and takes her gear into the craft's head, reappearing a few moments later in the same ragged outfit worn by her companions, the lumps and angels of body armor faintly visible beneath.
Urso stands, stretching unnaturally far for a man of his size. Checking and securing his gear for the third time, he prepares for the ordeal ahead.
"We will need to find somewhere I can taxi or, if needed, fly to in order to hide the plane before dawn. This roadway leads to the airfield - I believe we can taxi onto the flight apron from the road, if we face no obstacles. If there is resistance, however, we might accomplish our mission at the underground complex only to return and find ourselves without a means of departure."
Looking stern, Urso nods and when he speaks, his accent is thickened noticeably. "Securing our method of evac is our first priority. If the locals will help us, that would be best. However, I am confident that they will not delay our mission long. Once we have secured the landing strip as our base of operations, we can begin the recon of the base."
Urso pauses, looking into the distance before sweeping his gaze across the rest of the team.
"The time will come soon where you will have to take the life of another person. If you find you cannot, no one will hold that against you. It is not a thing to be done lightly, and you should count yourself lucky if you are not required to wear that guilt on your soul."
With the team assembled and outfitted, Therese pressed the console on the wall to release the pressure lock on the exit door. A small set of steps unfurled from the Duskwing's chassis to accomodate the disembarking with the soft whirr of an electric motor. Outside, the fields on either side of the road were vast and nearly pitch dark. It was slightly warm out and quite dry, the vaguest scent of dry grass and underlying smell of decay permeated the air. The wind was still and all was eerily quiet.
The only light provided to the team was a sliver of a moon, waning by the look of it, which would almost surely be gone in the next couple of days. Each team member did a field test of their equipment, making sure weapons were charged and functioning as well as ensuring that flashlight batteries were fully charged. Spyros established a connection with Specter via his minicomp in order to relay video feeds from the Duskwing's external cameras. The transmission strength was weak here, though, disturbed by some unknown energy, so long-range transmissions would be impossible.
Therese, her mind open as it was to the cosmic whole, felt profoundly ill at ease in this place. The flow of psi energy was stunted, twisted, and mutated. Vast areas in the surrounding countryside felt entirely dead on a metaphysical level. The others noticed the sensation as well, though not as acutely as the Clairsentient.
While the others made their final preparations outside the ship, Urso gazed towards the airfield and the myriad fires burning thereabouts. The settlement was far too quiet for something that hosted as many people as it seemed. There was most certainly something wrong about this place...
Bracing herself against the psiwarping sensations of the Blight, not to mention whatever lies beyond it, Thérèse opens her senses to danger. She settles her equipment again, painfully aware of every part of the blasted and corrupted landscape, before nodding to Frederick. "For this, we look to you, M'sieu Falen," gesturing into the darkness.
Urso quietly stalks 100 meters toward the landing strip and finds somewhere relatively sheltered to hunker down before unlimbering his rifle and scanning the compound with the scope. He's on the lookout for any abnormal movement or clumpings of people, or at least establishing the general feel of the landing area.
"For this, we look to you, M'sieu Falen," gesturing into the darkness.
"You are in good hands, Captain Beaupre." Frederick responds with a nod and a grin, his expression seeming vaguely wolf-like in the the eerie darkness. He starts towards the camp with his hands out of his pockets and his eyes ahead, trying to navigate towards one of the more isolated campfires they'd noted on the images captured by the satellites and ships' scanners. After only a few steps he's settled into a comfortable gait, looking as casual-but-cautious as one might expect one of the Blight-inhabitants to be out and about at this time of night. "I would recommend emptying your mind of any thoughts you do not wish to find in my report..."
His grin only spreads further, splitting to reveal his teeth as he chuckles at his own little joke. An odd attempt at humor for a telepath but that might just be how he compensates with whatever nervousness he's managing at the moment.
He tries to follow Urso with his eyes as the large man moves ahead to take point, doing his best to keep tabs on where all of his companions are in this situation-- as much for their safety as his own. He doesn't proceed to join Urso, however, as he has no desire to spoil the other man's cover.
Pulling on the ratty grease-stained duster over his jump suit, Spyros grimaces holding the lapels out by fingertips like trash he'd rather throw away and wrinkles his nose. "Ach, The sacrifices I make to save the world! At least it does something to hide this bulky field suit." While disconnecting his HUDset he instructs his minicomp, "Nadya, all communications through my earpiece until I say otherwise. If the ships cameras detect movement of anything approaching human mass, I want to know. Also, give me warning when we move beyond transmission range to the ship."
The tech tosses his HUDset and various other tools and accessories into a discolored well-worn shoulder bag and slides the mini on his belt further back just beyond his hip to keep it out of sight. Finally he steps out down the stairs to the road. "So... how much barter goods are we planning on lugging? I don't imagine we're planning on meeting the locals then bringing them back to our transport out of here," he turns back and looks at it in the open on the road, "Though honestly I don't see how they could miss it..."
When Frederick jokes about reading everyone's mind, Spyros retaliates to the best of his ability spending a full minute visualizing in vivid detail Frederick trapped in a bed under two five hundred pound lusty ladies one of whom is more in the mold of the bearded woman from a traveling circus. He's gasping for air and the poor bed is creaking about to break while they squeal and his clothes go flying through the air.
Huh. If Frederick caught that one he doesn't seem to be letting on. Must be safe to carry on as normal.
"Listen Therese, I'm going to dial up some different visual bands and see what's out there. It leaves me a little... distracted. You hear something point me in that direction, right?"
Thérèse nods at Spyros, using her training to carefully attune herself to all her sensory inputs, both physical and noetic. Her hand comes to rest on her laser, ready to draw it the moment her psionic awareness indicates danger. She trails after Urso, letting the big man take point while leading the other two along his path.
The approach towards the airfield is surprisingly lacking in both cover and concealment, the fields of the area hosting cracked soil and a few withered weeds instead of the waist-high grass that would flourish elsewhere, but Urso spots a rusted-out husk of a land vehicle to seek cover behind just over a hundred meters out from the ship. Peering through his scope, he sweeps his sight over the airfield grounds (what little of it is visible from this vantage, anyway) and finds a discomforting lack of activity beyond a few fire barrels burning near the access road leading onto the tarmac. The others follow close behind, carefully monitoring the surroundings.
Noticing the lack of people about and the all-too-open approach, Urso begins muttering to himself in Portuguese.
"So... how much barter goods are we planning on lugging? I don't imagine we're planning on meeting the locals then bringing them back to our transport out of here."
"We take enough to make use useful, but not so much that we arouse immediate suspicion. Once the deal's been brokered and we have access to the hangar, we can distribute whatever our share comes to."
Urso looks around the area, remembering the map and where they landed.
"Is we head WSW from this position, we'll reach what used to be a golf course after a kilometer. After that, it's another kilometer NNW to reach the end of the airfield. That should hopefully hide the location of our vehicle from those holding the airfield. It's a 2 km rough march with a 25 m climb and descent, so we'll be plenty sweaty by the time we get there. It'll add to the disguise.
This also gives us the benefit of not appearing to come from any of the other population centers in the area, which might make us not seem like so much of a raiding party. We should also establish our initial cover story, unless you believe that Trinity will get a good reception here."
Far off in the distance, likely within the ruins of the city proper, a few gunshots ring out into the night. Indistinguishable cries can be heard, carried on the still night air. Seconds later, all is deathly silent again.
"I don't think anyone will get a good reception here," Thérèse says in a low voice, the echoes of the gunshots still hanging in there air. "Force is what they will respect, and what we must be prepared to show."
"I don't think anyone will get a good reception here," Thérèse says in a low voice, the echoes of the gunshots still hanging in there air. "Force is what they will respect, and what we must be prepared to show."
Urso chuckles softly. "This group is likely the same as any in the jungle in Brazil. They seek survival and will respect any who can give that to them, or take it away. But, we try the carrot," he gestures at Frederick, "before the stick."
"Niiiceee. The Duskwing isn't bleeding any kind of heat signature. Black on black is all I see there!" Spyros smiles at the red, orange, and yellow form that he knows to be Therese and prepares to move out. "We're clear for at least fifty meters. No one out there."
Fates
"We should also establish our initial cover story, unless you believe that Trinity will get a good reception here."
"It seems ill-advised to come into the game with our hand face-up on the table." Frederick agrees with Urso after listening to the man speak. He quiets down while Therese and Spyros interject with their own comments, taking advantage of that time to think quietly.
"Thérèse is my brother's widower, born in Ontario but naturalized years ago by marriage. My brother, Daniel, was killed in the socio-political fallout that followed the Event." He turns to Thérèse, an eyebrow lifted in silent question to see if that aspect of his story meets with her approval at least. Choosing Daniel's name as the husband seems intentional, too, as that should be fairly simple to remember for all four of them. "The two of you can be friends or neighbors-- or even acquaintances from Afterwards-- and we all four travel together for safety and strength in numbers. We are moving now because we exhausted the food supplies we managed to stockpile in our previous squat and now seek our next semi-permanent lodgings."
"There seems little reason to use anything but our first names as it is next to impossible that they will mean anything special to anyone and will most assuredly reduce confusion. If any of you wish to add anything more specific I am up for suggestions but simple lies are the easiest to remember."
"Hmm. Urso might be able to pull off the American accent, but it always comes off as fake when I try." Spyros's British accent has lessened with years spent on Luna and his training in the FSA, but is still noticeable. Spyros laughs, "The French woman, the Brazilian, and the Brit. Good thing Urso can mask his a little. We aren't exactly sounding local. So what am I in the story? Secretly Canadian?"
Thérèse listens carefully to Frederick's plan, her brow slowly furrowing. "Forgive me, but how is that we will use this story to explain the plane?"
Urso chuckles. "We salvaged it? We need a cover story that can be turned to "we're Trinity agents" when we need to stash the plane. Perhaps a vague story of being travelers seeking the safety of a larger group. Only Fredrick here is a good enough liar to sell a better story, so we should make it something simple. I am the hired muscle, which is truth, so I'll carry the supplies. Perhaps we just look worn out and speak very little?"