Episode 168

I forgot to set the timer, so the posting time slipped a bit. Whoops.

“Yo, Teiro. Things are pretty much set on my end. I’ve sealed all the corridors and thrown up every obstacle I could find. It’s far from a fortress, but it should hold up against a decent amount of pressure.”

Alan, looking every bit the grease monkey in his work clothes, raised a hand and strolled over to Taro. Taro was currently huddled with Marl, poring over a map of the area.

“Right on. Good work,” Taro said. “Since I didn't hear any screaming, I assume everything went smoothly?”

“Thankfully, yeah. But the fact that the WIND haven’t shown their ugly faces once... I don’t know if I should just call it ‘creepy’ and leave it at that, or start getting really worried.”

“Oof. You don’t think they’ll just, like, drop a nuke on us or something, do you?”

“Man, I hope not,” Alan grunted. “I’ve already decided I’m surviving this just so I can go home and finish watching that.”

“That’s your big motivation for staying alive? Actually, never mind—make sure I’m there when you watch the rest.”

“Duh, Boss. Anyway, how about you? Find anything useful?”

Alan plopped down and took a swig of his drink. Taro shrugged, his expression sagging into a frown.

“It’s a bust,” Taro said, shaking his head. “Most of the good stuff was hauled away ages ago. What’s left is a total disaster—aging, combat damage, you name it. There’s unidentified junk scattered everywhere, so maybe there’s a diamond in the rough, but I wouldn't bet on it. Honestly, I’m a little depressed. I was really looking forward to this.”

“I see... Well, can’t be helped. Judging by the look of this place, someone went through here with a sledgehammer and a bad attitude.”

Alan cocked an eyebrow and glanced up at the stone ceiling. Taro followed his gaze, noting the spectacular amount of pulverization visible in every corner.

This isn't going to collapse on us, right...?

“Will it hold?” Taro asked aloud.

“Who knows? I can’t give you a guarantee, but my survey team says it’s fine for now. We’ve got equipment specifically for planetary surveys, so their word is worth at least something, right?”

“Words like ‘for now’ and ‘something’ are exactly the kind of prefaces that make me want to sweat, dammit.”

“Hey, we’re underground. There are too many variables. I can’t give you a ‘definitely’ about anything,” Alan countered. “Besides, it’s freaking hot in here. Is there a Heat Pocket nearby?”

Alan yanked off his jacket and started fanning his neck. Marl, who had been staring holes into her terminal, finally looked up.

“That’s not it,” she corrected him. “At this depth, it should actually be much hotter. NASA said they were using air conditioning to cool the place down, which means there’s a massive airflow moving through here.”

Taro paused, suddenly conscious of his own skin. Now that she mentioned it, he felt a faint breeze ruffling his hair and drying the sweat on his forehead.

“You’re right, there’s a breeze. Is that not supposed to happen? Wait... if we follow the wind, will it lead us to an exit?”

Taro’s face lit up, convinced he’d just had a stroke of genius. Marl immediately shot him down.

“Impossible. The NASA side is sealed off, which means the only place this air could be coming from is a WIND Nest. You plan on charging through there?”

“Ah... yeah, good point. But if things get desperate, we might have to. Alan, how long can we hold out here?”

Alan went quiet for a moment, looking contemplative. “Well, if we ignore combat fatigue, four days is probably the limit. This was supposed to be a quick scouting mission, so our water reserves are dangerously low. In this heat, we’re going to burn through them fast.”

“Water, huh? Thousands of years later and humans still can't get away from the basics.”

“If we didn’t need water anymore, would we even be ‘humanity’?” Marl teased. “I feel like we’d be some kind of weird new species by then.”

Taro let out a laugh. “Yeah, you’ve got a point.” He was about to pivot to some other trivial topic when Marl suddenly held up a hand.

“Wait! Hold on!”

“What is it?”

“The sonar results are in,” Marl said, a predatory grin spreading across her face. She pointed straight at the floor. “There’s another level below us.”

“No way!” Taro leaned over to peek at her terminal, confirming the existence of a void on the map.

“Alright, listen up, everyone!” Marl shouted to the surrounding crew. “There’s a high probability of a massive hole right under our feet! We don’t know the exact size, but it’s at least big enough for a person. Worst case, it’s a Tank-sized drop. It’s dangerous, so I want everyone on their hands and knees—find it!”

Taro looked at the floor, imagining an old elevator shaft, and gave the ground a nervous little tap with his boot. Once he realized he wasn't about to plummet to his death, a sense of profound exhaustion washed over him.

Are we really going to rummage through all of this?

Between the literal tons of junk and the layers of dust and sand thick enough to bury his ankles, Taro felt a curse bubbling up in his throat.

---

“Well now, Captain. You certainly took your sweet time.”

Phantom arrived at the rendezvous point hauling a massive, heat-resistant black rubber bag. As he stepped into the hallway, a familiar, gravelly voice echoed toward him.

“Hogan. It was a bit of a nightmare on my end. How’s the situation here?”

A massive figure stepped out from around a corner. Hogan offered a quick salute before vigorously scratching his bald head.

“Nothing to report, which is the problem. It’s beyond boring. Not a peep. Our friends’ target definitely isn’t the nukes.”

“Hmm. That’s unexpected,” Phantom mused. “How did Antonio plan on suppressing the Ladder Base, then?”

Phantom had assumed they’d use the nukes to hold the President and the others hostage. If that wasn't the plan, their movements made no sense.

“Antonio? Who’s that?”

“The mastermind behind this mess. He’s a radical element within NASA who’s managed to get his hooks into most of the military.”

“I see. Well, don’t tell me you’ve already whacked him.”

“His security was surprisingly tight. I could manage an assassination if I took my time, but the President doesn't have that kind of luxury. Besides, decapitating their leadership right now would just add more chaos to the fire. Killing isn't always the solution.”

“If you say so, Captain. For what it’s worth, the Ladder Base is reporting zero abnormalities. Philip sent word. They’re going to try a recovery from the surface. If there’s a WIND Burrow, it should lead straight to the President.”

“I see. They don’t have much of a choice. Is the firepower sufficient?”

“Who knows? The enemy is a total unknown, so honestly, it’s a toss-up. They can’t get a Tank there in time, but Philip said they’re bringing every Armored Vehicle they can find.”

“Hmm... if they can get deep enough underground, we might be able to establish Acoustic Communication. Fine. Our top priority remains stabilizing the area and securing the nuclear weapons. If the surface recovery fails, I’m afraid I’ll have to let you loose. Watch yourself, though—the enemy has a High Magnetic Body.”

“Oof, sounds like a pain in the ass. Understood. But if we’re stalling for time, are we doing the standard negotiation bit? You think they’ll bite?”

“I don’t know. We don't have any personal beef with them. If it's not emotional, then they want something selfish. They’re likely waiting for a chance to talk just as much as we are. Whether we can actually agree on anything... well, that’s another story entirely.”

With that, Phantom casually tossed the heavy bag toward Hogan.

Hogan caught it with a grunt. “What’s in the bag?”

“Their Princess,” Phantom replied, his voice dripping with boredom.

---

It turns out that when a person sees something of true historical value, they tend to start leaking tears without even realizing it—even if the thing they’re looking at is a fake. For Taro, the reason was simple: pure, unadulterated nostalgia.

“I remember this... it’s America. It’s the American Flag.”

Inside a shattered glass display case sat a massive piece of machinery. Taro reached out, his finger tracing the Stars and Stripes painted on its side. He used the back of his hand to wipe a tear from his cheek. Right next to it was the NASA Logo, both insignias still vibrantly colored.

“It’s an engine replica,” Marl whispered, her hands clasped to her chest. “And an incredibly ancient model at that. It might not even be nuclear fusion. It’s unbelievable... they actually went into space with this? I can’t imagine the tragedies and adventures it took to get them here.”

She looked like she was witnessing the holy relics of ancient heroes. Alan, meanwhile, was leaning over a panel he’d found on the floor, grunting in disbelief.

“Look at this. There’s a full diagram of the hull. Is this ‘100’ in meters? If so, this thing was tiny. How the hell did they pull off Interstellar Flight in a tin can?”

Taro nodded in silent agreement, then glanced back at the rope hanging from the ceiling.

I feel like a total idiot for screaming like a baby just to descend a few floors.

After a literal "leave no stone unturned" search, they had found the vertical shaft of the old elevator. Descending into the hole had brought them to this small hall. Despite the ravages of time and nature, most of the exhibits were surprisingly intact.

“I have bad news, Mr. Teiro,” Koume said, her holographic head shaking. She had been trying to interface with a terminal at the back of the room. “There are no terminals here that function as a data bank. These appear to be nothing more than simple access points.”

“Yeah, figures,” Taro sighed. “No way a Central Processing Computer for a data bank survives 400 years of being exposed to the elements. Whatever. Let’s just look around.”

Taro began to wander through the hall. It was a graveyard of space exploration: Hull Models, various parts, and panels detailing specs. Most were replicas or mock-ups, but a few genuine artifacts from 5,000 years ago remained.

“Man... the guy who used this would probably die of embarrassment all over again if he knew he was still being put on blast 5,000 years later.”

He was looking at a display of daily life items used on the ship. Specifically, a very primitive ancestor of one of Rising Sun’s flagship products. The display even had a helpful note: Stained with what appears to be body fluids.

Taro offered a silent prayer for the soul of the long-dead pervert, feeling a strange mix of excitement and pity.

“Hey, Teiro! Get over here!”

Marl’s voice was high-pitched and frantic. Taro hurried over to find her holding several transparent plates, each about fifty centimeters square. They seemed to be laminated together, protecting a small scrap of paper inside.

“It’s an Ultraviolet protection sheet!” Marl chirped. “That means whatever’s written on this was done with actual ink. This has to be from that era! Can you read it?”

Taro took the plate from her, handling it like it was made of thin glass. He squinted at the discolored scrap of paper. His English was rusty at best, but he managed to piece the meaning together.

His face went pale and stiff. He looked up at her, his voice barely a whisper.

“This is... it’s a logbook.”