One-six

 

“Why don’t we get names like other people?” One-six asked One-two.

The older pilot looked over and thought for a second. “Because it’s more efficient that way. There’s no need for special names aside from numbers. That number is not a label put on you, it is not a serial code, it is simply your name given to you by the Council when you were… born.”

“I see…” One-six mumbled.

"I thought I told you not to think about that too much."

"I'm sorry..."

“One day you’ll understand…”

“Understand what?” One-six asked out of curiosity.

“I can’t tell you. I’m not very sure either,” One-two replied. “I’m retiring soon, and you still have a long way to go. I’m sure there’ll be plenty of time for you to find out for yourself. Maybe, if you have the chance, go talk to a person from New Asia.”

“But aren’t they our enemies?”

“And? What difference does it make whether they are our enemies or not?”

“You’ve shot down dozens of them during your time of service, though,” One-six argued. “We’re supposed to kill them, aren’t we?”

“Is that what you truly believe? That your only purpose is to kill your enemies?” One-two asked. “Doesn’t that make you a tool? A piece of equipment, no different than the planes we pilot. Made for one purpose and nothing else.”

“I don’t understand…”

“Never mind…”

“Bu…”

“I said never mind,” One-two snapped. “Forget this whole conversation. Fuel is getting low, we should start heading back now. You performed well today.”

 

*****

 

“So, is this what our city looks like?” Two-six asked half to herself as they strolled down the night streets of Europa.

It was drizzling a little, and the streets glimmered in the ghostly white street lights. The uniform, towering skyscrapers lined the road like a forest of steel and polymer.

Broad highways propped up on thick columns of steel twined through the gaps between buildings like tendrils of light.

“I suppose so…” One-six replied.

One-five and Two-five followed a little ways behind, their heads swiveling from side to side to take in the metropolitan scenery.

“What do you think these buildings are for?” Two-six asked.

“Whatever functions a city needs to do probably,” answered One-six, looking around in awe at the sheer scale of everything.

“Where do you think the people live?” Two-six kept on asking.

“One of these buildings probably.”

A car sped past them with a high-pitched hum and came to a gentle stop before an intersection of two roads, letting several more speed by in front of it, before starting up again and speeding off into the distance.

He'd seen these cars before, they drive through some of the more central areas of the base now and then.

They arrived at a busier street, where many cars were speeding up and down. Sometimes they overtook each other, sometimes they drove side by side, and other times they slowed to let another pass in front of them.

“Those cars must be computer controlled,” One-six observed. “Their movements are far too well choreographed to be controlled by people.”

Two-six observed the vehicles too, and soon came to the same conclusion. “Do you think we can travel in one?”

One-six observed them for a moment longer. “Sure, why not? But how?”

“Like that,” Two-six tapped him on the shoulder and pointed at a man standing in the distance.

The man waved at one of the cars, then stood around aimlessly. Soon, however, a car slowed and pulled over next to where he stood. The silver doors lifted open, letting the man step inside, before pulling back onto the road and speeding off among the sea of moving lights.

“Maybe if I just…” Two-six muttered to herself, raising her hand like the man had done and waving at a passing car.

“What are you doing?” One-five asked as he and Two-five caught up with Two-six.

The car quickly turned and came to a rapid stop next to them, the door lifted open, and the spacious inside with a wide leather seat greeted them.

“Are we supposed to get in?” Asked Two-five, tilting her head like a curious cat.

Two-six shrugged. “Guess this one just happened to be empty. Come on, climb in.”

One-six followed Two-six cautiously, bending over and carefully squeezing himself into the dark cavity of the vehicle. He settled down in the seat, which felt like a cloud compared to the ejection seats he usually sat in in his F-51. One-five and Two-five followed, entering the back row of seats.

“Now what do we…” One-six began to ask, but a soft female voice cut him off.

“Good evening. Where would you like to go?” The voice asked through a crisp speaker.

“Umm…” One-six hesitated—he had no idea what to say.

“Somewhere interesting,” Two-six answered for him.

“It’s not going to under…”

“Understood. Now heading towards number 212 Merkel Street, Sky Restaurant,” the voice replied.

There was barely a single sound as they smoothly accelerated up to speed and joined the sea of other vehicles, the street lights flickering past their windows like little shooting stars as they sped down the highway. They got up onto a bridge, which took them above the tops of most skyscrapers, allowing the city to pan out below them.

He wasn’t sure where they were being taken, but it felt like they were heading deep into the city, and a feeling of anxiety began slowly filling him. But it was soon overcome by the awe of the cityscape before him.

He has seen the city outside through the windows within the base and from up in the air countless times, but none of the windows went high enough over the tops of the buildings for him to see this much at once, nor was he ever allowed to fly close enough to take in the scale.

The whole way, no one spoke, too mesmerized by the view outside the heavily tinted windows. When they arrived, it took One-six a moment to realize that the vehicle had pulled over and the doors were opening.

“Where are we?” Asked One-six.

“I have no clue,” Two-six replied.

In front of them stood a massive cylindrical building with a wide disc at the top. It appeared to have windows all around, which One-six assumed was to allow observation of the entirety of the city. The wide glass doors at the entrance opened automatically as they stepped near.

“Do we go in?”

“Sure.”

The elevator took them straight up to the top, where they stepped out into what appeared to be a cafeteria. Because of the time of night, the stalls were shut, and the tables were empty.

“Are the people not as active during the night?” Two-six asked.

“Probably because they don’t need to fly night missions.”

“Hey, I think the cafeteria is out of bounds,” One-five said, looking at the glass sliding doors pressed tightly shut. “It says here, open from 8:00 AM to 10:00 PM.”

They walked over to the windows of the wide, disc-shaped room, and pressed their faces against the glass to see outside through the reflections of light.

They could see the towering walls surrounding the city and the networks of brightly lit roads connecting everything. The white, pristine buildings stood in the haze-less night, kept clean by non-polluting nuclear power. Little lights adorned the top of the skyscrapers, blinking like stars in the night sky. Every minute or so some aircraft would fly out from the walls, their flaming exhaust little dots of moving light in the darkness.

He'd seen pictures of New Asia before. It's bigger, but primitive in comparison, shrouded in brown mist from the factories and power stations.

How could such a place ever compare to theirs?

“So this is what we’ve been fighting for this whole time?” Two-six whispered.

“Yeah…” One-six replied.

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It is.”

They stayed there for a long time, looking out at the sprawling city below them, the walls that stretched around them, and the distant mountains, which seemed to loom over them.

One-six noticed an off-colored area in the city, near the outskirts, with structures that looked drastically different from the rest of the city.

“What is that bit over there?” He asked his team, pointing down at the place he had just noticed.

Instead of neatly arranged, soft, rounded structures, the area had only jagged, industrial-looking complexes. A dull orange glow emanated from deep within as if a furious inferno was being contained.

“It looks like something from before the war,” commented One-five, remembering the films and pictures of the old world they were shown during their training. “A plant of sorts.”

“I don’t remember our city having areas like those,” Two-five mumbled. “Our city is supposed to be an integrated system, without clear boundaries between different areas. It’s weird to see a place like that.”

“Can we go there?”

“I think we should go back. We’ve been here a while,” One-five said, checking his watch. “If a scramble or something happens, and we’re not there, we’ll be in big trouble.”

One-six thought for a moment. “We’re here already. A little bit longer won’t hurt. Besides, I doubt a scramble is going to happen. When was the last time we had to scramble?”

“Well… you have a point.”

Heavy fighters are not usually scrambled to intercept hostile targets, as their large array of weaponry—their defining feature and most significant advantage over other aircraft means it takes time to prepare one for a combat mission. With the war slowing down, they haven’t had a single scramble for the past year.

“So how do we get there?”

“We could probably walk there. It doesn’t seem too far.”

“Sure.”

It took them almost an hour to walk there, the height of the tower they were on having skewed their perception of distance. When they finally arrived, they were greeted by a solid steel gate—the words “Recycling Plant #2” written across it in large white font.

“Recycling plant?” Two-six mumbled to herself, tilting her head in thought.

“Maybe it’s for waste?”

Just then they heard footsteps and turned to see an elderly man, dressed in a bright orange uniform approaching them.

“Fancy seeing some air force personnel here at such a late time,” croaked the old man, recognizing the uniforms that One-six and the others were wearing. “Are you four here to inspect the facility? Sorry, my eyes are failing me at this age.”

“No umm…” One-six began to speak but was cut off by Two-six.

“Yes! Yes, we are.”

“I thought so,” the old man chuckled. “I guess they really are doing more surprise inspections now… I am plant director Nikolai Fomin. Come, follow me.”

“Two-six, are you crazy?” One-six whispered to her as they followed the old man, who opened a small side door and led them inside.

They walked past towering storage tanks and winding networks of massive piping, propped up on poles so people could walk beneath them. Other workers wearing orange uniforms were scattered throughout the facility, some carrying boxes, some writing on clipboards, and others just standing around lazily. Now and then a train of carts would pass them, filled with unknown bundles of stuff.

The whole place was dusty and dimly lit, the air filled with weird and somewhat repulsive aromas, a far cry from the clean and sparkling city outside.

“Do the citizens know about this plant?” One-six asked the plant director.

The director gave him a sideways glance. “Well, of course they do. How could they not know about a massive industrial complex like this existing?”

They continued, walking through the maze of machinery, pipping, and strangely shaped steel structures.

“Here we have incinerator building number one,” the old man told them as he took them through the broad entranceway of a boxy factory building. “I believe this building is currently incinerating a new batch.”

“Hey, One-six,” One-five whispered. “I think we should go. This place does not sit right with me. We shouldn’t be here.”

“I agree,” One-six whispered back. “But I’m curious.”

One-five sighed but decided not to protest further.

“Inspectors, please put on these masks. The fumes in here are not exactly good for your health,” said the director, handing them each a valved mask, the same worn by everyone around them.

So they took a mask each and stretched it over their faces. It felt like a much lighter version of the oxygen masks in their fighter, but also much less comfortable. After all, those oxygen masks cost many hundreds, probably thousands of times more than one of these flimsy things.

The director took them up several flights of stairs, the bare metal popping and ringing beneath their feet. They headed down a long hallway, the air getting hotter the further they went.

Then they emerged into a cavernous space, suspended over it on a metal catwalk. Below them, there were three massive domed structures against each wall, a heavy metal door attached to the outward-facing side of each.

The heat was immense, and the billowing soot clouded everything in a dark mist.

“What is this place for?” Two-six asked the director, raising her voice so she could be heard above the sound of machinery.

“What kind of question is that?” He chuckled. “I'm sure you know that perfectly well, inspector. Oh! But maybe you are testing me. Of course! This is a facility dedicated to the recycling of organic materials, turning them back to their elemental components so they can be reused in the production of new units.”

“I see,” Two-six nodded slightly. “And what does that mean?”

A row of carts pulled into the room, stopping before one of the domes. Under the illumination of the overhead lights, One-six could now clearly see what was inside.

They were bodies. Human bodies. Desiccated and dried up, pale as bone.

Then, the massive metal door on the domed structure slowly lifted open, revealing the flaming hellfire within.

In the bodies went, popping and crackling and bubbling in the inferno.

The old man hesitated.

“I guess you can say it’s where the retired go.”