One-six

 

“What do they put in those golden drinks?” Asked Two-six as they stumbled towards the bus stop, still slurring slightly.

“They call it beer,” One-six mumbled. “It has ethanol in it, which makes you dizzy when you consume it. It’s in the textbooks.”

“Yes, it does indeed make you very dizzy,” Two-six said sarcastically. “But it does taste very nice.”

“Where are… we…” slurred Two-five, barely awake.

Out of the four, she had the worst tolerance for alcohol, and yet she drank more than everyone else. Even an hour or two later, she still needed to be carried around by One-five.

“On our way to the airport,” One-five answered.

They had to return to base before sunrise the next day. Otherwise, their disappearance would begin to seem suspicious. The routine patrol flights usually took no more than 24 hours, and currently, they’d been gone almost 17.

After watching the fireworks display, they played and drank a little more with the four New Asian pilots. They had only parted ways after the pilots decided to head back to their base when One-five looked at his watch and realized they’d been playing for an absurd amount of time.

The buses here are worlds apart from the ones back home. While the cars back home were sleek and clean, glistening under the streetlights, almost silent as they seemingly glided over the ground, the ones here were loud, smelly, and seemed close to breaking down. As a bus bounced to a stop before them with a loud hiss, One-six couldn’t help but feel a little worried that they wouldn’t make it back before dusk.

“Why does this bus smell like jet fuel?” Two-six asked, scrunching her nose at the pungent smell of exhaust fumes. “They don’t use electric cars here.”

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s focus on returning before our scheduled arrival time,” said One-six.

“Fine.”

They stuffed themselves into the bus, not sitting down as it lurched into motion because there were no empty seats.

The bus bounced and weaved as it rumbled down the awfully maintained streets, the engine growling angrily with each step of the gas pedal. One-six had to cling to the overhead handrails for dear life every time they sped around a curve, worried that he might crush the frail old lady sitting beside him if he lost his footing. It also didn’t help that Two-six didn’t go for the handrails and instead had her arms locked around his waist.

One-five was struggling to stay on his feet as well. Two-five was still out of it and required One-five to stop her from becoming a human-sized projectile.

But soon the bus skidded to a halt in front of the airport, and they stumbled back down onto the street, sweaty and panting, simply glad to be back on solid ground.

“I know we are pilots,” mumbled One-six between heavy breaths. “But I’d rather not do that again.”

“I thought it was pretty fun,” Two-six shrugged.

After catching their breath, they followed the flowing crowd into the cavernous interior of the airport.

Most of the people there are merchants and traders, pushing massive carts of stuff in front of them, anxious to get their hands on the best prices straight from the cargo planes or fill up the last remaining spaces in a cargo hold with goods they weren’t able to sell off. Few were there to travel—none needed to visit faraway places in a war-torn world.

As they walked forward into the brightly lit interior of the entrance hub, watching eyes locked on to them from above.

“Camera seventeen, four individuals in the entrance area. Facial recognition has them marked as high risk.”

“Get a clearer shot of them. Camera four has a clear view.”

“Facial recognition now marking them as extreme risk. They have European markings on their clothing… Is this a trick?”

“Yeah… I see European markings… Call it in. We got intruders.”

 

*****

 

Ten massive containers on wheels sped past, then another ten the other way.

The loading area seemed to smell like diesel and damp cardboard permanently, the ambient noise consisting of clanking wheels, banging metal, whining machines, and shouting voices.

Huge floodlights mounted on massive pillars lit up the entire area like day even at the darkest time of night. Large signs hanging from the floodlights marked each section with the destinations the planes were bound for.

Every few seconds a cargo plane would roar by slowly overhead, its thrusters sending down a gust of hot air.

It had taken them a while to navigate through the somewhat maze-like interior of the airport using the overhead signs. They had first tried to buy tickets for a commercial passenger flight but realized they only had enough money for a single ticket. Then they tried to book a cargo flight but were informed that humans are not allowed to be shipped in a box.

So they ended up here, through a back entrance into the loading area, hoping to hitch another ride like they had done back in Valkyria.

“Can we hitch a ride on any plane?” Two-six asked the toiling men.

A sweaty bald man wheeling a cart of boxes stopped before them, and after looking the four strange travelers up and down, waved his hand dismissively. “You’re in the wrong place. Go to the traveler’s hub. This is the loading area.”

“We don’t have enough money to pay for tickets,” Two-six said before the man could trot off with his boxes.

The man turned back towards them. “How much do you have?” He asked.

“A couple hundred,” said Two-six, producing a few bills that Rei had graciously gifted them for use in emergencies.

The man took the bills and scrutinized them closely, scratching at his thick beard, then stuffed them into his pocket.

“Hey! What are you…”

“That twin-engined supersonic transport over there,” said the man as he pointed to a sleek little plane a third of the way across the loading area. “Hitchhiking is illegal, so you better stay inside and not make noise. We fly in half an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“Be quick,” the man said as he quickly left the scene of the deal with his cart full of goods.

The four Europeans exchanged glances, shrugged, and hurried towards the little plane.

The course of their haste, however, just happened to intersect with the path of a speeding container truck.

There was a loud screech as One-six turned his head just in time to see the silver side of a massive container filling his vision. Someone tugged him backward, causing him to fall hard on the concrete ground.

Then a crash, followed by the sound of twisting metal as the truck smashed into a stack of containers. Its inertia caused the rear end to swing to the side, the tires smoking, before turning over in a cloud of dust and sparks.

People shouted and screamed, running over to help the driver, who was trapped in the wreckage.

“You okay?” Two-six shouted from behind One-six.

He quickly checked himself over. “I think so,” he shouted back.

“What is wrong with you? Running across the marked truck lanes like that?”

“I’m…” One-six began but was cut off by the groaning of strained steel.

The stack of containers the truck had crashed into teetered and wobbled, the buckled containers at the bottom unable to support the weight above. People scattered, scrambling to get away from the collapsing steel.

Then, like blocks in a child’s playroom, they toppled to the ground, splitting open at the seams. Shattered goods spewed out across the concrete ground, jingling and ringing as they rolled to a stop.

A little flame shot up from the truck’s ruptured fuel tank, quickly leaching onto the pile of cardboard and wood. In a second it was a fire, and in several more, it was a blaze.

One-six looked around, watching the people running over with fire extinguishers, shooting puffs of white fire retardant in front of them to block away the heat from the massive inferno.

“Time to go,” said One-six as he jumped to his feet, pulling his team with him.

They ran from the inferno as it grew bigger still, the sirens of fire trucks blaring in the background, One-five half-dragging, half-carrying Two-five. As soon as they got to the little plane, they darted inside and sat in the innermost rows of seats, hidden behind tall stacks of tied-down crates.

“I think we’re in some trouble now,” Two-six mumbled, looking at the mess they had caused, the tip of the dancing flames licking at the dark clouds.

 

*****

 

“Big fire. Send out the fire trucks. Truck path B3, section nine.”

“I lost track of the four intruders. Camera feed is down.”

“Where were they headed?”

“The eastern end of the loading area. Parking spaces twenty to thirty-three.”

“Police are on their way, they’ll search the planes.”

 

*****

 

Soon, their pilot arrived with a small cart of more boxes. They watched as he tied them down in the cargo hold before he walked past them toward the cockpit.

“Haven’t seen that big a fire for a long time,” he sighed, sitting down next to them to change out of his heavy work boots. “That’s probably some millions of dollars gone.”

“The fire?” Two-six asked.

“Yeah, the fire.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

The pilot finished tying his shoes. “Driver didn’t make it. Few more guys got crushed when the containers collapsed, I think,” he said as he stood up.

One-six didn't know what to say.

“Put on your seatbelts,” the pilot told them. “We’ll be going now.”

“When will we arrive?” Asked Two-six.

The pilot looked at his watch. “Around six in the morning.”

“What’s your name?”

“Igor.”

Then he went into the cockpit alone, closing the door behind him.

Soon, they could hear the engines spooling up, and the plane began to come alive with noises and vibrations.

One-six could see the engines swiveling downwards as they prepared to take off. The rumbling grew louder as the engines were pushed to takeoff power.

But then the rumbling grew quiet, and the plane settled back down onto its landing gears.

“What’s happening?” One-five, who wasn’t sitting next to a window, asked.

“I don’t know,” answered Two-six.

One-six looked outside through the little circular window and noticed reflections of flashing blue and red lights.

At the same time, their pilot came out of the cockpit, throwing the door open with a crash.

“Not good,” he said. “Go into those storage lockers and don’t come out unless I tell you to.”

“Why?” One-six asked.

“There's police on us.”

 

*****

 

“Spies?”

“…”

“Why would I have spies on my plane?”

“…”

“Are you kidding me? I need to go now or I won’t make the morning rush, and then I won’t be able to eat for the next week.”

“…”

“You ain’t searching my plane. Got it? I don’t know what spies or whatever you’re going on about. I’m just a guy trying to survive out here.”

They listened as their pilot argued with the policemen outside, only their pilot’s shouting audible above the rumbling of the engines.

“…”

“No no no you don’t understand. Where would I hide four guys on my plane? Tell me. There’s not even enough space for rats to live in.”

“…”

“Clear out! I’m taking off now. ATC gave me permission ages ago, and my engines have been gulping fuel on idle.”

Then they heard boots thumping on metal, followed by the whine of the cargo door closing. The boots came up to the storage lockers, and the doors were thrown open.

Their pilot stood there, red-faced and heaving with rage.

“What are you four?” He asked. “Explain.”

“We…”

“Travelers? I don’t believe it. I’ve only now noticed. You four siblings? Because you all look the same. Those hair colors, those eyes. That’s textbook European soldiers. Printed bio-robots or whatever. What are you?”

“No, that’s not…”

“Forget it!” He shouted. “Stay back here quietly until we arrive, then go as far away as you can. You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

As they returned to their seats, One-six could see that the fire had died down already, and the cars with flashing blue and red lights were already driving away.

Even before they had time to strap into their seats, the engines were already spooling up, and soon they were speeding away from the airport, leaving the foreign city behind. Once again, One-six couldn’t help but let out something that weighed on his chest this whole time.

“That was more fun than I thought…” he whispered to himself.

“I know, right?” Two-six replied.

“So the New Asians also retire once they get old.”

“Much older than when we retire, though.”

“Then they don’t get put into incinerators.”

“No… they don’t,” Two-six mumbled.

“And what did our pilot mean? Printed bio-robots?”

“I guess we’ll find out…”

The city in the east had answered their questions, yet it left them with even more.

One-six rested his head against the cold fuselage, feeling the gentle vibration as he thought about what their next steps would be.

But before he could form any conclusions, his rickety train of thought was broken by Two-six’s head, once again falling onto his shoulder.