The ladder to the First Sector was a long one. Mark took his time, hoping to do some thinking while he had the chance. There was something on his mind that had been nagging at him for some time.

You know, I wonder if the outside really is uninhabitable. All the scientific texts on nuclear radiation and fallout have said that the half-life of most nuclear weapons would be anywhere from five to twenty years. It's been over two hundred years since the bombs fell. Even if there had been a massive amount of radiation, surely it's died down enough now to be at least partially habitable. I'll have to ask Mom about it later.

Mark reached the top of the ladder and pulled himself out of the tube. He stood looking at the entrance to the Vault Security Force headquarters. It was in a brightly lit corridor, down a short side passage, but ended in a doorway blocked by a three inch thick, triple-locked steel security door. No matter how many times he came here, he always felt a sense of foreboding when he looked at that portal. He walked slowly up to the voice analyzer at the side of the door, and pressed the button.

"Um, Mark Welles, reporting for, uh…"

"Please look into the scanner," the metal box replied, followed immediately by the hissing of a panel sliding up into the wall on his right. The small viewport was exactly at his eye level and glowed with a faint blue light. Mark hesitantly put his eyes to the viewport and was rewarded with a bright flash of light. Blinded for a moment, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision so he could understand what the series of clicks he heard to his right were.

"Identity confirmed, please enter."

The door slid open almost noiselessly, and Mark stepped through. The lobby of the VSF was incredibly plain, as usual, with only a few posters, chairs and hallways to break up the monotony of the gray walls. A slim, older woman sat behind the half-circle front desk, typing into her computer.

"Mark Welles, you will find Officer Hemley in the Equipment Room, down the hall to your right," she recited blandly, still filling out reports.

"Um, thanks." He set off down the hallway at a steady pace. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he knew the man who had called. The door opened to find Jack Hemley hunched over the keyhole to one of the many lockers that lined the walls, muttering to himself. The only other sound in the room was that of the rows of Verti-Tubes along the far wall. Big enough to hold a grown man, Verti-Tubes allowed the VSF officers to move from Sector to Sector almost instantaneously, using state of the art anti-grav technology. The Tubes only responded to the VSF security armor, so normal citizens would fall to their deaths if they tried to use them. Nowadays, these were about the only advantage the VSF had over the everyday scum that wandered the Vault.

Jack Hemley himself barely fit inside the Tubes. He was a portly man, with a head of short, bristly salt-and-pepper hair and a long moustache. But underneath the fat was solid muscle. His pot belly hid a powerful core, and he had a chest like an iron barrel. His arms and legs were well toned, and he could wrestle a perp to the ground in seconds flat. He would have been a very intimidating figure, if he hadn't had such a love of Grace Welles' homemade chocolate mousse. As it was, he looked very much like a shaved bear.

"Hey Dad," Mark said faintly, not trying very hard to get his father's attention. Even though Jack Hemley was kind to he and his mother, the man still made Mark feel nervous. Despite Mark's quiet greeting, Jack heard him and turned around, smiling when he saw that it was Mark.

"Ah, Mark. Good to see you got here so quickly. Here, I've been having trouble with my locker. Maybe you can help."

His father stepped aside, allowing him a look at the lock. Mark had to laugh. It seemed his father had snapped the key off in the lock. Now he knew that there was a reason his father had wanted to see him. Jack Hemley may have been strong, but he wouldn't have been so careless as to break a key in a lock. This must be about his lessons.

Jack had been teaching Mark some of the tricks of his trade in their spare time. He had been showing Mark how to use and maintain firearms, instructing him in some of the interrogation techniques and hand-to-hand combat they practiced in the force, and even showing him how to pick locks with nothing more than a couple bobby pins and a screw driver.

Mark took out a pair of pliers and pulled the scrap of metal out of the keyhole, and then reached into his pocket for the bobby pins he'd taken to carrying with him. He stuck them in and worked them around until he heard a couple of faint clicks, and turned the keyhole with the screwdriver. The locker opened without a hitch. Mark turned to grin at his father. Jack was already grinning back at him.

"Good job, kiddo. Seems I've taught you well."

"Well, I've been learning from the best." Jack smiled, and then seemed to remember something.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I got this gun," he reached up into the locker and pulled out a 9mm pistol, "from a perp I took down a while ago, but it seems that it's jammed. Can you figure out what's wrong?"

Mark smiled and took the gun. He ejected the clip. It was loaded, so he pulled back the slide to eject the cartridge in the barrel. However, he couldn't pull the slide back all the way, and no cartridge ejected. He set the magazine on the bench, locked the slide in the half-cocked position, and pushed the cartridge out with his thumb. After inspecting it, he came to a laughable conclusion.

"The idiot tried to load 10mm ammunition into a 9mm gun. Fool probably thought that there wasn't much difference between the two."

Jack laughed. "My thoughts exactly. Lucky he didn't get a chance to fire it, or he might've killed himself and not just me. Anyway, I figure you'd take better care of it than him, so keep it. Happy birthday."

Mark laughed happily. He'd never owned a gun before. "Really? Thanks dad! Why, think I'll need it?" He teased, unloading the ill-chosen ammunition from the magazine and handing it to his father. However, he didn't expect to get a serious answer.

"Well… I'm not sure, Mark. But I think you'd better keep it on you, just in case." Mark looked over concernedly, taking the holster and ammo box Jack handed him.

"Why? What's going on?" Jack sighed and looked off towards the door to the lobby.

"It's just… those Instigator bastards in Sector 14… well, no one's seen hide nor hair of them in the past few months, and it's got me worried. They're usually quite active year-round. I think they're up to somethin'. Whatever it is, it can't be for the good of the Vault." He was silent for a few seconds more, but turned back to Mark with a frighteningly serious look.

"Now don't breath a word of this to your mother, you hear? I don't want her gettin' all upset."

Mark quickly shook his head. "No… I mean, of course. I won't tell her."

"Good."

They stood there staring at each other for what seemed like ages. Mark was the first to break eye contact, moving his gaze down to his feet, embarrassed to bring up what he really wanted to talk about.

"Um… Dad? I know you don't like talking about this, but… why aren't you and Mom together? I mean, it's not like we don't get along."

Jack sighed. "Kiddo, it's long and complicated. Believe me, I'd love to be with your Mom, but… it's just…"

"Mark Welles, your assistance is needed in the Sector 6 Power Station."

It was Mark's turn to sigh. He was finally about to get a straight answer when they just had to call him. Jack let out a sigh of relief, trying to hide it by clearing his throat.

"Alright, well, I don't want to keep you. Sounds like your talents are needed." Mark laughed half-heartedly.

"Yeah, I guess. See you later, Dad."

"Oh, hey! I'll, uh… I'll see you at your party tonight."

Mark smiles. That gave him something to look forward to at least. "Alright, I'll see you tonight." With that, he turned and left the way he came. Jack watched the doorway for a few minutes, and then walked back to the Tubes, eager to resume his duties.

Elsewhere…

The room was dark. The only light filtered in from the centimeter wide gap beneath the doorway. All was silent but for the occasional cough or rustle of clothing. Alexander Dole checked his silenced R91 Infiltrator assault rifle one last time before he spoke to his followers. He could barely contain his excited anticipation. Tonight was the night he rid the Vault of its filth once and for all. He dialed into the secure channel he had prepared for communication with his gang.

"All right men, this is it. The culmination of thirty years of planning and preparation is about to reach its climax. You all know your assignments. Carry them out to the letter, and you shall live as kings. Kill all who resist. Enslave the rest." He could hear the footsteps of a VSF patrol in the hallway outside, clomping around in their security armor.

"We strike…" The footsteps passed his doorway. "Now."

He stepped smoothly out of the room, took aim, and fired two shots. Each found their mark in the back of an officer's unprotected neck. His lackeys dashed forward and slit the throats of the forward two officers, pulling them back into the room with them. Alexander and his bodyguard dragged the remaining two back before they bled all over the floor, and began equipping themselves with the VSF armor. Alexander then took out his knife, and began severing the head one of the officers. The flesh parted with a squelching noise that sent pleasant shivers down his spine. Disdainfully, he tossed the head into the waiting security crate. His henchman sealed the crate, and took places on either side of it while Jerry scouted out ahead.

They marched briskly down the hallways to the room that housed the Verti-Tubes. All around him were signs that his plan was working smoothly and efficiently. Men silently dispatched VSF officers on every level of the Vault, making way for other teams to set looping modules on security cameras, roll chlorine gas canisters into rooms marked for immediate termination, and generally make sure no one spread the alarm before it was time.

When they reached their destination, Alexander walked up to the voice analyzer and pressed the button.

"VSF protocol 21-6 Theta."

A second passed by, and the machine responded. "Enter optical identification."

Alexander allowed himself a small smile as the eye scanner slid out of the wall. Good, Mr. Wallace's information was accurate. It seems I won't have to kill him... yet.

He took the head out of the crate and pressed the eyes up against the scanner. A moment later, the analyzer spoke. "Optics confirmed. Waiting for new user voice pattern."

"Alexander Dole."

"Confirmed: Alexander Dole." He heard his words played back to him. It sounded like the voice of an angel, come to realize his every desire. "Waiting for new user optical pattern."

Alexander tossed the head back into the crate, and pressed his own eyes up to the viewport. A moment and a flash later, the analyzer greeted him with open arms and open doors. He strode purposefully into the room and wasted no time looking around before entering in his destination on the console in front of the gaping maw of the Verti-Tube. Sector 1 flashed across the screen, followed by the word 'safe' in friendly green letters. He stepped unhesitatingly out into open air, and felt a slight thrill as he began falling up. His rapid ascent slowed only when he arrived on the floor housing the VSF headquarters and he stepped out onto solid ground. The thrill had not yet left his stomach. He was so close to realizing his goals.

Jerry stepped calmly out of the Tube behind him, followed moments later by the other two goons. The group jogged over to the entrance and Alexander was able to open the doors without difficulty. The receptionist was still at her desk, and when she looked up to see who had come in unannounced, the last thing she ever saw was Jerry's silenced N99 leveled at her head.

Alexander led the group jogging quickly down on of the corridors to stop by a door labeled 'Command Center'. A quick look to make sure they were all in position and he gave the order. The Instigators burst into the command center, guns blazing. The officers inside had barely any time to react before they were shot down. A few got some shots off before they were dispatched by the hit squad's fire. None of Alexander's men were hit.

Alexander hurried over to the main terminal and inserted the holodisk he had stashed behind his Kevlar jacket. His fingers danced a merry dance over the keys, and his program began uploading. All over the Vault, robots stopped whatever they were doing and received the transmitted information. Alexander Dole put his feet up on the desk.

"Tonight is a good night for conquest."