"Here, afore heaven, I ratify this my rich gift."
- William Shakespeare
Storm
Gazing through the window, she saw a night sky filled with clouds rather than stars, far less mesmerising and far more disappointing. The pilots seated in front of her guided the airlifter through the obscured horizon with little difficulty.
"Liz."
She turned her head from the window to face the harsh, distorted voice that had called; Harmon's. "Lieutenant Colonel." she said as she saluted. He stood staring at her, as if he had been there for some time already, and though she couldn't see his face through the helmet, she could tell by his slightly tilted head that he was puzzled by something about her.
"What the hell were you staring at?"
His question answered everything she was wondering and she felt somewhat embarrassed that she had been caught gawking at the sky through a window on a plane, like a child. "Uh nothing, sir. Just hoped to see some stars, that's all."
"Stargaze on your own time."
She gave a nod, another salute, and a "Yes, sir". He nodded and that would've been the end of it if not for her curiosity getting the better of her. "Sir, I've got a question."
"Yeah?"
"What are we guarding? Heard a lot about how important it is that we make sure whatever this thing is gets to its destination, more than the usual, but not about why exactly that is."
He looked to the side for a second and she knew if it weren't for the helmet she would've seen him roll his eyes. "Liz, I don't fucking know. You think the brass told me? They said 'guard the damn thing', so we guard the damn thing."
"You don't find that, I don't know, weird?"
"Weird? Hell yes. It's probably some top-secret project they don't want word of gettin' out. As far as I'm concerned, the less we know, the better"
"Guess you're right."
"That I am."
He patted her shoulder as he walked past her and then leaned forward, lowering his head to talk to the pilots. "How much longer?"
"We'll be touching down in just a little over four hours."
"Good. Once we land, whatever the hell it is isn't our problem anymore." He then stood back up and turned around to face her again. "In the meantime keep your eyes and ears open for danger, not stars, got it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, don't wanna catch you-"
"Sir?"
The pilot's interruption brought Harmon's words to an abrupt and unnatural stop. He turned around to face him. "What is it?"
"Something weird just happened. Radar's just gone dark; none of the frequencies are working."
"What? Right now?"
"Yeah."
"I don't suppose you think it's just something to do with this plane, do you?"
"No, sir. It happened all of a sudden, no hiccups before; can't reach command either. I think we're being jammed."
"Check with our escorts. Either it's just an us problem or it's enemy, and they need to know."
The pilots nodded and did as ordered. "November-seven-eight-niner-Oscar-Whiskey, this is Lima-two-one-six-Sierra-Victor, we are experiencing some technical difficulties with our comms and radar. Are there any on your end? Over."
"Copy, Lima-two-one-six-Sierra-Victor; my radar's also dark. I'll keep my eyes peeled and you posted. Over."
The pilots then began to raise the other jet. "Golf-tree-two-zero-Mike-Kilo, this is Lima-two-one-six-Sierra-Victor, both we and November-seven-eight-niner-Oscar-Whiskey are experiencing technical difficulties with our radar and comms. Experiencing the same on your end? Over."
"..."
They waited for the pilot's response through the radio static but nothing came, prompting them to try again. "Golf-tree-two-zero-Mike-Kilo, this is Lima-two-one-six-Sierra-Victor, both we and November-seven-eight-niner-Oscar-Whiskey are experiencing technical difficulties with our radar and communication systems. Do you copy? Over."
"..."
The static persisted and an unnerving silence descended on the cockpit. Her mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, 'Shot down?', as alarming as it was baffling. "Golf-tree-two-zero-Mike-Kilo, this is Lima-two-one-six-Sierra-Victor, do you copy? Over."
"..."
It must've only been a few seconds, but it felt like the static crackled in silence for minutes. Harmon was the first to speak, "Raise the other one, now." he ordered. His voice delivered it with reserved force, snapping the pilots out of their stillness and silence without startling them.
"Er, November-seven-eight-niner-Oscar-Whiskey, this is Lima-two-one-six-Sierra-Victor, do you copy? Over."
"..."
The static crackled without interruption as the cockpit once more remained in tense silence. Right after, as if to confirm the danger that had just been signified, something suddenly slammed into the plane, it made a noise that was heard by them and they as well as the plane shook and rumbled in a violent manner. There was no mistaking it for mere turbulence. She and Harmon lost their footing while the pilots were jostled around in their seats. Rising to her knees, she looked to the pilots, hoping they understood what had just happened, but the look they were giving to each other, and then the words exchanged, betrayed that they didn't.
"The hell was that?!"
"I don't know!"
"Stay calm people, stay calm!" sounded Harmon's voice which, though distorted into an inhuman tone by the helmet, steadied everyone and prevented an escalation from occurring. Another voice, from over their helmet comms rather than in the cockpit, began to speak.
"Colonel, that was a pretty rough bump; everything alright up there?"
"No. You still in the cargo bay?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good, keep a close eye on our cargo. I'll be right there."
"Acknowledged."
He fully rose to his feet and then helped her up as he tapped the side of his helmet. "Everyone to the cargo bay, ASAP."
He started for the cargo bay and she trailed right behind, rifles firmly in hand. Heavy footsteps on metal floors rang throughout the plane as they rushed forward, the only sound of note until once more the sound of a metallic slam was heard above them, bringing them both to a halt. "Huh?!" The slam was followed by another one, then another, and soon a series of clangs and slams sounded from above, seeming to originate from the outside of the plane. She looked up and aimed her rifle in the direction of the noise as it moved. "What the hell is that?!"
It continued to sound, passing over them and then slowly fading away, presumably as it traveled in the direction of the cargo bay. "Same damn thing that slammed into us; and I'm willing to bet it wants whatever we're carrying! C'mon!"
He took off once more and she kept pace. Her mind raced, heart pounded, and adrenaline rushed as they stormed from the front end of the plane to the rear end.
"Colonel, you copy?"
"I copy Bill, what is it?"
"I'm seeing fucking sparks here in the cargo bay!"
"What the hell?"
"Sparks! They're pouring through some hole in an upper corner of the loading ramp! I think something is trying to cut through!"
"Get behind cover!"
"Already ahead of you."
Her eyes began to rapidly dart at every minor detail in the hallway she was running through. Everything felt surreal and she was struggling to fight back the false idea of this just being some strange delusion, some temporary insanity that she'd soon be free of. "Colonel, how the hell did this happen?! Both escorts downed without a word from either? No way one jet could do that so fast! And a wing would've come up sooner!"
"And planes don't crawl along the hulls of other planes..."
It was a sentence that, before tonight, she'd never thought of, let alone expected to hear, made even stranger by his relatively calm delivery.
"Look, I don't know what the hell is going on, but who or whatever the hell it is that's crawling on us right now is clearly gunning for our cargo and, by extension, us. So get your head in the game and be ready to blow this damn thing to hell!"
She nodded as they entered into the cargo bay, the rest of the force, in total sixty soldiers, had already gathered; all were clearly as perplexed as the Lt. Colonel and she were. Crouched in various places, they all had their weapons trained on one spot of the loading ramp, where a shower of sparks spilled through from the outside. She had heard Bill say it over the comm, but to see it was something else entirely. "Holy shit…"
Harmon shook her out of the shocked trance and the two took cover in separate spaces, aiming their rifles at the spot. It continued to flow with sparks for a few seconds, stopped, and then began again, a little lower than before, repeating several times; each time the sparks ceased to flow, a violent metal screech was heard, as if something was digging into the plane's hull itself. Several confused soldiers looked to Harmon, hoping he'd have some answers. "Colonel, what's going on?!"
"Our escort's been shot down. The only thing keeping us in the sky is whatever it is we're transporting, and who or whatever is cutting their way through the cargo ramp is fully intent on getting it."
"What the hell?"
"You serious, Colonel?"
"I am. So, get ready to light up whatever comes through! Oorah!", giving a firm thump to his chest which the entire saber squadron, herself included, passionately repeated, filling the cargo bay with their distorted voices.
"Oorah!"
As if in response, the sparks ceased to flow like before but did not return as expected. She zoomed her helmet HUD at the last spot the sparks flowed from. Then, a violent metal screech was heard and she saw something that shocked her once more. She saw 'Fingers?!', four of them, metal and black; they had forced their way through and gripped the inside of the loading ramp.
"Open fire!" The entire cargo bay lit up with the muzzle flash of their rifles, striking the four metallic fingers that had jammed their way through the sealing of the cargo bay loading ramp. Her helmet HUD marked that the air around her was beginning to slowly depressurise; luckily, the helmets and uniforms they were wearing were sealed and pressurised, protecting her from the negative effects of such a thing.
They continued to fire but to no avail and soon the hand had successfully managed to force the loading ramp open, a feat of inhuman strength; when the ramp slammed down they were all exposed to the atmosphere of the outside and her HUD marked the sudden drop in air pressure from around 70 kilopascals down to almost 30, enough to pop eardrums and swiftly knock them out if not for their uniforms. At last, what had been hounding them had revealed itself, it appeared to be clinging to the loading ramp to avoid falling off into the clouds.
She wasn't sure what she expected to see, but this definitely wasn't it. A metallic humanoid, a robot if she had to guess, with a head that resembled a flight helmet with two electric blue eyes that matched the various disconnected, luminous lines across its body; however, the circular core glowing in its chest illuminated a different blue, so brilliant in its sapphire shine. All the luminous blue stood in stark contrast against the metallic black that composed the majority of its body as well as the night sky. It also was smaller than she expected. It began to climb up the loading ramp, sinking one hand into the metal before driving the next forward to be planted, like climbing with ice axes.
Although this whole situation was terrifying, she had so far managed to mostly keep her wits about her, as did the rest of the saber squadron; but something about its eyes, those glowing, piercing dots that seemed to glare right at, and into, her. Their steady advance towards her sparked a primal fear in her mind.
That fear was immediately justified as the machine finally reached the cargo bay proper and stood up, the firepower they had levied against it showing no damage or even hindrance. Steadying itself up, its glowing blue eyes did a brief scan across the width of the cargo bay, seeming to analyse the situation in an instant. Then it lunged forward at unprecedented speed, slamming into Bill and sending him flying all the way across the cargo bay and right into the ceiling, denting the fuselage made of graphite epoxy. The machine continued its assault, striking Wade in the chest and sending him flying into a wall of the fuselage, denting it again just like Bill did, before it grabbed Alex by the head and slammed him into the floor, denting the metal once more. The cargo bay became fully engulfed in the chaos of gunfire, screams, shouts, and rushing wind as nothing they did even slowed it down, let alone hurt it.
She saw Pierce ready a grenade, shouting "Frag out!" before he tossed it at the machine. However it was too fast, catching and tossing it out the back of the plane with ease and at incredible speed, with the grenade detonating far off in the night sky behind them as it crushed Bryce's helmet and head with one hand, in one motion. It then threw his body at Casey with such force as to kill him instantly and then immediately followed that by grabbing Quincy and flinging him out the back, his screams quickly fading off as he plummeted to his doom. It severed Jack in half with a simple cutting motion at the waist and then kicked Adams into a wall, denting the fuselage before again tossing several others out the back into the night sky. Darcy managed to land a shot on the machine with his anti-material rifle and, unlike everything else so far, actually managed to hinder it, the immense force sending it flying and out the back of the plane. This was no triumph, however, for the machine released a quick burst of fire from the soles of its feet that steadied itself in midair and canceled out its momentum, and it quickly returned back to the slaughter.
The vital signs of her squadron, displayed on her HUD, rapidly dwindled in number, each having their elevated heart rates slowly descend to zero as their hearts continued to briefly and futilely beat after their death. It was all too quick, too frantic, too hopeless; it seemed as if two or three of her comrades were being cut down every second. Soon enough, she came into its crosshairs and was flung into the fuselage like so many others had been. She slammed into it with a sickening thud and then hit the ground hard. The wind was knocked right out of her and she couldn't breathe for several seconds as her insides burned in agony. Her HUD, despite the malfunctions and glitches it suffered due to the damage received, dutifully displayed her condition, a multitude of torn muscles, broken bones, and failing organ; facts she had already surmised from how she felt. She finally regained her breath, for what little worth that was; every inhale and exhale was laboured and pained, and she was as good as dead anyways; she was shocked she wasn't already.
Now, she could do nothing other than watch through her helmet as it descended onto the last of them remaining: Harmon. It drove one of its hands into his stomach before he could even move the barrel of his rifle an inch, penetrating the armour without issue, and he quickly fell to his knees. A brief flicker of hope for vengeance for him, for her, for them all, shined in her mind as she saw him reach for a grenade on his belt, but it was extinguished as quickly as any flame would be in this cargo bay, for the machine had not missed the gesture. It held Harmon's hand firmly in its grip, she hadn't even noticed it had caught him until it had happened, and its metal grip prevented him from reaching the pin, let alone pulling. He struggled to fight it but couldn't even nudge it. Eventually, the last of his fight left him and, in defeated fashion, he rose his head to meet the electric blue eyes of the machine that had laid low an entire saber squadron in less than a minute.
She was struggling to figure out what had even happened, or how it had happened, through her pain; she assumed that too was what Harmon was thinking right before the machine decapitated him with a single, smooth motion of its hand. Her world was on fire with pain and she was incapable of moving her limbs, left to observe with her eyes and listen with her ears. The machine surveyed the now quiet cargo bay, ensuring it had neutralised all resistance. Then it did something that she didn't expect; it nodded in a satisfied manner and then slightly slouched its posture. As minor a gesture as that was, it erased her belief that this thing was a machine. After all, 'A machine wouldn't relax...'
It began to walk towards the container that held the secret cargo. She wondered what it was they were transporting and if it was worth all their lives. She didn't know, and seeing how things were going she never would. With it all over, it finally hit her how small this thing was: a few inches under four feet. It felt surreal to her, to be brought down by something akin in size to a child. At last it spoke, seemingly to itself.
"Darling, play 'Summer'."
The voice was so distorted and her mind so rattled she could just barely make out the voice was masculine. The cargo bay, filled only with the sound of rushing wind and the hum of the engines, now hosted another sound, music. A rapid series of stark draws of a violin emanated from him; she didn't recognise the piece nor did she care to, she probably couldn't have even if she wasn't in this state. 'Nice music to go out to', she supposed. The music continued to play and he began typing, swiftly and effortlessly overcoming the various electronic security measures as her vision, and life, faded away.
Spectre
Perched on high, she surveyed the street below from her vantage point. There were a dozen more guards patrolling the entrance than she had expected, an indication that internal security would be similarly enhanced. A smirk came to her face as she rolled a gold coin across the knuckles of her white gloves. All this would just make her task harder, and she cherished it.
"Wouldn't want it too easy now, would we?"
The vast majority of society would sling the title of "thief" at her as if it was a virulent castigation, intended to demean her as nothing more than a mere crook; she found that almost as insulting as she found it laughable. She was a thief, yes, but she saw it as no castigation. 'Comparing me to a footpad is like calling soldiers murderers. Though now that I think of it...' she amusedly thought, the idea elicited a chuckle from her. No, she was no mere crook; she was a thief. And thieving, like painting, playing, and writing, was equal parts an art, a craft, and a trade. Finesse, skill, talent, expertise, determination, and patience were keys to its success like any of the other ones; she felt gifted to possess all six in abundance. And, like an artist would possess pride in their painting, playing or writing, she was proud of her thieving.
She shifted her vision from the street far below to the rooftop of the museum, somewhat less far below. On it, there were no security measures; it was amusing to see how rarely the thought of an aerial infiltration ever crossed the minds of the planners for security, no matter where in the world she went. Surely they had to know that aves and chiropterans existed, 'Or maybe they really are all just that stupid?' she thought. Perhaps it was some unconscious, imperceptible bias. Considering that the sky was the place of the clouds, of the Sun and the Moon, of the stars and of the very heavens themselves while thieves and other criminals, the dregs of society, most often originated from the depths rather than the heights. So, how could something from below descend from above? It made a certain sense, she supposed, but when precious objects worth hundreds of thousands, if not millions, were at stake, she was shocked that so often they would let this avenue of entry slip from their notice.
She ceased to roll the coin, gripping it firmly in her palm, and shrugged her shoulders, opting to let the mystery remain as such for now, before she placed it in a pocket on her utility belt. She raised the monocular up to rest on her brow and pulled a black hood over her head, shuffling it so that her triangular ears would slide through the holes she had made in it. Once it was on properly, it covered everything above her teal eyes, obscuring much of the white fur of her head. "Showtime."
She stood up and leaped off of the roof, plummeting at a rapid pace for about three seconds before her wings opened up and she quickly decelerated to a gentle descent onto the rooftop. Landing without so much as a noise, she briefly surveyed the roof to ensure that she hadn't missed something and, seeing nothing new, started for the glass dome at the centre of the rooftop. She quickly reached it and looked through the glass, revealing an interior that was dimly lit and, to her surprise, devoid of any guards. She shook her head, 'They're probably just out of sight from this view.' , and stayed her initial excitement. Reaching into another pocket on her belt, she produced a curious looking tool that had a very interesting tip that shone in the moonlight. She brought the cutter to the surface of the glass and began forming a circle big enough for her to swiftly fit through. Just before she had completed the cut, she placed her left palm on the glass and firmly pushed into it and she felt that suction had been produced.
Once she completed the cut the circle of separated glass, instead of falling downwards and shattering on the floor below, only slightly dropped before she steadied herself. It was heavy, but she was strong and prepared, and so she slowly and cautiously guided it back up, through the hole it once occupied, and onto the roof. She then pried her palm from glass and a characteristic pop sounded, though not loud enough to be heard by anyone other than herself. Now with a path cleared, she looked through the hole, searching for any guards. She saw nor heard or nothing for there were none apparent, her shock was however. 'No guards?'
She returned her monocular back over her right eye and activated the thermal filter, scanning for any heat signatures of note. Her scan of the breadth of the Great Hall revealed nothing. It was unsettling to see how unguarded it all was. She wasn't going to let uneasiness deter her from the prize however. Her scan didn't reveal any lasers but that didn't mean they didn't exist. She put away her glass cutter and retrieved another device. Flipping the switch, a small but steady cloud of fog flowed from the machine, descending down to the ground. No lasers were revealed at any point between her and the ground. She turned the machine off, pocketed it, and pushed her palm to the underside of the glass. With the suction secured, she let herself fall through the hole, hanging in the air by her right hand. Switching from thermal back to the magnification filter, she scoured all across the Great Hall for cameras, and spotted several in key positions. 'Finally', she thought, 'some resistance.'
She placed her left palm to the glass and it stuck to it. She then freed her right hand and swung forward, attaching in front of her and repeating the process again and again till she had made her way to the rear end of the Great Hall, where the entrance to the Hall of Geology and Gems was, inside which her prize resided. A dome camera lay beneath her, overlooking the entrance and a good deal of the Great Hall. She flapped her wings and once she no longer felt the tug of gravity on her hands she unstuck both of her hands and slowly floated down till she was right above the camera. She could go ahead with her original plan which was to stick a mount to the camera and shine a laser directly into the lens for about a minute or so, frying its CCD and making it worthless; it was perfect because it didn't involve making any noise that could tip off guards. But seeing as how there didn't seem to be a single soul inside the entire museum and considering who she was stealing from, in a sense anyhow, she thought that such a technical solution just wouldn't be right. She decided to add some more insult to this already insulting and injurious heist.
She carefully removed her backpack and zipped it open, rummaging around inside it for one object in particular. She grabbed hold of the cylinder and pulled it from the bag. She gave it a good shake, pressed down on the actuator, and sprayed paint onto the dome camera. Soon, the entirety of the lens was covered in a coat of black paint. She placed the spray can back into her backpack, zipped it shut, and slid it back on as she floated down onto the floor in front of the blinded camera and gave it a mocking wave before she walked through the doorway. She thought of the potential headlines and they brought a wild, stupid smile to her face: 'Genius CEO surmounted via spray paint; disgraced by theft of gifted gemstone!'
Sure, that's probably not what they'd say, but they'd have to say something, and that something would at some point would have to include the humiliating details; thieving was an art after all, and a good artist kept an eye to audience reception. She strolled down the halls, a variety of gems, minerals, and stones were present in a variety of displays, gathered from all across the world and brought here throughout history, by discovery, by trade, by donation, 'and by theft' ; funny how when countries did that last one instead of people it was oft rebranded as "conquest" . Funny, yes, but utterly predictable. Those in charge were keen to never debase themselves to the level of those following by admitting that there was little difference between what they both did. It reminded her of that old saying, "The strong do what they will, the weak suffer what they must."
She found no problem with the concept, in fact she relished it quite a bit; it wasn't so often that the mask slipped so blatantly after all. It was refreshing, to say the least. At last, her vaunted prize lay before her. The ruby was located inside a display case and she was keen to see it shine in moonlight. She approached it but stopped before she passed the doorway into the room. Carefully peeking over the sides into the room the ruby was in, she spotted two dome cameras on either side of the ceiling. As humorous as it would be to spray paint these cameras as well, she knew that she didn't have a proper avenue of approach; this time she needed to stick with her plan. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out a sleek, black object, akin to a flashlight in its shape and structure, and pressed a button to activate it, causing a blue laser to appear. She pointed it first at the camera on the left, right into its lens, and held it with remarkable steadiness for about fifty seconds before shifting it over to the camera on the right and repeating the action. The CCDs of both cameras were now fried and one less obstacle stood between her and that ruby. She lifted her monocular back up to her forehead, not requiring its magnification anymore, and shut off the laser pointer to stow it back into its place. Once more she brought out the fog machine and activated it to see if any security lasers were at this final point. 'Seriously?'
Just like in the Great Hall, there were no lasers of any sort on the floor or in the air. She had gone from somewhat unsettled to nervously anxious as she flipped the switch to turn off the device; never had she seen a target this valuable this undefended. The nagging thought of this being a lure for some type of trap now germinated into a serious concern as she approached the podium holding display case and the ruby contained inside it. She looked through the glass and spotted no possible avenue which a laser could emanate from. This was it. She placed the fog machine away, retrieved her glass cutter, and began to make a hole for her to retrieve the ruby through. Just like on the roof, before she completed the circle she pressed down on the glass, though this time with just her fingers rather than her whole hand. Finishing the cut, the glass did not move like it naturally would've and she carefully withdrew it from the display case. Reaching into it with her free hand, she firmly grasped the ruby and lifted up and through the hole. Once it was on the other side, in her hands, all her fear evaporated, replaced with a mixture of elation, awe, and pride. "All mine."
It rested in her palm with a certain weight, almost a pound if she had to guess, and she lovingly rubbed it with her fingers, certifying its existence to her. She placed it in a pocket on her belt and made certain to secure it shut before baring her final tool; a glue gun. She brought its barrel to the thin edge of the glass circle and pressed down on the trigger and out flowed glue, though this was no normal glue; instead, an extraordinarily thin layer, invisible to the naked eye, of nano polymer adhesive was applied, covering the circumference of the glass with it. She returned the glue gun to its storage and retrieved one final thing, though this was no tool; it was the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the coup de grâce of this whole endeavour. The paper slip lay gracefully in her palm, the message she had written on it was sure to get a rise out of its recipient, she was certain. Thinking of the ruby that was now hers and hers alone, likely worth over a hundred million, 'If not more!' , she felt she could kiss the one responsible for it being here. 'Wait, that's it!'
The final touch needed to make this message perfect came to mind. She brought her hand to her face and placed a kiss on the slip, leaving a distinct and practically picturesque lipstick mark. She placed the slip where the ruby once resided and then carefully reinserted the glass circle back into the hole she had cut out of the display case. She then proceeded to backtrack her way through the Hall of Gems and Geology all the way to the Great Hall. She gave one last mocking wave to the camera she had spray-painted over before she took flight with her wings, still careful to avoid the line of sight of the rest of the cameras. Flying through the hole she had originally made, she landed on the rooftop, the first thing she did was check to ensure the ruby was still on her and indeed it was. She repeated what she had done with the display case with the much larger glass circle she had cut out, successfully inserting it right back into its place in the dome. With everything taken care of, she took off into the night sky.
Gliding through the air, she was aflush with exuberance and arrogance before finally settling on the roof of a high-rise building that overlooked downtown, with its vast array of skyscrapers that bathed in vibrant, colourful lights. She took off her hood and stared at one tower in particular, the tallest one by far, and began laughing as she produced the red gem. She maneuvered it around under the lights of the city and of the Moon, so brilliant in its ruby radiance.
"Game, set, match, Foxy."
"Lesser artists borrow; great artists steal."
- Igor Stravinsky