London, England
"Coming up to the gate now. Sixty seconds," a voice crackled in the back of the enclosed truck, and SC-80 turned to Jonesy. Though he would not be entering Chadworth Industries, certainly, he had insisted on accompanying the Deepstar crew this far to see them off. There had been something strange in his manner the last few days, the Captain thought, something more than just the loss of the base. But it hardly matters now. "Thirty seconds."
The Captain nodded and extended a hand. "Well, it looks like this is it…at least for a while. It may be a couple of months before we can get New Atlantis into the fight."
Jonesy completed the handshake. "It's been my pleasure, sirs."
"Likewise," the Doctor said, the next man for a handshake. "Take care of yourself, good fellow."
"Will do."
IP-101 clapped Jonesy on the shoulder. "See you, buddy."
"Right, mate. See you soon." Had it not been so dark in the rear of the truck, someone might have caught the look on Jonesy's face. But no one did.
"Ten seconds," the driver said. "Five seconds…now." The truck's engine shuddered and died, and the ignition began to crank as the driver struggled to restart it. This was the cue. IP-101 pulled open the rear door of the truck, which had conveniently stalled beside the same row of crates that held their transportation…SC-80 helped the Doctor out, and then leapt down himself. The Captain swung the rear door shut but did not lock it; even if he had failed to secure it completely, Jonesy would undoubtedly take care of it. The three Oompa-Loompas dodged back into the stacks of containers, 101 reading the numbers as they passed.
"Two-one-six," he said, pointing. "That's it." Their conveyance was a large metal crate, a cube of about six feet per side, plated and reinforced to carry any manner of valuable equipment to and from the Chadworth Industries' labs. Ducking into the narrow space between the box and its neighbor, IP-101 drew a small knife and began to work it under the edges of a particular panel near the bottom. Voices sounded dangerously close, footsteps approaching from around the next row of crates.
"Make it quick, pilot," the Captain said, the warning in his tone evident.
"Trying, sir…" 101 growled; he wrenched hard on the knife, using it as an improvised crowbar, and the panel popped free.
"Move!" the Captain said urgently, and 101 dropped to all fours and crawled quickly into the crate. The Doctor followed, having a bit of trouble with movement on all fours; the Captain was close behind, pulling the panel back into place. The voices, now muffled, paused just outside the crate, and something brushed against the outside…though it was doubtful they could be heard within the thick insulation of the outer shell, none of the Deepstar crew moved. Indeed, SC-80 found himself holding his breath and blew it out in a rush…If we can't even breathe without being heard, I think we're screwed anyway. At last, the voices moved off, and the Captain spoke. "Let's get some light in here." He drew out a chemical light and cracked it, filling the inside of the container with a greenish hue. Some considerations had been made for the trio's comfort; the inside of the container was lined with carpeting. There was nothing else of note…but, fortunately, it was not as if they would be spending more than a couple of hours in here. The Captain turned to their exit hatch and secured the latches, which would take the place of the adhesive seal had previously held the panel in place. Now there was nothing to do but wait. The Doctor leaning against one wall, while 101 stretched out on his back on the floor.
"Someone wake me up when we get there."
"Will do," the Doctor answered with a chuckle though, as the Captain watched, 18 began to nod off almost immediately afterward. The three had not had much sleep in the past few days, and it was catching up with them. Catching up? The Captain thought with a smile. It has caught up. Though the crate was hardly a luxury suite, it was nicer than many of the places they had been compelled to sleep recently; feeling drowsy himself, the Captain made himself as comfortable as possible against the wall and almost immediately lapsed into unconsciousness. The nap, however, did not last long. The Captain sat up sharply as the crate suddenly jolted upward and then began to rise at a slow, continuous rate. In his alarm, a small metallic disk flew from one of the pockets of the Captain's tactical vest, which he now seized and shoved back into place; the disk was a small shaped charge powerful enough to blast through any locking mechanism, an emergency measure just in case they reached a door that even Sakagawa's electronic genius could not open. Each member of the team carried one, though hopefully they would not be necessary.
Though the crate must have been secure on a crane or forklift of some kind, there was an alarming amount of wobble in the vertical movement; SC-80 could not shake the horrible feeling that they were going to tip off the forklift (if that was indeed what it was) and be smashed brutally against the side of their carpeted prison. From the expressions on the faces of 101 and the Doctor, they had similar fears. Fortunately, however, the disaster never came…there was a faint shift that suggested horizontal movement, and then the crate descended a short distance to settle on what must have been the back of a truck. There was a faint metallic clunk, a whisper of straps over the container's sides, and then a series of gentle vibrations as other containers must have been loaded. At last the truck ground to life, and for the next half an hour the gentle but unmistakable jostle of the roadway came up through the bed of the vehicle, along with frequent sideways shifts as the truck made its corners. Finally, the movement slowed, and the three members of Deepstar involuntarily tightened as they realized they must be approaching the security checkpoint.