BATTLE CRY
winterminch
CHAPTER TWO / OPEN MIND
[UNKNOWN HOUR. UNKNOWN TIMEZONE. UNKNOWN PLACE.]
When Major Lennox had spoken to her in the cabin and told her to keep an open mind for what lay ahead in the future, Skylar very well would have kept her thoughts and beliefs so airy and open that it hurt. She would have listened to every single damn thing that he had to say to her without breaking. She would have trusted her new commander entirely. She would have gone off to battle for him the second they reached camp if he requested it, for it was duty, it was loyal to the person who was leading her. Her morals would not change because of a new job position. After all, he had chosen her out of everyone and anyone in the Army to join his team, specifically, and for that she would have been honored.
However that all changed the second they touched down.
Before she could take one half step off the helicopter, with shaking legs from being so high and situated in a vibrating transport, one of the men who had opened the door for her upon entering had grabbed her arm tightly to keep her steady. She wasn't able take a breath in, to look around for some indication of where they were, when the second of the pair of soldiers grabbed Private Rosette's other bicep, and with his free hand, plunged a syringe the size of a pencil into the base of her neck. She winced, crinkling against the drug.
A gasp left her chapped, pink lips, as her body was filled with a clear liquid. The contents of the needle drained away through her veins.
She went limp as a doll, powerless in the fight to stay conscious. Not, that she could if she had wanted to, as the effects were almost instantaneous. Her knees buckled and pulled out from under her - eyes drifting to slits, bending at the waist, Skylar dropped to the ground, back snapping against the tarp of this unfamiliar territory. She refused to start screaming, or fight back, when she knew what the ultimate outcome would be. Her wounds were enough to sting her ego.
The last thing Private Rosette saw before her eyes crossed, was a flash of something blinding and luminescent in the agonizing sunlight, before darkness caped over her like a blanket. She could hear the sound of an engine purring, but then . . .
Coming back around to the land of those awake was starting off much more pleasing than her dive under, into the unsteady unconscious tide.
Instead of feeling like she was free-falling from the chopper at a horrible, plummeting 90 degree angles, she was free-floating in a pool of the softest water she'd ever been in. No bath, shower, ocean or sauna had ever felt this excitingly sweet: true euphoria from some sort of 3rd Party hallucination she was enduring. It encased her in a solid wrap, it was soothing and warm - and then it wasn't. Then, it was overall bone-chilling, obnoxiously cold, and dripping from her sweaty skin as she came up from the looming darkness to gasp for air.
Her ever-changing eyes drifted open, to send a signal on what was in front of her, back to the brain. A loose smile, that had formed in her time out of the game, faded faster than the blurriness of her eyesight as she came to
She made a quick checklist - Skylar could feel herself sitting in a bony, metal chair. That same icy chill of water soaked her and her clothing down to her toes. Skylar could see that someone stood in front of her, tossing aside a suspicious shape that looked like a plastic pitcher over her shoulder. It was still sloshing with the same liquid that slid down her pale skin. She could hear many exotic (and slightly nerve-wracking) sounds: like a rumbling of engines, like an industrial fan or an airplane getting ready for a take off. Skylar could taste confusion in her mouth and sand on her lips when licked her bottom one in concentration.
And she could smell this odor of some sort of metal, lots of sweat and bloodshed mixed together to fumigate the room in a layer of thickening heat.
Wherever they were, it was so stuffy she could sense her mild asthma already hating it. Even though she was in the Force, they had under-the-table excused her breathing problem due to her records of expert skill from of ROTC. Her chest contracted painfully, lungs burning, but she kept herself calm enough to focus on the man on in front of her. Her brain felt like a dangerously fuzzy pillow, a complete mushy jumbled mess. She ripped the pillow to pieces and forced herself to remember who it was waiting for her to fully come to.
He was tall, scruffy, with a large, white smile -
Lennox.
The name Lennox sounded familiar, it fit his face, then - ah, Major William Lennox. It all made sense now, and oh God, did she hate herself right about now.
"Sorry for all this." He apologized lightly, as if the entire thing was a joke. His scratchy voice held no real upset by what they'd done to her. His bulky, muscled arms were crossed across his chest. He stood a good 5 feet away, watching her like a mother watching her daughter after she'd done something terribly wrong with John Doe down the street. She was more than uncomfortable under his watchful stare, seen visibly as she flexed her hands down by her sides. Finding them free of any restraint, her skull tilted curiously. Unlike what she had originally suspected, she was able to move, no ties holding her to the chair they'd slumped her in.
She could get up and leave. She could get up and run.
But she would not do that.
This was her commanding officer , her Major, she was reporting to, and she would stay strong and proud in his eye until dismissed.
They also may have had a very hefty looking guard standing by the door as well, blocking her way even if she tried.
"You see," Lennox began speaking once more, turning to pace to his side, hands falling behind his back. He gazed at the ceiling as he spoke, indirectly, but not entirely rude. He looked more deep in thought on how to word this conversation; in fact, he began rubbing the stubble on his chin, as if the thought of a shave appeased him, "we could have blindfolded you, but that would have been a much larger hassle, and sedating you just seemed easier."
She wasn't sure what to say to that, so she simply murmured nothing at all. Why try to cover anything up in the first place? Had she done something wrong already? Why go through the trouble of hiding things from her, if she wasn't some sort of the threat? Was this entire transfer a joke? Was she just being tested? On what? Her ability to stay calm in a strenuous situation? Her abilities to save her own skin?
He answered her mental thoughts, striking through half of them with a big red X.
"Until I have your full cooperation and trust, Private Rosette, I can't tell you where we are." It took a moment to do anything, to react. When she did, she simply blinked at him twice. Following with one of the most lady-like things she had done in a while, Skylar formally crossed her legs (even in tight, wet pants), placing her hands on her knees in intent to listen. Sure, she could be rough, and tough, and mean, and a total ass-kicking machine, but she was still a woman, a very young, with a kind-heart if you got to know her. Not to mention, it never hurt to use a little professional charm to figure things on out. "I formally introduced myself on the chopper, but I will do it again. Major William Lennox."
He held a hand out for her to shake, and she did, smaller palm hidden in his rough, meaty paw.
He beamed.
"Now, welcome to your interview."
The word sunk in like her chest did, sitting back in the chair in minor astonishment. Interview? Her hand dropped back to her lap, fingering a hole on the thigh she didn't remember being there before. Her face was most likely scrunched into a confused little expression, nose crinkled on her face. She could feel droplets of sweat pooling on her neck, under her arms and on her stomach. The water he had sprayed her with had dried; this place had absolutely no air conditioning. Hair falling from that ponytail of hers stuck to her in such an irritating way that it took everything in her power to resist the urge to scratch the skin.
"Interview?" Private Rosette repeated aloud, unable to help herself as she grabbed onto the back of her neck, itching until she was red. "I - well sir, I thought I was being transferred -"
"Yes and no." He cut her off strategically, hands pressing together, as if he was going to give her a proposition in the wake of his prayers. His eyes finally met hers, and he stopped moving to make sure she understood what he was saying was completely serious. "You are on my Team regardless of what happens this room in the next 15 minutes, so keeping that in mind - welcome to N.E.S.T."
She didn't feel welcome. She didn't feel trusting. She just stared, and a part of him hoped he knew it too. One doesn't simply just sedate her, and still end up with puppy loyalty.
Except for Max. If she knocked him out, he'd still probably follow her into the sunset.
She missed her dog already.
"Now comes the part where you live up to your status, Private." Continued Lennox. "This is what will go down: you will demonstrate exactly what I ask of you, and if you do, or do not, do what is required, you will have decided where your title lies here."
Perplexed, confusion shot through her like the concussive drug had: fast, over-coming, dangerous. She opened her mouth, raising a hand as if to ask a question. But when she tried to think of one that made any sense, or was any more dominant than the others, all that came out was the inquiry -
"Sir?"
"Follow me to the table." He responded gently, still, extremely directive, without question. She cocked an eyebrow high on her forehead, considering the notion to deny his blatant request. It took her a moment to find her nerve, her calm, and her footing, but in the end, strong, alas wearily, she latched on to his wrist, clinging to him as distant as possible. She almost (almost) forgot she had been unconscious for hours, and that walking came naturally to those had been on their feet on their own free will. She, on the other hand, had a feeling of excessive weight in her belly, so she almost stumbled.
He sauntered ahead of her, heavy boots making more noise than her own squeaky leather. She sounded like a feather compared to his animal rampaging across concrete. Far off to their direct left, a good 50 feet from the metal chair in the center of the room, sat a large, aluminum table, full of what she could note were very expensive looking weapons. Ranging from the smallest: a normal police man's hand gun, already set in a holster, to a bulking M-60 wrapped in a belt of ammo, they sat without moving, gathering dust that fluttered in the light pouring through the windows. Skylar resisted the urge to run her fingers over them as she approached, leaning against the side to hover despite how wrong it might be; she lived and breathed new weaponry like a florist did to a brand new breed of flowers. She simply couldn't help herself.
She was so caught up in marveling, that she just about missed him open up a control box on the wall. Inside was a small, circular red button, that when pressed (which he did), the entire hanger started to vibrate with a blaring, industrialized buzz. On the opposite side, a simple target dropped from a metal wire from above, a new sheet ready for destroying. The humming under her feet stopped, making her ankles protest at the lack of movement.
It took Private Rosette a moment, but she figured they were in an empty weapons room. A target practice area, without the plastic walls, ear muffs and protective gear. Whatever sector she had joined, they obviously didn't need it. Not that she did either, but it was just another thing to add to her list of things she didn't know about this sweltering place she'd soon call home.
Another long, long list.
Placing a hand on her shoulder to remind her to return to the present, Major Lennox instructed her to come down from her thoughts that were clearly overwhelming her. He was no idiot. He saw her face, understood her body language. Though his wife wasn't the first or only woman he'd known, his marriage to Sarah taught him a few things. He understood giving her no answers for now was most likely frying her brain beyond belief. He wasn't being fair to his new Private First Class. But it had to be done before he could make a decision, and therefore, he kept a straight expression; a poker face for the books that he couldn't wait to break.
Lennox motioned to the table, then dropped his hands behind his back for another time.
"Pick one." He shrugged it off when she gave him an incredulous look of disbelief, just waiting for her to make a choice and take in her reaction. Skylar couldn't believe he was trusting her with a weapon, especially to these extents, when he appeared so unprepared all on his own. He wore no body armor, and bore no firearm that she could see. But, then again, there was the guard at the door, who if she did anything to Lennox, would probably drop her like a fly.
Of course she wouldn't do anything, not even touch the hair on his head, but there were people she knew that would.
Gazing at the mix of black and silver lying in heaps across the table, surrounded by different kinds of shell casings changing colors from grey to gold, the strange, strange mix of fallen toys to tinker with seemed to almost hum in delight that she was there. Skylar felt her fingers flying towards something familiar as soon as she caught it in the corner of her eye. Something she knew how to use even if she was blind and dying, or, in extreme cases, in a job interview. A sniper rifle was tucked underneath an M-240, calling to her, screaming, "Pick me, pick me, pick me!"
Grasping the butt of the gun, feeling it's slightly unbalanced weight, she couldn't place her finger on it immediately, but something was wrong.
But, before she was allowed to investigate, he had grabbed her by the arms, and turned her to face the target on the other wall. He could have told her to do anything, perhaps stand upside down, backwards, and shoot with her mouth, but he gave her the most simplest of actions. So simple, she wondered if the entire intro to this was just a joke. That he was screwing around with the newest rookie to his team. It wouldn't be the first time; her last team had done the same exact thing upon her induction, and had learned quickly that it was a mistake to do as such.
What did he ask of her?
"I want you to aim at the target and fire."
Shooting him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye, she set her jaw in the same kind of manor, forgetting the fact that she had thought there was something wrong with the rifle in her hands.
If he wanted to see what she could do (maybe this entire thing was to just test her sniper skills) then she would show him, and ace this 'interview' with fantastic, flourishing, flying, phenomenal colors.
"That's all?" She made sure she wasn't missing anything, that he wasn't going to stop her once she'd started to throw in additional data. She could do it on one foot if he wanted her too.
But this?
This was too easy.
She actually split a grin despite herself, feeling the gaining sense of more confidence when he nodded his head once. He was in for a show, then, was he? Fine, a circus he would get out of her. She never did anything half-assed, and not something like this.
"You have 15 seconds, starting:" He paused for a good 12 before that, waiting for the little ticker to move to zero. She moved into a ready-stance position, holding the cool exterior between her fingertips, and took a deep breath in. She was prepared, she was feeling like she could wipe the floor with this guy, but then -
She tensed and she stopped.
Her finger's didn't feel right. Something was wrong.
Was this gun missing the -
"Now."
The mossy, swampy color in her eyes flashed darker than night itself, pupils dilating to tiny little dots in concentration. Almost in slow motion, she could physically feel her mind focus in on the weapon she held, giving a warning to her subconscious on what was missing and what wasn't. There was no trigger, no ammo, no release valve and no time. Disgusting tar dripped from a leak. This wasn't a rifle for firing; this was a piece of crap joke she couldn't shoot out of if she wanted.
Feeling set up, used, lied to, she snarled a little and turned to confront him. Only, that is, to find the police pistol gone from the table, and instead, aimed straight for her forehead, like a second hand to his arm. That weapon clearly wasn't just for show. He had no expression; his eyes were guarded by his sunglasses.
Two things happened so fast they were just about missed.
The first was much quicker than the second, and much more bold. If he was anyone but Lennox, it would have most likely gotten her kicked out haste pronto.
Before her new Major knew it, before she knew it too, her left arm dropped the rifle to her right, coating her fingers in sticky, black, gooey oil as it slicked from the end. Her free arm shot out to grab his extended wrist, twisting it until he was forced to drop the weapon. He didn't yelp when she took his gun, but only smiled attentively as she stopped paying attention to him, and continued on to thing number two: taking it apart. Practically breaking it to pieces, she found a weak spot in the trigger and pulled the base out, falling to her backside to work on the floor. A part of her was keeping time.
11.
Taking the trigger piece from the small little gun, she shoved it up into the rifle compartment that lacked one before, even if it wasn't made for that. But it worked, clicking into place. It was like because she wanted it to work - it did. Or perhaps she always knew the outcome . . .
8.
The time was flying by as she pulled the ammo container out and slammed it on the floor to be used as soon as she was done.
6.
Plugging her fingers into the clogged end of the detachable muzzle brake that refused to clear, a horrible, pathetic drip fell out of the front, sloshing on the floor. After shaking it to make sure nothing else would come out, she wiped her face with her hand where some of it had hit her, but only made it worse, slaying her chin with oil and tar.
4.
Sliding onto her knees, ripping a new hole in the pant leg, she was flipped herself down into an Army Man's laying position. Wasting no precious second, she grabbed the ammo to her right, shoved it in the bottom with a familiar click, and in 3, 2, 1: she shot the sniper rifle three times, crystal-like eyes gazing through the scope. The first bullet pierced the dummy sheet's head through the center, pinging into the back wall, lost in the titanium. The next two were in the chest, following the same movement until there was a ripping noise, and the paper sifted off the metal wire.
There was silence, the gun still smoking, and the paper drifted to the floor.
"What in the Hell was that for?" She finally exploded in fury, shoving the weapon to the side like it burned her. It roamed across the ground at least 6 feet away, ignored completely as she moved from her chest, to her knees, into a standing position, every muscle bunched together and tense. Whirling around on her heels, she felt like pointing a finger at him, charging up in his face and throwing out some very mean words at his incredibly stupid idea, but a logical sense of mind to not lunge and attack kept her planted to the floor where she stood. "W-what the Hell was that - why the hell was the that? Are you just going to point guns at me from now on? Sir, I haven't even done anything yet!"
"Ah, the word yet."
Lennox had opened his mouth to talk, perhaps to be witty, to congratulate her, or attempt to calm her down, but someone else had spoken and cut him off.
Spinning 180 behind her, stood the guard who had been stationed at the door.
Or, not a guard at all, but a stranger to her, a friend to Lennox, who addressed the man comfortably with his eyes and a soft smile. Unlike Will in front of her, who she wanted to swiftly punch in the nose, this man was tall, dark skinned, more lankly than buff, but still filled out when he crossed his arms over his chest. He wore the equivalent to both Skylar and Lennox, even down to the boots, besides the fact that his were tan in opposition to the black leather. He had a closely shaved head, and his brown eyes flicked over her face, seeing her up close for the first time, like she was him.
"No, trust me, Private, you did somethin'."
Private Skylar was originally bemused on what he could have been talking about, but then remembered her own words. Her ears burned, and only deepened when he laughed and pat her shoulder, like she was a child needing to be perked up from a tantrum she was feasting. She wasn't always this internally conflicted; she was just irritated. In her Major, in what she had done, and:
"Shit, you were right. She'll fit in just fine." The man had handed over a nice wad of cash to her commanding officer wrapped in a flimsy rubber band, obviously a bet on her expense when Lennox laughed triumphantly and tucked it away. She wasn't sure what she hated more about this situation. Was it being a part of a game, not getting answers for why she was, or the fact that she had just took apart a handgun and reformatted it for a sniper rifle only to find out that they already knew she could do it?
She could have ripped her hair out; what in the name of God was going on?
"Damn it, Will, I hate when that happens."
"May I ask what -"
Skylar itched to grab that rifle when, once again, she was cut off. She sensed it was a reoccurring theme here.
"Retired Air Force: Sargent Robert Epps." Lennox introduced the man to her, motioning between the two strangers for somewhat of a formal introduction. Following the pattern of every other official she had met, she shook his hand. However when the moment was over and she felt more frustrated than ever, she let her fingers fall flat by her side. "Epps, meet Professional Sniper: Private Skylar Rosette."
"Charmed." She muttered through a fake smile that barely stretched. Both men had to strain to hear the truth under the lie, but it didn't go missed. Having personal experiences with peeved off-women, from co-workers, children and wives, the two friends shared a quick look of unison, and decided to pick up the pace with this little meeting before something went in the wrong direction.
"That's some nice aim you've got under pressure." Epps complimented her workmanship, turning over his shoulder to cast a side glance at the fallen target sheet that lay out like a blanket, or a fallen body, on the dirty concrete. 3 bullets were plastered in the wall, and looking back at her, his eyes blinked once. "That was why Will over here pointed his firearm at you. Now, why don't you tell us about the part where you took apart a very expensive handheld and calibrated it into your rifle in under 15 seconds?"
It was slight, but Skylar's eyes narrowed. So this is where the conversation was headed, was it? Well, she wasn't too keen to share. She didn't trust these men, not the slightest, not anymore, and especially not with her personal secrets of what she had found about herself. If they wanted her to give away the last piece of her that wasn't already controlled by the Army, they would first have to prove their worth to her. How the slightest things could make the table turn was the universe's great way of circles, and here was a perfect example.
"I'm just good with weapons." She admitted slowly, and only partially. A partial truth. Lennox looked at the sniper rifle that sat abandoned on the floor to the police man's right hand pistol that was completely broken apart, and then laughed once, loud, believing, and friendly. Epps had taken it upon himself to clear the table from all it's weapons as his ex-partner chortled, dragging it to where they stood.
"So we've heard." Laughed Lennox, then pointed at the metal stool she had vacated when waking up. "Chair." Said he.
And perhaps because she felt obligated to still follow orders even if she was more than perturbed, or perhaps she just felt so weighed down, her feet took command, yanking her over to the chair. She sagged like a deflated balloon when she was in it, hands between her legs as her elbows rested on her knees. Her hair had pretty much completely fallen out, knots of it trailing to her ribs. Her skin felt hot, her knotted limbs and muscles crying in defeat. But she straightened up when both men were officially seated across from her.
"Sir?" She questioned delicately when Epps flicked on a small little lamp that was bolted to the end.
"Call me Lennox." He waved a hand as if to break up the congested air in between all of them, eyes trained down on a vanilla envelope that seemed to have come out of absolutely nowhere. From what she could identify on the front, in big black letters that made her feel uncomfortable, were:
ROSETTE, L. SKYLARPERSONAL FILE
She opened her mouth to inquire, but her Captain raised a warning hand, still entranced with something he was reading on the other side of the binder. She wanted to snatch it up from his peeping-Tom grip and read what was there all for herself, but it would be wrong and suspicious if she did as such, and so she sat like a frozen sculpture in her spot, waiting for him, or Epps, to say something, anything. But Epps looked and seemed just as entranced with the paperwork too, and it made her feel queasy.
Her throat was closing from fear; where was her inhaler?
"This isn't an interrogation." William finally shut the file, sliding it towards her with his two fingers, taking his sunglasses off and setting them aside. Quite truthfully, she was a bit taken aback at first, for his permission to let her see inside her own ledger, but she didn't argue before he changed his mind. While she clawed at it, flinging it open to scan it's content, internally trying to decrease her heartbeat. Epps nodded appreciatively. The young woman sitting before them had a history of serving the cause, and had a resume like no other. "In fact, all we're doing is just clearing up some . . . polluted air, if you will."
Skylar's head tilted to the side once more, just a little, an indicator she was listening as she lifted a sheet to see what was underneath.
(PFC) ROSETTE, L. SKYLAR JULY 1ST, 1990.
5 FOOT, 5 INCHES 20 - 125 POUNDS.
EMERGENCY CONTACTS : ANNABELLE ROSETTE (IF) (FILE 203)
JOHNATHAN ROSETTE (IF) (FILE 203)
ANASTASIA ROSETTE (IF) (FILE 203)
IMMEDIATE ALLERGIES : FELIS CATUS.
INJURIES / SET BACKS :
MSG TRENTON BOOT -
QUOTE Private Rosette sustained a serious back / shoulder injury during an Iraqi mission that came to a close
when a teammate stepped on a hidden landmine in the mountains, breaking two ribs and dislocating her shoulder.
Her work and training was sustained for 4 months, 4 days before she was able to rejoin the team. No further
shoulder injuries followed. UNQUOTE
EXCUSED : ASTHMA (FILE 134)
While she continued to read on and on herself, more logs about minor settlements and cuts and grazes, a subconscious part of her was listening to Lennox as he continued with his 'non-interrogation'.
"I won't lie to you, Private Rosette. There's a bug going around saying that you've been designing unauthorized, unprotected, non-protocol weaponry under the noses of the Force."
Her fingers that had only barely gripped the paper to lift it, cramped up in shell-shock, mashing between her knuckles. The words crinkled, jumbled in her palm as she stopped moving, stopped breathing. She raised her head, chin up, in attempt to wind Major Lennox and Ex-Sargent down. She had no words, nothing to say, because if she opened her mouth, she would do something very, very irrational.
So she stayed put, watching them like a hawk. From the corner of her vision, she saw another officer, whoever he was, set her heavy black backpack down on the table.
She could have hissed aloud. Had they gone through her stuff?
Almost if he could read question through her eyes directly down to the very last word, Lennox shook his head once, leaning back in his chair. His expression was softer, trying to get her to relax from her horribly horrified crouch. He didn't want this to start a bad relationship between the two of them; in fact, he could see someone as bold and qualified as her being a wonderful ally in the time they spent together.
"We would never have gone through your bag, Ms. Rosette, for your consideration as a part of my Team now, and because we're not at authority or friendliness to break your rights." Skylar wasn't sure if she was supposed to feel honored that, just like they had kept many things secret from her, they left her's in the dark as well for none of them to see. But, another sick part of her was furious that they even remotely knew anything about her, well, hobby. "But, even if we didn't touch it, we have got a good idea what was inside."
She was more than quiet. She was stony. She was waiting.
Lennox rubbed his temples.
"I can't take this old TV show drama and angst we're giving off here. I need a drink." He groaned a little, then motioned to her yet again with his fingers. "Please, just relax. You're not in any trouble, in fact, you won't ever be if I see to it, so you can breathe. We're not here to create an issue for you. Whatever we talk about is 100% classified material."
All the air left her lungs in a chest breaking little woosh, but when she tried to re-inhale, it was a strangled wheeze. So much was weighing in on her like dumbbells on her shoulders, her thoughts, the situation, and this damn stuffy room, that she knew what she needed, and if she didn't get it soon, it would be an extremely bad show. She reached for her bag with aching hands, snagging onto the lock as she began to stifle miniature heaves, ignoring the looks of slight hope they gave her that she might be sharing her files. But, when her combination was in, she was digging for not secrets, but her tiny, white inhaler.
"Can I ask where . . . these rumors . . . are from?" She asked, trying to make receiving these puffs of air as quick and painless as possible. She hated the fact that she had this issue. It made her usually feel like a pity party, like she was now, as Lennox's mouth turned down into a frown as he curiously watched her. That very bold person that had been absent, for even just a couple seconds of defenselessness, was not the girl he had met minutes before. Yet, when she was inhaling easy again, she threw the minuscule machine back in her back, and zipped it back up. The zip designed her bravado - things were back to normal.
"So you're saying they're rumors?" He hummed. Wonder sparked in his eyes like a child who wanted to know where Santa came from. As she watched him and his hungry-for-answers gaze, she briefly contemplated her answer, and how she would give it. Skylar weighed what her choices were here; he wasn't giving her many. She could be untruthful and say she had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, join his team with no trust from either party, and hate this more than she'd hated anything else ever.
Or . . . she could believe him when he said he would bring no trouble with whatever they spoke of, and she might finally get her answers, and fix whatever awkward, distrustful bonding they had so far.
She crossed her ankles and sat back in the chair, releasing her file. She exhaled viciously.
"You know what? No, I'm not denying it, sir, no. I guess I will start off this 'interview' being honest with you, Major, since I have obviously been caught."
"It's not a matter of being caught. In fact -"
For once, it was her turn to silence him. Taking a stand, she leaned over her pack on the table, ripping the seams open. To any innocent bystander who looked inside, there was nothing but a first aid kit, useless twine half knotted like a game, a stuffed animal and an inhaler. But, she felt around for the hidden button on the left side, unclasping it until an entire other pocket was free. She grabbed the binder hidden away, moved her backpack off the table, and slapped the container down in front of them. Taking her seat again, she shoved it his way.
"You can search them." She permitted Lennox, not like she had much to say anymore anyways. She'd handed them over, and now, they were his to share. He opened each blueprint that stretched half the length of the table and kept an emotionless poker face, laying out her ideas, her thoughts, her secrets. There were 5 large blue sheets of paper with white crayola pencil all over, drawing out the shapes of weapons that world had never seen before, or, what she thought they had never seen. There were 3 notebooks full of notes, theorems and Laws of Physics, Chemistry and Bio. She even had a pencil that said, "I'm just a Spectator Ion!" on the side from when she was in High School.
She wrinkled her nose.
"Thing is: though I know how to put each of these weapons together in my sleep, I've never had the equipment to begin." Lennox raised an eyebrow as he went through a notebook, his indication to her that he was listening. Epps was caught up in the weapons. They looked very close to the beauties strapped on his bigger friends, and would talk to Lennox afterwards on the similarities. "Getting guns isn't easy these days with all the background checks and Laws, and creating them is more dangerous than trying to get them. Black market prices are ridiculous, and once you've got something, finding the time, the area, the technology . . . it's practically impossible."
Will noticed her compassion as she spoke. It was compelling. Glancing up at her, she was no longer paying him attention, but was staring at the roof, lost in thought as she spoke aloud. She was more than relaxed now, almost blase. He briefly wondered if this was a mask, or if she truly was more comfortable.
"I didn't have the money, first off. I'm poor, as is most of the U.S. The machinery, the time where I wasn't deployed, the space - just the ability. To create what these are asking, you'd have to retain mere hundreds of gigawatts, an entire room the size of this one just to try and find the right caliber, and the correct math." She paused for just a second. "I know I could build them if I had all the right elements."
"You do?" Epps inquired with a disbelieving look. Someone as young as her, so moved by emotions and innocence, delving in the land of hefty physics? Her lips pursed, and she pointed at Lennox, who was still entranced in her notebooks.
"I did just take apart his gun in less than 4 seconds."
Epps went silent.
Lennox beamed.
"Noted." He nodded, putting one spiral down to grab the next. This one was heavier, full of even more equations and knowledge. He wasn't surprised, only a little flabbergasted that she had never shared her Intel with anyone until today. Or, well, that was false. She would have had to share it with someone, or his source would have been a farce. But this source claimed a direct line, and he had sent for her change of branch immediately.
"Before you ask," She started, "I've been like this for as long as I can remember." She leaned forward, swallowing down a lump in her throat for what she was doing, for what she was going to do. A sheltered side of her mind told her to shut the Hell up, but the other side was finally ready to release what she'd kept hidden for years. Not even her own mother knew about what she could really do. Only Max, her dog, but he didn't count.
She took a big breath -
"Machinery . . . weaponry, and numbers come to me like air would just the same to you. It is my strong point of life. I see things in a stellar optic; for example, I was able to take in what was wrong with that gun in less than a second, and without trouble. But, in opposition, I can't write a decent paper in English? I have no idea why my skills lie here, with . . . death traps, but that's why I chose to join the U.S. Army, Field Artillery, to be specific, so I could use these . . . talents, or whatever you want to call them, for a cause. And not stay cooped up in some college dorm, sketching away guns that don't and won't work. But, I mean - I won't lie and say I haven't thought of designing my own, not, that I would ever use them for personal gain." She promised, smacking her hands down on the table as she completed.
Lennox and Epps were quiet, wearing matching faces of awe and appreciation. Somewhere deep down, it pleased Skylar to see such a reaction. Finally, Epps was the first to speak.
"How can someone who looks so pretty and girly-innocent as her be more gun savvy than I am?"
She pursed her lips, in a what could have even been a slightly teasing manor, but her eyebrows and eyes were dark.
"Is that a sexist joke?"
"No, actually. Absolutely not." Lennox responded calmly, kicking his friend under the table. Private Rosette didn't miss it, and it made her lips perk up ever so softly on the sides. She felt smugness radiating off of her like a chemical. "I know a lot of wonderful soldiers who are women."
Lennox continued through closed teeth, jamming his foot into Epps' to get him to fix his goof. Things were going smoothly with Ms. Rosette. He didn't need any issues.
"Get your nasty ass boots off of mine - ack, fine, Jesus Christ, I only meant it, because you look like you should be petting dogs and doing yoga with your sorority, when you are petting AK-47's and heavy metal."
Skylar was silent. Internally, she was actually laughing, but on the outside, she made no change in body language. Lennox rubbed his forehead gently.
Epps motioned to her, quietly muttering, "What? It was a joke -"
"- so," she crossed her ankles beneath her, "if I may," they nodded, "if I'm not in trouble for these blueprints, and I may or may not have proven my worth, what exactly do you want of me? I can assure you what I want to make here is just simply free ideas -"
"N.E.S.T.," Lennox spoke over her, arms making an x over his pectoral muscles, "is very classified, as you might have been able to tell."
Her speculative eyes narrowed, and she found herself leaning in with anticipation. Now they got to the good part.
"We're much more -"
"- advanced," Epps spoke over him, taking the floor, "than what may meet the eye."
Private Skylar snorted, hand hovering to her sketches, her work, her dreams.
"Are you saying you can get me the technology for this?" She burst into laughter when neither responded, signifying a 'yes'. It echoed like a sonic radar from wall to wall to wall, drowning out all other noise that wherever they were made. She began to grab back her notebooks, exhausted, packing them away again to their hideaway. They didn't argue; they had her full co-op., if they knew it yet or not. It had been a . . . relief to let it go, quite truthfully. But, she wasn't thinking about that now. Currently, she was thinking about how crazy these guys were. "Sir - Epps, Lennox, whatever - I hope you do understand that, well - that would mean defying physical laws and require so much horse power to back it up that you'd put this place in darkness for a month and -"
She broke off in muffled giggles again.
Lennox rolled his eyes.
"We know what we're asking of you, but from what I've observed just in our time together just now, I have faith in you."
Her laughter abruptly slid off, and she gazed at him as he stood, helping her pack away her things. Her mouth curved down, and her hands drifted to her sides, clenched in fists instead of taking her work back. Something contrasted in her chest; was it, could it be, guilt?
"Already, so blindly?" She winced at his winded trust, unable to look him straight in the pupil.
"Though I am not your Major or Sargent, I know what he's thinking. Ms. Rosette, we like you, really, we do, and we want you to be N.E.S.T.'s leading Human Weaponry Specialist. Your choice." Said Epps with a grin.
A zap of hope sled through her veins (and she completely missed he had specified 'human' . . .)
Weaponry Specialist? That would raise her a ranking, her pay grade, no doubt, and she would be getting to work her dream job. With Lennox's trust and willingness to let her do this, Skylar briefly forgot about the fact she still had no idea what she would be working on, why it was so classified, where they were.
"Thank you, sir - Lennox. Major Lennox."
"Now, there are a couple things we need to go over before you start here. The soldiers you will be making these weapons for aren't exactly, per se, the same body structure as who you might be used to dealing with." He rubbed the back of his neck, not entirely sure how to explain just who he was talking about. Skylar was reminded of all those things she'd pushed aside, and held her jaw in more desperation to learn than anything. It was eating away at her on the inside, curiosity (maybe that's what really killed that cat).
"It may be confusing for now, but I need you to do what I asked of you on the chopper."
"Keep an open mind?"
"Exactly." He pat her shoulder, then put a hand on the other, looking at her like a father would to his daughter. He was no longer tough, or scolding, but a caring man, who though she had a ray of sunlight shinning on for now, would still have to earn her affections. He mirrored her last commander only hours before, holding her tightly. He was alright, for now, for a new person in her life. "Before we get in on the details, is there anything you need for working here? I hate to be so blunt, but with what you'll be doing, you'll be on Base more than not. This is a 24/7 offer we're holding out for you."
Skylar looked at her bag. Beneath the twine and first aid kit, was very little clothing. She had two pairs of jeans, the camo she wore, and another, tougher set, with 3 white t-shirts. She had to go scoping for more to wear soon, that was for sure. She didn't need any tools: again, she had never had the technology, but they said they did, so she would put her trust in them to supply her with what she needed.
"No, I mean, I don't think I -" Suddenly, a thought dawned on her.
A knee-sized, tail wagging, slobbery thought dawned on her.
Max.
"Well, there is something. Or, I guess I should say, someone."