A National Affair

Chapter 2: Commentaries on Economics, Industry, and Dr. Pepper

"So, we checked up on that planet. Total collapse of the ecology."

Morgan, leaning against a wall in his new apartment, whistled in slight shock, but said nothing in response. After he had met a man with the most interesting hair imaginable, he was informed that there were in fact a few empty apartments on one of the streets overlooking the beach. It was surprisingly cheap to rent, but it wasn't as if that mattered. Morgan's position paid very well. A few hundred dollars every month was hardly scratching anything close to the surface of his bank account. Undertaking dangerous work was lucrative.

As for the apartment, it wasn't anything to brag about, but it was definitely worth the money. It was a mix between cozy and spacious, designed to resemble the beach homes of the Mid-Atlantic States. Chesapeake-colonial was certainly one of his favorite styles of architecture, not that he knew much about the subject to form a defensible opinion. Still, with the white boards and large windows, he felt vaguely at home. It was nice to just rest against the window sill, sipping coffee as he made conversation.

"Yeah. Mind answering a question?"

Morgan knocked back some more of the beverage, which was brewed quite well. He would have to give that cashier his compliments the next time he entered Big Donut.

"What's the question?"

"In one sentence, can you explain what happened over there?"

"Alright, Rufus, if you really want to know." Morgan put down his coffee and thought it over for a moment. "Hmm… Okay, think of it like this. You're in an environment that looks absolutely otherworldly and everything in it tries to kill once they've seen you. Everything."

"Not sure how I feel about that. There's nothing alive there that isn't microscopic."

"Killing their leader did that, it looks like. She must have kept everything balanced. Either way, we could have escaped once we got the ship working again, but I went after her. You know the rest."

"Let's change the subject. This totally killed my mood." The sound of papers being shuffled around could be heard. "Progress so far?"

Morgan raised a brow, "It's been less than an hour since we last talked. How much did you expect me to get done in that amount of time?"

"At the very least find a map. How hard could that be?"

He clicked his tongue, "I'll find it, alright? You don't need to worry."

It was true. There wasn't much of a reason for Rufus, his contact to the administration, to doubt his ability, let alone worry about getting everything under control. Morgan was capable. All of his fellow bureaucrats knew that well enough.

"Good. I'll leave you to it. Call me if anything comes up."

"Got it."

With that, Morgan hung up. He switched the phone with his coffee cup and sat there in silence, alternating between the lukewarm drink and the Honduran cigar. It had a fine taste. Enough so that he was willing to very briefly swirl the smoke in his mouth before letting it out. Satisfied, Morgan relaxed a bit more. The cap of the cigar was flicked out the window and into a bush.

"Hey! Watch where you throw those things, man!"

Morgan's confusion lasted about a second following that. He looked over the window sill and saw someone in the bushes, digging around apparently. It made sense that he didn't notice the young man before, what with the house being a few feet above the land, likely to prevent flooding. Still, Morgan found it a bit strange to have someone digging on property he was renting.

"What are you doing?" he asked the dreadlocked stranger. Or, at least he assumed they were dreadlocks. It was hard to tell, but there was definitely a similarity in terms of looks with that of the man who helped him find the apartment.

"What does it look like? I'm excavating for fossils." The smattering of dirt on the young man at least confirmed the 'excavating' part.

"Uh huh… And why are you doing this in front of my window? Can't you take this somewhere else?" It then occurred to Morgan that he wasn't in the least bit interested in interfering. Better to not be dragged into something he didn't want to be involved in. "Actually, do what you want."

The young man looked offended. His sputtering certainly didn't help paint a different picture. Just as it seemed he was about to start an argument, Morgan preemptively shut the window, and then lowered the blinds. It was incredibly rude, but the last thing the operator wanted was to be pulled into a conversation with someone trying to discuss the validity of "excavating" other people's property with a plastic shovel for "fossils". If that was what he was looking for, there were plenty in the form of sea shells on the beach.

Morgan left the coffee at the kitchen counter, which coincidentally shared space with the living room. He ignored the rapping at the window and promptly started unloading his duffel bags. Most of what was inside them were uninteresting things such as clothes and other daily necessities. However, stowed away in one was the satchel with his standard equipment for the lengthy trips and dangerous situations he would inevitably end up in.

Carefully, Morgan pulled it out and set it to the side. He would get to it soon enough. For now, he took the time to sort through his other belongings and putting them in the appropriate places. Roughly five minutes later, he was back in the living room and pulling back the straps of the satchel. The pieces of equipment were removed one by one until the brown sack was emptied. Laying it out in front of him, he did an assessment of what he had.

First and foremost was his primary form of self-defense against non-human aggressors: a Sig Sauer P320 accompanied with mostly armor-piercing ammunition. In the majority of cases, it was likely that he would need the extra penetration to cut down whatever was trying to remove and ingest his face. Though, just in case, he kept several clips of hollow-points for whatever else might attack him. The likeliness that he would need them was minor, but it was definitely still an area worth covering regardless. Morgan made sure the safety was on, slipped it between the waist of his khaki shorts and his back, and then let his polo drop to cover it from sight. It was, of course, an incredibly bad idea to keep a gun anywhere but its holster, but that would be far too obvious.

Scaring the locals by having a visible handgun would be terrible, obviously.

Next was a single brass knuckle, for the right hand. Morgan, for what it was worth, loathed using the standard-issue stunrods and almost always opted for something would let him deliver direct blows. Blunt objects were preferable over anything else that wasn't a firearm, but a brass knuckle was concealable and non-lethal. As such, it made a decent backup weapon. He dropped it into his right pocket.

There were several other accoutrements that he would leave behind. However, one object in particular was quite literally his most important piece of equipment. It had saved his life countless times and prevented him from experiencing severe strife on numerous occasions. This magnificent object was…

"How did my PDA get scratched?" Morgan wondered aloud.

It was negligible little mark, but he didn't recall it getting damaged anytime recently. Shrugging, he took a hold of the PDA and made sure it was up to date. It would be necessary to get coverage from a recon satellite to make the full use of it, but as it was, it was invaluable regardless. Information was almost always a better defense than actual weaponry. Ironically, given the strong composition of the PDA, it could double as a bludgeoning tool for the brave soul that didn't mind running the risk of a hand cramp. Morgan learned that personally in one incident involving an insane woman who claimed to be the reincarnation of Frederick the Great. Thankfully, having an incredibly durable piece of technology battered against her temple was enough to incapacitate her and provide an informative lesson to Morgan.

The bureaucrat sighed through his nose. He knew he was getting sidetracked again. That wasn't very productive.

It was imperative to find the outpost as soon as possible. Wasting time wasn't a luxury the staff could afford. While he hoped that wasn't the case, it probably was. With that mind, Morgan gave a quick glance around the apartment. Satisfied, he left and headed in the direction of what he hoped was the general area for stores in Beach City.

There were times where retrospectively we come to realize that certain things done beforehand would make the present situation easier. Sometimes, we think upon these inactions with regret or anger, and other times, we think nothing of it at all.

For Morgan, it was becoming quite clear that this was his state of affairs currently. Though he had only been informed about this operation only a day or so in advance, it wasn't as if that wasn't enough prep time to take care of necessities. Of course, he had been under the impression that he was going to be provided with actual satellite support. To the inexperienced, that might seem comparatively miniscule to the possibility of suffering a gruesome death on the job, and yet, it was unquestionably one of the most important factors to successfully completing any assignment.

Knowledge of the terrain was good to know. Being able to view all of it from an all-seeing, objective viewpoint was far more useful. While Morgan lacked the latter, he assumed the former would at least serve as a backup in the form of maps.

Coincidentally, not a single store in Beach City had any maps of the area. Which was terrible. Truthfully, a part of him found it somewhere between outrageous and nonsensical.

"Looking for something, sir?"

It was the cashier, who had been watching him go through the aisles of the small convenience store for the past ten minutes with nothing to show for it.

Morgan tried not to sound too hopeful with his next question.

"I don't suppose you sell tourist maps here, do you?" She shook her head. "I didn't think so. Ah well."

With that, he went over to one of the fridges and looked for something to drink. Interestingly, it was filled with brands of beverages he had never even heard before. Sodas, iced-teas, juices; they were all seemingly exclusive from the rest of the United States. Morgan pulled out a bottle of something called "Sassy Pearl & Ella's Softest Sip", which was apparently a massive bastardisation of a sarsaparilla. He found it a bit laughable. Flipping it around, the functionary noticed something printed near the bottom in bold lettering:

"PROUDLY MADE IN THE STATE OF DELMARVA"

Proud of what, was the question. Putting it back, Morgan kept looking until he finally found something that was actually recognizable. By some mysterious benefactor's glorious decision, there were a few cans of Dr. Pepper nestled far to the left. Grabbing one, he shut the door and made his way to the counter.

The cashier, a young woman in her late teens he assumed, looked up from the magazine she was reading as he came near. She noticed the can in his hand and smiled.

"You are a tourist." It was blunt, though not impolite.

Morgan's lips curled upwards ever so slightly, "Is it that obvious?"

"Oh, definitely. I'm not just saying that because of the question about the maps either." She nudged her head towards the drink. "You're the first person to pick one of those up in months."

"What? A Dr. Pepper?" he asked, not entirely sure what she meant.

"Yeah! Normally, everyone gets the local stuff. That's how I know you're from out of town."

"Other than the fact you've never seen me before in a small town like this?" Morgan pointed out.

"Yup," she replied, nodding in agreement. "That'll be one dollar, by the way."

Said dollar was pulled out of his wallet and handed to the cashier, who promptly stared at it. Morgan wasn't sure as to why a U.S. dollar was interesting enough to actual spare a glance at, considering she was a citizen, but didn't question it. Until there was a discovery so shocking, so mind-blowing, that he just had to.

"Wow, I've never seen one of these in real-life before." She held it up to the light, turning it back and forth. "Sorta looks like the money we use, but sorta not, y'know?"

Morgan vaguely recalled the mention of Delmarva, one of the key states to turn the tide of the Civil War, having an interesting history regarding its currency. Somehow, it was able to haggle for autonomy from the U.S. dollar in return for siding with the Union. At least, that was how Morgan heard it went. Either way, the result was economic stagnation within the state for over a century. There wasn't much need for Delmarva products outside of the eastern seaboard, not that there was much in terms of industrialization to begin with. Yet, the citizens of the state didn't seem to mind all that much, by the looks of it.

It made Morgan wonder, though. What value did a Delmarva dollar have in relation to its U.S.-issued cousin? He had an inkling that the negotiations must have had something involving artificial inflation of their currency to match that of the regular dollar. Morgan was far from an economic theorist, but the idea seemed somewhat possible from his perspective. After all, China was doing something similar to keep their own products competitive within the U.S. market. Couldn't it be possible that one of Delmarva's governors had done the same thing at some point?

Of course, this was all completely unnecessary and unneeded speculation on his part. It wasn't as if anyone wanted to hear about the economics of Delmarva of all places, let alone any at all. People liked action and a compelling story. Theories on currency tended to not have that, save for a few cases Morgan could remember quite vividly.

"Uh, sir?"

Morgan blinked, not realizing that he had spaced out mid-conversation with the cashier, "Hmm?"

She was clearly concerned, which surprised him. "Are you alright? You kinda just stopped talking for a second there."

He chuckled, giving an apologetic shake of the head, "Sorry about that. Is my money good here?"

Shrugging, she put it in the register without a fuss, "Dunno. There can't be a lot of difference, right?"

Oh, there was a world of differences. Morgan just didn't want to be the person hassled into sorting them out.

Instead, he opted to simply thank her and leave the store with his Dr. Pepper in hand. It seemed like finding any sort of direction was eluding him on purpose. Morgan started considering his options.

By this point, he spent a good chunk of daylight on searching the town for any sort of geographical information. It was essentially futile, from what he figured. Though, the term "geographical" seemed to resonate with him. He hummed, raising a curled finger to his mouth as he thought on it.

Technically, it was required by all states to provide appropriate depictions of their terrain, though how was also technically very broad. Mineral surveys might help. If he remembered right, those usually included maps to determine profitable mining locations. Morgan had to recognize that the region probably wasn't ripe with coal or any other money-making opportunities underground, but surely there was some sort of inquiries going back and forth somewhere.

He just had to find them, then use them. Morgan remembered seeing a library that could possibly have something hidden away. The building was initially dismissed as a possibility almost immediately, mainly because he wasn't very keen on digging through countless records and archives to get any significant leads. It didn't look as though he had much of a choice at this point, however.

Morgan clicked his tongue. Things were already off to a subpar start. It wasn't particularly reassuring to be forced to assemble an entire mission from scratch. Thankfully, he had the option of contacting headquarters for any assistance he might need. Morgan preferred not to resort to that due to it tying up public resources, but time was ticking by.

The library was likely closed by now, so he would have to wait until tomorrow to get anything useful from there. Morgan pulled out his phone and hit a number on the speed-dial. "Calling Rufus" came up on the screen.

He kept walking as it rang, moving in a casual stroll down the street with drink in hand. There didn't seem to be much going on at the moment.

The ringing stopped, followed shortly after with: "This is Rufus."

Morgan stared out at the dimming sky, plans already formulating in his mind.

"… I'm making a few requisitions."

"I already put in the one for the cigar," Rufus replied irritably. Morgan couldn't blame him. It was probably a long day at the office, after all.

"Don't worry about that one," he assured him. "I have something else in mind."

Just as he predicted, there was the sound papers moving around and a pen clicking. Rufus was going to write all of this down, thankfully.

"I'm going to need a car as soon as possible. I'd look around over here, but-"

"Trust me, I know. Delmarva cars are piles of shit," his contact explained. "I'll find you something. What else do you need?"

Morgan squinted, eyes directed at the just barely visible stars in the dimming sky, "Right. I need you to get your hands on a recon satellite by tomorrow morning…"

Many hours later…

Morgan was not a heavy sleeper. It was, unfortunately, a developed trait. Barely waking up in time to evade death on quite a few occasions will do that to a person. Even so, something seemed to pressure him, keeping him from waking up and reacting.

It wasn't easy to quell the fight or flight response in a human being. Morgan's own psyche was geared towards "fight".

Blinking, the man fought the unnatural sluggishness that hindered him. An eerie green light was shining into his eyes, nearly blinding him as something crawled on his abdomen and towards his face.

Reflexes acting in lieu of conscious decision, Morgan backhanded whatever it was that was nearing him. It was sent sprawling to the floor with a crash.

"What the…"

It was a strange, mechanical-looking creature, somewhat like a spider in shape. Morgan watched it right itself while his right hand reached under his pillow for his Sig Sauer.

In that next moment, it leaped.

Morgan reacted.

A/N:

Just realized how many mistakes I made in that first chapter. I looked through this one for errors, but I can't be sure I got them all. I'll reread the first chapter and fix things up as I see them.

As for when this story takes places, I haven't really decided yet. I was intentionally making it as ambiguous as possible, but yes, it does involve the Warship. It also involves some things left behind by the Gems, problems native to Earth without their interference, Gem experimentation on humans, and some serious conspiracies going on.

That's all I'll say about that. Better I don't give away info on stuff that I may just cut out entirely.

Also, if it isn't obvious by this chapter, this story isn't going to really deviate from the perspective of an outsider to the whole history of the Crystal Gems and what they've been doing. It'll go into the exploration of the relics, ruins, technology, etc., but through the eyes of a guy who's really only trying to investigate how any of this came to be. And there is a lot of stuff to look into. It's his civic duty to make sure none of this poses any real threat to his country. But you already know that.

Anyway, hope you liked the chapter. Still trying to get a feel for where I'm going to take this, so bear with me on any mistakes I might make in terms of plot holes or canonicity.