The Fall of the City of Steel

Meeting Joan's Team

The better part of a minute passed as the handcart squeaked its way to the tunnel's end. Just before we emerged from its mouth, I suddenly protested, "Wait a minute. If all we wanted to do today is agree on what to do in the future, why did we bother with coming down here?"

"I don't think we can fly the plane right now," Emilia admitted, "but we can at least get you in the cockpit, see if you remember everything. Also, Joan wanted to speak to you. James didn't say what for."

Silently, I began to dread our arrival.

As soon as we reached the end of the stable rails, James noticed us and waved courteously. "There you are," he noted, standing slowly up and stretching his back. "I see you came back, Damon. So what's the plan?"

"We're going with the food option," Emilia answered, disembarking first.

Nodding, James looked me over. "You're not looking forward to it, are you?" he deduced. "I understand- I sure wouldn't, after all- and you've never even been to the lower levels, have you?"

I shook my head.

As Rico and Tony let down the handles of the handcart and jumped softly down behind me, I noticed that the Dragoon behind James looked suspiciously more complete. One of the engines now sat flawlessly reattached to the end of its fuselage, its propeller stiff and ready.

"Your plane's halfway finished," I noted, with visible surprise. "How long have you worked on it, again?"

"A few months," James answered. "And It's a lot less than half-finished. The left fuselage is pretty much done, but the right one is still mostly nuts and bolts. Even when they're both finished, I still have to get the wings back together- I don't even know if I have the precision for that- then test it and work out the kinks."

I nodded, understanding him. "What will you do for a runway?" I asked further.

"The village not too far from here," James answered. "They've cleared a landing strip in the middle. It's in plain sight, but... hold on."

Continuing his slightly tiresome habit of interrupting himself, James walked up to his radio and connected it back to his telephone, dialing a familiar number.

"Joan?" he called. "Are you there? Damon's here."

With that unpleasant reminder of whatever Joan wanted with me, James left the radio and smoothly asked, "Where was I?"

I refrained from answering, correctly assuming this to be rhetorical.

"Yes," James remembered, "The runway. It's long enough and we could still conceal the plane itself when we don't need it, the same way we have our patrol plane concealed now. Takeoffs and landings will be tight, but the only other real issue has been the landing gear. The ladies at the village did a good job on the landing strip, but it's still just dirt, so I had to swap out the taxiing wheels for bigger ones that could negotiate it. It hasn't caused any problems so far."

"How did you conceal the patrol plane?" I wondered, picking up on the loose end.

"We used a tarp," James concisely answered. "We found a tarp big enough to cover the whole thing- it's a camouflage tarp, mind you- and they haven't noticed it since."

"That reminds me," chimed in Emilia, "James, could you unlatch the tethers? I'd like to have it ready for Damon when Joan is done with him."

With a compliant nod, James saluted Emilia and started off, presumably towards the stolen patrol plane.

"Damon!" I heard him call, moments after he vanished in the foliage. "She's here!"

At that notice, I unconsciously backed toward the handcart while Emilia stepped up and scanned the general direction of the call for Joan. Apparently seeing her, she waded into the scruffy surroundings of the clearing and waved.