http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/20226258 "Good, good! It's all working perfectly!" A chipper voice signals the end of the testing. As you maneuver to the edge of the large pool, you can see its owner walking towards you, wearing a white lab coat. Her pale-blond hair is tied in a bun, keeping it out of her bespectacled eyes. Her clipboard has many pages on it, but you suspect she's made more mental notes than physical ones. As you set your equipment on the edge of the pool, she grasps your outstretched hand and helps lift you out of the water. You spin about, taking a seated position to take off the units on your leg. "Oh that was wonderful! To finally have a Witch to test these things first hand, it's like a dream come true!" The lab woman strikes a giddy pose, like a schoolgirl who has the attention of her first crush. Her pen clatters to the floor. "Calm down, Dr. Wackett. It's not like the design wasn't tested and finalized anyway," you say, handing her her pen. The fact that she's even running these tests caught you by surprise when you first arrived. "Cleo, don't be like that!" she says, pressing her hands to her hips. "There's a big difference between reading a report and seeing something first hand! Besides, I needed to verify some figures." She said that in a calm and straightforward manner, but her eyes...Nah, you must be imagining things. She taps her clipboard thoughtfully. "Well, Doc, you got your testing curiosity satisfied?" "For now." You've been in this facility for a couple days, somewhere more inland than Brisbane. Its location isn't secret (somewhere several hundred miles west of a place called Toowoomba); it's just in the middle of nowhere. On the surface, it looks like a seldom-used air strip where the occasional damaged plane is sent to be repaired, and it has in fact seen more use as such than its original purpose as a secluded and private research facility. However, with the escalation of the war and more recently the realization of the Harbinger's threat, the poor sleepy facility had seen a surge in activity, much to its overseer's delight. The underground rooms had finally been filled, and all sorts of engineering activities and tests now bring energy to its previously lethargic utilities. Of course, to any outside observer, nothing has changed. No one wants to attract the attention of the invaders from Mars. Said delighted overseer now brings her pen to her lips. "What I'd give to test these things myself..." Alice Wackett's eyes glimmer with intense longing. Your stomach growls. [ ] Not allowed to get wet? [x] Let's grab some lunch. [ ] Other. "Shall we get some lunch, Doc?" you ask, peeling the helmet and back unit from your suit. "Ah, I suppose that'd be alright. Let's. The cafeteria serves a surprisingly good meat dish of some sort once a week. I've tried to figure out exactly what it is, so far I've narrowed it down to chicken and..." You grimace as Dr. Wackett goes on and on. You hand her the leg units, carrying the back unit, helmet and other parts yourself. Dropping them off with one of the men in charge with tweaking and maintaining the units, the two of you head down some dimly-lit hallways. The facility is largely underground, with numerous rooms designed for testing things like new aircraft and striker engine, aerodynamic, and durability designs. Originally planned to be a sort of genesis for the domestic industry, it was sidelined as the immediate need for aircraft split efforts between more conventional and tested aircraft designs and simply importing what was needed, leaving little for this kind of "future lab." As a result, much of the infrastructure here is dated or poorly-maintained. "...so they probably fry it. But if that's how it's made, then why does it taste so...not fried, you know? "Mmhmm." The two of you take some stairs up to the surface, and find yourselves in the cafeteria. It's one of the parts of the facility that has been fully restored to its original design, and the clean walls, floors, and ceiling make it feel like an entirely different world from below. As you enter, you see Rae arguing with the poor sap stuck running the line. [x] What's going on? [ ] You just want to eat. [ ] Other. Curious, you walk up with Dr. Wackett. The argument seems to be getting a little heated, drawing some attention from several of the staff at tables close to the line...and a few not so close. "...call those seconds!? I've seen better 'seconds' served on a god damned Jap boat! You can do better than this!" Rae yells at him, arms gesturing. In front of her is a tray with an admittedly small amount of meat and what barely passes for vegetables. You certainly hope they're not giving out that much for 'firsts,' or you'll be having this argument yourself several times tonight. "What's going on here?" you ask, just making sure you're not missing anything. "Oh, Cleo, help me out here! This food prude," you chuckle at this, "gave me about two mouthfuls of food my first time through. I come back to get the other three quarters of my meal, and he gives me half as much as last time!" You turn to the 'prude.' "You skimping out on the portions?" "Rationing, there's a war going on," he says flatly. This sets Rae off on another tirade. [ ] Doc, some help here? [x] Handle this yourself. [ ] Well, there is a war going on. [ ] Other. You glance over at the Doctor. She's flipping through her notes, muttering to herself. No matter. You can handle this yourself. You turn to the man behind the counter, gripping the edge with your hand as you shift your weight. "You a fan of the Martian War Effort?" you ask in a smooth voice. "What do you mean, ma'am?" he responds, bored. "So you're being stingy with the food. Fine. Maybe the rest of the people in this place can survive on damned near nothing." He doesn't respond, still with a bored look on his face. "But Witches consume a shitload of calories when they project magic. We're here, testing and working our asses off, and you can't toss us a scoop or two more of mashed potatoes?" "We don't have a scoop to give, ma'am," he answers, gesturing to the food presented. There really is a small amount out in total. You lean in for a closer look, making sure he's not being a jackass and somehow hiding fo- Ah. There. Now that you think about it, the pocket of his apron is bulging a little...and there are several breadcrumbs on his chest... [ ] Hey, Rae, you see that? [ ] Doc, we have a problem. [x] Is that a bun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see us? [ ] Other. Is he really doing what you think he's doing? He can't be, yet... "So, is that a bun in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?" you ask, being a little self-conscious of your current wear: the dive suit and a jacket to cover up your back. "W-what?" the young man sputters, caught a little off guard. A second too late, he realizes moving his hand to cover his pocket is incriminating. "Tom, move your hand!" Dr. Wackett must have returned to reality with your comment, and she darts forward, leaning across the counter. "Let me seeee," she orders, reaching for his apron. "D-dr. Wackett, please-" he begins, backing away, but she manages to get a good grip on his apron. She gives it a good tug and Tom jerks towards the counter. The sudden motion jostles the contents of his pockets...and several dinner rolls fall to the floor. "How could you!?" Dr. Wackett accuses, shock at this 'betrayal' evident in her voice. "I, uh..." You turn to Rae, preparing to say something witty, but your words die in your throat. A devilish smile dominates her face. Several minutes later, the three of you sit with full trays of food, eager to dig in. Taking a bite, you find that Dr. Wackett wasn't lying; this meat...whatever it is, actually tastes pretty good, even if you can't quite describe just what it tastes like. Behind the counter, Tom sulks. [ ] So, what've you been up to, Rae? [x] Back at the pool, you mentioned wishing you could test them yourselves, Doc? [ ] Other. "So Doc," you say between mouthfuls, "what was that you were saying earlier?" "Mmmm," she replies, savoring her meal. "Whuh? Ohg, righ. Wif da Subrighker." She pauses to swallow. "I'd love to take one of those out for a spin, it seems like so much fun." Rae slams her drink on the table, finishing a hearty drink. "Ahhh!" she says in satisfaction. "If you think those things are fun, you ought to take out a pair of flight Strikers. Now there's a thrill!" "Come on, Rae. You've used Strikers what, three times?" you say, attempting to bring her down a notch. "Four. Doesn't matter. It's a thrill each time. Something about flying through the air, free of a cockpit and wings. It's really something." You have to agree. It's scary, but the two times you used them, those Mars Strikers granted you a kind of exhilaration you'd not had very often. Still, given your track record with flight, you'd take diving any day. "Oh, it doesn't matter to me. Either would be fine," Dr. Wackett says. "Then why don't you take a pair out for a spin? They don't let you take off your pants around here?" Rae asks. "Wouldn't matter, I'm afraid," she says, staring down at the table. "I don't have any magic to speak of." [ ] Really? You struck me as a witching type. [x] Change the subject. [ ] Other. Oh. Now there's something you didn't expect. It seems like every other woman you've met so far had some sparkles in the tank. You just got used to them all being Witches. Actually, now that you've got a moment to reflect...it's strange. Just a month ago you avoided Witches, rejecting the preferential treatment they typically receive, seeing them all as having a weak work ethic. Yet, here you are, not just expecting Witches, but even welcoming them, to the point of possible insensitivity. "Sorry. I didn't know." "Oh Cleo, don't worry about it! It's nothing to be sorry about!" she says, smiling once more. "Still, you struck me as a Witching type. Is that weird?" "No, not at all. In fact, my mom had a bit of magic, though she never really pursued it." She flips through her clipboard, as if the blank pages held the record of her family tree she needed. "I guess I didn't get that spark. I've always been fascinated though, which is why I'm here!" She readjusts her glasses. "Oh? What do you mean?" asks Rae, leaning back in her chair as she absentmindedly uses a toothpick. Dr. Wackett's expression suddenly cools. "I'm in charge of magical engine development, Lt. Caulders. I designed those Substrikers you're using." Rae rolls her eyes. "Yeah, a lot of use we've been getting out of those." [ ] Calm down, ladies. [x] You designed the Substrikers? [ ] Other. "You designed the Substrikers?" You knew she was involved in at least the testing and management, but this is news to you. "Yeah!" Dr. Wackett's face brightens up. "We had Witches in the air, Witches on the ground, but no Witches in the sea. I decided that we needed to fix that. If Australia became the first to develop such a thing, it would certainly make us an important research hub...and if we got more attention, I could get more funding for more projects..." She wipes a bit of drool from her mouth. "But then the War started and no one wanted diving legs anymore. This place shut down its aquatics research and I had to get foreign support for the project...practically none of the testing and building happened here." "I was wondering why we were sailing back home," comments Rae. Dr. Wackett ignores her. "And then you show up with a Martian, some of their toys, and news of a threat in the water? Support is practically flooding back in!" She gazes at you with an almost frightening smile. "You've put the project back on track! We can start work on the Mk III design, incorporating whatever we can learn from those Martian models..." Rae laughs. "Hey, hold your horses. They'll cut that funding again if you can't get us down to the Harbinger's depths." Dr. Wackett spins back to Rae, a deathly glare on her face. Rae just grabs another roll and starts munching. [ ] Calm down! [x] So, you can figure out those Mars Strikers? [ ] Other. "So, Doc, you can figure out these Mars Strikers?" you quickly ask. She spins right back around, eager to answer. "Yes! You see, the magical engine can be thought of as just another internal combustion engine, except that in place of fuel, it uses magic, 'burning' it to focus..." She begins a long explanation of how Strikers work. Her words quickly become a dull white noise you can't even focus on, pressing in on you from all sides. You feel like you're suffocating as she stares at you, assaulting you with the joys of engineering- "Hey Tommy, get me some more food, would you?" Rae asks loudly, interrupting Dr. Wackett's train of thought. You take the chance to get a word in edgewise. "Interesting, I never knew that," you say, "but does that mean you can start figuring out how they tick now?" She pouts. "No. Your friend here was using them all day." Rae shrugs. [x] What were you doing with those? [ ] Well, so long as you get to them. [ ] Other. "What were you doing with those, Rae?" "Hey, don't look at me. Victor said the brass wanted some flight tests done on the things. I was handy and used them before." Rae shrugs again. "Thanks, Tommy," she says sweetly as Tom drops another plate on the table. He walks off, grumbling. Now, Victor...oh yeah. The aid that brought you here a few days ago. He's still roaming around, huh? Your thoughts are interrupted by Dr. Wackett. "I keep telling them that it doesn't matter! We need to take them apart and figure out how they work! Once we start reproducing them, we can finish this war in a few weeks, to say nothing of what we could do with super-high efficiency magical engines..." she trails off as she thinks of all the research and designing she could do. "Yeah, I know. You only told me about a million times today, Doc. I'm the wrong one to be talking to! Take it up with MacArthur and friends if you have an issue," Rae answers hotly. "I already did! They wouldn't listen to me!" "So you think I can do a damned thing about it!?" "Yes, you're the one flying them! You could just hand them to me so I could get started-" "Fat chance! I'm not risking my career by disobeying an order from a General!" "If you let me figure them out, I could just make you another pair to fly-" "And how long would that take, huh?" "I won't know until I look!" They glare at each other. [ ] What do you do? - "Both of you, can it. Rae, respect that a civilian scientist is in the right to want to reverse-engineer advanced tech. Believe me, I test that shit. Doc, stop telling her to disobey a superior officer." You sigh. What a damned headache. "Both of you, please stop acting like children. You're adults, act like it. Dr. Wackett, I expected someone of your position to understand that the military is in direct contact with the enemy every day. They probably have a better idea of what's needed when than you do, and asking an officer to disobey her superior is asking her to commit insubordination, a serious crime. Rae, though asking you to hand over the Strikers is out of line, you have to understand just what we're sitting on here. It's an incredible opportunity to study alien technology and advance our own. Give her a break, would you?" They both cross their arms and grunt, annoyed. "Do you two understand?" No response. "God dammit, you are not children! Do you understand?" "Fine." "...Yes." You lean back, satisfied. "Now, Dr. Wackett. You want to work more on the Substriker, right?" She nods her head. "Well, you can't do that and examine the Mars Strikers at the same time, and if I'm testing them then you can't use Socks to help you through it." "I'm perfectly capable of examining systems without the help of-" "The only person that might be able to keep you from ruining unique specimens of Martian Technology?" Dr. Wackett has no response. "We'll finish up with the Substriker first. In the meantime, Rae, you finish up whatever the brass needs with the Mars Strikers. By the time we're finished, you'll probably be done using them. Alright guys?" They both nod. "Alright." [ ] Now where the hell are the others, anyway? [x] What do you guys do for fun in this place? [ ] Other. You take a swig of your milk. You've never been one for alcohol, but if this keeps up... "Now, what the hell do you guys do for fun in this place?" you demand. Dr. Wackett tilts her head at you, a curious expression on her face. "Fun?" Oh you have got to be kiddi- "I'm kidding. We've an extensive collection of books that people have kind of chucked all over the facility, various board games, several sets of cards..." She puts her pen to her mouth. "You know, we didn't really have enough people here to just sit around and play until recently, even at night. We might have some other stuff laying around that I haven't seen." "Wait, so you spent most of your days just chugging along in some god-forsaken hole, trying to keep working on a project with no funding?" Rae asks. "Yes. What of it?" "...That's serious dedication." Rae's voice carries a hint of respect for the Doctor. At any rate, Dr. Wackett doesn't take offense. [ ] Well, how's some Chess? [x] Thirteen Cards, anyone? [ ] Other. "Break out that card deck, Doc. Let's have a friendly game of Thirteen Cards." "I haven't heard of that game." She flips through her notes again, as if the answer would be in there. "Oh please, not that game again. I just lose and lose and lose," Rae complains. "The suits are stupid, too." "Come on, Rae. It's not like the suit order in Poker is any less arbitrarily chosen. Just deal with it," you say. "Here they are!" Dr. Wackett tosses a deck of cards into the center of the table. "How did you..." Rae begins, but the Doc just smiles and sets down her clipboard. "Whatever. Tommy, be a dear and clear our table, would you?" After the table is cleared, you shuffle and start dealing. The rules of the game are simple. For each round, you start with a set of cards including the lowest value card. From there, each player alternates, placing a single set of cards that matches the round-starting set in type (single, double, straight, etc.). The round ends when no one can beat the last set placed. First person to get rid of their hand wins. There are a few quirks, but that's the gist of it. Several rounds later, you've won, leaving second place to be decided between Rae and Dr. Wackett. Several people watch intently, somehow interested in the Doctor's performance in a simple card game. As it stands, they both have two cards left. The placed card is a King of Spades. You've gotten a glance at Dr. Wackett's hand: an Ace of Hearts and an Ace of Clubs. As she's next to place a card, she'll likely win, unless Rae has any 2s. [ ] Take a look at Rae's hand [ ] Give Rae some "advice," subtly [x] Let this play out [ ] Other You decide to let this play out. You were never much for cheating, anyway. Nervously, Dr. Wackett stares at her hand. Though both cards are aces, the suits are separated. There's really only one choice here, and you wonder if Dr. Wackett is calm enough to see it. Waiting to see her move, you notice you've become just as excited as the few other bystanders. Dr. Wackett takes a card from her hand, and places it on the pile. The Ace of Hearts. "GOD DAMMIT!" Rae yells, defeated. She tosses her hand on the table: a 4 of Clubs and an Ace of Diamonds; if Dr. Wackett had played her other Ace, she'd have lost. "I should have won at least one game by now!" The cheering crowd ignores her. After several more games of Rae losing, you all pack up. It's gotten a bit late, and the staff here wake up early, Dr. Wackett included. As you make your way back to underground room serving as your barracks of sorts, Rae stops and leans against a wall, sighing. No one else is around. [ ] What do you think of Dr. Wackett? [x] How were the Mars Strikers? [ ] Other. You do likewise, minus the sigh. The hallways is slightly dimmer than usual, probably to let everyone know it's night time. "How were those Mars Strikers, then?" Rae doesn't immediately respond, thinking about something. "Huh? Oh. Yeah. They were fine. Flying's always fun, so there's that. The brass are a bit demanding, though. 'Have these characteristics recorded by the 29th!' they say, dropping a huge list on me. They can't take the joy out of flying, but...they're trying their damnedest." The 29th? "Hey, what's the date today?" "Huh? Oh, I guess we haven't really had a chance or need to figure that out, huh? It's the 27th, nearly a month since we were on the Tullibee." She places her hand on her chin thoughtfully. "Hard to believe it's been that long. It seems forever ago, yet...it's like we've moved too fast." Hang on. The 27th of July is your birthday. [x] Huh. It's my birthday. [ ] What kind of characteristics? [-] Yeah, it's hard to believe that time keeps moving. [-] Let's head to bed. [ ] Other. "Huh," you say. "Hmm? What is it?" Rae asks. "It's my birthday today." "What!? You should have said something!" Rae stands straight again, looking around the hallway as if she might find a birthday present for you just laying around. "Cleo, that's not fair! Now I've about four hours or something to find you a gift!" You raise your hands, palms open. "No, no, don't worry about it." "What do you mean 'don't worry about it'!? It's your birthday! This only happens once a year, and with the War, who knows if you'll see another? Come on, I'll boss that Tommy to scrounge up a cake. God knows he's probably stashed one meant for everyone else somewhere-" "No, really, it's fine. I didn't even know until now, and I'm used to birthdays without much fanfare. It's not really important." "If it's not important, why'd you bring it up?" "Well, like you said. It's hard to believe time keeps moving like this. No matter what we do, how we feel...it keeps going." Rae rolls her eyes. "Yeah, it's amazing. Look, Cleo, tomorrow we'll find something to do for your birthday, alright? Jeez. Don't let it slip by again next year!" "Next year? Didn't you just say I might not make it?" "No reason not to hope, you lovable dope." "I'm the dope? I think we better get to bed; you must be sleep deprived." Rae laughs. "Sure, sure, whatever floats your boat, birthday girl." The two of you head to your beds. It's been a decently uneventful day. You hope tomorrow will be just the same.