The air in the elevator was cold. Not quite cold enough to warrant a warmer change of clothes, but certainly cold enough to border on the uncomfortable. Nina Flores sat in the crash seat, patiently waiting for the ride to finish. Her assistant sat a few seats away, quietly humming some catchy tune to himself; some kitschy song that had been popular on the waves lately. She did her best to ignore him. She liked Benjamin, she really did, but he often was more on the airheaded side for her liking. Though that had been to his benefit in the past, as people had imagined him to be some sort of ditz, which was their downfall. She had seen Benjamin commit acts of violence so graceful and exact, it had given her chills.

She knew that someday, he would replace her. And he’d probably do a good job.

They were the only two people in the elevator; it wasn’t too often that people took the elevators these days, unless they were new recruits coming on to replace dead tank crewmen. But they rode in on cargo shipments; this was more luxurious, though still utilitarian and efficient; more upholstery than cargo netting. She simply wished that it had windows. It was a long ride down, and if she could enjoy the scenery, she wouldn’t have to work quite as hard trying to ignore Benjamin’s incessant humming. These days, these elevators were extremely armored, with kinetic weapons spaced out every hundred meters or so to shoot down incoming projectiles or large space debris. It turned out that, even with the difficulties a space elevator provides, it makes up for it in low fuel costs. Running shuttles back and forth between orbit and the surface had gotten costly in the first decade or two of the war, so multiple space elevators were built all over the planet to elicit transit between the surface and orbit.

The room was hexagonal, with the walls covered in the crash seats. A small pillar rose up in the center of the room, upon which were multiple screens, angled in such a way that every wall of seats had a screen to look at. The screen in front of Nina showed an animated diagram of the elevator’s altitude. She felt the breaks begin to activate as she saw the small animated hexagon that represented the elevator approach the planet’s atmosphere. While the elevator had heat-resistant tiles that aided with reentry, it was better for the longevity of the expensive and crucial tiles if the elevator slowed for atmospheric entry. The diagram began to glow red on the screen, and the elevator was buffeted Harmattan’s upper atmosphere. It would only become more uncomfortable from here, as the constant storms that ravaged Harmattan’s surface raged closer to the ground. They would enter those soon enough.

The pod diagram cooled from an angry orange to a cool blue, indicating they had safely entered the planet’s atmosphere. Here, the gases that made up the atmosphere were denser, being closer to the ground, which kept them from overheating too much as the elevator began to free-fall again. Nina felt the Gs increase as they accelerated, and her hand automatically drifted to the revolver on her thigh – a constant companion through many harrowing events. The feel of the cold cylinder on her fingertips comforted her, but as she was suddenly aware of her actions, she smiled. If the elevator experienced a catastrophic incident, the revolver wouldn’t save her.

She looked over and Benjamin seemed completely unchanged. The increase in Gs during their acceleration had seemingly not fazed him, as he continued to hum his awful tune. Nina shook her head, looking back to the screen ahead of her. A couple more minutes of free fall, and they would be at Mother Base 01, the largest and most well-equipped of the five Mother Bases. Situated at the southern pole of the planet, if Harmattan had a magnetic field, it was the key location for tank repairs, resupply, rearm, and crew recuperation. She had preferred to leave from Mother Base 03, which was closest to the Enoch, but this base was the only location on the planet where she could acquire the most critical part of her plan.

It was obvious when they hit the storms. The elevator bucked and shuddered, buffeted by the killer winds. It vibrated heartily, and if she clenched her jaw as the elevator operators instructed them not to do, her teeth would have buzzed against each other like jackhammers. The saving grace of the storms, however, was that they were only so high. After a few more minutes of free fall, the elevator began to slow, and Benjamin’s humming stopped, fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds after it began.

“Planetside so soon?” he asked, more to himself than to her. Apparently he had enjoyed the trip, despite it being one of his first times on a space elevator, and certainly his first time on a space elevator to Harmattan. She pulled the release handle on the crash seat, and it sprang up, releasing her. She stood up and stretched, even though she hadn’t been sitting long. Her joints popped at the movement. She wasn’t afraid of elevators; in truth, the list of things she was truly frightened of was shorter by the day. However, she had decided it would be one of her least-favorite ways to die. For all the work I’ve done for the EMC, she would think every once in a while, I deserve to go out like a gods-damned hero.

She wore a typical Harmattan tanker armor suit, as did Benjamin. Intelligence didn’t require uniforms, instead dictating that agents and employees dress professionally. Though, even if they did require a uniform, she wouldn’t wear it for this operation. It would betray her true intentions, for sure. The uniform bore a patch signifying the rank of Captain, which she would hope would be high enough to do what she needed done. Likewise, Benjamin wore Sergeant stripes.

A clang could be both heard and felt above them, and on the screens in the center of the room, animated diagrams appeared signaling that they had successfully docked with Mother Base 01, and an airtight seal had been established. On the cargo lifts, human occupants would have worn oxygen the whole way down, just in case, and they usually opened up into an open yard or warehouse area without oxygen, but this was a comfortable option for higher-ranking officers and the like. The door to the elevator hissed, equalizing pressure, and Nina’s ears popped. A Corporal walked in, welcomed them, and ushered them out of the pod. The trio walked down a few corridors and hallways, before ending up in one of the bases’ open areas, of which there were five. These gargantuan domes were part of the larger complex, and were well armored under the surface of the planet. Four of the five gargantuan domes were used for tank repair, rearm, etc. Each dome was large enough to hold multiple tanks, though Nina wasn’t sure exactly how many.

Sitting on a bench not far from where Nina, Benjamin, and the Corporal had emerged into the dome, sat a lanky, greasy individual in an armored suit just like Nina and her assistant. Upon seeing the duo, the man stood up, grinning widely. Nina felt a wave of disgust wash over her at the unsightly individual that approached them. She put her hands on her hips, trying hard not to scoff.

“Ichabod Crane, I presume?” she asked him. His smile widened, and another nauseating current of disgust crested over Nina as she saw the poor state of the man’s teeth.

“Indeed I am,” he said, offering a hand for her to shake. She did so, but not without shivering internally first. His shake was firm, but his palm was sweaty. Nina almost gagged. On top of that, his greyish hair was unkempt and poorly trimmed, his teeth were either missing or in various states of yellow or black, and he looked like he had been lounging in an oil barrel while he waited for them. She made a mental note not to touch anything with that hand until she had thoroughly washed it with soap and water, if any could be found on this dusty hellish landscape.

“It’s an honor to meet you, Ms. Flores,” the man said, his voice like rusty nails in a tin can. “I’ve heard so much about you. Around here, they say you’re an artist.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he said this, and his smile remained wide. Nina wished he would stop smiling. However, she worked in Intelligence; and lying was one of her best skills. She could make this creature think that she was at least polite. She was, after all, a professional.

“Why thank you, Mr. Crane,” she said, mirroring his smile, but with significantly better teeth, not that that said much. She completely glossed over his other warm alliterations, instead changing the subject so that she wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that she had never heard of this golem until a day or two ago. “This is Mr. Benjamin,” she said, gesturing towards her hapless assistant, who reached forward to shake the man’s hand. He leaned into the handshake, and the man did likewise. Crane took Benjamin’s hand, and while the assistant was slightly off balance, pulled back roughly, almost enough to make Benjamin fall forward. However, the assistant regained his balance, his countenance showing no sign of anger or discomfort. He smiled genially, and Crane laughed at his joke. He’ll be lucky if he makes this out alive, Nina thought to herself.

Crane stood up erect, his smile abating somewhat.

“Shall we?” he said, gesturing towards the interior of the dome. The duo nodded and quietly muttered their polite and professional agreement to follow Crane, while the unnamed Corporal disappeared back inside the hallway to get back to monitoring the elevator. Crane, Nina, and Benjamin walked through the dome, surrounded by bustle. This dome was smaller than the others, due to it being an administration dome, of sorts. Assistants, lackeys, and underlings swarmed back and forth, some carrying papers or clipboards, others carrying boxes full of supplies, such as papers and pens, throughout the site. Occasionally a trucking cart would zoom past, the bed full of a pallet of resources for a local mess hall, or workmen sent to fix a flooding bathroom. Each Mother Base was its own localized city, technically in one building.

Overhead, harsh lights illuminated the dome. Despite the natural coldness of the planet and the base, the harsh lights almost it warm enough on one’s exposed skin to break out in a sweat. As they walked, Crane said nothing, to Nina’s surprise. It’s a welcome surprise, to be sure, she thought to herself. As they walked, they received little attention. Any passersby would think the trio a group of officers from a tank crew, back for recuperation, or perhaps just a quick rearm, before they headed back out into the sands. Any attention they received was in the form of a random salute here and there from a lesser officer or soldier. After the first few, Nina stopped bothering to return the salutes.

They exited the dome, following one of the massive curving tunnels to the next dome, where their transportation awaited. Upon exiting the tunnel into the dome, Nina immediately saw their ride. It was a vehicle most people just called a Runner, but the name lacked any sense of majesty the vehicle may deserve. Runners, by their colloquial name, are large vehicles that are used to “run” ammo, fuel, personnel, and parts to tanks out in the field. A tank’s purpose out in the field may be critical, such as surveying a large area on patrol, making sure no enemy tanks encroach on EMC territory. If such a tank suffers significant damage and requires a new part, then rather than that tank limp back to a Mother Base, leaving their patrol area unoccupied, a runner would be dispatched to deliver whatever the tank needed to maintain normal operations. Runners could be used to retrieve prisoners of war, though that would be rare, or to retrieve severely injured individuals if the medic on board the tank were unable to properly treat them. They are typically half the size of an average tank, with no outward armaments to speak of, light armor, and they are usually significantly faster than most tanks.

This runner, Mercury Trist, was set and ready to aid them in finishing their mission as quickly as possible. Nina made sure to mask her wonder at the sight of the gargantuan vehicle: while it wasn’t as large as a tank, that didn’t say much. As far as terrestrial vehicles went, this would be the largest she had ever ridden in. Benjamin, on the other hand, didn’t disguise his wonder as the trio neared the Trist.

“This is for us?” he asked aloud, his face plastered in a smile. Crane chuckled.

“Indeed,” the old man said, his voice grating on Nina like a cinderblock in a washing machine. “The Mercury Trist is one of the best runners in the fleet here. It will get us to our objective in no time flat.”

Four people stood outside the ramp to the Trist, apparently waiting for them. Ah, thought Nina, there you are. Seeing Crane, Nina, and Benjamin approaching, the four standing around the ramp approached, and Nina began introductions. She introduced herself, Benjamin, and Crane, and then moved on to introduce the four others that had been waiting for them. She pointed to a woman in her early thirties that perhaps had been beautiful at one point, but now her face was covered in hideous scars.

“This is Nu,” Nina said. Nu bowed her head slightly, saying nothing. Like Nina, she had a firearm strapped to her thigh. Nina directed her hand towards the next individual, a large man with a beard. He seemed unassuming enough, though he had heterochromatic eyes, if someone looked close enough. He slightly taller than normal, but his arms and chest were thick and sturdy. He had a custom firearm slung on his back, and from what little Nina had seen of it, it was some sort of heavily modified shotgun. Nobody had used shotguns since the armistice, and while they weren’t necessarily illegal, they were certainly looked down upon in modern times. However, when boarding a tank, few weapons surpassed the shotgun in outright lethality and ease-of-use.

“This is Epsilon,” she said, pointing at the large man. Epsilon nodded slightly and blinked slower than usual to acknowledge that he had been introduced. The next individual in line was man with a narrow face and a short forehead. He had big ears, and his blond hair stood almost straight up. This man wore a trench coat over his armor, most likely to hide whatever weapons undoubtedly hid underneath.

“This is Gamma,” she said, pointing at the tall man. Gamma bowed his funky-looking head, and Nina moved her hand towards the last man. The last man was of average height, and average build. He wore no armor, but instead a mechanic’s outfit. He looked completely unassuming, though Nina saw with delight that while his outfit was dirty, his fingers were not. She smiled, and the man shook his head fiercely.

“No, that’s ok Ms. Flores, I need no introduction-“ the man said quickly and nervously, but Nina cut him off.

“And this is Miskins, everyone. Say hello, Miskins,” Nina said, her eyes narrowing. Miskins’ face turned red and white at the same time.

“I’m just here to say that the object you requested has been delivered, and is currently in the hold of the Trist, Ms. Flores. I’ll be going now.” He turned to go, but Gamma stepped in front of him after a look from Nina.

“Now Mr. Miskins, don’t be rude. You’re one of us, you know. Complicit in our actions.” She turned to look at the others. “Miskins may be wearing a mechanic’s outfit, but he’s actually one of the few people on this miserable rock with keys to the nuclear armistice arsenal."