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An hour later, we were in the air, strapped into the cabin of a supersonic transport plane. The engine howl was eerily muted at these speeds, and we could almost talk normally.
"What are we doing, Lieutenant?" Boris asked quietly, eying the pair of marines napping on the other end of the compartment. He'd seen everything I had, but seemed to think I had some sort of secret officer training that would put it all in context.
"What the computer tells us to do, Chief." I wanted to reassure him that it'd be alright, and that they'd soon let us hand this assignment off to someone with a clue.
Despite the military trappings, we'd basically just been office drones; friendly co-workers on assignment to the Edge of Nowhere, Scotland.
Now, the shiny little box, handcuffed to Boris for the flight, had drafted us into its ancient, top-secret mission, just because we'd been in the room. It said I was in command, so I had to try.
"It'll make sense when we get there," I continued, as confidently as I could manage.
Comments (1 so far!)
That feeling when you're waiting for an expert and then every looks down the table at you and you realize that you're the expert. Feel that weight? That's the iron chains of responsibility settling down around you.
- #3118 Posted 2 years ago
Inspired by (sequel to):
What followed was not so much a mission briefing but a series of pronouncements from the little comp…Instructions
- Published 2 years ago.
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