Chapter 4 - Hail, The Gang's All Here

 Saying his dorm was “big” would be a dramatic understatement. It was much larger than any room he'd ever had the luxury of calling his own, combined. It was 6 rooms in total, all splendidly appointed. Rich, soft, leather sofas could be found in every room. The king-sized bed was bedecked in sheets softer than even the downy fur of an ermine. There was lots of oak and mahogany and maple, all stained darker than coffee. The kitchen was full of granite and steel-colored appliances and cast-iron black flourishes. There was a study with floor-to-ceiling book cases that had ladders to get to the upper shelves complete with real wood-pulp books. Books! Ladders! The digital lounge felt almost anachronistic. An island of modernity in this sea of retro-classic style. Screens and digital chalkboards and desks and any manner of interface devices studded the command-room-like compartment, dim blue lighting and black slate floor with white grout gave the scene an eerie feel, further enhancing the out-of-place-ness of the room.

“This facility used to be the capital of the underground network all those centuries ago,” the professor had explained to him upon arrival. “Between colonies like these, and people who found nuclear-shielded caverns and the like, it's estimated that only a few tens of thousands of people survived the Great Collapse. This specific facility housed about two thousand people. This wing, called 'The Ritz' in historic records, is where some of the most affluent and influential people of their time called home. Your training is going to be extraordinarily stressful, Jim. We all decided that the pilots should have these chambers. Enjoy it, as they may become your only sanctuary from your new way of life.”

When he arrived in the room, his various trunks and suitcases were waiting for him. There were lots of open shelves and book cases for his various trinkets. Closets and wardrobes for his clothes. The rest was in their rightful place amongst the cabinets, closets, and shelves of the flat. The room would be maintained by a cleaning staff every few weeks, as well. The professor had instructed Jim to locate his uniforms, change quickly, and meet her at the front of the dorm for his tour of the facilities. He found his uniforms in a wardrobe in a small changing room attached to the sleeping chamber. Very bland affair. Tan-colored cargo pants tucked into black mid-calf boots, a black canvas belt with pewter clasp, a tucked-in, rough, white, collared shirt with black buttons, a pewter analog watch with black canvas band, and a tan military-style brimmed hat.

When Jim arrived back in the dorm lobby, also magnificently appointed in rich red tapestry and velvet couches, more wood and glass, more retro-classic stylings, the professor was waiting for him, diligently studying a datapad in a high-backed chair near an old-oak coffee table. There were even canvas-and-paint pictures in thick golden frames along the walls, something, until now, Jim had only thought existed in museums and private antique collections.

“General,” Jim began, as he approached the obviously enrapt professor.

“Jim, yes,” the General slowly lowered her datapad from her eyes and stood up to greet Jim. “I wanted to show you around the facility before your training tomorrow. Was your room satisfactory?”

“It was more than I could have ever dreamed of, professor,” Jim looked her straight in the eyes, unsure if more gratitude could ever exist in him.

“That's good. I'm glad the facilities are to your liking. Also, now that we're on base, it might be best to get in the habit of calling me 'Commander' or 'sir.' Anyway, shall we go? There's a lot to show you here. Right now, as you know, we're at the farthest-east corner of the facility, known as the Ritz. In its heyday, this was where the rich and powerful secured their future. As time went on and generations iterated through, the nature and socioeconomic structure of the enclave shifted, and this eventually became a sort of headquarters for the enclave's Politburo. There are roughly 30 or so dorms equivalent to yours, and a few dozen lesser dorms for support staff. Then as now, it has become our base of operations, as well.”

“So, you're telling me this place is a few thousand years old?” Jim glanced around again. The masonry around the walls was pristine. The book cases looked aged, but not decrepit. The couches and tapestry and paintings were pristine, untarnished by the millennia.

“Yes, these are all pre-Collapse genuine artifacts. Before the Great Wars that lead up to the Collapse, our forefathers were some of the craftiest minds around. While developing awe-inspiring ways to destroy one another, they also created some of the most fantastic inventions to ever have existed. We're getting better every day, and ramping up fast, but they reached an inflection point known as 'the Singularity,' a place in time where technological innovation builds on itself and advances so fast, that it begins to scale exponentially, and not linearly. Scientists and great minds the world over toil day in and day out to decode and disentangle the legacy they left behind. These specific artifacts, the ones in this room, have all been treated with, for lack of a better way to state it, 'magic chemicals' that more or less negate the effects of time on their structure. So, while still vulnerable to wear-and-tear, they are impervious to aging alone. That's how we've been able to recover so much information about our past. They truly were the modern-day equivalent of wizards and sorcerers,” the awe and reverence in the professor's voice was palpable. You could feel her passion and empathy for the Old Times.

“Magic? Wizards? Socerers? ...Commander?” The words were so foreign from the professor, Jim was a little shocked.

“What is magic, Jim?” the professor asked rhetorically. “It's the violation of the natural order as you know it through trickery and mastery of the world around you, harnessing unseen forces and laws. So, yes Jim, until we can find a way to explain how they work, it might as well be magic. When Standish turned the lights off in that train, didn't you, for an instant, imagine he might be a wizard?”

“I guess. I just never thought of it like that. I always thought of magic as a way to hand-wave what you don't understand. I just thought Standish had done something that I couldn't quite explain, yet.” Jim looked at his shoes. He'd never had to think of something like that before. He wasn't really sure what he thought in that moment. If Standish had said he was a wizard, would he have believed him?

“That's a good way to think, Jim. Always question what you see. Just remember to always keep an open mind, because the wonders of the world are not limited to what you know. Anything in the world is possible, Jim, the only limitation is finding a way to trick the laws that govern our world into letting you do it. Anyway, we have a lot to go over, so we should get moving.” the Commander started walking through the hallway adjacent to the lobby where they were standing. The whole cavern was lined with stone walls and wood paneling, much like a castle. At the end of the hallway, they arrived at a large circular arena. In the center was a large fountain and reflection pool full of colorful fish and various plantlife covering it's bare stone floor. “The water pushes up through the geyser-cum-fountain in the center, forming this natural aquifer. The rock and sediment filter out the toxins, so we're left with clean water. This pool actually provides the majority of water for the facility. It may not look it, but at it's deepest, this lake extends down to about 25 feet.”

“And the trees?” A series of rings radiated out from the central fountain and pool, Jim pointed at the inner-most circle, an arboretum full of vegetation and flora.

“For hundreds of years, this was the only home anyone had ever know. That arboretum would have been the only forest anyone would have ever seen, this lake the only body of water. The people who built this facility knew that and so they did whatever they could to preserve the outside world in here.” The professor guided Jim down the circular walkway that encircled the perimeter of the cavernous expanse. Unlike the Ritz, the cavern was almost entirely exposed rock, save for the ceiling, which was lined in metal plates, no doubt to protect against cave-ins. A bit down the walkway they came to a staircase, which they ascended. It brought them to another ring, this one, however, was a moving walkway that moved around the entire perimeter in either direction. At interval were stairs up to the arboretum, or stairs down to a lower ring which served as a tram station to the other underground cities.

“This place is pretty incredible,” Jim gaped in awe around the place, dumbstruck by the sheer feat of engineering involved in making such a place reality. They mounted the moving walkway. It moved faster than a brisk walk, but slower than a run. It was transparent as well, so you could see the still, crystal-clear water beneath it as the fish leapt and splashed in their pool. Wide archways studded the outer wall of the geofront.

“That hallway takes you down into what was commonly referred to as 'The Styx.'”

The professor pointed to the archway to their right as they passed by it. “That would have been where the 'average citizen'” would lived. It's comprised of roughly a thousand mostly identical dorms. The wing, as of now, is mostly uninhabited, though we do use a few cells to store supplies and have repurposed others into research labs. No one lives there, though.” They passed on by the arch and carried on around the ring. “The ring completes a full revolution every half hour. The outer-most ring was designed to take a full one to walk. A lot of people like to run the ring, too. Current record is just under fifteen minutes.”

“Down that way is the mall,” the general gestured to the next hallway on the path. “What we're doing is very top-secret, Jim. There isn't a lot of coming and going. We have a fully staffed cafeteria and commissary in the mall, and some of the staff have set up little shops and recreational areas as well. It's a pretty safe bet that if you're looking for someone, that's where they are. I'll have the cadets give you a tour after I'm done with you.” The general shifted weight on her feet and recrossed her arms. They continued walking along as the ring crept ever forward. “Here we go, Jim, this is the hallway we want to go down.” The general pushed gently on Jim's shoulder as she guided him to the side of the walkway. The transition from moving to stationary was slightly jarring. Jim shook his head back into place. “Down this hall is training facility. Everyone should be there.”

The hallway was a large steel-lined affair. Large circular floodlights lined the ceiling and created large circles of light on the ground and large triangles of darkness on the walls. Jim was reminded of the long hallways that led from the locker room to the stadium floors during the world competitions. The professor led at a fast clip, arms swinging, boot-heels thudding against the cement floor. Ahead, in one of the dark spaces, a shape started to form. It was a person, one leg outstretched, knee locked to support their weight, the other foot flat against the wall, same as their back, head and hat lowered, staring sidelong at them with folded arms, casually disinterested at their presence.

“I prefer the fedora,” the familiar voice said from the shadowed darkness. “But you do look pretty good in uniform.” Standish kicked off the wall and followed stride from behind. He was wearing a suit, as usual – a grey, Italian-cut, double-breasted affair with a black mandarin-collared shirt, tie replaced with a large ebony button.

“How'd you get out of wearing uniform?” Jim shifted uncomfortably in his military garb. It felt heavy and overly-official.

“Being who I am and what I am comes with a few perks, Jim.” Standish winked as Jim glanced back.

“Who are you and what are you, then?”

“Jim,” the commander's voice was stern and finite.

“Yes, Commander,” Jim acknowledged, letting the subject drop.

The three walked in silence for a while. The pressed-leather heels of Standish made a loud clicking sound, in contrast to the vulcanized rubber of the commander and Jim's more functional uniform boots. At length, the hall terminated into a small red door.

“That door should be painted black,” Jim pointed.

“What?” the commander turned around to face him.

“Nothing,” Jim shook his head again to collect his thoughts.

“Anyway, the training facility is through this door,” the commander pulled her sleeve back to look at her watch, “They should be in the middle of calisthenics right now. You have a few days to get adjusted to everything before you have to start BASIC, but for now, I want you to meet the pilots.” The commander gestured to Jim to go through the door.

Jim pushed the door open. Inside was a large bank of computers, rows and rows. It looked like the old command centers from Ancient History class, like the old NASA and Cosmonaut control facilities. There were dozens of people seated at the computer monitors, numbers and figures and shapes flashing across the screens. The command center was relatively small with a door on either side, a large window filling the entire front wall. The window looked out into a huge, open expanse. Dozens of stories high, and as many yards long, the dome-shaped expanse was lined with large steel arches and crowned with gigantic, terawatt lighting fixtures, simulated suns.

“This used to be the farm facility, back when this was a shelter. We've converted it into a combat training center. The entire facility is climate-and inertial-controlled,” the commander pointed at the rows of monitors. “Everything and everyone is watched. Heart rate, mental state, exhaustion levels, thirst and hunger states. In the coming days, you'll receive a few implants. After they're calibrated, we'll be able to tell just about everything your body can tell us.”

“Those ones aren't optional,” Standish said with a wry smile.

“So, those read-outs on FPS aren't fake?” Jim noticed one of the monitors, on it was a cartoonified body flanked by dozens of numbers, percentages, and progress bars.

“Not anymore, no. Reality has a way of mimicking fantasy. Some of the best ideas we can conceive start out as elements of a story,” the commander walked over to one of the doors. “This way Jim.”

He followed dutifully. The push-bar double-doors swung open to another hallway. It was lit by diffuse yellowish lights, the floor lined in cream synthetic tiles, the rest painted a calming pastel yellow. The hall terminated onto another set of manual-open doors. “I never understood why all these shelters have mechanical doors when they were so technologically advanced. If you have the technology to print physical objects, integrate nanomachines into flesh, and build weapons so powerful they can level the world and render it uninhabitable for thousands of years, don't you think they could just automate everything? It just all feels so anachronistic.”

“One of the first things these shelters teach you about the Old World is an adage our ancestors lived by: 'Never digitize something vital that you can just as easily do mechanically,'” Standish put a hand on Jim's shoulder as they walked. “What would happen if there was an earthquake and the major door circuits failed? We'd be stuck in this hallway until they came back online. Those doors aren't ones you can just kick in, either. This whole facility was designed to shrug off a direct bomb hit.”

“And, Jim,” the commander interjected from in front of him, “Our ancestors were very afraid of technology. If you look back through time, there are hundreds of books and movies about computers going crazy and ruling the world. Gaining sentience and turning against their masters. During the AI Renaissance, anything that was vital to human survival was quickly removed from any form of advanced artificial intelligence. That's why combat robots and drones are still human-controlled.” The commander opened the door at the end of the hallway to a small locker room where a few people were changing. She cleared her throat as the door closed loudly behind her. The four kids turned on their heels and snapped to attention, in various states of undress. None of them looked to be older than a few years into twenty. “Alright guys, this is our new recruit, guys. James...”

“James Ross, ma'am,” the strong-jawed, buzz-headed, blonde young man on the farthest left of the line said with a salute. His coveralls were unzipped to his waist, arms dangling to the side, gold necklace hiding behind his white a-frame shirt, nestled between his brawny chest. “I'd recognize that face anywhere. Been following you since your breakout at the DO. You're kind of a hero to me, sir. Adrian, Adrian Pavelavski, sir,” he reached out a soft, incredibly solid hand to Jim.

“Thanks,” he leaned forward and took his offering. His shake was solid and a little bit scary. “I'm nothing special though, and don't call me 'sir,' it kinda freaks me out.”

“Alright, sir,” Adrian said as he rocked back to his at-ease position, “Er, sorry. The way you beat Athlete Pro in the DO qualifiers was pretty special, though, James...”

“...Jim...”

“...Jim. There isn't an athlete alive who can transition so perfectly from rhythm game to physical game to tactical game like you can. Scoring near-perfect on the guitar challenge and then wiping in the dance challenge and still being able to execute a flawless reverse flank in the strategic simulator? Magic, sir. A true spectacle to watch.”

“Well, thank you. I didn't really think many people followed pro gaming that closely. I'm truly flattered,” Jim couldn't help but smile. He'd never really met a fan in person before.

“You're welcome, sir” Adrian smiled from his at-ease position. Jim let the “sir” slide knowing it probably wasn't a habit he was going to be breaking any time soon.

“I'm Marion,” the woman to Adrian's right introduced, leaning out for a handshake as well, “and I promise you I have no idea what he's talking about,” she made a thumb gesture at Adrian as she resumed position. A jocular smile creased the edges of her dusky brown complexion.

Jim made a note of her homochromatism. Not a whole lot of dark-skinned people made it through the Collapse. The Old World was apparently pretty lousy to them, and with shelters and the like being financially and academically motivated, it was hard to find a spot in such a selective group when everyone else on the planet had a boot-heel on your throat. Still, considering how many people didn't make it through, the few who were able to did end up composing a demographically significant portion of the population. However, in the intervening centuries between then and now, the small pool of people lead to a large amount of cross-racial interaction. As such, just about everyone was some level of heterochromatic.

“Jim,” Marion waved her hand in front of his face.

Jim had been staring at her blankly while he thought. He shook his head and snapped back into the real world. “Sorry, I wasn't, I mean...”

“It's Ok. I get it a lot. Culture Kids are rare,” her visage assumed a knowing and explanatory face that she seemed to have quite a lot of practice with.

“That wasn't why I was staring,” Jim looked her in the eyes, an impish grin creeping across his cheeks.

“Oh? Then why?” Marion broke her at-ease stance, placing her hand on her side and cocking her hip out.

“I was staring because you're beautiful,” he said with a wink. Marion's jaw dropped slack, eyes wide in shock.

“Jim!” the Commander swatted him across the back, “You're a soldier. Manners, please!”

“Hey, she asked,” Jim exclaimed as he rolled his shoulders forward and put his hand up for protection in case the professor decided to swat him again. “Don't worry, though. I have a girlfriend so you're safe.”

Standish let a chuckle slip through and the rest of them all let out a comfortable laugh in suit. He elbowed Carol in the rib gently and leaned toward her ear, “I think he's gonna fit right in,” he whispered with a surreptitious wink of his own.

“Blaize. I'm Blaize,” He waved his hello at Jim, who returned in kind with a nod and a wave of his own. “And you're pretty cute yourself,” he said with a wink of his blue-white eyes. His short, well-coiffed pompadour and long blond sideburns made his jaw, like the rest of his flawless physique, look as though it were carved of the purest marble.

“Well, thank you, darlin',” Jim struck a pin-up pose and waggled his hips. Everyone, the commander included, blurted out an impossible-to-stop laugh.

When the roar calmed down, Standish put a hand on Jim's shoulder and leaned close to his head, pointing at Blaize with his free hand. “If you didn't notice, Mr. Lancaster here is one of the Aug'ed pilots.” Standish returned upright and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Oh, are you considering entering the program, Jim?” Blaize got really animated and folded his arms across his chest.

“Yeah, are you?” The last of the four, a burly, caramel-skinned guy with a bushy, well-trimmed, full beard also crossed his arms and looked at Jim with similarly blue-white eyes penetrating into him.

“Well,” Jim started, “I only just learned that Aug'ing was even a thing until today, but I've given it some thought a few times since I learned.”

“Well, it comes recommended highly. I started out clear-eyed, but Blaize gave me the final push,” he said as he elbow-checked him in the shoulder. Blaize rocked side-to-side as he grinned and chuckled in reply. “It really does make the whole piloting thing a lot easier. That lot over there still gets the job done,” he subtly gestured to the first two with a nod and a thumb, “but not having to be wired into the bot really eased the after-flight stress. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough.”

“It really isn't that bad,” Marion said with a casual shrug. Adrian added an agreeing nod-shake and a “Nah” as he pulled a “no-big-deal” frowning face.

“Whatever,” he said as he leaned over and shot Marion and Adrian a glance and a smirk, his long-cut curly locks breaking out of the tight pony-tail they were pulled into. “I'm Tomah, by the way.” He leaned a bow to Jim, who acknowledged it with a nod and bend of his own waist.

“Alright guys, carry on with whatever you were doing. We're going to take Jim to see the Cores,” the commander made a gesture and the pilots went about changing out of their flight suits.

Jim waved a goodbye as Commander Cecilia and Standish lead him past them to a door on the other side of the room. They entered the door, and again down a long yellowish hallway. “They seem like good kids,” Jim said when along the path.

“They're all really talented individuals. Strong, intelligent, skilled. If you're half the man I think you are Jim, you'll fit in well. You have the capacity for great things, James Ross. Prove yourself to them, and they will forever have your enduring respect,” Standish assumed a reverent tone. “The service has a way of bonding people. Closer than family. Putting your life in other's hands has a way of doing that.”

“Wow, Standish, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you sounded almost wise there,” The commander snarked. “But he's right, Jim. They are good kids. Trust in them, and you'll see.” They reached the end of the hall. “The maintenance bridge is on the other side of this door, Jim.” The commander made a gesture to Jim, who pushed the door open.