For the first time since Hartwell had met him, Rushmore woke up late. Considering everything he’d done yesterday, Hartwell decided not to bring it up. Rush did it for him anyway.

  “Good morning Hartwell. Sorry I overslept.”

  “It happens,” Hartwell said. “You picked a good day for it, at least. Hasn’t been much need for your services, electrical or...otherwise.”

  Rush looked over the garage’s entrance and saw two new haulers had been pulled out. They were smaller than the others, and constructed in a different way. A few Junkers were crawling around in the back, removing some components and adding in new ones.

  “Those haulers are different.”

  “Yes, the ones we already had were commercial haulers, meant for transporting cargo,” Hartwell said. “These appear to have been military trucks, meant for transporting troops, maybe some equipment. They’re smaller, but with some modifications, the two of them together will be able to haul more scrap than the one we lost.”

  “That’s good.”

  “And there might be more further in,” Hartwell said. “We haven’t explored the entire garage yet. Just wanted to get those two kitted out to haul everything else we’re finding.”

  Any Junkers who weren’t retrofitting the haulers were carrying other loot out of the garage. Some of it consisted of hauler parts—stripped from non-functional vehicles to repair the ones that did—and generic scrap, but a select few were handling small crates. Eiffel walked alongside the crate group, carefully holding a large rifle by the stock.

  “Weapons?”

  “This was a military facility at one point, Rush,” Hartwell said. “More storage than a base, but still.”

  As much as Hartwell hated trafficking in weapons, they made for valuable scrap. The Republic was always interested in weaponry, no matter the condition.

  “Hmm. I should check it out,” Rush said. “See if there’s anything to upgrade the suit.”

  Hartwell tried to avoid scowling.

  “Take a few minutes,” Hartwell said. “Then see if you can put that power saw to use on disassembly.”

  “Understood,” Rush said. He walked past Hartwell and into the open garage. Seeing the area filled with movement and energy certainly helped dispel any morose feelings -though a few returned when Rush found himself staring down the barrel of a massive gun.

  “Oh, a tank,” Elvis said. “Several tanks.”

  The entrance to the garage was flanked on either side by rows of parked tanks, still covered in dust. A few handmarks and bootprints marked the armored hides where junkers had crawled over them to examine the material, but there wasn’t much worth taking from these ancient weapons.

  “All of these were likely stripped for parts and then mothballed as the military transitioned towards mecha as their weapon of choice,” Elvis explained.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Why’d they do that, anyway?”

  “Well there isn’t much material to go around, I imagine they had to make use of what they could.”

  “No, I mean, why start using mecha?” Rush said. “They’re massive expenditures of resources and most of them don’t carry any weaponry larger or more effective than you could fit on one of these.”

  Rush put a hand on the barrel of the tank’s main gun. It was, to be precise, about half the size of a gun one might see on a mecha, but Rush figured it’d be easier to just build a bigger tank instead of a dozen-story tall robotic humanoid if you wanted something to mount a slightly bigger gun to.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any data on the origin point of mecha, Rush,” Elvis said. “And this isn’t an issue of memory compression either. I was not programmed with that information.”

  “Hmm. Oh well,” Rush said. His curiosity was not so overpowering as to keep him from his real priorities. “Do you think we could adapt any of the weapons from the tanks for the suit?”

  “It’s possible, Mr. Rush, but I would not recommend it,” Elvis said. “These are all ballistic weapons. The armaments themselves are already significantly larger and more difficult to adapt to the suit than our energy weapons, and that’s not even getting into the issue of maintaining a usable ammo supply.”

  A fifty-pound cannon was bad, and having to lug around two hundred pounds of ammo for it was even worse. Their railgun technically required ammunition, but it was of a much more manageable sort. Elvis had integrated a two-pound chunk of lead could be gradually separated into a few dozen shots, and would be easily replaceable when it eventually ran out. Gunpowder ammunition would not be so easy to replace -if any of it even still functioned in the first place, after sitting inert for a few hundred years.

  “That makes sense,” Rush said. “Let’s see if there’s anything else deeper in.”

  Most of the rooms were already being scouted by other Junkers, so Rush headed deeper into the unexplored parts of the facility. Though everything appeared safe, Rush still moved carefully as he headed further in. Most of the storage was useless to him for the moment; anti-infantry weapons, mostly, or other military supplies like long-expired MRE’s or fuel storage. Rush only took interest when he saw a room full of industrial construction and demolition equipment.

  “I wonder if any of this still works,” Rush said.

  “Even if it does, the vast majority will be too large to fit into the suit,” Elvis said, as Rush strolled by a massive pile driver.

  “What about this?”

  Rush grabbed on to a small device attached to a long metal cable.

  “Looks like some kind of cable launcher,” Rush said. “Maybe a heavyweight grappling hook.”

  “The size is right, but the utility leaves much to be desired,” Elvis said. “There is still the massive cable to be considered, Mr. Rush.”

  “Well, I don’t think we’d have to lug it around the whole time,” Rush said. “This cable looks long enough that if we aim it right we could launch from the ground to a mecha’s head without having to climb.”

  “You know what, I’m on board,” Elvis said. The prospect of less time getting smacked at by giant mechs was enough for him. “Let’s bring this device back to the suit and see what we can do.”

  Rush grabbed the launcher and threw the surprisingly lightweight cable over his shoulder, and started to head out. On his way back, he heard someone shout with surprise, and ducked his head into a storage room to see Arthur with his back to a wall, looking scared.

  “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, fine, everything’s fine,” Arthur said. “I just...didn’t realize anyone else was this deep in. I heard footsteps coming from inside, thought you might be a security drone or something.”

  “Oh.”

  Rush turned away from the room and left without saying anything else. On the way, he passed by one of their other new recruits.

  “Shinji.”

  “Rushmore,” Shinji said. “Got a minute to talk?”

  “I guess,” Rush said. He hoped he was doing a good job of hiding his suspicions. Giza had assured him he had a “natural poker face”, which turned out to be a good thing. Giza had also had to explain what poker was. Rush kept thinking of that explanation as Shinji turned to him with dark, narrow eyes.

  “Just wanted to say thanks for getting this place open,” Shinji said. “Heard about what happened to your dad. Must’ve been hard.”

  “It took a long time, but it wasn’t hard,” Rush said. “You’re welcome.”

  Rush kept moving, surprised by how entirely non-suspicious that conversation had been. Shinji let him go, and kept moving. Rush wasn’t the one he was looking for on this particular expedition.