Countess carefully descended the alien stairs. Fear and panic grew inside her with each step. Unfathomable shapes surrounded her, and she was having a difficult time processing them. She didn’t have the vocabulary to even describe what she was seeing. She focused on her goal: finding the Baron and understanding what he needed from her in this strange place.

The air here assaulted Countess’s sense of smell. It was oppressive, and somehow a mixture of a hundred things all at once. Human body odor, old socks, strange acidic chemicals, and many other scents intermingled. Countess winced and held her nose. This assault on her senses only heightened her anxiety, but she forced herself to continue.

At the bottom of the winding stairs, there was a short corridor. It led to an open area which terminated in a vertically bisected wall. The bottom half of the wall was dominated by a pattern of diagonal black and yellow stripes. The top half was a large rectangle of opaque black glass. About halfway down the corridor, the trail of blood ended. It looked partially cleaned at the far end, the job obviously left unfinished. The sight of blood made her heart race—was the Baron in danger?

Countess felt completely exposed. There were no shadows here, no place to hide. The entire area was bright and evenly lit, like the noon sun, but there were no visible light sources. She wondered who could maintain such a place in a world so devoid of the technology she was used to. Countess entered the open area with her dagger drawn. She was expecting to get jumped at any moment.

There was a loud pop, which reverberated off the walls. Countess froze in place.

“Stop right there,” said a voice. The voice was loud and had a strange metallic quality to it. It had a similar quality to one she had heard as a child. She and her friends had made paper cones and yelled at each other through them.

“You can put your weapon away,” said the voice. Countess sheathed her dagger, her mind racing to understand what kind of place she had stepped into and who was commanding her.

“See that red X on the floor?”

Countess looked down. “I see it.”

“Walk over to it,” said the voice, “kneel down, and lace your fingers together on top of your head.”

“How delightfully specific,” Countess whispered to herself. She had to decide quickly if compliance was her best option. “And if I don’t comply?” she said, testing her captors.

“Do not fuck with me, Countess Wellington,” said the voice.

“You know who I am?” she said.

“We know who you are,” the voice sounding tired and impatient. “Let’s just get through this.”

Countess walked to the red X, kneeled, then put her hands on her head. She had a very strong urge to flee but fought to remain calm. Her curiosity was piqued—how did they know her? What did they want?

“Look forward,” said the voice. “Do not turn your head.”

Countess heard doors open on both sides of the room. Several people ran toward her. Bright red points of light appeared on the floor and seemed to dance around together.

“What--” said Countess. The sudden light show dazzled her.

“Eyes front!” said a muffled woman’s voice.

“Check her,” said a male voice, also muffled.

Countess felt gloved hands pat her in various places. There was heavy breathing in her ear, like someone huffing into a long wooden box. She didn’t know what to make of it, feeling more like an object than a person. Her anger simmered beneath the surface.

“Aside from the dagger, she’s clean,” said the woman.

“Did anyone follow you in here?” said the male voice.

“No,” said Countess. “I’m alone.”

“Good. Now stand up, turn left and head through the door in front of you.”

Countess did so. She glanced at one of the people she was being interrogated by, and immediately regretted it. They were wearing suits of complex-looking black armor. It was the craziest thing she’d ever seen. There was no metal on the suits. They were mostly matte black cloth with pouches attached at the chest, waist and legs. They all wore helmets, with dark reflective visors that hid their faces. Countess saw herself reflected in them and wondered what they saw—a frightened woman or a formidable warrior?

A hand grabbed her forcefully on the back of the neck and pushed her forward. Countess stumbled.

“Inside,” said the female voice. “Now.”

“Easy!” said Countess. She walked through the door into an even more alien world. Countess could hear the door close behind her, and the way it seated, she could tell it was formidable. There were three loud clunks as the door’s locks seated themselves.

“Turn right,” said the male voice. “Walk to the end of the hallway.”

Countess reached the end of the hallway and looked right. She was in the area behind the large black rectangle. But from this vantage, Countess could see clearly outside to the red X where she had been kneeling. So they could see out, but she could not see in. It was an interesting magic trick, she had to admit. The reality of the room stunned her. Countess’s eyes darted around the complex environment. There were little multi-colored lights everywhere. More strange objects, many of them looked like children’s toys. Again, she felt her mind overloading trying to take it all in.

“Sorry about the shake-down,” said the male voice. Countess looked at him as he took off his helmet. “Marcus Avery,” he continued. “Connector security team captain, at your service.”

“Nice to meet you, Captain,” said Countess, trying to regain some composure.

The man was about 25 years old, dark-skinned and clean-shaven. He had piercing eyes that she found very intimidating. But the most interesting thing about him was his hair. She had never seen hair like his before. It was like a perfect work of art. Bare skin around the ears transitioned to a rounded, skull-hugging cap at the top of his head. He noticed her staring.

“Like my hair?” he said.

“It’s amazing,” Countess said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Standard military fade,” he said, amused at her fascination.

“How is it cut so precisely?”

“Beats me,” he said, and laughed. “I’m kidding. We have devices…little hand tools that do it. I’ll show you some time.”

“The pagans left explosive and chemical irritant projectile traps in the HQ,” said the female team member, taking off her helmet. “We had to make sure you weren’t followed or tracked anything in here with you.”

Countess was at her limit. “Look, I don’t understand any of this. Why did you bring me here? What is this place?”

“I know you’re feeling overwhelmed,” said a new voice. It was Baron Greystone. He walked into the room through an elevated door at the far end of the room, and to her surprise, he looked perfectly healthy.

Countess stood at attention and saluted. “It’s good to see you, Baron Greystone. I thought you were seriously wounded…or worse.”

The Baron smiled. “There’s no need for that formality here. And now that you’re a Countess, I consider you a peer!” The man laughed, finding that last part quite humorous.

“I’m alive and well. But you’re probably referring to all the blood up at the Connector entrance.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Baron gestured to several vaguely human-shaped black bags on the floor nearby.

“Unfortunately,” said the Baron, “several of my staff were killed up there…including my chief advisor, Demetrius Blackwood. Terrible loss, that. They laid down their lives to protect me...” The Baron looked off into the distance, glassy-eyed.

“I’m sorry for your loss, sir,” said Countess, genuinely saddened by the loss of life. She wondered what kind of threats they were truly facing.

“War is hell, Countess, as you well know.” He looked regal in his uniform, with his hands clasped behind his back. “Welcome to The Connector. You can think of it like an underground warehouse. But this warehouse is one of many that feed into a larger warehouse nearby. It’s a regional hub facility called Iroquois Warpath.”

“Fancy,” said Countess. “And a fancy name, too.”

“Very,” said the Baron. “For reference, there are enough supplies in this facility for a thousand people to live comfortably for ten years. Iroquois Warpath has a warehouse large enough to supply ten thousand people for over one hundred years. You get the idea.”

That was army-level quartermaster scale, and Countess didn’t have the mind for that kind of thing. “I don’t…wow.”

“I know,” said the Baron. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Why keep all these supplies down here?” said Countess. “What’s the purpose?”

“That’s the right question, Countess. We don’t really know. But we suspect that Iroquois Warpath is connected to something big, or several big things we can’t see. Other facilities, maybe. Something is connected to the other side which is supplying a lot of people with everything you can think of, from food to fuel to baby clothes. Hand tools to large, industrial equipment. And stuff we don’t even understand—what it is or what it does. And here’s another challenge, we don’t have access to Iroquois Warpath. The security there is lethal. Automated defenses kill anyone who goes near it.”

“Automated?” said Countess.

“You’ll learn more about that later,” said the Baron.

“Amazing,” said Countess, “and terrifying.”

“Exactly,” said Baron Greystone. He looked off into the distance. “And humbling. If I could apply this level of logistics to the war effort against Saug, we’d end the conflict in a week! Unfortunately, the machinery down here is ancient. And the ability to build or repair some of it is lost to time.” The Baron sighed, and looked at Countess seriously. “That’s enough for now. I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

The Baron turned and began walking out of the room. “Please come with me.”

Countess walked up a short flight of metal stairs to where the Baron was and exited the door after him. He started down a long, wide, and brightly-lit hallway with many doors along its length. As they walked, Countess noticed several framed photographs on the wall to her left. They were all faded images of previous Connector facility commanders. The first two were United States Air Force Generals. The third was from an organization called Phoenix.

• Timothy Horton, Brigadier General, Air Force Logistics Command
• Peter Amon, General, Air Force Materiel Command
• The third, a less faded photo, showed a man in a fancy suit with a Phoenix logo pin on the lapel.The caption read: “Mr. David Chase, Associate Vice President, Phoenix Logistics Division”

Countess had no idea what these terms and titles meant, but they all looked and sounded very official. Her mind swam with questions.

“What does…Material Safety Data Sheet mean?” asked Countess carefully. “And…halon fire extinguisher? I mean, I think I understand from the context that you use it to put out a fire, but what is halon, please?”

The Baron stopped and stared at her for a moment, then sighed. “I know you have questions, Countess. But now is not the time to answer them. We have to focus on the current threat.”

“The pagans,” said Countess.

“Precisely.”

“I’ve seen evidence that the main pagan leadership may have already left the Barony,” said Countess.

“Yes,” said the Baron. “They departed hours ago. Just before you arrived.”

“Wait,” said Countess. “How do you know when I arrived?”

“Not important.”

“But—“

Baron Greystone stopped at a doorway to their right, stared at Countess for a moment, then entered the room.

“Come in and close the door.” He looked behind her and said, “You two. Make sure we’re not disturbed.”

Countess looked behind her. Two of the black-suited security guards were behind her. They were still wearing their helmets, and they’d been so quiet she hadn’t known they were walking a few steps behind her. Countess didn’t know if it was their training or the equipment, but she was impressed.

The guards nodded to the Baron. Then, when Countess and the Baron went into the room, they took their places on either side of the door.