A New Mission: Ash to Fire

The Mission

The next day the three Marines were doing final inventory and loading their last supplies into the Kestrel that would shuttle them to the archipelago where the "Ash People" lived. Lyle managed to nab an RDA edition music speaker and decided now was the perfect time to use it. Miles had no idea where he got it from, he figured he probably stole it from someone's office while he was a little drunk last night, knowing Lyle. He decided to play a little something, limited to extra oldie songs.

Earth has modern hits made in the 22nd century, of course, but licensing and copyright laws grew out of control over time. Entertainment became a locked down and highly coveted resource, and of course it would have. Earth was dying. It had a miserable, suffering populace, and entertainment that could bring joy to people's lives was certainly a hot commodity. The RDA for all its influence and power went cheap in the music and movies they brought along for all of their personnel. It was simply less expensive and legally easier for them to license songs from the previous two centuries, so it's what RDA administrators, security personnel, scientists, and all other staff had to listen to. But this old music, some of it over 150 years old, had its charm. Sounds of a bygone carefree era where humanity had truly no idea of the misery and struggle, all self-inflicted, that was in store for them.

Lyle started off with the song, "Mambo No. 5", Lou Bega, 1999. The sound made their banshees stir in their lofted space above which Miles had noticed with a light glance of his golden eyes up to the ceiling, barely raising his head while holding his tablet. As the song played, Miles found himself raising the corners of his lips, bopping his head, tapping his foot, and even subtly swaying his large shoulders to the beat as the song played while taking inventory on his holo-tablet. Miles was more of a Kenny Rogers, Johnny Cash, and Frank Sinatra man himself, but he could get into these tunes. It was something light. Fun. They certainly needed it.

Miles actually enjoyed dancing too. Back in his past life in Hell's Gate, if you found him drunk enough in the base's "bar" late at night and the RDA-issued oldies jukebox started playing, he would grab the nearest woman who he thought was cute and dance around a bit with her. It was inappropriate behavior for a commanding officer and high-ranking member of Hell's Gate operations, but years on Pandora tended to break down some barriers.

In fact, Paz Socorro, Spider's mother, a pilot, was one of the many women he grabbed to dance, and somehow that seemingly trivial moment set in motion events that led up to the precise place he was in today. Miles could not loosen himself from this sudden heavy and intrusive thought triggered by the music, and he grew a little overwhelmed. He exhaled, trying to shift his focus back on the holo-tablet, eager to get back to work and think about the mission to turn his racing mind off. He tuned out the music as best he could and continued taking inventory.

Miles then walked out into the open hangar, getting a bit of a distance from the Kestrel and the speaker, eyes intently fixated on the tablet. Lyle on the other hand was absolutely vibing, bopping around, and singing under his breath, "A little bit of Monica in my life, a little bit of Erica by my side..." while walking around inspecting the Kestrel.

Mansk was inside the gunship, bent in an uncomfortable position due to his height, ensuring that the supply crates were secured and fastened, lightly tapping his fingers and bopping his head to the beat. Even the SecOps guards and aircraft mechanics out in the interior of the hangar could be seen enjoying the music.

Miles was deep into his task, thinking loudly in his head to drown out the music. "MREs, three month's supply, ammo, three month's supply, flashlights, clothing, comms..."

The song ended in the background and then suddenly Lyle excitedly shouted, "Boss!" to get Miles' attention.

He quickly looked up from his tablet, ears forward, his tail flicking in reaction to the tone in Lyle's voice. Lyle was just holding the speaker up in his right hand and smiling, poised to press the play button on it. Miles gave him a frustrated what?? expression. Lyle then pressed play and the single most fitting oldie song of all time came on. "Blue", by Eiffel 65, 1999. Miles didn't recognize the song at first and didn't understand why Lyle wanted his attention for it. He had on a very confused face, his eyes squinted and his ears moving around slightly trying to place the sound since this oldie twentieth-century techno was a little beyond what he was familiar with and enjoyed.