Drops of light morning rain danced on the hood of Jefferson Davis Schoolcraft’s ‘71 Challenger as it slowly traversed the cracked asphalt that lead to the main entrance. A small, now unoccupied guard’s hut stood next to the gate’s already raised swing-arm and a faded sign which read “NAVAL AIR STATION FLINT FIELDS.” Jefferson had to fight the reflex to reach for his credentials as he passed through and instead directed his hand to the radio, silencing the crackling gospel station that had haunted his morning commute for the last decade.

Yellow X’s marked the runway every thousand feet, a nascent cloak of rust marred the corrugated hangars, vandals and prairie winds had shattered the control tower windows. Yet some life remained. About a mile out he saw the docking aerial, lit as ever in blinking red and green, rising skyward.

Tethered nose first to the structure was a 900 foot long, pale grey vessel, roughly cigar shaped in profile but flatter in the head on, not unlike a catfish. From the nose protruded an ugly colony of radomes, pitot-static ports and forward-looking antennae. Moving astern, every 200 feet there dwelled an engine nacelle, mounting a ducted fan nearly 50 feet in diameter, and finally at the stern two v-tails, one facing downward, one facing upward. Slung under the belly, running nearly the length of the craft and two-thirds of the width was the gondola, largely featureless save for clusters of portholes near the living spaces and panoramic windows for the bridge at the bow and officer’s lounge at the stern.

The craft itself was lit intermittently by upward-focused sodium lamps along the sides of the docking berth. Cables, some dumb tethers, others for electrical power, water, and data transfer hung slack from the gondola and ran into designated ports on the ground. One of the lamps, by design, cast it’s light onto the weatherbeaten black text which adorned the middle-bow section of the envelope. Shenandoah, it read. Jefferson noticed that immediately before this, in a slightly incorrect font, new text had been added: R/V - research vessel. He grimaced.

As he motored on he saw white trucks and vans clustered near the landing of the main gangway - the culprits.

Jefferson parked near - but not amongst - them, hauled his duffle and rifle case from the trunk, donned his cover and marched himself over to the man who seemed to be in charge of the emerging goat rope.

He was no more than thirty-five, had short hair (for a civilian), that was oily slick and black. He wore slacks of equal darkness, thin glasses, a narrow, striped tie and nylon jacket, embroidered on the back with an image of the Shenandoah emerging from the clouds ringed by “R/V Shenandoah - Antarctic Positioning Mission.” All this was in contrast to Jefferson’s pressed but aged uniform and standard-issue old soldier features, complete with grey hair and unnecessarily intense eyes.