"Alright, so where are we headed?" asked Chris, seemingly forgetting the entire conversation we'd just had in the car over the exact situation.
"I already told you," I told him, "we're going to take RPS-458 to Ruma, then from there we connect to Taheireaz on an Ariesan Airlines flight. Simple."
"No, I mean, where are we headed, as in, criminal or legal wise."
"Is that seriously the question you just asked?" I said, rolling my eyes. Amateur. I thought. "We're going to do whatever it takes, even if it means robbing the Prime Minister. Now, hide your guns before they spot us. We're going to need a plan to get inside with our weaponry, or yours, rather."
"Alright, Captain," Chris started in a tone that is both obnoxious and unfounded. "What's the plan here?" He asked, his disgusting emphasis on my rank not going unnoticed.
"Simple, Lieutenant, all we have to do is this. You, the guns with you, will hide in this rather large piece of luggage," I told him, pointing at the auburn luggage container, a slight smile on my face. "Then, I'll bring you into the check in. Now, you're obviously going to set off some alarms at the weight check." I paused, letting that sink in for a moment, amazed at how I could be joking at a time like this. "So, naturally, we're going to need to do a few things. First off, all of the clothes need to be removed from the cart. Secondly, we're going to need you to leave all of that heavy gear here, in the car. No more commando outfits for you. And finally, we need you to come with only a pistol and my assault rifle, keep things light.
"After we're done lightening you up, I zip you in there and we cart into the check. They're going to weigh the bag, but I'll make sure to keep it as carry-on luggage, if they'll let me. If not, you'll be taking a ride inside the cargo deck. If they let me take you on as carry-on, we'll make our way up to the gate. I'll have to wait about 5 minutes so as to not arouse suspicion, and then I'll move to an area that is hard to look at. I took a look at the airport blueprints on my phone after we switched onto the airport shuttle, and for our gate, it looks like there's a small spot just big enough for me to unzip the luggage and for you to get out with the pistol. It'll be a squeeze, though, so try not to flail around." I finished, adding, "Any questions?"
"Yeah, one. Are you insane!?" He screamed, going on for the next four minutes on the supposed insanity of my plan, all the while I smiled smuggily, as I had grown used to around this one.
"It's either we do this or we end up in prison to explain to the National Guard how we ended up destroying half a city's worth of land for the next 5 years. I don't know about you, but I don't think I can rescue my family from a concrete jail cell."
"Fine, I'll collapse the gun and put this stuff away."
"Good. I'll go get that latte."
***30 Minutes Later***
"Ru-ekri-ppokadot." Chris spoke in the kind of language you get when you their hands to their heads, legs to each other, and stuffing it all inside a compact luggage container barely large enough to stuff a stuffed bear, let alone a full grown Kerbal.
"Shush, we're going in." I told him, zipping the primary zipper, sealing him away for the next hour or so.
I walked carefully toward the checking station, cautious not to catch the attention of the various security personell. Needless to say the situation was less peachy than a walk in the land of milk and honey. A walk through the land of perspex, sweaty kerbs, and Orange Fanboys, more like. Still, I went on, keeping the image of my family close at hand in my mind.
"Hello, welcome to Briscanny International Airport! May I see your flight ledger, which you have, right?" asked a particularly fruity attendant in a condescending tone, cementing my mind's belief that any and all customer service workers secretly have either a loathing rage for the customer or a deep desire to sound smarter than the aforementioned customers.
"Yes, miss, I do have the ledger. 'Ere ya' go."
"Hmm..."
"Problem, miss?" I asked, as innocently as I could
"Yes, it appears RPS-458 has been rescheduled, it's due to leave in 5 minutes."
"Right, whatever, I'll make it."
"Sir, the gate is at least 15 minutes away after you get checked in, you can't make it."
"Miss, just give me the ticket."
"Okay, there you go." She finally said, rolling her eyes when I took the ticket. Not that it mattered, there where more important things to attend to than removing the ire of a 20 year old with around triple the amount of make-up deemed acceptable even in her social circles.
I made my way up the stairs at a galloping pace, forgetting that there was a person inside my luggage. Around the corner, I saw the check-in lanes, complete with their massive metal detectors and x-ray view screens that would make anyone trying to sneak something in suddenly feel quite nauseous. I really am insane, I thought as I made my way towards the line. Two minutes.
"Will that be cargo or carry-on?" Asked yet another female attendant. While I pondered on the possibility of gender discrimination in the airline industry, I caught another attendant loading away my luggage. I warned him, no matter. I thought as I realized it was too late to retrieve him. "Thank you for flying RPS, the gate is over there. Hurry, the plane is about to leave."
"Thank you." I told her, in my mind congratulating myself for beating the pessimistic countergirl attendant below.
I boarded the plane, wondering what was going on in Chris's mind. This can't be illegal, I thought in denial. I'm trying to save my family. Then, I remembered a quote from Gerald MkCallowker, "There is no black and white in legality, but shades of gray." Shades of gray.
