Ep. 1.5 - Ruby Hill - Ghosts
Oct 22, 2012 20:22:15 GMT -5
Post by Deleted on Oct 22, 2012 20:22:15 GMT -5
Northwest of Eureka, the dark hills of the Mojave were lit up like a fallen star.
Mining loaders plied back and forth through the slab-sided crater, shovelling mounds of earth from the quarry bottom. Yellow haul trucks stood by, waiting to be filled. Conveyor belts piled ore from the crushers, while long apron feeders pulled more of it from dump hoppers to grizzlies. Smoke and dust churned thick in the air, which vibrated with the sound of rumbling engines.
Flood lamps shone down into the open pit. Further back sat the Ruby Hill processing plant, backed by steel catwalks and giant vats of cyanide and leached slurry. Lines of pipe and hose extended into the desert, flowing with waste. Even at midnight the gold mine was still noisy, active, a harsh white oasis of light.
But higher up in the mountain, the ghost town of Ruby Hill lay dark and quiet.
Dust blew across the empty street. Derelict frame houses sat forgotten beneath the light of the moon, their paint peeling and their grimy windows broken and boarded. A train station stood on the edge of town, its rails tangled in scrub brush. Telephone poles crossed the street, still hung with bare wire. A heavy coat of red rust plated the generators inside the mill, the great machinery silent after decades of abandonment.
The wind blew across the porch of the old mining company office, rustling the dry grass that grew up through the slats. Behind it loomed the water tower, still cradled atop a skeleton of pipes and iron girders. It looked down over the desert, and over the gold mine in the valley below.
At the top of the mountain sat the oldest ruins, crumbled stone walls with dark holes for windows. Beneath them, deep shafts bored into the dusty slopes of granite and gneiss, dug back in the days when men delved for ruby silver.
Red crystals slept within the mountain, forsaken for gold.
Air Raid didn't really know why Blaster had sent him up to patrol over this part of the Nevada desert, but suspected it had mostly been a ploy to get rid of him.
The F-35 soared through the night sky. It was clear out, the air at twenty thousand feet cool and crisp. There was not even a trace of wispy cirrus in the higher altitudes above him. Just a dark blanket of stars and that big, white moon, shining like a lamp. Kind of pretty.
He yawned, then shivered. Brr. Cold night. Nothing but his engine to keep him warm. Little lights and avionics glowed red in his cockpit. His wingtips remained dark, however; the Aerialbot had shut down his nav lights and his radio out of a desire to fly dark and silent. Whatever Agent Fowler had done to keep air traffic control off his back, it was working. His presence in human airspace went unchallenged. Thank Primus. The next time a controller told him to squawk something, he was gonna fly down and kick their ass.
With no radio chatter to fill his audials, Air Raid found himself flying alone with his thoughts. That was a little unsettling. They liked to drift a lot these days. Sometimes he caught himself thinking about the other Aerialbots. Sometimes he thought about Cybertron, or about the Autobots on Earth. Whenever he tried to think about the missing patch in his memory his mind flitted elsewhere. Kind of annoying.
Right now, as he flew through the night, he was thinking, wow. Another quiet evening. Oh, look. More empty desert. How about that. Maybe I should turn on my radio and go talk to those ladies at Edward's terminal. They seemed to like me. Nah. How's my fuel situation? Half-tanks. Should be good for another hour or two. Anything on radar? No. What about now? Still nothing. How about... now?! Grah! Oh god. I'm losing it. You're losing it, Air Raid. Someone, please try to shoot me. Go on. I dare you. You'd be doing me a favour.
Mining loaders plied back and forth through the slab-sided crater, shovelling mounds of earth from the quarry bottom. Yellow haul trucks stood by, waiting to be filled. Conveyor belts piled ore from the crushers, while long apron feeders pulled more of it from dump hoppers to grizzlies. Smoke and dust churned thick in the air, which vibrated with the sound of rumbling engines.
Flood lamps shone down into the open pit. Further back sat the Ruby Hill processing plant, backed by steel catwalks and giant vats of cyanide and leached slurry. Lines of pipe and hose extended into the desert, flowing with waste. Even at midnight the gold mine was still noisy, active, a harsh white oasis of light.
But higher up in the mountain, the ghost town of Ruby Hill lay dark and quiet.
Dust blew across the empty street. Derelict frame houses sat forgotten beneath the light of the moon, their paint peeling and their grimy windows broken and boarded. A train station stood on the edge of town, its rails tangled in scrub brush. Telephone poles crossed the street, still hung with bare wire. A heavy coat of red rust plated the generators inside the mill, the great machinery silent after decades of abandonment.
The wind blew across the porch of the old mining company office, rustling the dry grass that grew up through the slats. Behind it loomed the water tower, still cradled atop a skeleton of pipes and iron girders. It looked down over the desert, and over the gold mine in the valley below.
At the top of the mountain sat the oldest ruins, crumbled stone walls with dark holes for windows. Beneath them, deep shafts bored into the dusty slopes of granite and gneiss, dug back in the days when men delved for ruby silver.
Red crystals slept within the mountain, forsaken for gold.
Air Raid didn't really know why Blaster had sent him up to patrol over this part of the Nevada desert, but suspected it had mostly been a ploy to get rid of him.
The F-35 soared through the night sky. It was clear out, the air at twenty thousand feet cool and crisp. There was not even a trace of wispy cirrus in the higher altitudes above him. Just a dark blanket of stars and that big, white moon, shining like a lamp. Kind of pretty.
He yawned, then shivered. Brr. Cold night. Nothing but his engine to keep him warm. Little lights and avionics glowed red in his cockpit. His wingtips remained dark, however; the Aerialbot had shut down his nav lights and his radio out of a desire to fly dark and silent. Whatever Agent Fowler had done to keep air traffic control off his back, it was working. His presence in human airspace went unchallenged. Thank Primus. The next time a controller told him to squawk something, he was gonna fly down and kick their ass.
With no radio chatter to fill his audials, Air Raid found himself flying alone with his thoughts. That was a little unsettling. They liked to drift a lot these days. Sometimes he caught himself thinking about the other Aerialbots. Sometimes he thought about Cybertron, or about the Autobots on Earth. Whenever he tried to think about the missing patch in his memory his mind flitted elsewhere. Kind of annoying.
Right now, as he flew through the night, he was thinking, wow. Another quiet evening. Oh, look. More empty desert. How about that. Maybe I should turn on my radio and go talk to those ladies at Edward's terminal. They seemed to like me. Nah. How's my fuel situation? Half-tanks. Should be good for another hour or two. Anything on radar? No. What about now? Still nothing. How about... now?! Grah! Oh god. I'm losing it. You're losing it, Air Raid. Someone, please try to shoot me. Go on. I dare you. You'd be doing me a favour.