The sky above Deadwood’s long-forgotten airstrip glowed soft orange from Dome 101’s ceiling panels which filtered a synthetic sunset onto their tiny world.

  Cracks webbed across the airport runway like veins, left mostly in disrepair. Nobody flew aircraft inside the dome. It was outlawed as too dangerous, someone could fly into the wall and crash. They could break the dome wall. They also didn’t have any airplanes. That’s always been the case. They had an airport, just nothing to fly. The whole place was more of a useless prop until recently.

  Beau sat in the backseat of the SUV, his breath steady but quiet. Tessa sat beside him. Mayor Carnie wanted to see their new toy, so he drove.

  Tessa hadn’t said much since the meeting. Neither had he.

  Driving onto the runway, Mayor Carnie drove past rows of Black Bird plastic vehicles which were being repaired by a small team. Past that were hundreds of stacks of crates filled with anything plastic they could find. There were hundreds of plastic spoons, knives, and forks they recovered from Dr. Gerben’s kitchen along with dozens of old VCR tapes.

  Their truck rolled to a stop just outside the first airplane hangar.

  “Where’s this ace in the hole?” Beau asked.

  “He’s around,” Tessa said. “There’s something I want to show you first.”

  Mayor Carnie turned in his seat. “By the way, we analyzed more of Dr. Gerben’s files on his phone and computer. We finally gained useful information. We found compatible files that work with our fabricators. We’re still working out the details, but soon we’ll be able to print more useful items. We just have to process the plastic and develop it into a state the fabricators will accept. That will take some time.”

  The airplane hangar doors cracked open with a mechanical whine.

  Inside, the cavernous space glowed with orange light. Electric heat-pumps lined the walls. Rows of patchwork iron crucibles, armatures, and stacks of hand-crafted aluminum molds, used for pouring plastic, covered the place. Sparks danced like fireflies above steel platforms. A dozen assistants in brown uniforms bustled between workbenches, forges, and plastic shaping stations. On the far wall, a digital display buzzed faintly: Plastic Foundry.

  Beau stepped out of the truck, mouth hanging open in shock. He turned to Tessa, who hopped out and stood beside him. She had the biggest grin on her face. “You and your mother built all of this?”

  “Tessa…” Mayor Carnie said. “This changes everything…”

  Tessa gestured to the raised office in the back of the hangar. Inside, Dr. Lorne stood hunched over a terminal, eyes shadowed and focused, tapping notes into her tablet with clipped precision. Her blonde hair was pulled into a bun.

  “My mother and I helped, but we have a bunch of help from really talented individuals. Especially from her.”

  From behind the closest crucible, a woman with long blonde hair emerged with a mechanic’s jacket, half unzipped, revealing a navy tank top and grease-smeared skin. She strode toward them, eyes bright with caffeine and calculation.

  “That’s Nancy Alberta,” Tessa said, extending a gloved hand. “She’s one of our most talented engineers, and kind of a genius. Welcome to the new age of plastic production, our best weapon in the war against the Scythians and whatever other horrors are waiting for us once we break out of the mansion.”

  Beau shook Nancy’s hand, surprised by the strength in her grip.

  “I’d give you the full briefing,” Nancy said, “but since time is short let’s skip ahead to the fun parts.”

  Nancy handed out gas masks from a side bin, which everyone strapped on. The air turned thicker near the forge. Burning plastic fumes curled along the ceiling—acrid and biting. Once they all gathered, she walked them through the steps.

  “Step one—collect raw plastic,” Nancy said, holding up a tangled mess of magnetic tape, still stuck to the cracked remains of a VCR tape. “This stuff? It’s practically useless until we crank up the heat.”

  She dropped the tape remains into the crucible.

  The forge roared to life.

  “Step two—melt it,” she shouted over the noise. “Most consumer grade and industrial grade plastics melt between one hundred and two hundred degrees celsius. We use electric heat. It turns the plastic into something we can actually mold and use.”

  They watched as the liquid plastic shimmered inside the glowing crucible. Nancy moved quickly, maneuvering a hooked crane above the mold forms—each one was shaped like a full body of armor.

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  “Step three—pour it,” she said. The molten sludge hissed as it filled the molds. “Step four—cool it, cure it, and cut it from the mold.”

  When she finished, a crew of brown apron apprentices peeled and cut out the cooled forms of plastic.

  The forge apprentices moved quickly, threading tough leather strips into the armor lining—tan-gray sheets cut from cured hides of carpenter ants. The leather was surprisingly soft, flexible against the inside seams, and meant to reduce chafing during long hours of wear. It wasn’t just practical, some of the armor’s comfort came from the psychological thrill they got knowing they wore the remains of their enemies. One apprentice knelt by a torso shell and fitted compact ventilation units consisting of small fans wired into thin battery packs stitched into the spine. A secondary team worked methodically on the helmets, sliding in the charcoal filters and testing the retractable face masks. The gas system wasn’t complex, but it could scrub out low-grade toxic gas.

  Beau stepped closer and tapped the dark visor with his knuckle. “What about a targeting HUD?”

  Nancy shook her head. “Nothing that fancy. Not yet, anyways. We’re working on optics for the rifles, but we won’t have that available until we scavenge more glass and processors from Dr. Gerben’s mansion.”

  Beau nodded silently.

  “What about long range communication capabilities?” Beau asked.

  Tessa sighed. “I wish…”

  “Not yet,” Dr. Lorne said, who observed nearby. “We’re working on it, but we’re not even close to that level of technology. The best we have at the moment are the dome cell phones which we’ve programmed as short range radios.”

  Three gleaming suits of matte black armor stood on racks nearby. Thick black molded plates covered every inch. Grooved knee and elbow joints allowed for flexibility. Seam-points were minimal, just enough to permit movement.

  “P-1 Combat Armor,” Nancy said proudly. “The P is for Plastic. These things will take a beating. We tested them. They’re fully waterproof, so long as you keep your visor closed tight. You will only have minutes of oxygen until we develop oxygen tanks, but there is a breathable under-layer. They are light weight and we can produce hundreds of these in a single day. Repairs are simple enough. Not bad, right?”

  Beau stepped forward, brushing a gloved hand along the smooth surface.

  “How well do they perform against mantid blades?” Tessa asked.

  “Surprisingly well,” Nancy said. “At least, that’s the theory. We’ve tested them extensively using blades of all kinds here in the lab. Just don’t expect to win a one-on-one fist fight against a mantid.”

  Tessa examined the seam work. “Are there weak points?”

  “The joints,” Nancy admitted. “Any place the armor flexes, you’re vulnerable. So don’t get stabbed in the armpits or slashed across your neck. Other than that, you’re a turtle shell.”

  She handed them matching harnesses and black pouches already sewn in around the waist. “Storage pouches for bolts, rations, tools, whatever you need. The belt is modular and fits like a harness. We’ve even designed clips perfect for securing your grapple gun for an easier and more controlled vertical lift for hard to reach areas.”

  Beau nodded, impressed. “The armor is great, Nancy, but have you developed any weapons?”

  Nancy smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  She led them to the adjacent table where a plastic bin sat open beside a dull grey fabricator machine. It hummed. Nancy pointed at the bin: a pile of computer mice sat inside, stripped of their circuit boards and wiring.

  “Once our team strips the electronics, we have raw polymer we can use to melt and shape,” she said. “Now it’s time to feed the beast.”

  With practiced movements, Nancy placed a pre-coded square disk into the fabricator’s terminal. The claw arm above them, which ran on a vertical and horizontal bar, whirred to life. The engineers used hand controls on wall terminals and manipulated the claw to grab the plastic, dump it into the crucible, melt it, pour it, mold it, then cool it.

  The end process resulted in a plastic sheets. Engineers took hammers and lightly banged on the plastic, and pulled out identical halves of sleek black rifle bodies.

  “Rifles?” Tessa said. “Now we’re talking!”

  “What do you call them?” Beau asked.

  “That’s the first model of a Vindicator,” Nancy said with a grin. “Single fire or full auto. Electric burst propulsion, thirty rounds per battery powered magazine. We slot the parts here—”

  Nancy approached the rifle on the nearest workbench. She clicked open the rifle housing like a sandwich, slid the capacitor core into place, added a trigger, and sealed it with metal clamps. “It’s fairly modular. It breaks apart for easy cleaning and part replacement. You’ll appreciate how light it is, but it won’t float in the water. Your P-1 is designed to comfortably fit six Vindicator magazines. More can be added with additional pouches.”

  Tessa took the rifle from Nancy and inspected it. “This…is incredible.”

  “This is all thanks to Beau. If he hadn’t found Dome 4455, we wouldn’t have known it was possible to manufacture weapons. Dome 4455’s fabricators were already installed with blueprints that meshed perfectly with our own fabricators.”

  “I’m glad it paid off,” Beau said.

  Nancy paused, then looked toward the runway outside. “There’s one more thing I want to show you.”

  She walked over to a bus-sized object that was completely covered in a black curtain. She pulled it back and revealed a large black shell with broad wings; it was sleek and half-assembled. Stacks of helicopter blades lay organized neatly on nearby shelves.

  “It’s already been flight-tested,” Nancy said. “But you’ll have to wait for the big reveal.”

  Beau and Tessa exchanged a glance. They felt it. The Age of Plastic has dawned and before them sat an arsenal that would help them defeat the mantids and finally escape Dr. Gerben’s mansion into the outside world.

  “Is this the ace in the hole you were talking about?” Beau asked Tessa.

  “Actually, the ace in the hole is a person,” Tessa said. “Where is he, Nancy?”

  “Hear that?” Nancy said.

  “Uh—” Beau began. But then he heard it, like a distant clapping in the wind. He faced toward the hangar’s open doors and spotted the advantage that would change the nature of their war forever.