My Ultimate Sign-in System Made Me Invincible Chapter 554 Pre-Departure (2)

As the sun reached its zenith, Mexico City Approach intercepted a transmission.

"Mexico City Approach, this is Nova Transit One, passing flight level two-eight-zero and commencing descent on a vertical approach profile, inbound to Benito Juárez International."

Catalina, the approach controller who had been on duty since early morning, directed her gaze to her display.

The transponder signal materialized precisely as the call came through, boasting a clean signal, the correct squawk code, and a callsign that perfectly matched the pre-filed coordination notice.

She found it rather surprising that the space shuttle was initiating communication with the control tower, as this was an unprecedented event.

Without further contemplation, she activated her microphone. "Nova Transit One, Mexico City Approach, you are showing on radar. Descend and maintain flight level one-five-zero. Proceed direct Juárez. Expect landing zone clearance on the tower frequency."

"Roger. Descending to flight level one-five-zero, direct Juárez, this is Nova Transit One."

The voice delivered was remarkably calm and unhurried. Catalina had received the preliminary briefing for this operation two days prior. She had thoroughly reviewed the coordination notice, the technical specifications, and the approach vector filed earlier that morning. She had assured herself of her readiness.

She observed the target's descent on her display, remaining silent as she and the controller beside her, who was also intently watching, tracked its progress. Neither had any pertinent observations to make at that moment.

***

Outside, the midday sun cast a stark, white light across the Valley of Mexico.

Spectators had been gathering along the public roads bordering the airport perimeter since before dawn. News had disseminated organically, much like at other designated airports, through circulated photographs of unusual activity near the terminal, the distinct security deployment patterns that had become recognizable, and calculations based on the announced timeline.

Benito Juárez International Airport was situated directly within the city's urban sprawl. Unlike airports such as JFK, there existed no buffer zone between the airport and the surrounding populace. The terminal buildings were clearly visible from adjacent neighborhoods, flight paths traversed directly over residential streets, marketplaces, and the elevated expressway encircling the airport's eastern flank.

People had ascended to rooftops, while traffic on the expressway slowed to a crawl, drivers lowering their windows or exiting their vehicles entirely, their phones pointed skyward.

News vans occupied every available section of the perimeter road, their satellite dishes extended, reporters broadcasting live commentary to audiences across Latin America who had been awake since the early morning hours.

A reporter from a Mexico City morning program had commenced live coverage at ten o'clock, filling airtime with contextual information and rampant speculation while the sky above the designated landing zone remained conspicuously empty.

At flight level one-eight-zero, the shuttle finally became discernible.

Not yet to the unaided eye, for at that altitude, from the perspective of the perimeter roads, it appeared as a mere speck of light catching the noon sun. It moved against the azure sky in a manner utterly alien to any known aircraft, descending silently and vertically from directly overhead the landing zone.

The reporter was the first to spot it through her cameraman's lens.

"We have visual contact," she announced, her voice remarkably steady.

"Mexico City Approach, this is Nova Transit One, passing flight level two-zero-zero."

"Nova Transit One, contact Juárez Tower on one-one-eight decimal seven. Good day."

"Contacting Juárez Tower on one-one-eight decimal seven. This is Nova Transit One. Good day."

***

Within the tower cab at Benito Juárez, the senior controller on duty was Roberto Flores, a veteran who had occupied the same position for nineteen years.

He had managed aircraft arrivals during severe thunderstorms, navigated flights through fog that reduced visibility to a mere fifty meters, and even handled an emergency situation that he preferred not to dwell on. However, he had never controlled an approach quite like this.

"Juárez Tower, this is Nova Transit One, currently descending through flight level one-zero-zero, maintaining a vertical approach profile, and requesting landing zone clearance."

Flores keyed his response. "Nova Transit One, Juárez Tower, radar contact confirmed. Landing zone is clear. Winds are calm. You are cleared to land on landing zone November-Tango-One."

"Cleared to land on November-Tango-One. This is Nova Transit One."

He focused on his display. The target was descending through eight thousand feet. Seven. Six.

Throughout their journey, the space shuttle had maintained its operational stealth systems, adhering strictly to the specifications detailed in the technical document provided to each airport.

Flores peered through the glass of the tower cab, now able to clearly discern the space shuttle. It appeared as a dark silhouette against the bright noon sky, descending vertically directly above the designated landing zone. It was immense, far larger than its altitude initially suggested, and its apparent size grew rapidly as it descended.

For nineteen years, he'd been observing the aircraft, his mind ceaselessly attempting to categorize it, yet consistently failing as no existing classification fit. Its dimensions resembled a commercial airliner, but its flight characteristics were unlike anything he had ever tracked.

"Juárez Tower, this is Nova Transit One, on short final, continuing vertical descent, at three thousand feet," came the transmission.

"Nova Transit One, your traffic is clear, proceed with your descent," the tower responded.

"Continuing descent, Nova Transit One," the aircraft confirmed.

Flores gently placed the handset down, his gaze fixed on the spectacle through the glass.

***

The reporter had been following the descent since reaching flight level one-eight-zero, her camera operator expertly maintaining a steady frame throughout the entire maneuver.

As the shuttle dropped below two thousand feet, it became discernible to the naked eye from the perimeter roads. Although the assembled crowds had noticed it earlier, at this altitude, there was no longer any doubt about the object of their attention.

On the elevated expressway, an individual had halted their vehicle completely, stepping out onto the barrier, mobile phone raised skyward, eyes locked upwards.

Approaching five hundred feet, the distinct hum of the space shuttle became audible to the crowd. It was the same low, chest-resonating pressure that witnesses at JFK had described, and that countless viewers of the JFK footage had attempted to imagine. The grass at the edges of the landing zone flattened uniformly. Loose debris shifted outwards in a precise radial pattern.

The shuttle continued its descent, passing through three hundred feet, then two hundred, then one hundred.

At a mere fifty feet, the hum intensified slightly, and the tarmac surface surrounding the landing zone visibly reacted.

Finally, the shuttle made its touchdown on the tarmac.

The reporter ceased speaking. Microphone held at her side, she stared at the shuttle resting on the tarmac, silent for a moment.

Then, softly, addressing no one in particular yet embracing everyone present, she uttered: "Aterrizó."

Her camera operator held the shot steady, and neither of them moved a muscle.

Flores, within the tower cab, maintained his focus through the glass. The shuttle sat motionless on the landing zone, dark and still, the midday sun glinting off its hull without reflection.

He reached for the handset once more.

"Nova Transit One, this is Juárez Tower, you are clear of all traffic. Welcome to Mexico City."

"Juárez Tower, Nova Transit One, we acknowledge. Platform deploying," the shuttle responded.

Flores set the handset down again.

He observed the return on his display. It showed the object as stationary, clean, and precisely where predicted. His gaze then shifted back to the shuttle itself, grounded on the tarmac under the unwavering noon light of the Valley of Mexico.

***

The boarding platform lowered, and the staff disembarked one by one, immediately confronting the intense midday heat, which made them yearn for the climate-controlled comfort of the shuttle's interior.

The lead Synth exited last, moving to stand adjacent to the group. The other two Synths, without any explicit command, assumed positions on either side of the platform.

The staff gathered on the tarmac, awaiting further developments.

The platform began its ascent.

Thomas’s attention was drawn to the terminal building across the tarmac. Through the glass facade of the designated lounge, he could clearly see the airport authority representative standing inside, observing their movements.

He redirected his gaze to the ascending platform, and then saw it begin its descent once more.

A substantial metal container rested at its center, dark and unblemished. Its dimensions were roughly equivalent to a military cargo crate, though it was shallower and broader, its surface devoid of markings save for a small, recessed screen on the front face. A Synth stood beside it, one hand resting on a handle integrated along the container's side.

Upon the platform reaching the tarmac, the Synth actuated the screen.

A low-frequency sound emanated from the base of the container, and then it smoothly lifted, rising approximately twenty centimeters from the platform's surface. It remained perfectly level, the gap between its base and the ground constant and unwavering.

The Synth gripped the handle and stepped forward off the platform, effortlessly guiding the container. The object moved with an uncanny ease, as if entirely weightless, following the Synth's trajectory without the slightest resistance, floating alongside at a fixed altitude as they cleared the platform and stopped on the tarmac.

Several staff members observed with expressions betraying their utter bewilderment; they truly had no words. Thomas himself had been unaware of the container's levitation capabilities. Had he known, he might have experimented with it.

The platform ascended once more, and they continued their patient wait.

When it descended for the second time, the container it carried was larger, exceeding the size of the first by more than half. It shared the same low, wide profile but appeared more substantial, occupying the majority of the platform's surface area, with the Synth standing at its near edge.

The platform reached the tarmac. The Synth engaged the screen. The familiar low-frequency sound resonated, and the container lifted, held steady at twenty centimeters.

With a firm grip on the handle, the Synth disembarked, drawing the second container alongside the first. Both boxes hovered at precisely the same altitude, their bases perfectly level, each Synth maintaining its grip with the practiced stillness of an automated system performing a routine task.

The platform ascended one final time, then remained elevated, not returning.

The lead Synth addressed the assembled staff.

"We may now proceed," it stated.

They responded with nods and began their advance toward the terminal building.

The two Synths responsible for unloading moved in tandem with their cargo, the levitating containers gliding silently beside them across the tarmac. The two designated guard Synths remained steadfastly in their positions by the platform.

Thomas walked alongside Dr. Brenner, an unbroken silence between them. The midday sun blazed directly overhead, casting their shadows squarely beneath their feet. The shuttle, now diminishing in size, sat behind them as they traversed the tarmac towards the terminal.

Dr. Yuna Park observed the boxes as she walked. The larger of the two containers maintained pace with the Synth guiding it, holding a constant distance from its handler irrespective of the Synth's own speed.

She shifted her gaze forward once more and continued her pace.

The terminal's entrance doors slid open automatically as the lead Synth drew near. An official from the airport authority was already crossing the lounge to meet them, his team following closely behind.

He halted directly before the lead Synth, then surveyed the staff, the now-interior floating boxes, and finally returned his attention to the staff.

"Welcome," he declared, extending his hand to Thomas, who was nearest. "All arrangements are prepared for your arrival."

"Thank you," Thomas replied, accepting the handshake. His gaze swept across the lounge: seating meticulously arranged along the walls, a medical support station established in the far corner, and the corridor leading to the boarding zone already secured. The pre-arrival coordination visit had yielded precisely the promised results.

He glanced at the lead Synth. The Synth offered a subtle nod.

Thomas turned his attention back to the room.

"Let us commence the setup," he announced. "The initial group of volunteers is expected within the hour."

The staff members dispersed throughout the lounge, their movements imbued with the focused intensity of individuals who had dedicated two weeks to meticulous preparation for this exact moment, which had now arrived.

Beyond the terminal, the throngs gathered along the perimeter roads had not yet dispersed. They continued their vigil, recording the events, their anticipation building – though the object of their wait had now shifted.

They were waiting for the volunteers to emerge.