So, all the books that might have told them what a bad idea this was were… sequestered. Old Man Lewis’s, ah, irregular Presidency had a history of similar bad policies.
FSB heavy gear smelled ridiculously good. And it wasn’t because the stuff was new, either. The kit he had signed out from the supply shack had clearly seen some use. There just wasn’t any of the faint reek of socks, sweat, and seared blood Peep body armor always seemed to have, no matter how hard you scrubbed.
It had been easy to get, too. He and Ashelyn had just signed in, selected standard riot collection kits, and been automatically issued them. The only restriction there was ‘no gun you’re not qualified on,’ which was why Norm had a punch-gun and Ashelyn was carrying just a carbine. It really wasn’t like the old days at all. In fact… the Old Man would be having a fit right now, he mused, and even now it was an effort not to wash the no-longer-forbidden thought away before it showed up on his face.
Nobody stopped them in the passageway, either. In fact, nobody was in the passageway, which was a stroke of careful luck. The video feeds had shown that the grotto cleanup was happening during regular hours, so the best time to sneak around in an underground passage built by violent fanatics would clearly be in the dead of night.
Ashelyn had laughed when Norm pointed that out.