The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Rusty farming equipment overflows from a decrepit barn, half-buried in the sandy dunes of a desert oasis, surrounded by the twisted remnants of what looks like a hundred-year-old orchard. The air is heavy with the scent of dried soil, citrus, and gasoline as a light breeze carries the distant sound of thunder through the stillness, despite the sky being a brilliant blue... Umm, a 747 airliner, half-disassembled and still covered in gleaming chrome, somehow sprouts branches and roots like a tree, as if it had been grown rather than built, blending almost seamlessly with the orchard.