by John Graham
“Colonel Thorn, sir?” someone interrupted Gabriel’s train of thought.
Gabriel turned to face the speaker, recognising him as Captain Bale, his nominal second-in-command. He was a veteran operator with a weather-beaten face and a Marine Corps buzz cut so short he almost looked bald.
Gabriel had already read each operator’s profile and absorbed their contents on his way to meet the squad. They would also have been given his profile to read – the unredacted parts, at least – so there would be no need for frivolous introductions.
“Do you have the mission briefing?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes sir.” Bale activated a holographic screen on his wrist-top computer as the other operators gathered round for the briefing.
All five operators were kitted out in modified Marine Corps combat gear, albeit with DNI modifications and without any identifying markings. Their armour had the same deep crimson with black trim as Gabriel’s armour, and their helmets were off so they could all speak face-to-face. They looked positively diminutive next to Gabriel, who stood a head taller and wore armour custom-manufactured for him by the DNI’s scientists.
“Darius Avaritio’s company, Jupiter Engineering Co., has been running an unregistered lab on the moon of Loki.” Captain Bale explained, “Not many resources, and no official settlements nearby, but most of J.E. Co.’s recent products were based on its research.”
“Until it went dark?”
“Yes sir.” Bale confirmed, “According to DNI sources, J.E. Co. sent in one of its in-house security teams to investigate. That was almost 24 hours ago.”
“How big is this facility, exactly?”
“It has about 1000 staff.” Bale answered, “It’s built into a natural cave system, and the nearest suitable landing site is a landing pad 20km away.”
“Pretty brazen to run a facility that big in a major system.” Said another operator with the pale look of an Undercity dweller, “how the frick did this pass under the DNI’s radar?”
Gabriel recognised him as Lieutenant Viker, a breaching specialist and a skilled driver.
“Good question,” Gabriel replied, “but at least it’s not too long of a trip.”
“Respectfully sir,” asked a third operator, “why is this even a concern for us?”
“Clarify.” Gabriel ordered, subjecting the operator he recognised as Lieutenant Ogilvy, the squad’s hazmat specialist, to an icy stare.
“I mean if some bigshot company’s R&D lab has an accident,” Ogilvy tried to clarify, “why can’t we just let the corporate fleeksters clean up their own mess?”
Gabriel didn’t care about Ogilvy using the classist term ‘fleekster’, even though the term technically applied to him. He did mind the idiocy of the question.
All of the Special Operations Division’s operators were recruited from the Marine Corps, so by definition they were all veterans. But Lieutenant Ogilvy had only recently passed the DNI’s selection process, making this his first mission as a DNI operator; most people might excuse his beginner’s naivety.
Gabriel was no such person.
“When a ‘bigshot company’ starts to produce top-of-the-line products that massively outstrip those of its competitors,” Gabriel explained sternly, “it usually means that the company has been trafficking in xenotechnology, hence the hidden and unregistered nature of the facility. It also means that J.E. Co. has probably violated the second of the three Prime Laws: ‘No Unauthorised Contact with Alien Species’.”
Ogilvy was already smarting with embarrassment at having posed the question at all, but Gabriel wasn’t finished with him.
“Furthermore,” Gabriel continued, cutting his subordinate no slack, “If this facility really was carrying out experiments with xenotechnology, it also means that J.E. Co. has violated the first of the three Prime Laws: ‘Humanity First and Foremost’. That is why this is a concern for operators like you, because the corporates can never be trusted to clean up their own messes. Is that understood?”
“…Yes, sir.” Ogilvy acknowledged sheepishly.
The squad members looked awkwardly at each other, but kept their mouths shut. Ogilvy had more or less brought it on himself with his silly question, but it wasn’t clear that his naivety warranted an outright scolding.
“Is anyone else unclear as to the necessity of this mission?” Gabriel demanded, looking around at the squad with a stern glare.
No one replied.
* * *
The mag-tram slowed to a halt as it pulled into the DNI’s private station beneath the main spaceport. Gabriel and his new squad exited the mag-tram and reported to the armoury. A team of weapons technicians was already there, fine-tuning the firearms and other equipment that the squad need, including a back-mounted hazmat detection kit, a door-breaching plasma torch, and a variety of grenades and explosives.
Gabriel approached a separate stall, set up specifically for him. The technicians handed him his primary weapon, a hefty light machine gun with much more stopping power than the standard service weapon used by DNI operators. Its size made it overly cumbersome for most soldiers, but this particular weapon was designed for Gabriel’s personal use. Only someone of his size and height could use it comfortably.
Gabriel examined the weapon, checking each setting before giving a nod of approval. The technicians then set up a private two-way video link for Gabriel and each of the operators before politely departing. A final communication with loved ones before deployment was mandatory for all operators, a requirement that Gabriel found oddly personal. Did the DNI really have to micromanage details like this for the sake of operational effectiveness? If it weren’t mandatory, he would have made a call like this anyway.
The video link took a few seconds to connect before Aster appeared on the screen, sitting on a sofa in some kind of waiting room.
“Hi there, stranger.” Aster greeted him.
“Are you at the medical centre?” Gabriel asked.
“Yes, colonel,” Aster replied, irritated by the stern, military tone of his question, “we’ve been sitting here for the past half hour waiting for the children’s appointment.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Gabriel said through gritted teeth.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Aster replied, defusing the argument before it began.
“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asked.
“I don’t know what you see on your screen,” Aster explained, “but I see your face against a computerised background with your superiors’ logo; which means you’re in one of their facilities about to deploy on another mission.”
“I’ll only be gone for a few days.” Gabriel tried to reassure her.
“Ooh, you’ll be in-system?” Aster noted.
Gabriel flinched, blanching internally at the inadvertent disclosure.
“I didn’t say that it was.” Gabriel said defensively.
“You didn’t need to,” Aster replied innocently, “If you’re only going to be gone for a few days, you’re going somewhere close enough to not need a Q-engine.”
“I have no comment on that.” Gabriel answered.
“You shouldn’t have married an engineer.” Aster said with a playful smirk.
“I don’t regret that at all.” Gabriel replied.
“Well, that’s reassuring.” Aster said appreciatively, “because, neither do I.”
Gabriel smiled in spite of himself.
“Hold that smile, would you?” Aster told him as she disappeared briefly off screen.
Their children appeared on screen. His oldest son Orion occupied the centre whilst his two younger sisters, Rose and Violet, jostled to be in front of him. The youngest, Leonidas, was hoisted up within view of the screen by his brother.
“Hi, daddy!” they chorused happily.
“Hi, sweethearts.” Gabriel said smilingly to his children, “Daddy’s going to be gone for a few days, but I’ll be back soon, ok?”
“Are you going to fight monsters again?” three year old Vi
olet asked.
“That’s what daddy does to keep you all safe.” Gabriel answered.
“What monsters do you fight?” five year old Rose asked.
“Really scary monsters,” Gabriel replied teasingly, “with lots of eyes and tentacles.”
“Eww!” Violet said with disgust, “I hate tentacles!”
“Can we come fight the monsters with you?” Orion asked hopefully.
“Sorry, Ori,” Gabriel replied, “Only grownups can go out and fight monsters.”
His firstborn pouted in disappointment.
“How are you, Leo?” Gabriel asked Leonidas, who smiled at having his name called.
“It’s noisy here.” Leo observed with a giggle.
The video link muted out all background noise from the other end, but the children were probably being driven to distraction by the chattering and noise in the waiting room.
“Daddy has to go, now,” Gabriel told them, “take care of your mother while I’m gone.”
“Mommy sometimes cries when you’re gone.” Rose blurted out.
A spike of emotion pierced Gabriel’s heart as Aster hastily took back the camera before the children could say anything else.
“Their appointment should be soon,” Aster informed him in an unconvincing attempt to brush off Rose’s unauthorised disclosure.
“Ok, I’ll see you in a few days.”
“Yes…” Aster replied, her sentence trailing off.
“Aster,” Gabriel asked, “don’t cry.”
“I can’t promise that.” Aster replied, wiping away a tear.
“Goodbye, then.” Gabriel waved at the screen.
“Goodbye,” Aster waved back, turning the camera to include the children in the shot, “say goodbye to your father.” She instructed.
“Bye, daddy!” they chorused, waving goodbye at the screen.
“Goodbye, sweethearts.” Gabriel waved back. The call ended and the screen went dark.
Gabriel continued to stare at the blank screen for the longest time, wondering – not for the first time – if it was fair to burden his loved ones with the possibility of his death.
* * *
Once the doctors had come to collect them, Aster said goodbye to her children and departed for work, taking the public mag-train from the medical centre to the other side of the city centre. She knew for a fact that she would see them again, and soon. Such certainty was impossible whenever Gabriel deployed.
After a ten minute ride, the mag-train arrived at one of the largest towers in the city, gliding to a smooth halt before disgorging its passengers onto the platform. Splitting off from the streams of people, Aster made her way to the elevators at the opposite end of the station, overshadowed by a holographic corporate logo of a gas giant.
Aster stepped into the elevator and stood in front of the biometric scanner to confirm her identity. The automated security system granted her access and she descended to the lower levels. Once the elevator doors opened, Aster passed through an automated security checkpoint – checking her smartphone into storage – then stepped out into the entrance hall of Jupiter Engineering Co.’s main R&D complex.
It was deserted.
“Hello?” Aster called out, puzzled.
The whole place ought to be thronged with people at this time of day, but there was nobody to be seen. No alarms had been triggered, no warning lights were flashing, and there had been no instructions not to come into work, or that anything unusual would be happening today. So where was everyone?
Aster crossed the hall to Workshop 1-A, the doors sliding open as she approached. Once inside, the mystery of her colleagues’ whereabouts was solved. They were all huddled together in the break room surrounded by DNI agents clad in jet black body armour, side-arms strapped to their thighs, and retractable combat helmets partially concealing their faces.
“You,” one of the agents pointed at Aster as she walked in, “are you Dr Aster Thorn?”
“Scan me.” Aster answered back.
The agent obliged, and his suit sensors confirmed Aster’s identity.
“Come with me.” He ordered gruffly.
Confused and suspicious, Aster followed the agent past the crowd of colleagues into the corridor outside. She realised he was leading her to her office.
Waiting outside the door to Aster’s office was the senior agent in charge of the raid, leaning against the wall with arms folded and visor retracted; she looked as though she’d been waiting for a while. The senior agent looked at Aster with a stern, impatient glare and nodded in the direction of the door, not deigning to verbalise the instruction.
“Good morning to you too.” Said Aster sarcastically as she turned to face the scanner.
The scanner confirmed Aster’s identity and the door slid open; the two agents showed themselves inside, gesturing for Aster to follow. Aster followed them into a spacious office, featuring a desk equipped with a holographic display screen at one end, and a mini-lounge with a coffee table and a couch at the other.
The senior agent pointed at the couch and snapped her fingers.
“What about the couch?” Aster demanded, her patience finally running dry.
“Take a seat.” The agent instructed.
“Then why don’t you open your mouth and say so instead of waving your hands about?” Aster said, imitating the agent’s hand gestures, “that’s how you order around a pet animal–”
“Sit down!” the agent snapped, evidently not used to ordering around a civilian.
Rolling her eyes, Aster obliged.
The other DNI agent pulled a fist-sized object from his belt and tossed into the air. Staying airborne under its own power, the scanner drone bathed the wall in a sensory light and methodically circumnavigated the office. Aster drummed her fingers impatiently – as if she would plant listening devices in her own office.
Once the bug sweep was complete, the scanner drone returned to its controller, having detected nothing suspicious. The agent plucked the drone from the air and put it back on his belt before leaving Aster alone with the senior agent, who stood over her like a disapproving schoolteacher. The agent adjusted her helmet visor and pulled up Aster’s personnel file on her wrist-top computer before beginning.
“Dr Aster Thorn.” The agent read off the screen, “Tertiary specialisation in electrical engineering. Quaternary specialisation in Q-physics engineering with a minor specialisation in fusion reactor design. Doctoral specialisation in applied fusion reactor physics.”
“Is this an interrogation or a job interview?” Aster asked.
“All of your colleagues named you as the project-lead,” the senior agent deftly ignored Aster’s sarcasm, “and I want to know what that project is about.”
“That’s subject to corporate privilege.” Aster shot back bluntly.
“Are you the project-lead or not?” the agent demanded.
“Yes, I am.” Aster confirmed, “Now, are you going to tell me why the DNI is snooping around a private company’s labs?”
The agent appeared to mull it over.
“Fine,” the agent replied, “we are indeed from the Directorate of Naval Intelligence. Specifically, we’re from Division 3, as in the 3rd Prime Law.”
“‘Politics and Security Don’t Mix’?”
“The actual wording is ‘Civic and Security Don’t Mix’,” the senior agent corrected her, “and unauthorised acquisition, possession, modification or usage of xenotechnology definitely crosses the line between security and civic matters.”
“You’re seriously accusing us of trafficking in xenotech?”
“Yes, we are.”
“Maybe you should speak with our Chairman–”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about Chairman Darius if I were you,” the agent interrupted, “Right now, I’m asking you: what is the nature of the project that you lead?”
“…We’re working on a new, ship-worthy fusion reactor.” Aster replied hesitantly.
“Incorporating xenotech?�
�
“No!”
“Is there a J.E. Co. facility on Loki?” the senior agent abruptly changed tack.
“Yes.” Aster confirmed, “It’s a small R&D lab.”
“How small and what was its purpose?”
“A couple of hundred staff were stationed there to carry out experiments which couldn’t be safely conducted here on Asgard.” Aster explained.
“To your knowledge, did any of these experiments involve xenotechnology?”
“Of course not!”
“How do you know?” the senior agent pressed, unconvinced.
“What do you mean ‘how do I know’?”
“I mean exactly that: how do you know that your colleagues at the Loki facility were not conducting experiments involving xenotechnology?”
“Ok, suppose I give you two cups of coffee,” Aster explained, doing her irritated best to sound patient, “one made from hydroponically-grown, hand-ground coffee beans, the other synthesised in a lab. How would you know which was which?”
“Ok, how would I know?”
“You wouldn’t, because both are cups of fucking coffee.” Aster said in exasperation, “there’s no way to tell which process was used to make the cup of coffee because both would taste exactly the same. Unless you can prove that there’s a single scrap of xenotech anywhere in this building, you’re wasting your time.”
“Have you or anyone in your team ever visited the Loki facility?” the agent asked.
“No I haven’t, Dr Lawrence Kane is the one with liaison responsibilities.”
“‘Liaison responsibilities’?” the agent cocked an eyebrow.
“He’s the one who visits the facility regularly to liaise with the on-site researchers.”
“How frequently?”
“You’re the almighty DNI, for Terra’s sake,” Aster’s impatience was boiling over again, “can’t you just access the records to find all of this out?”
“We can, and we did.” The agent replied, “and, funny thing, there’s no record of a facility of any kind registered on Loki.”
Aster’s irritation evaporated into incredulity.
“What…what do you mean?” Aster asked, hesitant to find out.