Ikabu led the documenters out of the bridge, trailing Cassel. They then paused in the foyer, its door sealed behind them, while Cassel gained distance down the corridor.
“Looks like it’s my show, now, ladies and gentlemen of the USRD,” Ikabu announced, his voice none other than a drill instructor on vacation. “I’ll be as easygoing as a man in my position can be, but I assure you this vessel requires my presence just as much as it does the Captain’s.”
Ikabu began to slowly-but-surely walk them down the corridor, and already Felina knew this was going to take twice as long as Cassel’s tour.
She hibernated and cradled her PDA.
“That said, let it be known that I have only seventy-percent of Captain Keyes’ permissions, but when it comes to the Manticore’s security protocols and systems, we share the same authorities. Unlike many of the other crew aboard this vessel, I am a direct employee of the USRD Central Command, having worked for them half my natural life. The first half, you could say, was spent with the USMB as a teacher and design specialist when I was wee-big. My father was Co-Chairman at the time, of USMB. I, however, was recruited at a young age to serve the USRD, who wanted a military perspective in their scientist-laden fields of operation. And I must say, especially aboard the Manticore, what an opportunity!”
Felina felt herself tune out.
Time passed like an hourglass in zero-gravity.
Amid sporadic profanity that seemed as fitting as alcohol at a daycare and reminiscing about his times with the USMB, there was little to dissect from Ikabu’s speeches. He seemed to talk extraneously more so than actually describing areas of the vessel or security protocols, and even when he did they were laden with mundane nostalgia.
Felina was disappointed with his part as a tour guide. She had expected more from him, although they had yet reached the security center so she did sustain hope.
Bored, she focused more on others’ reactions.
Calloway was eating up Ikabu’s every word like chocolate to a ravenous child; Godunov and Ngo seemed mildly entertained; Baez claimed, with a rolling of her eyes in a passage of whispers, that he reminded her of her uncle; and perhaps strangest of all, Loudon looked to be in love.
Overall Felina felt very out of place and incredibly tiresome. She hadn't realized just how slow they'd been moving and how much time had passed until they reached what Ikabu declared as the halfway mark. She brandished her PDA for weary eyes and took less than an instant to discern their location on the map, as well as the time.
Over an hour had passed since Cassel relayed the documenters to Ikabu outside the bridge.
No wonder her legs tired, too.
“At last, ladies and gentlemen,” Ikabu announced, turning from an open doorway in the corridor bulkhead on their left. “I give you, the security center of the Manticore.”
Felina's energies revived themselves and her interest piqued. She gathered her senses and paid good attention, glad for once to be up front.
What appeared to have been a gap in the wall was actually a sort of screen-door, the likes of which Felina had only glimpsed in restricted-access areas of the Dingir and heard about aboard high-end USMB vessels. Ikabu took pride in explaining the Invisi-Screen, backed by the notion that his father had designed it.
“When you stand in front of it, it acts as a refractive mirror,” he said, exemplifying its effects. Felina had never gotten close enough to the ones aboard the Dingir to witness their potential. Here, she saw clear as day, from five feet away. Its surface wasn’t a perfect mirror, or else it would reflect the corridor itself, such as the opposite bulkhead; no, instead it gave off a slight glow, as if it was a window to a clear-skied sunny outdoors. But when a person stepped in front, it detected their heartbeat and the hidden lintel scanner mapped out their image to perfection. “Now, given the fact that the Invisi-Screen’s composition is literally a mixture of plasma particles and light, the reflection isn’t impeccable—as you can see with me, the edges aren’t smooth and some of my features fold into others.”
True enough, Ikabu’s reflection in the Invisi-Screen looked more like an abstract painting in motion than a mirror’s replication.
“Now you may ask yourself,” Ikabu added with raised eyebrows, “what is the purpose of it?”
He proceeded to treat the inward question as something to be answered by the documenters, as if they were in a classroom setting. He surveyed them not unlike students, which made Felina feel all the more belittled.
“To dissuade unauthorized personnel from entering, or trying to,” Calloway said with a partially raised hand.
“Ah, yes…Mr. Calloway,” Ikabu said after squinting at his ID tag. “You are most correct. As a security precaution, the Invisi-Screen is even more defensive than a two-inch-thick steel vault door, a common construction for such do-not-enter areas. While a vault door can theoretically be broken into, given the right devices or explosives are used, the Invisi-Screen cannot be. The keypad to its right is standard to anyone but myself, Cassel, Captain Keyes, or my three sentinels. Otherwise, it becomes a fingerprint-reader; a code is still required, but the code varies per person and must be matched with their inimitable fingerprints.”
It was impressive to say the least.
“Um, and you mentioned…‘sentinels’?” Loudon asked.
“Yes, that’s correct. It is just the word given to my three security associates, who are employed below me and act as safety patrols throughout Manticore. In the morning and at night they are always in this room, surveying the security cameras you might’ve seen in the corridors, at every major junction. Said cameras do not have sightlines inside key rooms such as the bridge and main labs, for confidentiality purposes.”
This latter piece of information seemed to strike a chord in everyone present, but Ikabu’s expression tacitly stated that he wouldn’t elaborate any further.
Besides, if anyone—Felina included, who felt ambivalent about the matter—really wanted to pose a follow-up, they would just inquire Captain Keyes himself.
“In the day, though,” Ikabu continued, “during peak hours of personnel traffic, my sentinels are patrolling the corridors in a casual but alert manner. Since the Manticore’s launch from Earth in 2226, not a single security breach or break in protocol has occurred. Captain Keyes and Ensign Cassel would be willing to confirm this fact if you choose to ask them.”
“May we meet them now?” Baxter asked with a raised forefinger, curiosity lighting her face. “The sentinels, I mean.”
Ikabu grunted, seemed indecisive for an instant, then shrugged and stepped toward the keypad.
“Certainly,” he said, punching in a five-digit code. “I don’t see why not.”
With his fingerprint-authorized code keyed in, the Invisi-Screen buzzed like a horde of bees before vanishing. It receded from the center, vertically in two panels of dissipating light and plasma. Within two seconds it was gone, as if it had never been there, the air as clean and crisp as anywhere else in the vessel.
“Um, one question,” Felina asked. “What is the safety guarantee of the Invisi-Screen itself? Such as closing prematurely, or if someone is in the way?”
“A logical and vigilant concern, Ms. Sabartinelli,” Ikabu said with respective firmness in his voice. “The Invisi-Screen cannot close, or seal that is, while an object—living or otherwise—is in its threshold. It simply cannot. While this may be its only security flaw, it is nonetheless a necessary safety precaution. It will, however, close only once the code is inputted as it was upon entrance, on the other side inside the room. And vice versa, when exiting.”
Recording audio this whole time, cradling her PDA, Felina nodded and muttered satisfied appreciation.
“In we go, then,” Ikabu said, beckoning the documenters to follow. They did so reluctantly, superficially anxious that it just might malfunction and seal on them. Nobody could imagine an even slightly mild result from such an accident.
Once inside the security center, their mean
dering gazes washed over every single feature it had to offer. In comparison to the bridge, this was very little. In fact, the security center was hardly larger than their quarters, and twice as bleak as the bridge. Bulkheads were gunmetal gray, the floor textured steel, and oddly enough opposite it were white ceiling tiles.
This struck Felina as the strangest aspect of the room.
The only intriguing element of the security center were the displays used. An array of hologram monitors, probably thirty-eight inchers each, mounted on the left side of the wall when they entered. Below were hover-keyboards and two swivel seats, one occupied by a sentinel. On these displays were video feeds from the security cameras aforementioned by Ikabu. A nearly identical station was set up on the far right wall, except for the centermost display—probably a sixty-five incher. This one was presently blacked out. Instead of two chairs here there was just one, and it was occupied by another sentinel.
The third sentinel was ambling from the far back wall upon Ikabu’s entrance.
Felina found her focus quickly transition to this man, and the wall itself. From corner to corner it was occupied by cobalt pressure-lockers with glass windows on the top halves. Ten lockers total, about three feet wide and six tall. A high quantity for only three sentinels, plus a fourth which would be Ikabu.
“Sentinels of the USRD Manticore,” Ikabu announced with a surprisingly fast tongue. “Meet the documenters you’ve heard so much about…but known all too little.”
Ikabu smiled and stepped aside.
Nobody seemed to even notice him as he resealed the Invisi-Screen behind them.
The thirty-something man from the lockers arrived first, and then the other two stood from their seats to join. They each wore matching uniforms, identical to Ikabu’s except without the elbow and kneepads; instead, they had black epaulettes with inch-long bullion fringes. These alone, yet in combination with their Manticore chest stitching, distinguished them from the navy uniforms of visitors—these documenters, specifically.
The three sentinels exchanged handshakes with the ten documenters, most of whom were unsurprised that two of them were women. It wasn’t unusual, in the past ninety-six years, for women to have a role in armed positions, especially under the United Systems.
“Diego Ochoa.” The male sentinel’s voice was deep and handsome, matching his rugged features. He had kind brown eyes that seemed to serenade Felina more than she preferred, given the setting and nature of her presence here. She imagined that the other women felt similar, especially Zometa.
“Whoa, what’ve they been feeding you people here?” Calloway laughed awkwardly while shaking Ochoa’s firm hand.
“Break protocol and I’ll show you its benefits firsthand,” Ochoa replied with a sly smirk.
Now Calloway really laughed awkwardly, and withdrew to instead greet the other two women.
“Taylor Belle,” announced one, a lean blonde woman with a British accent and brown streaks in her ponytailed hair. She had a very pale complexion and clusters of soft freckles high on her cheeks, shadowing light green eyes. Felina guessed mid-thirties, while the other woman may be pushing thirty.
This one struck her as a peculiar face, with a strong nose that joined her forehead to make an almost perfect right angle triangle. Despite this, she had a very pretty visage with a ferocious gaze, brown eyes, round cheeks, and puffy lips. Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a tight and long braided ponytail that dangled like a rappelling rope behind her. She, too, was pale but without any noticeable blemishes or marks. Her featherweight yet steadfast voice had a strong Eastern European accent without being incoherent.
“Amila Djevojka,” she said her name was.
Felina was glad that her PDA’s audio recording was still active. Once everyone had exchanged names, a fleeting introductory session in comparison to their gathering at the secondary cafeteria yesterday, Ikabu returned to the group.
“Ochoa, Djevojka, and Belle here are stupendous security assets for Manticore.” Ikabu spoke with undeniable, sincere pride. “I assure you all that they, paired with the greatest technology USRD has to offer, are more than valuable for this role.”
Nobody questioned this statement, although there was curiosity amongst Felina and the others that needed attention. Finally someone asked it, airing out what was on all their minds.
“Are you all permitted the possession of firearms aboard the Manticore?” Baez asked with her right hand inching up.
“Ah, yes, the obvious question.” Ikabu grinned, walking away while shaking his head. “The elephant in the room, one might say.”
“What’s your guess?” Ochoa asked. “Baez, is it?”
“Yes, and I’d say the answer is…yes, if not ‘of course.’ I can’t say that I agree with it, but that’s my guess.”
Felina admired the firmness of Baez’s statement.
“Anyone else care to guess?” Ikabu asked, standing beside the lockers now. Felina felt this alone made evident the answer.
“Yes, and they’re in those lockers,” Felina blurted.
Everyone looked at her, but only Ikabu and Djevojka raised their eyebrows in doing so.
“You are as correct,” Ikabu said, elevating her hopes, “as you are wrong.”
Felina felt her pride dwindle.
Ikabu beckoned them all closer, while the sentinels followed behind the group. In an abstract mindset, especially considering her failure at precisely guessing the answer, Felina perceived it as three wolves circling to herd their pray into a trap. And Ikabu, the alpha male, took the lead with erudite teeth…
“Each pressure-locker is accessed via the designated sentinel’s thumbprint on the ‘open’ button. Inside…” Ikabu approached his, the fourth one down from the left, and demonstrated via pressing a gray button nearest the right edge of the steel locker door with his thumb. The pneumatic hiss was coupled with a beep and a red LED light by the inset handle turned green, then his fingers curled beneath it to pull toward him. The pressure-locker door opened outwardly, exposing its illuminated contents. On the top and only shelf was a PDA and two handgun magazines. Below it, hanging via a single hook from the bottom of the shelf, was an Adhera-Holster. Inside this black polyester-shell sheath was a handgun.
Ikabu leaned in to retrieve it, drawing the gun and admiring everyone’s trust when they didn’t flinch or withdraw.
Except for a reluctant Wisniewski.
“No fear or concern, my friend, it isn’t loaded.” Ikabu sighed, displaying the handgun as if a trophy to be inspected and admired. “Besides, I’m the Manticore’s Head of Security—I sure hope you all have my respect and trust by now.”
“Which model is that?” Godunov asked, holding his PDA like a journalist would.
Afterall, they weren’t so distant from the profession.
“This would be the USMB Deci,” Ikabu replied. “First put in production twelve years ago. Chambered in 10mm Magnum, capable of semiautomatic and accurate two-round bursts. Eighteen-round magazine capacity. Standard handgun for all United Systems security personnel.”
“Excellent,” was all Godunov had to say, seeming impressed. The firearm itself was nothing new, obviously, and it didn’t intrigue or excite Felina the slightest.
“Is this the same type of, and only, weapon in each of the other lockers?” Loudon asked before Felina’s tongue could produce sound.
“Yes, it is. Everyone, including myself, is limited to two emergency magazines each. The Adhera-Holsters are easy and instant to equip, making the act of carrying a Deci in case of an emergency very efficient.”
“Are there any other sentinels aboard the Manticore?” Ngo asked.
“Negative,” Ikabu said resolutely.
“Then why are there six other lockers, if only four of you?” Ngo pressed.
Felina cocked an eyebrow.
“Ah, well—” Ikabu began, but was interrupted in just about the same breath by Schuman.
“And they aren’t empty, we know that by the red lig
hts,” he said matter-of-factly. “Just about everyone knows that pressure-lockers only illuminate when they contain objects.”
“Precisely correct,” Ikabu said, sounding almost as if frustrated. He flashed a brief smile and then returned his Deci to its holster. As he shut his locker door, its pneumatic workings hissed before a metallic click sealed it. “Because they are for emergency access, but only available to the thumbprints of Captain Keyes and Ensign Cassel, in such a dire event. All these years, and still no need for them—fortunately—but, preparations are preparations.”
“Hope for the best, fear the worst,” Zometa said with attitude on her lips.
“Something like that,” Ikabu said with a sigh. “But—”
“We don’t advertise or recognize fear aboard this vessel,” a female voice caught the documenters from behind. Their heads swiveled as if on pivot-points and Djevojka spoke without reluctance or doubt. “It is a peaceful research facility, even with all the stress of so much hard work. We prepare for the worst, but we do not anticipate it.”
“Well said, Djevojka,” Ikabu’s authoritative voice drew their attention back to him. Felina’s gaze left her standing there with now-crossed arms and a raised chin, although her eyes were set on her superior. Felina’s, too, eventually drifted back over to Ikabu, who again guided their focus as he walked from his locker to the far right wall. Only then did Felina, and probably the others, notice something off key about the wall—a very fine demarcation in the bulkhead.
Like a hidden panel.
Or…compartment.
“Now, Miss Sabartinelli, to elaborate on the answer to your…well, answer…I give you all, Manticore’s Spleen.” Ikabu slid his right thumb over the bottom edge of this barely visible demarcation in the wall, a pencil-thin gap that now hissed and divided. It widened until the wall panel had risen to be parallel with the ceiling and only about four inches away. What it exposed was a hidden compartment roughly a foot deep into the wall, with rectangular dimensions matching the sixty-five inch display nearer the entrance.
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