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?”