Voidstalker

THE DIRECTORATE

Every tower in the city tall enough to poke above the cloud line gleamed with pride, basking in the glorious rays of the bright-white star like conifers in the winter dawn. Every tower was a monument to the success of interstellar capitalism, a glorious testament to the incredible wealth which had financed their construction.

Every tower except one.

Amidst the shining towers of Asgard City, some distance away from the hyper-opulent city centre, stood a sullen fortress jutting out of the ground like an iron spike piercing up through the soil. The ‘Spire’ was surrounded by a half-kilometre wide dead zone of barren ground that was empty of comparable structures, as if to keep the gaudy neighbouring towers at a respectful distance.

The surface of the Spire was a made from a dark material which absorbed virtually all the light that touched it, adding to the dour contrast with the surrounding towers. Across the entire tower, not a single window was installed; such a frivolous sign of civilian comfort was a structural weakness, unsuitable for a building from which all intelligence activities in the sector were coordinated.

The headquarters of the Directorate of Naval Intelligence couldn’t be reached by public mag-rail. For people without clearance, it couldn’t be reached at all. Gabriel’s air-taxi touched down on an extendable landing pad, allowing him to alight before quickly returning to the skies. The biometric sensors flash-scanned Gabriel’s eyes, and the half-tonne door retracted silently into the wall to allow him access, sealing again once he was inside.

This section was called the ‘Office Block’, a bad in-joke by the architects, since it was a literal block of space in the middle and upper sections of the Spire given over to offices for analysts and other personnel. For a building with a staff of over 75,000, there were very few people to be seen in the concentric rings of hallways. Most of them were support staff flitting between offices; all of them gave Gabriel a wide berth.

Near the top of the Spire, Gabriel headed down a short corridor towards the spine of the building, stopping in front of a reinforced door emblazoned with the acronym ‘D.G.N.I.’. Passers-by who caught a glimpse of the acronym double-timed past it. The biometric sensors flash-scanned Gabriel’s eyes and the blast door slid open, granting him entrance to the most powerful room in the city.

The office of the Director-General of Naval Intelligence was part-office, part-command centre, part-throne room. It was a hemispherical space with a desk and a throne-like chair, surrounded by holographic screens, set atop a dais opposite the front door. The person behind the desk was reviewing a video file on one of the many screens, with the audio playing through the speakers so that Gabriel could hear.

“…my facility goes dark and the first thing you do is short my company and cash out?!” Gabriel recognised Darius’s voice bellowing in anger at his mother.

“Of course,” said the recording of Madam Jezebel Thorn, “you would have done the same if a project of mine ‘went dark’ without explanation.”

“It didn’t ‘go dark’, thus far it’s nothing more than a temporary communications loss–” Darius tried to splutter out an explanation.

“‘A temporary communications loss’, ‘a fault in the uplink array’, ‘space weather’, ‘regular weather’, ‘an act of the divine’,” Madam Jezebel sneered, “I’ve heard countless variations on all those excuses, and they’re always made up by incompetent fools to cover up the fact that they couldn’t keep their business under control.”

“You’re just trying to cut the venture off at the knees at the first sign of trouble!” Darius angrily accused his erstwhile business partner, “You think you can short my company and leave ME with the fleeking mess!?”

“You came to me for seed money for this little off-world facility of yours, and I gave it to you,” Madam Jezebel calmly reminded Darius, winding him up without raising her voice, “I even let you have full control over the facility’s activities, which is just as well, seeing as you probably didn’t register it.”

“Mind your fleeking tongue, or I might have it cut out!” Darius snarled dangerously, perhaps conscious that the walls might have ears.

“In any case,” Madam Jezebel continued, “the facility was always yours to own, and so are the consequences of whatever might have happened there. So I suggest you man up and stop making such a scene.”

“You slippery bitch!”

The recording paused at the exact moment that Gabriel had walked into the booth. The individual seated in the throne-like chair dismissed the video with a flick of her fingers and swivelled round to face Gabriel. He stood to attention and saluted, respectfully fixing his gaze on the opposite wall as he waited for her to speak.

The director-general wore a midnight black uniform similar to Gabriel’s, except that it bore a gold admiral’s insignia on the lapel, whereas Gabriel’s uniform had no insignia or identifying markings. She wore her raven hair in a tight bun and her face appeared locked into an expression of complete indifference to the world.

Her most eye-catching feature, however, was her right eye. It was a bionic implant, with a bright, laser-red iris, in stark contrast to her biological, hazel-coloured left eye. The obvious nickname ‘Red-eye’ had stuck, though no one with a sense of self-preservation dared utter it within earshot of her.

“Your integrity is beyond question,” the Director-General of Naval Intelligence said matter-of-factly, “the same cannot be said of Jezebel Thorn or Darius Avaritio.”

“I presume you want me to investigate Avaritio’s facility?” Gabriel asked.

“That is correct.” The director-general confirmed, “It’s a standard IRS operation. Check in with the medical staff and get yourself suited and ready. Your operational briefing will be forwarded to you on the way.”

“Understood.” Gabriel replied, waiting to be told why he was there.

Most DNI employees dreaded the prospect of being called into the director-general’s office, not least because of her rumoured delight in playing underhanded mind games with her subordinates – like playing recordings of supposedly private conversations just to make them squirm with embarrassment.

Gabriel knew better. It was just a rumour; the director-general only called people into her office for important matters. She rarely summoned people to her office to give them their orders in person, and she certainly didn’t summon them to her office just to embarrass them. She had better things to do with her time.

“There is one other thing.” The director-general added, “For this deployment I’ll be placing you in command of a squad of five operators.”

Gabriel blinked, thinking he might have misheard.

“Normally you would be sent in alone, of course,” the director-general continued, “but given the size of the facility, I believe the support of a full squad is warranted.”

“…Understood.” Gabriel answered stoically.

“Expressing dissent is acceptable.” the director-general said, almost reassuringly.

“No it isn’t,” Gabriel contradicted his superior, “I’ve been given a mission and a set of parameters, and I intend to complete that mission within the stated parameters.”

“So you have no problem at all with working with a team?”

“None.” Gabriel lied.

“Understood.” Red-eye noted with a faint smile, perhaps noting the lie, “Dismissed.”

* * *

Whilst most of the Spire’s levels were devoted to regular office space, the lower levels were given over to research laboratories which formed the core of the DNI’s in-house tech empire: the ‘Rand Block’, as in ‘R&D’. Most DNI employees were restricted to certain areas of the Spire, but the biometric scanners granted Gabriel access to almost every part of the building, including the Rand Block.

Gabriel took the elevator down over a hundred floors to a special preparation chamber. Once he arrived, he stripped down to his underwear and lay down on the horizontal examination slab that awaited him. The robotic medical arms descended from the ceiling and bathed his body in sensory light, scanning him from head to toe. When the scan was complete, a holographic screen materialised in front of him.

“Voidstalker-1707,” said the doctor on the other end of the line, “Colonel Gabriel Thorn. All of your enhancements are functioning within normal parameters. No physical or cellular anomalies detected, although your REM sleep patterns last night were erratic.”

“It was another flashback,” Gabriel explained, “this time from void-exposure training.”

“I see,” the doctor noted, glancing down at his chart, “and how is family life?”

“Clarify.” Gabriel said with narrowed eyes.

“Last night, after you awoke from your nightmare you experienced a brief spike of anger followed by a round of sexual activity.” The doctor explained clinically.

“Clarify why that is any of your concern.” a note of danger crept into Gabriel’s voice.

“I ask because it appears that you had a mildly physical argument which was subsequently…resolved.” the doctor explained, unconcerned with the personal nature of the question, and unfazed by the threatening undertone in Gabriel’s voice.

“That is accurate,” Gabriel confirmed through gritted teeth, “what of it?”

“There is a clinically acceptable range of emotional coldness,” the doctor explained, “but it cannot be allowed to degenerate into sociopathy towards your loved ones. It is possible that Mrs Thorn goads you into these arguments in order to elicit affection from you.”

“Leave my family out of this.” Gabriel warned in a raised voice.

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that.” The doctor replied sympathetically, “Maintaining a stable and healthy family life is important for ensuring maximum effectiveness in the field, particularly for voidstalkers. And since aggression and arousal are the only two emotional responses which are not suppressed, it is a delicate balancing act.”

“I can handle my own personal life just fine, thank you.” Gabriel responded icily.

“The directorate has a direct interest in that being true.” The doctor replied.

“So, are we finished?” Gabriel asked, his defensiveness turning to abrasive impatience.

“Yes.” The doctor answered, “Good luck on your next mission, colonel.”

With that said, the holographic screen deactivated and a new set of procedures began, starting with the foot of the examination bed pitching downwards until it stood at a perfect 90 degree angle. Gabriel stepped away from the vertically angled slab, and forward onto a small platform, standing perfectly still.

A set of nozzle-equipped robotic arms descended from the ceiling and sprayed a gel-like substance across his skin from his ankles up to his neck, avoiding his feet, hands, and face. Gabriel resisted the urge to shiver with discomfort as the substance congealed into a light blue under-suit that hugged his skin.

Once the under-suit had fully congealed, a pair of armoured boot soles were placed on the floor in front of Gabriel, and he planted his feet on the cushioned soles, digging his toes into the material until he had settled comfortably into them. Once his feet were firmly in place, the robots did the rest.

The robotic arms put on the secondary armour skin first. Made from flexible plates of carbon nanotubing, it formed a dull grey, full body layer of protection over the gelatinous under-suit, including covering his feet and hands. This layer of armour was for absorbing and dispersing the effects of energy weapons as well as providing an extra layer of protection against extreme temperatures and excessive radiation.

Finally, the primary armour was installed. Instead of flexible carbon nanotubing, the primary armour plates were totally rigid, and were manufactured from custom-forged metallic composites strengthened with carbon nanotubing, increasing the tensile strength and impact resistance by an order of magnitude.

The armour had to be fitted piece by piece, each part interlocking with the others until it formed a vacuum tight suit of armour covering Gabriel’s entire body all the way up to his neck. Apart from his head, he was now virtually invulnerable. A robotic arm politely handed him his helmet; he took it without looking and attached it to his belt for later.

Now that he was dressed for battle, a holographic video image of Gabriel appeared in front of him, acting as a mirror. His armour was a deep crimson colour with black trimming; traditionally, the colour scheme would be some form of khaki, eschewing any sort of easily identifiable colour. But in an age of advanced sensors and combat armour that could turn an ordinary man or woman into a walking tank, camouflage was a quaint concept.

Gabriel had no sense of vanity of which he was aware; but he looked like the angel of death with a Human face.

* * *

Below the Rand Block was the ‘Under-block’: a maze of bombardment proof chambers and corridors stretching dozens of levels below ground. It had various purposes, many of them pertaining to various doomsday scenarios, but one of them was to house much of the DNI’s massive stockpile of weapons, munitions, and other essential supplies.

The Under-block also housed a mag-rail station for the exclusive use of the military, with high-speed lines running directly to various key facilities in and around the city. Gabriel linked up with the squad of DNI operators he would be commanding, and together they took the mag-tram from the Spire’s station to the military terminal of Asgard’s main spaceport.

The sight from inside the tunnel wasn’t as impressive as the sky-high view from the public mag-rail, but the DNI’s mag-tram system was no less a marvel of engineering. Unlike the public mag-trains, the DNI’s mag-rail tunnels were almost completely evacuated of air, minimising air resistance and maximising speed. Travelling at close to half the speed of sound – and in a straight line – meant they would reach the spaceport in a fraction of the time.

Gabriel stared out through the wall-sized observation window at the front of the mag-tram, his own train of thought circling back around to the previous night. He couldn’t tell Aster what the DNI did to his body and mind, let alone where he went or what he did on his missions. The secrecy made perfect sense to him, and the children were blissfully ignorant either way, but it clearly hurt her. Even so, what his family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

So what in Terra’s name gave the DNI doctors the right to bring them up in the first place? What possible right did they have to help him ‘maintain a stable family life’? He could manage that perfectly well without their interference. It would be myopic to complain about the DNI techs monitoring his neural activity – that was part of being in the programme – but what business did they have asking about his private life?

That really was myopic. Of course monitoring his neural activity gave the DNI an insight into his family life, however indirect. And yet being questioned directly about it angered him even more than the actual monitoring. After all, he had volunteered for all of this, and thereby agreed to have his neural activity monitored. His family hadn’t volunteered for any of that, and that was what angered him.

Then again, it was the DNI which supervised the children’s medical check-ups.

Gabriel stared out into the shadowy distance, watching the ceiling lamps zipping by so quickly that they seemed to form a continuous stream of light. As he stared, a new question came to mind. The whole point of the voidstalker programme was that a single voidstalker could be sent in to deal with the most difficult assignments without the need for backup. Red-eye’s decision to place a squad of operators under his command made no sense.

There was something else about having ‘backup’ foisted on him that bothered Gabriel, but he couldn’t pin down why. It certainly wasn’t pride; if Red-eye doubted his abilities, he wouldn’t be a voidstalker in the first place. Nor did he doubt the abilities of the operators. They were part of the DNI’s Special Operations Division. Not as deadly or versatile as voidstalkers, but perfectly competent.

“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 Violet 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 3^rd 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.

“You just told me that Dr Kane was ‘liaising’ with the staff of an R&D facility,” the agent repeated, “a facility which, apparently, doesn’t exist. So either our records are woefully out-of-date, or you just revealed the existence of an illegal research facility.”

The agent paused to let that information sink in. Aster had no answer.

“I…I…” Aster’s voice began to falter.

“You…you…” the agent replied in a vaguely mocking tone, “You of course had no idea that your employer would break the law and lie to its own staff. Although, given that you’re the project-lead, it’s a little hard to believe that you or your staff could be left so completely in the dark about a ‘small’ R&D lab with several hundred staff.”

“Ok, fuck you.” Aster exclaimed, rising from her seat as her patience finally ran out, “I’m going to make a call.”

“To a legal advocate?” the agent raised a hand to stop Aster from leaving.

“Actually, to someone a lot more senior than you are.” Aster retorted, swatting the senior agent’s hand away from her chest.

“Oh, you mean the man who put that lovely ring on your finger.”

Aster froze up.

“I saw the shared surname in your file,” the senior agent continued, “and his file is off limits to pretty much everyone except the Masterminds. I mention that because a family connection to the DNI would make any charges against you more serious, not less.”

“Do you get off on this whole routine?”

“If you’re asking me if I enjoy putting corporates in their places,” the agent answered with a smirk, “we all do. If you found an alien doomsday weapon, you’d auction it off to the highest bidder without a second thought. Profit over people, now and always.”

“‘Corporates’ funded most of the civil research and space exploration over the past 500 years, and they still do.” Aster shot back defensively.

“That’s awfully high praise from a colonial.” the agent retorted.

Aster’s eye began to twitch. This DNI bitch had just crossed a very sensitive line.

“I hear some of the corporates really sucked the life out of a lot of their ‘investments’.” the agent remarked with barely suppressed smugness, “I’m curious, how did someone who grew up at the mercy of the corporates end up working for them?”

Aster swung her fist at the DNI agent as she lunged forward. The agent deftly caught Aster’s wrist and twisted it behind her back, pinning her face-down on the couch.

“Relax, sweetheart.” The agent said as she straddled Aster’s back.

She pressed Aster’s wrist firmly against her back with one hand whilst holding her head down with the other, then spoke into her comm. piece.

“Did you get all of that?” she asked the person on the other end.

“You fucking government pig!” Aster snarled.

“Understood,” the agent said, ignoring Aster, “I’ll let her go.”

The senior agent leapt off the couch, releasing Aster’s wrist in the same motion.

“What the fuck was that about?!” Aster demanded, climbing off the couch.

“Physio-Behavioural Analysis,” the agent explained calmly, “it’s the most effective, non-invasive field-interrogation technique we have.”

“So all of that was just to bait me into a response?” Aster demanded.

“Pretty much.” Came the nonchalant reply, “You can re-join the others now.”

Visibly fuming, Aster stormed out of the office.

She was still fuming as she returned to the break room. What business did that DNI bitch have taunting her about her colonial background? Like it wasn’t bad enough being threatened with career-ending criminal charges.

Even so, she had nepotistically tried to invoke her high-ranking husband as some sort of trump-card, like the DNI didn’t already know everything about her. Amidst the anger and confusion, it occurred to her that she had potentially put his credibility on the line, a short-sighted and selfish thing to do.

The DNI agents directed her back to the break room where they still had her colleagues under guard, surrounding them like a holding pen made of black body armour.

“Did they put you through the PBA questioning as well?” Felix asked.

Still fuming with residual anger, Aster brushed him away without an answer.

“I’m guessing yes.” His expression revealing that he too had been put through the process, “look, the thing works by pushing your buttons and reading your responses to see if you’re lying or hiding something. If you were in trouble, you’d know it by now.”

“I don’t care, Felix.” Aster hissed back.

Felix let the issue go, giving her a few moments to cool down.

“Did you secure all the data?” Aster whispered, her anger giving way to a clearer head.

“Yes.” Felix whispered back, “All the project data and research notes were backed up to one of the offsite servers. Even the DNI can’t touch it.”

“Good.” Aster replied, breathing a little easier, “If I’d known the DNI was going to raid the building, I would have taken the whole day off.”

“And leave us to face the music alone?” Felix asked, miffed.

“That’s my prerogative as your boss.” Aster replied jokingly.

They chuckled, covering their mouths to smother the sound.

“Is something funny?” one of the DNI agents demanded sternly.

“Nothing.” Aster replied, stiffening up.

She and Felix waited until the agent had moved on before continuing their conversation.

“Have the DNI taken Lawrence or anyone else in?” Aster whispered to Felix.

“Not that I know.” Felix replied, keeping a wary eye on the watchful DNI agents, “plus, Lawrence was still at the Loki facility. He wasn’t due back until tomorrow.”

“I guess we can’t help him, then,” Aster said resignedly, “The rest of us will be lucky not to get blackballed for this.”