New York City, 7:30 a.m.
Selena’s single monitor screen (hooked to several towers, all off the main Signet network and encrypted with puzzles and security measures more analogue than would be expected of such a supremely digital organization), pinged even as the door opened, and the flashing red icon that flew up on the screen alerted her to high-priority information. Opening the file, she spared a glance backwards. “Mr. Turinn,” she greeted. In the office, it was not uncommon for the woman to address her colleagues so, though over time most of them had learned that it wasn’t really a measure of formality on her part, just a personal quirk, perhaps. “Good morning to you as well.” One corner of her mouth turned up. He’d offered no such greeting, of course, being a little more brisk and to business about it, and naturally, she’d called attention to it.
But she was not offended. Oh no, her skin was far thicker than that. She just tended to tease her coworkers from time to time. Nevertheless, she did afford him a direct answer. “Not yet, though if all is true to routine, they will be joining us momentarily. And ‘dashing’ is not usually the word one hears associated with the maidens, but we shall see.” Turning back to her screen, she quickly read over the information contained within. These documents tended to be coded, not at the level of the technology, but within the information itself, and as such, what filled the center of her screen appeared to be a bunch of jumbled characters that didn’t align much.
It was all about method, however, and she was able to unwind the masking and understand the meaning of what she was seeing with the ease of practice.
The head of the field team was the next in the room, his query directed more generally, though she was of course the only one who would be able to answer it. “Good morning, Mr. Serafino. There is a new assignment,” she replied mildly, “But I shall wait until the half hour to brief.” it was, after all, the standard time for such things, and would grant the opportunity for anyone else to arrive. She rather disliked repeating herself, after all.
Scanning a particular line of the text, she frowned, fingers flying across the flat, touch-sensitive surface that served the same role keyboards once had. Another document was brought up, this one in plain English and containing a three-dimensional photo of a man, head and shoulders. Closing that out for now, she adjusted a few other things and was just finishing lining up the material for the briefing when the third member of the field team arrived. She was torn between warm amusement and a truly unfortunate (and quite recent) kind of dread at Atlas’s appearance, but she was quite a bit better than letting it show on her face.
“And you have not lost the gilded edge to your tongue since yesterday, Mr. Whitehaven,” she replied smartly, gesturing politely for all of them to be seated at the central table, if they would. Their requests for information would go unanswered no longer. Selena tapped the surface of the table, bringing up a three-dimensional map of New York City, which automatically zoomed to the edge of what had once been the Long Island area, and was now simply a very large industrial sector, focused on shipping and resource processing for the Spireheart. What was visible to the team was a long section of docks, behind which were arrayed a large number of warehouses, most of them poorly labeled or entirely unmarked. An excellent indication that they were owned by Signet.
“This is cryogenic storage facility number forty eighty-two, also called the Ark,” she began, shaking her head faintly. So many of these things were still new to her discovery—as a child, she’d never thought to ask where her food came from, and chances were good that most people who didn’t work for this corporation didn’t really know, either. “It is primarily used for the long-term storage of certain plant germs and animal genetic materials which are deemed currently unable to subsist in external environmental conditions.” In other words, plants that could no longer grow in the soil of the wilds were put on ice while Signet scientists worked on soil enrichment programmes. The animals were simply of those species unable to adapt to current ecological circumstances, waiting until such time as their respective biomes could be recreated.
A sweeping gesture with a finger sent the map a little further down the oval-shaped table, and it was replaced with the three-dimensional model of the man from earlier. The topical details of his face placed him at a rather haggard-looking forty-something, with scraggly grey hair and significant burn scars on one side of his face. “This,” she said, “is Dr. Victor Fleche. A Signet biological engineer, with fifteen years of experience as the head of the Ark Project, which was responsible for putting the materials in the Ark together. Three days ago, Dr. Fleche disappeared from his home sometime between the hours of seventeen and twenty-three, and he did not report to work the next day. Beta Team has been working the missing persons case, but there was a break in it yesterday, and they need us now.”
Another two faces appeared, rotating on some central axis so as to be visible to all at the table. One was a woman, perhaps mid-thirties, with a short haircut and a recognizable symbol tattooed onto her left cheek: a stylized leaf within a broken circle. The insignia belonged to a very violent faction of (thankfully poorly-funded) ecoterrorists, Gaia. The man next to her looked remarkably similar in facial structure, though his face was free of any distinguishing marks, even if his nose looked to have been broken a few times.
“Beta Team believes that Dr. Fleche has been kidnapped by these two, Rachel and James Dwyer. Both are known members of Gaia, and there is reason to believe they intend to use the doctor to gain access to the Ark. Preliminary psychological analysis suggests that they may take the plants off cryo and try to reintroduce them to the wilds, a task which will unfortunately prove fruitless and destroy the Ark Project in the process. We have orders to make for the Ark and lay an ambush for the Dwyers. You are encouraged to take measures to safely recover Dr. Fleche, but upstairs wants it known that the first priority is the Ark. We’re being given leeway to set this up however we like, but it has been impressed most carefully upon me that we are not to fail.” That was putting it rather nicely, considering the wording of the documents she’d received.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Selena glanced around at the assembled team members. “Questions?”
But she was not offended. Oh no, her skin was far thicker than that. She just tended to tease her coworkers from time to time. Nevertheless, she did afford him a direct answer. “Not yet, though if all is true to routine, they will be joining us momentarily. And ‘dashing’ is not usually the word one hears associated with the maidens, but we shall see.” Turning back to her screen, she quickly read over the information contained within. These documents tended to be coded, not at the level of the technology, but within the information itself, and as such, what filled the center of her screen appeared to be a bunch of jumbled characters that didn’t align much.
It was all about method, however, and she was able to unwind the masking and understand the meaning of what she was seeing with the ease of practice.
The head of the field team was the next in the room, his query directed more generally, though she was of course the only one who would be able to answer it. “Good morning, Mr. Serafino. There is a new assignment,” she replied mildly, “But I shall wait until the half hour to brief.” it was, after all, the standard time for such things, and would grant the opportunity for anyone else to arrive. She rather disliked repeating herself, after all.
Scanning a particular line of the text, she frowned, fingers flying across the flat, touch-sensitive surface that served the same role keyboards once had. Another document was brought up, this one in plain English and containing a three-dimensional photo of a man, head and shoulders. Closing that out for now, she adjusted a few other things and was just finishing lining up the material for the briefing when the third member of the field team arrived. She was torn between warm amusement and a truly unfortunate (and quite recent) kind of dread at Atlas’s appearance, but she was quite a bit better than letting it show on her face.
“And you have not lost the gilded edge to your tongue since yesterday, Mr. Whitehaven,” she replied smartly, gesturing politely for all of them to be seated at the central table, if they would. Their requests for information would go unanswered no longer. Selena tapped the surface of the table, bringing up a three-dimensional map of New York City, which automatically zoomed to the edge of what had once been the Long Island area, and was now simply a very large industrial sector, focused on shipping and resource processing for the Spireheart. What was visible to the team was a long section of docks, behind which were arrayed a large number of warehouses, most of them poorly labeled or entirely unmarked. An excellent indication that they were owned by Signet.
“This is cryogenic storage facility number forty eighty-two, also called the Ark,” she began, shaking her head faintly. So many of these things were still new to her discovery—as a child, she’d never thought to ask where her food came from, and chances were good that most people who didn’t work for this corporation didn’t really know, either. “It is primarily used for the long-term storage of certain plant germs and animal genetic materials which are deemed currently unable to subsist in external environmental conditions.” In other words, plants that could no longer grow in the soil of the wilds were put on ice while Signet scientists worked on soil enrichment programmes. The animals were simply of those species unable to adapt to current ecological circumstances, waiting until such time as their respective biomes could be recreated.
A sweeping gesture with a finger sent the map a little further down the oval-shaped table, and it was replaced with the three-dimensional model of the man from earlier. The topical details of his face placed him at a rather haggard-looking forty-something, with scraggly grey hair and significant burn scars on one side of his face. “This,” she said, “is Dr. Victor Fleche. A Signet biological engineer, with fifteen years of experience as the head of the Ark Project, which was responsible for putting the materials in the Ark together. Three days ago, Dr. Fleche disappeared from his home sometime between the hours of seventeen and twenty-three, and he did not report to work the next day. Beta Team has been working the missing persons case, but there was a break in it yesterday, and they need us now.”
Another two faces appeared, rotating on some central axis so as to be visible to all at the table. One was a woman, perhaps mid-thirties, with a short haircut and a recognizable symbol tattooed onto her left cheek: a stylized leaf within a broken circle. The insignia belonged to a very violent faction of (thankfully poorly-funded) ecoterrorists, Gaia. The man next to her looked remarkably similar in facial structure, though his face was free of any distinguishing marks, even if his nose looked to have been broken a few times.
“Beta Team believes that Dr. Fleche has been kidnapped by these two, Rachel and James Dwyer. Both are known members of Gaia, and there is reason to believe they intend to use the doctor to gain access to the Ark. Preliminary psychological analysis suggests that they may take the plants off cryo and try to reintroduce them to the wilds, a task which will unfortunately prove fruitless and destroy the Ark Project in the process. We have orders to make for the Ark and lay an ambush for the Dwyers. You are encouraged to take measures to safely recover Dr. Fleche, but upstairs wants it known that the first priority is the Ark. We’re being given leeway to set this up however we like, but it has been impressed most carefully upon me that we are not to fail.” That was putting it rather nicely, considering the wording of the documents she’d received.
Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Selena glanced around at the assembled team members. “Questions?”