Ignatius Serafino's Story

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?”

Selena had been about to clarify for Gabriel that all they were dealing with was genetic material and not actual live animals, but fortunately he seemed to figure that out on his own. It likely would have been a bit embarrassing for him if she’d had to say something that everyone else already knew. Actually, it was probably a bit embarrassing for him anyway. She fought off a sympathetic flinch, exercising her discretion and waiting for all the questions to make it into the air before addressing any of them. It would help prevent redundancy, in all likelihood.

Picking up a tablet from her desk, she flicked through a few screens until she had what she wanted. “Beta’s reports indicate that Gaia as an organization has a membership estimated at a couple hundred, but not all of those would be field operatives. As Mr. Whitehaven suggested—” there was a pointed look here directed at Atlas: business hours— “They would not likely utilize all of their resources for one operation, especially when that risks drawing attention. Unfortunately, the report is rather unclear about just how many are expected at the warehouse today, which means I’m going to put an educated guess at between three and six.”

She frowned at that; she was going to have words with Beta Team’s leader if the man didn’t sharpen his operatives a bit. At this rate, their shoddy work was putting her people in danger, and Selena Cross did not take very kindly to that. To date, they were the only squad without a proper fatality in the last ten years, and while some of that had nothing to do with her, there was no mistaking that she did everything she could for her team, even when she was stuck behind a desk instead of out in the field with them.

“As for the rest… Rachel’s a known Elemental. Mind, specifically geared towards puppetry, so that probably means it’ll end up a showdown at some point, Mr. Turinn. Use caution—she’s quite good. The data says that James Dwyer hasn’t displayed any Elemental powers, but if his sister has them, I’d exercise caution anyway. Since I don’t know who else they’re bringing, I can’t help you with that, but I’ll be tapping the cameras at the site, so if I recognize anyone, I’ll let you know. Van’s here in ten, gentlemen.”

That would give them time to grab any gear they thought necessary. For her part, Selena picked up the usual communications units—specially designed to fit over the ear without impeding hearing from the actual environment. The tactical vans contained a wide range of electronic equipment, but she took her tablet as well, since it contained all of her personal software and configurations. Better to be overprepared than underprepared, which was perhaps why she felt so personally offended by the Beta report. It wasn’t all that noticeable, but the slight tic in her left eyebrow and the way she compressed her lips into a thin line might have given it away.

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About half an hour later, she was passing out the comm devices, letting the team work out their strategy for themselves. Her job was just to fix it and tell people where to go if things went south. “Be careful out there,” she said, her tone quite far removed from the businesslike efficiency she usually infused it with. But then she brightened, and shot them all a half-smile. “Wouldn’t want to lose our spot as the Alpha Teaa, now would we, gentlemen?”

So saying, she pulled the back door of the van shut and settled herself in front of her consoles, which were now showing her a live feed of all the cameras set up around the warehouse. Well, except Camera 4. That was apparently out. Selena sighed and shook her head. No finesse at all. “Gale here,” she said into the communicator. “It looks like your targets have knocked out a camera on the southeast side of the building. There’s an entrance there, so they may already be inside.”

Call her old-fashioned (and really she was by comparison), but she had never liked the holographic disguises. The technology was just imperfect as all get-out, with a tendency to malfunction or even just waver slightly at the worst of times. Apparently, Vasska had a second layer of disguise, however. She hadn’t known he could do that, actually, and might have to look into expanding her own powers in that direction as well. Getting noticed was all well and good on their less-clandestine missions, but she could really use the ability to blend in a little more on occasions like this. Women didn’t usually come in six-foot-tall varieties, nor such dark ones in the city. All she had to make herself less obvious was a machine she didn’t trust much.

Maybe she could talk to Porter about putting his mind to work on improving the standard design sometime. If not him, perhaps one of the doctors would do it, but the Network used the disguise modules so infrequently, and not everyone shared her suspicion about them.

The briefing finished, and like the rest, she collected the illusion module and the information on the person she was impersonating—a man, actually, since even a hologram couldn’t make her shorter. One of those nondescript, middling-build guys that filled offices everywhere, probably. The attendant voice-alteration software was a little more reliable in her personal experience, though it was still weird to hear a light tenor where her husky alto usually registered. Jeffrey Leighton was her name. Well, his.

She entered the building separately from the others, and last. Leighton actually worked on the first floor, in the front offices. She could have smacked whomever had decided it was a good idea to make her into an PR monkey. That meant talking, and accent or no, Kiana’s way of speaking was rather distinctive. She’d just have to avoid it as much as possible. The Signet psych eval mentioned that Leighton was a bit dull when not in front of an audience, so she’d just have to assume that being taciturn wasn’t going to be an issue.

She nodded to a few of the other office employees on her way in, aware that her job was to maintain a clear exit in the event that one was needed. Elevators could be hacked and used to get everyone to the first floor in an emergency, but they’d still need to cross a very large lobby filled with people, many of them armed.

Settling into Leighton’s office, which had an ideal view of the goings-on in the lobby and also just outside the building, she started reading through his papers, figuring that at least, she could get an idea of what the Signet Public Relations spinning doctors were up to lately. Why were they rotating, anyway?