May 31st, 2263. 09:30 CNS Fargo – Marine Barracks 2

John was sitting in the commons area with the platoon leadership reviewing the latest findings. The most recent disappointing operation had left precious little intel about Dr. Norman. On the flip side, they did have a whole host of people to track down, incarcerate, and interrogate.

Though that was not something they would handle themselves. Naval Intelligence was already on the case though. Three of the rogue scientists had already been taken into custody. Those individuals were already in transit to St. Mary’s station. They were certain the remainder would be arrested in short order.

“This site was emptied recently. They were in a damned hurry too,” Derek said.

Jerad nodded, “But this still feels like we’re not making any headway. They still got out ahead of us.”

Erica shook her head, “The difference is now weeks, not months. And whatever research they are doing had to have been impaired.”

“It’s a fair assumption, but there’s no actual evidence to prove that. It’s probably a safe assumption that we are making an impact. But what are we to them? A gnat or something larger?” John asked, “How are the squads getting accustomed to the Broadswords?”

Darryl didn’t look happy, “We need more practice. I thought a couple of our people were going to crush the others honestly. Spatial awareness is way different in them.”

Erica looked at John, “I’ll work with the others on who needs the practice and run them through the training plans.”

“Grade them, and everyone else for that matter, more strictly,” John said as he was looking at a data slate, “The results we saw in certification had several members just barely pass. That may be acceptable for the military at large, but that’s not good enough for me. I want to see everyone score above ninety percent.”

“Do you want to set a timeframe for that?” Derek asked, “Before the next op? Within the next week or two?”

“End of the month. However, effective immediately those that passed the certification only marginally are now out of the rotation,” John said, “I don’t like doing that, but I do not want one of ours run out of the military for accidentally crushing someone, nor do I want to send a letter to their families even less.”

“We’ll handle the conversations,” Darryl said.

“Excellent,” John sighed.

“Sir, you’ve been…” Erica paused, “Distracted the last few days.”

John shook his head, “Apologies for that. The last conversation with the bosses was an interesting and rather thought-provoking one. I’ve been trying to theory-craft a scenario that I think is an impossibility. It’s related to our operation but yeah. I am sorry about not being here for y’all. Am I correct to presume y’all know what to do on the ride to our next mission?”

The sergeants all nodded. Jerad sighed as he looked at the data slates in front of him. John chuckled to himself.

“Alright. Y’all have your marching orders. I’ll be around after chow to inspect the troops.”

They all left the office and John headed to his temporary office onboard the ship. The question of how to draw out the potential traitor clogged his mind. On the one hand, he was firmly in the camp that didn’t think it was possible, but on the other, if it were true, how? The question was circular in nature and left him just scatterbrained and unfocused.

When he got to his office he settled into his seat and logged into the terminal. His plan for the day was changed immediately when he saw the new dossiers provided by Naval Intelligence in his inbox. The first platoon had also captured scientists at another base. Several Mercantilist Union operatives were present.

John pulled up the video of the interrogation. He paused it immediately; the name of the interrogator wasn’t familiar to him. A moment later he had their personnel file open and skimmed through it. The video was then resumed.

“What is your name?” Agent Keller asked as he ran his hand through his hair.

John quickly turned the volume down as it was entirely too loud.

The defeated man sighed deeply and loudly, “Dr. Bruce Zimmers.”

“What were you doing on Sigma Princepus?”

“Genetic research on the human genome. We were trying too, and ultimately failing at, understanding how superiors are produced,” Dr. Zimmers looked up at the agents, “It’s still a mystery why there are three distinct human species.”

“For what purpose are you conducting this research?”

Dr. Zimmers looked back down at the floor, “Ultimately, we’re hoping to create a vaccine that we can give to people that will cause any children they produce to be superiors. Ultimately the goal is to kill off the lesser human species. That would improve humanity as a whole.”

“To what organization are you allied?”

“The Donovan Genetic Institute.”

John paused the video. He searched for records on that organization. It was a legitimate organization, as he suspected, but they weren’t working towards the next step in human evolution. Their focus, and specialty, were genetic treatments in the womb to cure or prevent defects in the child. They were very well renowned and the number of testimonials from wealthy families that were ecstatic over the results.

A quick scan was then done to compare the doctors that were in custody to the list of doctors that worked for the institute. John wasn’t the slightest bit surprised by the lack of connections. More questions flashed in his head, but he set them aside and started the video replay again.

“What organization are you really allied with? This institute has no record of you,” Agent Kelly said icily.

Dr. Zimmers shook his head, “I was not an employee of the site, only an overseer of sorts. I can’t say more otherwise my life will be at risk.”

“You will answer the question, failure to do so will almost guarantee a death sentence. If you help us though that may be a deciding factor. Now again, what was your role there?”

Dr. Zimmers looked around the room awkwardly before sheepishly answering, “I sent data packets back with my observations to my contact within the Mercantilist Union. I didn’t do any of the work and I honestly didn’t know they were literally flaying people alive. Do you think I would’ve stayed there had I known that shit was going on? I’m a fucking middle manager for Christ’s sake.”

Agent Keller leaned back to have a private chat with the other agent that was leaning against the wall. The microphone was shut off, so it didn’t pick up what was said. The other agent left the room for a couple of minutes. They came back and swatted the back of Dr. Zimmers and leaned down to whisper something in Agent Keller’s ear.

“What organization do you really work for?”

“The National Institute for Technological Advancement. We work for the government to produce new weapons and armor.”

Agent Keller shook his head, “And yet you were at a genetic research lab associated with an Institute that didn’t recognize the scientists at the lab.”

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“The lab wasn’t ours. Look, I was told to come here, send data back and then head home for two months. This group that I work for has been known to do some sketchy shit, I just didn’t think shit was that weird. I couldn’t see the data I was sending out since it was encrypted. I’m not even a biological doctor, my doctorate is in engineering with a focus on high-energy particles.”

Agent Keller nodded his head, “I believe you. Yet you were complicit by not acting. How did the NITA fit in with this lab?”

John leaned forward in his seat.

“Aside from me being there, we weren’t. We might have been on the hook for paying for the setup and transport of the lab. But to the best of my knowledge, we didn’t recruit anyone. Though that wasn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

John paused the recording, “Fuck fuck fuck. Damnit, so close. At least we know without a doubt he sent someone there. And I have the name of his organization. That’s handy.”

He then began pulling all the intel they had on Dr. Norman’s organization. There was no mention of the man anywhere in the documents John began to read. Nor was there anything to indicate where their base of operations was. He did see that Mercantilist Union’s government sent them a substantial amount of money annually.

John sat back in his chair and listened to the rest of the interrogation. Nothing of note was discussed, but progress had been made. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Bit by bit progress was being made. It was legitimate progress, but the path between where they were and the ultimate finish line was still not visible.

He rubbed his eyes and yawned. When he refocused his eyes on the screen an incoming message was blinking. John yawned as he accepted it.

“Holy hell, how’s it got, Nathan?” John said smiling.

“Hey, dude! Oh, you know, hanging in there. Hey, a question for ya.”

“Hit me with your best shot,” John grinned.

“Dude, that pun is more than two centuries old.”

“I know, but it’s fun to say.”

Nathan laughed, “I’ll give you that one. I’m sending you a link to an apartment at the station my ship is based. I’d like your opinion on it.”

John nodded and looked at the link Nathan had sent. He skimmed through the images and then checked to see the prices of the comparable units. Real estate was not John’s strong suit. Though that wouldn’t stop him from dispensing some advice.

“It’s neither a good nor a bad price. I’d probably give an offer that is forty or fifty thousand under their asking price. The bigger question is it really worth owning when you don’t know how long you're going to be there for?”

“Dude, the barracks situation here is fucking terrible. Renting costs more than bloody owning. Don’t ask me how, it just does.”

John shrugged, “Well, in that case, buying makes sense then. Work on that price and it’ll be a nice joint.”

“Sweet! Thanks, man. So, any life and death situations recently?”

“Uhm almost got stuck in slip space when our generators blew up. Shoddy installation and maintenance.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“I mean honestly nothing really all that deadly recently. Weird shit for sure at some of the research stations we’re hitting.”

Nathan looked confused, “I thought you didn’t want special ops. “

“I don’t,” John said, “But this was a mission I didn’t want to miss. The prize at the end is too good to pass up. Thought that presumes we can get to the finish line. Felt like we had six months’ worth of false starts. But it seems to be picking up pace now.”

“You're being bloody cagey in your answers you know.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I am. Kinda have to.”

The friends laughed and shifted to more light-hearted topics. It was good to catch up and have a break from the daily grind. Which for John wasn’t nearly as mundane but the stakes were much higher. In any case, it was fun to bullshit with old friends and share stories with one another.

12:30 Officer’s Mess

John walked into the chow hall for the officers and immediately got in line. As he was standing there his eyes scanned the room. The tables in this room were a pain in the ass, literally in his case, so he wanted to find an open seat at the end of a table. He had scraped his shins and knees one time too many on these accursed benches and tables.

He’d take his food back to his quarters to eat, but that was not allowed. For good reason too, a previous crew was allowed to do that, but moldy dishes and smelly rooms were too frequent a problem. Insufficient clean plates and utensils for the crew to use were the nails in the coffin of that policy. Because of one bad crew future crews were banned from doing something, an all-too-common problem.

When it was John’s turn to get his food dished up the chef’s assistant grinned and gave John two to three times the normal serving size. John nodded and grinned, this man had his back. A large glass of milk finished off his meal.

John walked to the far side of the room and slid onto the bench and set his tray down. Four meals in a row he had managed to not wound his legs during a meal. A rather pathetic streak but a welcome one, nonetheless.

Ensign Brian Jackson sat down across from John, “Afternoon, sir. I see you suffer from tall person syndrome as I do.”

John took a drink of milk and shook his head, “Why in the hell are these tables so damned small? It doesn’t make sense.”

Lieutenant Parker Ollerud laughed, “The first crew of this ship came from a heavy gravity world. They made the tables smaller to fit them.”

John took a large bit of food and then shook his head, “That was twenty years ago. Why haven’t we requisitioned new tables?”

“Money,” another officer said laughing from another table, “Laziness probably works too.”

John pulled out his data slate and looked at where they were slated to dock next. Then he looked to see if the station had eight normal-sized mess hall tables. Sure, enough they did. John placed an order for the tables in the officer’s mess to be replaced.

“That applies to the enlisted mess too?”

Several officers began nodding their heads.

John went and ordered replacements for the other mess hall on the ship. There would be no cost for this, he didn’t feel like paying for it, but he would because these tables were ridiculous. He set the tablet down and shook his head.

“Good god, that wasn’t so damned hard,” John spat out before shoveling more food into him.

“Did you seriously just order replacement tables?” Parker asked.

“Yes, this is fucking stupid to be using out-of-spec tables.”

Brian then stepped up, “Sir, I notice that you eat a substantial amount of food. Why is that?”

John shrugged, “Just hungry.”

Parker laughed, “Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask. Do you have to eat triple the amount we normally do? That can’t be healthy long term.”

“My metabolism thinks otherwise,” John said taking a big drink of milk, “Supposedly anyways. Plus, I do tend to exert myself when I’m in a suit of armor.”

“Speaking of, how’s that new class of armor?” Parker leaned into the aisle between tables.

“Pretty fucking cool. It’s like you’re a bloody walking tank.”

“Not much in the way of combat trials yet though,” Brian said.

“I think we’re inching closer and closer to actual field tests of it. Still don’t want to be hit with anything big, but I’m pretty sure it’ll survive an anti-tank round.”

“Definitely feel that though,” Parker smirked.

“I’m not saying I want to be shot at with that though. That isn’t high on my list of things to do.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you have?” Brian said laughing.

John shrugged, “Probably because I have. Once is enough.”

“You got hit by one and survived?” Parker dropped his fork in shock.

“Oh, hell no,” John took a bite of food, “Did get shot at but thankfully it missed.”

The group laughed. Brian and the group at his table finished their meals, got up, and were heading out to start their shifts. Parker and his group followed shortly thereafter. John sat there and continued eating by his lonesome.

Eventually, he finished and retreated back to where his platoon was drilling. John crept into the room unnoticed and watched from the open door. It was only after several minutes that his sergeants noticed his presence.

“Carry on, just observing,” John said as he walked up to them.

“Sir, are you sure about these movements?” Erica asked, “The dimensions for these hallways seem small.”

“If intel is to be believed the next site, we’re hitting is different from the others,” John said, “We’re doing this just in case because I don’t want any accidents or loss of life because we weren’t ready.”

“How sure are we that the inside of the facility is like that?” Derek asked.

“More than even odds,” John said casually, “Personally, I’d be surprised if it isn’t the old-style pre-fab.”

“How the hell did they find one like that?” Darryl asked, “That facility has to be what, a hundred years old?”

John shrugged, “At least. Things seem to be looking good though.”

Erica nodded, “Sir, I hope this isn’t out of line. But why is this mission so important? Most of the time the benefit is clear. All it seems like we’re doing is capturing the random immoral scientists.”

John sighed, “Those immoral assholes are having their strings pulled by someone and sharing their information with the big shot. We need to get them into a compromising situation so we can not only demand but get the Merc government to allow us to complete our mission in their space.”

“Holy shit,” Derek said, “In other words, we risk starting a fucking war if we don’t do this right.”

John nodded, “Look, the good news is we have momentum now. But we need to be sharp and smart about things. I want to write as few notification letters as possible. Those are no fun to write. Keep this on the down-low too.”

The sergeants nodded in unison.

Erica then stepped forward, “We’ll redouble our efforts.”

John smiled and patted her shoulder, “Don’t overexert yourselves or the squads. That’ll lead to accidents and injuries. We can’t afford either.”

“Understood, thank you, sir,” Derek saluted and jogged back to the platoon.

The sergeants all went back to their troops and almost in unison began pointing out issues and offering solutions. John smiled and observed his troops for a bit longer. They were doing him proud, but he thought if things got hairy how many would lose their life?

John knew that it was absolutely the right thing to do to end this organization. But for the first time, the human cost of ending them was coming into focus. Mental damage to some had already been done, and more awful things would be witnessed in the future. But ridding the galaxy of this evil was worth the cost, or so John believed.