-Earthside

-Cygnus Station, Debriefing Room

-2321 Military Hours

"Is everyone here?" The acting head of Cygnus security Clarke Jefferson looks over the entire room, and gestures for the last stragglers to take their seats.

"That's all eight of us," Douglas answers on our behalf, shutting the door as the last person through it.

The remaining operatives take over the empty seats alongside Clarke and representatives from various department across the table. At the front, the projector quickly flickers to life to display a locked screen requiring credentials before proceeding.

From the opposite end, Clarke brings up a folder and places it on the table. "So, it's true—first contact with indigenous forces." The man begins, not as a question but rather a statement.

Douglas proceeds after a nod. "Attempted ambush—five soldiers in total. Visuals and armour match with faction Alpha. Same for the hair—all white."

His assertion is soon followed by a representative leaping to his feet, his uniform and I.D putting him as a representative of the Intelligence wing.

"We'll need to know the timeline from the moment you touched down on Grid A15, all the way to the point of first contact. Everything we have so far about this particular faction is based on drone surveillance, and those aren't enough to fully ascertain what type of civilization we're dealing with."

"Bad idea trying to hook up to those freaks," James quips, garnering a few looks from across the room.

"He's right, no excusing that assault," I say, siding with my companion even through his... usual choice of words.

"Understandable, but it doesn't change the fact they represent a new era of anthropological studies. They're not exactly human, and it's in our best interests to find out just what they are, not just biologically but also culturally," the representative counters, unfazed by our replies.

James leans back into his chair and shrugs. "Sounds like you guys are set in your ways," he says.

"It's a unanimous decision across the whole department. That's why we need all the details you can give us," the researcher reiterates.

"You'll get them, don't worry," I say, intending to assure the representative that the request will be carried out regardless and that each operative already understood the importance of thorough documentation given our unique circumstances.

Clarke gestures at the representative to pause before typing on his computer, unlocking the screen to reveal a list of documents under specific naming conventions—some of which were no doubt restricted information meant only for a select few.

He stands up and paces right to the front, partially blocking the projector screen with his figure. "I'll start with the big one, expedition team six. Last known location, Grid A15. The original search and rescue timeline was meant to last a week, but in less than a day, it's been discovered that they had encountered the locals, and were likely killed at first contact."

A few gasps resonated across the table. "Correct, both teams decided unanimously to cut the mission after coming across the remains of the expeditionary team—just pieces of equipment and such. No bodies," I affirm, letting the revelation sink before continuing.

"But we do have definitive video evidence showing the researchers making contact. Based on the last clip, it's a full wipe. All of them are likely dead."

I bring out the soiled camera and gently place it onto the table. "No need for digital forensics on this one, it works fine. Just needs a quick charge."

The rest of my team bring out their contrabands, prompting our counterparts to do the same. Each operative surrenders their cache as a stout man in a black suit steps up to survey our collection.

"I want these contrabands sorted based on their nature—anything that has inscriptions or words handle with extreme care. I'll let linguistics know we've got another fresh batch incoming," the staff officer calmly announces to the science wing representative.

"Will do," the researcher sharply answers, then indicates to the ongoing discussion, "after the session."

"Good enough for me," the man replies and exits the room, shutting the door on his way out.

Murmurs and speculations break out amongst the representatives and the remaining staff officers present. Clarke raises a hand to silence the room before interjecting.

"So it's official then," he frowns, "first casualties of New Eden."

"Won't be the last if the science wing keeps pushing their luck," James coldly retorts.

At his comment, the science division representative fires back. "The loss of team six was a wake up call. We're making internal changes to make sure this doesn't happen again. All surveys beyond the immediate ten kilometres are now required to have armed escort—no exceptions."

"Which should only be approved by your head of department if it's deemed reasonably safe," the Head of Cygnus security adds with a glare at the representative.

"Definitely," the man concedes.

Clarke nods and advances the agenda, opening the floor for both teams to recount the events leading right up to the point of contact.

Lieutenant Sullivan takes the lead and answers of our behalf, summarizing the key events preceding the ambush, including when his team stumbled upon the debris field belonging to the lost research team.

Once the initial shock wears off, a few people begin posing their questions, urging the Lieutenant to answer as they hung on his every word. The topic eventually settles around the most concerning aspect of the soldiers—the apparent capacity to manifest a pseudo-physical barrier that was highly resistant to small arms fire.

A few questions are answered by members of his team and my own as the line of inquiries continues. Both teams willingly share their various testimonies and observations to everyone present, providing valuable insight to those who have yet to step foot into New Eden. Those are the lucky ones.

As the last question wraps up, Lieutenant Sullivan takes over and finalizes the discussion, promising to deliver a more in-depth report as soon as possible. As he reclines back into his seat, the operative motions for Clarke to take over, his helmet barely masking the sigh as it comes out.

The Head of Cygnus security nods, and gestures to the projector. A uniformed woman two seats to my left then brings up a pointer, and navigates the controls to bring up a map of New Eden with distinct markings spread across it. The points are concentrated mainly to the upper portions of the image, with the closest one still being over thirty kilometres out.

"Helen, for the benefit of these operatives, please give an overview of the indigenous movements your team has gathered over these past three days."

"Certainly," the young surveillance operator, Helen returns with a calm look.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Clarke moves back to his seat and signals her to proceed.

She takes the front and begins by drawing attention to the markings plastered on the map.

"Since the team's disappearance over sixty hours ago, there's been a spike of major indeginious activity across the northern sectors. But the largest of these mobilizations are centred along this major river just north of Point Sierra," Helen explains.

"So what's the conclusion?" A member of team Sabre asks.

The woman hesitates, her gaze bouncing between the operative and the map for a moment before settling on him. "Based on the latest drone runs and subsequent analysis, we've classified the movements as part of an ongoing military conflict—the largest so far in terms of numbers according to current records. The parties involved have been contesting this junction for over a week now but it's only recently that it's escalated."

The projector screen shifts to a still image of a drone feed depicting the aforementioned point of interest at a high angle. A wide, coursing river stretches from the left to the top right corner, flanked with fortifications along the far bank.

Armoured figures assembled around the makeshift structures while further south, scores of mounted cavalry gathered at the mouth of a single pontoon bridge—apparently in a bottleneck as they waited to cross the large body of water.

"Point Sierra is located south of this location at just six kilometres away. It is currently the closest settlement we know so far and is the primary source of discharge for the soldiers you see in this image." Helen trails off and navigates to another shot depicting what is likely the settlement.

The new image shows a sizable city from a distance, this time from a low angle with the sun looming just above the horizon. A stone wall—visibly in a state of disrepair, separates the settlement from the lush expanse of greenery typical of this region. At the top right, information concerning the drone's altitude, direction and most importantly, location are shown in a clear white font.

"Grid A10," I silently mouth and reference it against a mental map of New Eden. The city is north from our point of contact.

"Those are the same guys we fought—faction-wise," Robert comments, indicating to the indigenous soldiers stationed on the walls.

The science wing representative swivels around his seat to face my companion. "Is there any particular reason why they would attack you?"

"None that I can think of other than maybe trespassing. They seemed pretty set on attacking us for some reason," Robert answers.

Clarke nods and gestures at him. "Two incidents where the result is immediate hostility. Based on that alone I would have banned all future excursions to areas with reports of confirmed indigenous presence. Especially since they're in a state of war," he pauses, leaning forward to place his elbows on the table.

"Unfortunately it's mostly out of my hands," the Head of Cygnus security concludes, his expression strained.

Clarke's sentiments hangs in the air and for a few moments, one else steps in to address the palpable silence.

"If it's not too much to ask, on behalf of both teams," Sullivan cuts through the silence and glances my way, "I'd like to request that we be given an extensive copy of all reports and documents concerning these locals for study. I'm aware that it's restricted, but considering we're on the frontlines, we need that access going forward."

"Done, I'll have my guys prepare a workpad with all related docs on the locals—plus some general knowledge on New Eden and fauna," the intelligence representative promises.

"Awesome," James acknowledges.

Clarke steps up and gathers everyone's attention with a firm thump on the table. "We've got much to go through thanks to these operatives," he pauses and gestures to me and Sullivan, "submit the reports before 1200 hours tomorrow—one for each team. Consolidate the information from your men and make sure the formatting's clear. Folks from anthropology and linguistics will be digging into them," he details.

"Will do," I affirm, "anything else?"

Clarke shakes his head. "Not much, both teams are dismissed. Have a good rest."

I glance to Sullivan and make a slight gesture to the door. He nods, urging his team out while I did the same for mine. We step into the dim, narrow corridor as the sound of discussions resume behind us. A quick look at the time shows over an hour has elapsed since entering Cygnus HQ.

Past a few sharp turns, the lift finally comes into view. Douglas moves up and thumbs the call button as we endure the cool, dry air permeating our surroundings. Even deep underground, with the hum of generators present to provide internal heating, the bitter Antarctic cold still found its way in.

The door ahead hisses open, and my team quickly steps inside. Sullivan stops his team after noting the lack of space in the lift.

"See you guys topside," I say as the doors slide close, and the lift ascends.

Inside the cramp interior, the walls tremble slightly as we ascend. Frost clung to every available surface and it seems likely that the lift's mechanisms are faced with similar conditions.

"That went better than I thought," James admits. "They actually gave a reasonable deadline for the report."

"So, we start the draft at morning?" Douglas asks, shifting to me.

I shrug. "Yeah, no need to stretch ourselves."

The lift soon grinds to a stop. With a gentle chime, the door slides open to reveal the lobby with its lights dimmed considerably.

Only a handful of UN staff loitered around at this time of night, with those present gathered in the corner where couches lie against the walls—a layered combination of insulating panels and reinforced steel.

A middle-aged woman draped in a long, crimson coat raises her hand as she spots us. "How was it?" She asks, her breath condensing as she speaks.

Robert sighs and takes a few steps to her. "Tiring."

She nods, her thin lips morphing into a frown. The woman stands up and formally introduces herself as Laura Vitale, then indicates to the four other people behind her.

"We're from the science department," she continues, again referencing her colleagues behind, "my team and I were part of the initiative to survey New Eden on foot, particularly sites of archeological significance."

I look over the woman closely, quickly reaching a conclusion about her role. "You're one of those expeditionary teams?"

Laura nods. "Yes—team four. Though now that's up for debate. Since the blanket ban on all excursions, we're basically stuck until further notice," she details.

"After what's happened to team six, I say it's a good thing you folks are banned from New Eden—for the moment at least," James pauses and gestures to the researcher, "no offence Ma'am but you guys need to be on a tight leash, else you'll get killed."

"So, Richard and his team are..." Laura trails off, losing her tone as she looks away.

"We... we have confirmation that they're deceased," I say, deciding to break the news prematurely to her.

"Oh God," she whispers, raising a hand to cup her mouth. After a deep breath, Laura looks back to her colleagues with a resigned look. None express their opinions or thoughts as the cold tension lingers.

Just then, several dark figures emerge behind. Sullivan and his team stop to address us after pacing across the lobby.

"My team and I are turning in for the night," the Lieutenant informs me.

I nod. "Alright, see you guys tomorrow."

Most of team Sabre departs, but one stops briefly to look at the researchers, removing his helmet to reveal an amused look.

"Dr. Vitale," the operative calmly addresses.

"Sergeant... Davis?" Laura returns, her surprise clear from her voice.

He turns to me and indicates to Laura and her team. "Did you tell them about..."

"They would have found out eventually," I answer, shifting uncomfortably from the attention directed against me.

"Then," the operative steps closer to Laura, "my condolences for team six. Things might have been different for your colleagues if they had armed escort," he expresses in a low voice.

Laura sighs. "Thank you, even for Richard, what he did was reckless," she murmurs.

"Remember back when we said we ran escort for a team down to the coast a week ago," Davis gestures to Laura, "that was her team. That was a wild one."

She smiles. "And we're grateful for it, I'm just glad we listened."

The operative nods and resumes his pacing, issuing a final wave at us. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

Following in his footsteps, we make our way to the exit after excusing ourselves. Laura follows us past the exit, stepping into the bitter, white expanse of the Antarctic wasteland.

After concluding some idle chatter, she bids us farewell and returns inside, leaving me and my team alone to bask in the admittedly peaceful ambiance only possible from being stationed in one of the most remote locations on Earth.

Small specks of frost clings to my visor as I look up to the heavens. Nothing but a clear, endless sea of stars all across the night sky. The clear monotony was only broken by the lights that kept Cygnus Station lit up against the darkness. They are few, and paced at roughly ten metre intervals between the dozen of so buildings making up this clandestine base.

"Feels like a once in a lifetime deployment," Douglas chuckles, then heads out towards the barracks.

"You three go ahead first," I say, glancing at the team briefly.

They nod, and proceed deeper into the station, leaving me alone to survey the vast emptiness ahead. The bitter cold bites into my senses as I recall today's events from start to finish. This really is a once in a lifetime opportunity.

I briefly wonder about Catherine and her newfound life. Whatever worries and responsibilities she has now, those could not compare to what's been thrusted onto me. But even if she is far removed from my immediate concerns, I still always wondered what she would think about New Eden.

What would she say, think, or even do with the knowledge that there is an entire new world now available to humanity as a whole. The thought of her reaction, whatever it may be, is comforting. New Eden is the norm, eventually I will get used to that statement.

With one final glance at the stars, I turn around and pace slowly towards the barracks. Tomorrow is bound to be another day full of firsts.

===End===