OMICRON REPORT
The Academy. 010516 1300 hours.
The New Mexico sun beat down on the dry underbrush and the parched pine trees. Settled in beneath the large ancient trees and among the dry ground were several well camouflaged buildings. Their camouflage made them almost impossible to see from overhead. Each was painted to match the season and built into the rough hills and rocks sat the buildings behind the conspiracy. The largest building on the east side of the gully was the headquarters building. It was built into the old Academy Commons and Central staff building. Today a new team was being assembled, they would be meeting here.
Arriving out of the tunnel from the nearby highway came a dark gray ‘kidnapper’ van. It slowly made its way down to the gully that held the Academy. Not kicking up dust was a priority; blowing dust was hard for the cloaking system to cover. Having borrowed a vehicle hauling cargo from a commercial carrier, the Van’s driver had come all the way from Boston. There he lived in a little apartment and rented all the buildings around himself. Cruising past all the hidden checkpoints the van rolled up to a stop outside the Academy. Opening the passenger door he stepped out and put one foot down on the ground. The sun beat down on his pale complexion and made his shoulder length red hair blaze like a flare. He set a pair of Gargoyle sunglasses on his nose and made his way into the building, paying no mind to the Security Ops who manned the doors.
Waiting inside the Academy in conference room 32 was a pair of men bearing tattoos that were distinctively Yakuza. One was tall, tan, muscled and bald. The squareness of his jaw and the set of his cheeks marked him as Russian. As Ian walked in and took a seat across from them the big Russian introduced himself in a thick accent, “Hellok, mie name is Petyr.” Ian grasped his hand and replied, “Mine’s Ian.” Then he sat back and looked over the third man as he set his hands on all the miscellaneous gadgets strewn about his fishing vest. Something wasn’t right about the third man. He wore the same tattoos as Petyr but didn’t look as Russian. His blond hair and narrow eyes made him look aristocratic, but the tattoos on his body gave him a look of ruthlessness.
Petyr was about the say something when Ian jumped in, “How’s things? I’m sure you know I’m Ian and that’s Petyr. Who’re you?”
“Masque,” replied the last man. His dapper suit was of the highest quality. The only reason you could see the tattoos was because the jacket was hung over his seat, and his sleeves were rolled up. Petyr, on the other hand made no attempt to conceal his tattoos. He wore a white tank top and black jeans. Ian wore a cotton button down under the utility vest with ratty old jeans and sandals.
Outside a Cadillac cruised down the secret road from the rest area. Behind the wheel of the STS 32Valve V8 motor was an average build man who looked thirty something. Conservative cut blond hair and blue eyes pegged him as a stereotypical Aryan. Few knew just how good an assessment that was. Security teams checked his Omicron track as he got closer to the Academy and the Sentry gatling guns registered his retina print from one-hundred yards. The controller in the Command Bunker turned to his companion, “I hope he doesn’t sneeze.” That got a chuckle from the other Sec Op. Both knew the truth behind the agencies most infamous op; he’d been cryo-frozen nearly forty years ago when he contracted his own lethal bioengineered virus. He led the company in virology and wasn’t unfrozen until they’d discovered a vaccine to the virus. It was really no more lethal than Smallpox, but he’d cultured it and grown it at age 25.
The Cadillac came to a stop beside the kidnapper van. Cooly the Doctor got out and looked at the truck with a grimace on his face like he was drinking sour milk. “What a filthy vehicle,” nothing better fall off and scratch the Caddy while I’m inside, he thought to himself. Calmly walking inside and through all the check points he went straight to the Conference room he’d been designated to go to.
Into their conversation he’d stumbled; his lightning fast intellect guessed they had been talking about ‘pet weapons.’ The short Irish looking one just ended with, “I Luv Blowin’ Thingzup!” when the Doctor cut it, “My personal favorite Ian is a shotgun. It’s just like a Kodak, ‘point and shoot.'” That brought a smile to Masque’s face and the Russian beside him restrained a grin. “Allow me to introduce myself gentlemen, I am Doctor Payne.”
“Ve were just introducink owr selvas,” said the Russian, “I am Petyr.” The words rolled off his tongue in a thick Russian accent, though the Doctor knew it had to be a token to the language he used to know. All agents had to speak fluent English as well as two other languages.
The man beside him stood up and although he looked Asian-American something just didn’t jive in the Doctor’s head. Two men with Yakuza tattoos? One had to be fake. “My name’s Masque.” Yup, here’s the fake with a name like that.
“How good to meet you,” replied the Doctor.
“You seem to know who I am. How’s that?” inquired the tough looking little Irish guy.
“That’s because I’m a super-genius.” The Doctor spoke with such elegance and control, they could tell it probably wasn’t the first time he’d said that. As he completed his declaration, he pulled out a chair and sat beside Masque. The four of them were now seated side by side on one side of a large black mahogany table. Doctor, Masque, Petyr, and Ian at the end.
They sat there in silence for a moment until the conference room door opened. Striding in the room with a confidence that was almost physical, came a shadow. Dressed in black from head to toe, he seemed to absorb light. His clothes moved without even creasing. From the jet black hair, down past the stylish black sunglasses, to his black button down shirt and tie, to the suit coat and pants that likely cost as much as most normal people made in a year. Even the wingtips were black. Not a speck of dust or fuzz anywhere. All he carried was a black attaché’ case in one hand. He closed the door behind himself and made his way to the far side of the table. They hadn’t stood when he entered the room, and he didn’t expect them too. The Company was informal like that. As he sat down, his clothes still refused to seem to crease. “Well gentlemen, let’s get right to it. I’m Drake. I’ll be your controller.” He set his briefcase up on the desk and opened it. He took out a small laptop computer or dumb-terminal and jacked it into the desk. Turning it to them he said, “Your mission is an extended mission, it is to locate and irradicate the Gray presence in the American Northwest. You will be one of four teams in the area, and your AO will be the Puget sound. Other AOs respectively will be British Columbia, Idaho, and Oregon/Washington. Estimated timeline is two years at the longest but judging from the data Intelligence has collected, things could be heating up.”
With a loud tap he clicked a key on the dumb terminal that was facing them. The screen displayed a directory structure full of files. “These are reports, observation files, and collected economic data. They’re all linked to Grays. They’re your first lead, all 32 Gb of text and data. Your second lead is this,” he said as he clicked another key. He wasn’t even looking at the keyboard but was hitting the keys looking over the screen backwards. A sound file played, “Yes, bring the bodies to the south dock of Zeus Storage. Bridge street and 10th, 10pm on the 17th.”
“That was a cell-phone pickup from Intel. It may be of value. These,” he continued as he pulled out two manila envelopes from his briefcase and tossed them at Masques, “are for the Team leader. Masque, that’s you. They are the drop, pickup, radio frequencies, satellite latitudes, and protocols for helicopters. The nearest Dynatronics base to you will be down town Seattle. That’s real close, which should be an advantage.”
Again he reached in and tossed out two Magneto-optical discs. “These discs have more area-specific protocol. Destroy them and the files when you’re done reading them all. Don’t copy from the discs. The second disc contains target information on one Luc Prasch. he is a researcher at Gen Tech in Dallas, Texas. Intelligence and technology want to pick his brain. Recover him and deposit him at Dynatronics Seattle, bring his hard drive too. Details are on the disc.” He tossed one more disc at Masque, “This last one is another filler. Get it done ASAP too. Target is Silvia Roehl. She lives in Seattle. It’s a regular pickup. Get her and bring her in.”
“That brings me to my final point. One directory up are the dossiers of your prospective support team. Select four. Ring the secretary when you’ve made your selections. Tell her and I will come back in.” He finished speaking while in the process of standing up. “I trust there are no questions.” Then he walked out of the room.
The four looked at each other for a second in stunned amazement. Talk about a one sided conversation. After a moment of silence for no real reason they all looked at the dumb terminal and Masque clicked the icon to bring up the list of dossiers. They flashed on the screen and arranged themselves in Cascade format, allowing the names of the dossier’s to all be read at once. Each of them breathed in, not quite a gasp, they were all too tough and seasoned for that. Nonetheless the names before them were well inside the top ten percent of Company free agents. That basically meant the pool of agents that were still not on permanent assignment with any team or that had permanent duty with a department (such as those that perpetually collected materials, ran the stock markets, and recruited agents.) The majority of The Company was made up of such agents. Names like Dodger, Dog, Burke, Kham, Beggay, Otter, Greerson, Lambeck, and Takuan. What a line up! they each thought. Each of these agents were like legends in their field. Dodger practically invented the Ultra-Net or the Matrix. Beggay pioneered the field of Rigging, and was one of the best around. Kham and Otter were both widely known as effective killers and fanatics for the company. Greerson was the best long range shot on earth. Dog has killed more people than syphilis. Lambeck was known as a even headed, fair, and cunning Sec Op all at the same time. Last was Lambeck, he could supposedly make anything out of bubble gum and toothpicks.
They all exchanged looks. Who to pick? they all thought. “I suggest Dodger for his computer skills and not Lambeck since we already have Ian,” said the Doctor.
“I kan agree vith that,” said Petyr.
“Perhaps we could also use Beggay for vehicles, since none of use specialize in that field,” said Masque.
“You’re the boss.” Ian looked up at him with a crazy-mad grin.”Lets get Kham, she’s a babe; and Otter, who’ll be zealous and good cannon fodder. That is, if we need it.”
“Dere is certain merret to your thinkingk,” Petyra said, “though I plan on loosing no vone.”
“Then we’re agreed. Call up the sec and let us get this show on the road.” The Doctor finished speaking and stood up to pace. Already light years ahead of them in the thought process, he brooded.
Masque picked up the desk phone, waited for the green light and pressed ‘O’. “We’re ready,” was all he said and then hung up. He then sent the dossiers they had passed over back to the central computer and left the selection on Drake’s desktop.
Drake glided across the floor like one uninterrupted black hole and sat at his desk. “Good choices,” he said tapping a few keys. “They will all be here in a moment.”
True to his word, they didn’t have to wait long. Into the room walked four people. The first was a Native American with long hair. He kept is pulled back and underneath a Def Leopard hat, that matched the greasy overalls he wore only because of the grease. He would be Beggay, the pioneer in mentally controlling vehicles, or Rigging. It was easy to look past his slight build because of the fine looking lady behind him.
She was a huge asian lady standing almost six foot tall. Her black hair and charcoal eyes matched the tailored black business suit that wrapped the curves and exquisite shape of her body. Fine teak colored skin and almond eyes added to her exotic appearance. They all also noticed that she carried half a dozen weapons; and they were on base. Kham was as deadly as she was beautiful, to use the old cliche’. She walked in, turned abruptly to the right, giving everyone a excellent profile view and sat down in one of the chairs that lined the back wall of the room. She deftly crossed her smooth shapely legs and leaned back in leather chair. The Native American looked at the chair beside her and then must have thought better of it, grease from his cover-all would get all over it. He walked to the corner and remained standing.
Right behind her, was what could only be described as a kid, walked in the room and with enthusiasm reserved for the young grabbed a chair, sat down, and pulled out a notebook. He was about six foot and probably over two hundred pounds, All muscle and reflexes, his short brown hair and fresh shave (or utter lack of facial hair) gave him a boyish appearance, and marked him as a Combat Op. If the others had known he was twenty they would have been utterly surprised. The youngest graduate of The Academy possessed an uncanny ability with swords and pistols. That was why Combat had drafted him, now he would be this teams muscle. His perfectly cut suit hid the pistols he carried, and fit him like a glove. Few men so young wore suits that cost so much, it was hard to think of him as well adjusted. Ian, Masque, and Petyr just looked at him though none spoke what was on their mind. Boy, they’re sure recruiting them young now. This was Otter, pistoleer and swordsman of great reputation.
Last into the room was a geeky looking guy with long blond unkept hair and scrawny limbs. He had a keyboard/synthesizer thing strapped across his chest that appeared to plug into his head. Standing in the door way with his eyes closed and fingers tapping on the keyboards, he presented the most interesting figure of the four. His clothes could only be described as ‘freaky’ or ‘grunge’ but to the others they just lacked style. Dodger cut the figure of a stereotypical Hacker. For the hacker of hackers, he should.
Drake gave them a moment to appraise each other before he began, “I’ve explained the mission to Masque, he can fill everyone in later. For the immediate future you will be known as Omni-Team 203. I expect you to work as a team, follow your leader, and listen to your Security Op. I’m a security op; so don’t give him any flak. That will be all, unless there are any questions.”
Everyone in the room was silent.
“Good then you’re dismissed.” With that, everyone got on their feet and left the room. Drake remained sitting behind his computer.
“So, where too?” inquired Otter. Kham shrugged when he looked up at her.
“Meeting room 45. We will make our plans there,” Masques said in a tone of authority.
After walking a short distance down the gray undecorated hallways of the Academy Head Quarters they reached room 45. It was rectangular, had a table, and ten chairs. The data jacks in the wall were the only indication that it wasn’t from 1950. Everyone ambled into the room and took a chair. Masque seated himself at the head of the table, “Ok, we have three priorities now: get the hard drive, get Silvia, and set up base in Seattle. All of it has to be done before tomorrow night. We have to be at the docks of Zeus Storage with our plan in operation to see what is going on. I say we split up and tackle each separately. Ideas?”
“I have need of visiting the Zoo to appropriate materials. That will not take me long and I can then go to Seattle and begin reconnoitering Zeus Storage,” the Doctor said.
“I would be interested in setting up our bases in Seattle,” Ian said with a grin.
“I should go to Dallas and recover the Hard Drive quickly. Perhaps Masque you should go with me. I will also need one of the Combat ops, and the Helicopter.” Petyr spoke in his thick Russian accent and left little doubt this is the way things would be done.
“Ok, that is sound.” Masque looked at everyone else in the room, “Well, that means the rest of you should go with Ian and begin setting up our base or bases. Dodger, what are our travel times?”
Dodger tapped away at the Deck strapped around his neck, “By my scholarly computations it will take thee approximately two hours to Dallas, forty-five minutes to Austin, and six hours to bring thee back to Seattle. That is for good Sir Masque and Sir Petyr. Geometry indicates that it will take one hour to get the Zoo for the good Doctor of Payne, and a mere two and a half hours for his speedy return trip to the rainy city of our holy mission. His holiness has the advantage of a supersonic Learjet steed. The remainder of our company will labor but three hours in flight aboard a airliner in the future used goods market.”
Everyone looked at him like he was speaking Greek. Otter couldn’t help but giggle in a deep chortle, Kham turned to him and slapped him once across the shoulder. “Ah… thank you Dodger,” Masque said. “Then lets get to it. When we land in Seattle, Beggay, you meet us on the tarmac. Also, in your file it said you were a scrounger, or materials appropriation specialist. We can give you lists of what we need?”
“Roger Boss. If its not red hot or bolted down its mine; and if I can pry it loose it’s not bolted down.”
“Great,” was all Masque said. Everyone got up and either left the room to gather what they needed or gave Beggay a short list on a piece of paper or a disc.