2
Surplus Material Storage Facility B (aka Section 31 HQ), Richmond District, San Francisco, CA, 0455 hours, October 3, 2149
Malcolm took his seat in the briefing room five minutes before Harris arrived, and he used the time to look around at the rest of his team. They were all seated around a circular table which always reminded him of Le Morte d'Arthur, and even though the quests that this particular band of knights carried out were a far cry from the exploits of Camelot, he knew that the idealized version of Arthur and Medieval chivalry which had survived to the modern day was equally remote from the brutal truth of how Medieval knights actually behaved.
Their squad leader, Danny Gutierrez, was brave, fair-minded and stern. He had a fierce smile, was built like an ox and had a slight, lilting Castilian accent. He also doubled as the engineer on their freighter, Chimera and could fix and utilize pretty much any piece of equipment they came across. Frank Stephens, the medic and Gutierrez' unofficial second, was a gruff no-nonsense type from Texas, and he had the drawl to prove it. Stephens was equally comfortable inflicting injuries or tending to them, and while Malcolm had occasionally seen a flicker of distaste or unease cross his face during a mission briefing for wet-works assignments, he had never voiced any qualms about assassinations to either the group or Harris. Irena Koslovsky, their pilot, was calm, efficient and one hell of a flier. More than once she had pulled off an L-4 or a Crazy Ivan to get rid of ships that were trying to follow them. Malcolm admired her skill and knew how integral she was to the team, but every so often his queasy stomach would lodge a complaint against her. Malcolm served as the team's ordnance and tactical officer, ensuring that they were stocked up on functional weapons , employing or disarming explosive devices as the situation called for it, and analyzing their enemies' tactics and outmaneuvering them in either ship-to-ship or firefight situations. The last member of the team, and most certainly the least as far as Malcolm was concerned, was Matt Zuger. Malcolm didn't know where Zuger was from, and he didn't care to find out. Zuger was extra muscle, nothing more, although he did have a disturbing lust for inflicting harm on others. Malcolm had a nasty feeling that the only jobs Zuger truly enjoyed were the ones where he had the chance to kill something, and he suspected that Zuger had been the kind of child who enjoyed pulling the wings off of insects.
Zuger made no secret of the fact that he thought that Malcolm's less than perfect health was a liability to the team, and while they worked together quite well in combat situations, during down-time before and after missions there was always an element of tension between the two of them. The first time Malcolm had turned green during an L-4, Zuger had not only been quick to point it out to the rest of the team, but he had even gone so far as to tag him with the tactless nickname of 'Malady Malcolm.' The rest of the team had seemed to think the name was amusing, which stung Malcolm more than he cared to admit, but he thought that the jibe would simply be forgotten like so many other jokes had been before. Unfortunately the name had stuck after a mission where Malcolm's allergies had been particularly bad and the team had actually needed to abort their plans in order to get him medical attention. Some time after that, it became common practice for either Zuger or Stephens to start a job off by saying 'lets hope Malady Malcolm doesn't blow this one for us.' Stephens seemed to be a man of high principle, but he wasn't perfect and he wasn't exactly charitable when it came to dealing with the added stress of having to be vigilant about the health of his 'sickly' team mate.
The rest of the team got on very well together, leaving Malcolm the odd man out. He didn't want to have an out and out fight with Zuger… most of the time, in any case, and he didn't want to potentially show weakness by tipping his hand to the fact that Zuger's comments got to him. Besides, he saw Zuger as a Neanderthal and Malcolm didn't want to stoop to the other man's level, so to avoid a potential confrontation or any unnecessary unpleasantness he mainly kept to himself. When they were in transit he usually spent most of his time either shut up in his quarters or manning the weapons console on the bridge. Sometimes when he was on the bridge he and Koslovsky would talk, but they didn't have very much in common so most of the time they would just enjoy a companionable silence.
Harris came into the briefing room at precisely 0500 and started the briefing without any preamble. "Operatives, we have received intelligence that a group of Rigelians are planning on stealing virulent disease samples which are en route to a top-secret storage facility known as Cold Station 12. The facility is used to store hazardous viruses and pathogens for research purposes. The Rigelians' plan is to sell samples of these diseases to the highest bidder, who will most likely not be using them for research. The facility itself is difficult to breach, but the medical transport ships which supply it are not well armed and this particular shipment does not have an armed escort, making it even more vulnerable. Your mission is to rendezvous with the Beshern, accompany her to Cold Station 12 and prevent this heist or, failing that, to destroy the Rigelian ship. Under no circumstances can the Rigelians be allowed to carry out this heist. Does anyone have questions or concerns?"
Malcolm cleared his throat. Zuger rolled his eyes and Malcolm was fairly certain that he saw a flash of irritation cross Harris' face. "Yes, Mr. Reed?" There was also a some annoyance in Harris' voice, but Malcolm knew his question was legitimate, so he pressed on.
"What sort of armaments and defensive capabilities do these Rigelians have?"
Harris nodded, apparently finding the question valid. "Their tactical information is on the Chimera's computer, as well as schematics of their vessels, and their language has been loaded into your universal translator. Any other questions?"
No one spoke, so Harris nodded again. "Everyone needs to be on the Chimera by oh-eight hundred hours. There will be shuttles going to the Chimera every quarter hour starting at oh-seven hundred. Dismissed."