Chapter 2 - De Assistentibus

October 3rd, 2544 (15:20 Hours – Military Calendar)

In slipspace, aboard UNSC Falkirk

:********:

Working for ONI was a joy, but only if you were the one doing the work and not the one being worked on. Otherwise it was a better summation of civilized hell. Tarkovsky had been doing the job long enough to know what it was like to be on either side of the spectrum.

Another benefit of working for the Office of Naval Intelligence, or at least the Prowler Corps, was that one got the chance to meet more unusually interesting people than the ordinary rank and file. Tarkovsky personally enjoyed the sense of deep comradery shared between the Falkirk's crew of 90.

Four of those personnel were busy at their stations on the bridge.

Petty Officer 3rd Class Natalia MaeSchoff was an expert in manipulating what were known as 'Slipspace Economics', a way of describing her management of the ship's main drive whenever the Falkirk jumped through one of the 11 non-spatial dimensions of Slipstream space. Before joining the Corps, she had worked as a system's analyst for VOSPER Engineering in developing the ground-based generators for Earth's orbital defense platforms. With the war's progression, the company had been ready to ship her out to a newly developing project aimed at getting ODPs setup over the inner-colony world of Ballast when she encountered a mid-20s crisis. The job paid well but she felt she was missing something. She just so happened to think a life in the Navy was that something. Now here she was, shifting her blonde, curtain bang hair out of her eyes as she tediously scanned through the readouts on the displays of her Engineering station.

Then there was Petty Officer 3rd Class Mason Jones. He was a 40-year old navy vet with an imposing neckbeard, a bald scalp and a grizzled baring that would've probably frightened anyone who didn't know him. Before the Corps, he'd served on what was known as a celebrity ship because of the identity of the man that captained it. In his case it was the Marathon-class Heavy Cruiser UNSC Leviathan, the personal ship of Vice Admiral Michael Stanforth. Mason was the ship's Weapon's Officer for the better part of 10 years during which his hardened eyes had seen far more than their fair share of action, and it showed. In his later years he transferred to service in the Prowler Corps with the blessing of the Vice Admiral's personal recommendation. Today he was keeping an eye on the internal temperatures of the Falkirk's several dozen nuclear HORNET Mines to make sure they weren't at risk of overheating.

Next was Petty Officer 2nd Class Dewey Abreo, a man slightly more than half Mason's age and a good deal less hairy to boot. His clean-shaven face was matched only by the non-regulation length auburn hair that Tarkovsky was considering telling him to cut. It was likely his hair had been even longer and more disheveled back when he was rescued from a Remote Scanning Outpost in the Cygnus System. He was one of several survivors of an incident where an RSO stationed over New Jerusalem suffered a massive engineering failure which shot them out of geosynchronous orbit. It took two weeks for the Prowler leading the rescue effort to find the damaged station in the outskirts of the Oort Cloud, though it was only because Abreo risked his life to reach the emergency beacon within a vacuum-compromised section of the station. Since then he'd devoted the last two years of his life to working on the same type of ship that had saved him. While it didn't show through his yawning and lazy-eyed demeanor, he was focused on the readouts of the display at the Sensor station to make sure they were ready for a quick tactical scan of their exit vector.

Finally, there was the man who had served longer in the Prowler Corps than anyone else here, longer even than Tarkovsky himself. Petty Officer 1st Class Ignatio Delgado had his attention set on his console as he steered the Falkirk through the nothingness of slipspace from his seat at the Navigation station. He was a Hispanic man with a perfectly regulation length, low-shorn haircut, average build but with a strong jaw and steely eyes that had seen much. Whether that was action or something else entirely, Tarkovsky couldn't say for sure. Without question, the 30-year old had more high-level information redactions to his ONI service file than any other crewmember currently stationed aboard the Falkirk. He wasn't an agent but he'd devoted 9 years of his life to the Corps after leading a very checkered past. While most of the redactions covered those checkered sections, Tarkovsky could piece together from what wasn't covered in black ink that Delgado had ties to the Insurrection. However deep those ties ran, they obviously weren't deep enough to keep him from passing the UNSC vetting process, boot camp and then working in ONI's Prowler Corps for almost a decade now. Delgado never brought up his past, and neither did Tarkovsky. He knew what it was like to have most of his life hidden away beneath the ink of the organization's need for plausible deniability. The Navigation's Officer was a highly competent flyman that could be counted on in even the most strenuous circumstances, and frankly, that was all the Commander needed to know.

They all ate together in the same cafeteria, slept in the same quarters and worked together around the ship. On any given mission the lives of their fellow servicemen were in their hands, and most certainly in the Commander's. It gave him a special perspective on life in the service that he wouldn't have had had he not gotten himself reassigned to the Corps. Most agents never got to see the fruit of their labor in who they were gathering information to save, merely taking satisfaction in the disembodied amalgamation of statistics for the remaining human population that dwindled every other month. To see those that actively relied on you to make the right call brought with it a sense of intimate connection them. He knew that Staff Sergeant Atell would agree, especially considering both him and his squad were currently onboard.

Slightly less than a week ago he'd overseen the transfer of the troopers from the Trafalgar to their own temporary quarters aboard the Falkirk. He'd even gone out of his way to make sure all their belongings were returned to them before their departure.

Today he would finally debrief them on the specifics of their new assignment. He'd kept them in the dark long enough. The fact that none of them moved to ask him any questions either since leaving Epsilon Eridani spoke volumes.

He checked the time on his display at the captain's chair. It read '15:25 Hours'. He had another five minutes so he briefly went over the details in his head then got up from his seat.

"Alright, I'm heading to debrief our guests. Before I go, I want final readouts people. Tell me what's what."

MaeSchoff spoke first. "We might've spent a little too much time during our side mission to the Trafalgar, sir. I've tried everything. My quantum field calculations aren't getting past 4.4 quadrillion per second. That's more than enough for a Phoenix-class colony ship seven times our size and we're still not making bank in terms of time."

Tarkovsky nodded. "Noted. Abreo?"

The Sensor Officer stifled a yawn as he stretched his arms at his station. "Forward, Mid and Aft Sensors are calibrated and ready for immediate use the moment we slip out of slipspace. As for Communication suites we're…" He squinted at a display. "Up and operational thanks to yours truly."

"Understood. Jones, how about it?"

Jones scratched his beard in thought at two individual displays. "Hornet Mines are sitting at 30 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm cycling them through two more thermal cooldowns to get them down to 20."

"SHIVAs?"

"They're stabilized at about half that, well within the safety range."

"Copy." The Commander turned to the last officer who answered before he could ask his question. "Want me to lie to you, sir, or would you like the honest truth?"

"Lies first."

Delgado shrugged. "We're right on time. Nothing but smooth sailing ahead."

"Uhuh, how bad?"

Delgado sighed. "MaeSchoff' s right about the whole time-thing. At the rate we're going we won't arrive for another two days. We're already pushing the acceleration threshold to maximum. Another five million more quantum field calculations and we'll be looking at breaches in our hull integrity as well as potential Cherenkov radiation leaks. I don't want to make a mess for Basilone and the rest of the engineering crew down below so my hands are kinda tied."

"…I see." Tarkovsky considered their situation in light of the newest updates. The initial goal was to arrive at their final destination in under a week. Splitting off their path to head for Epsilon Eridani had cost them time. He'd hoped to get the ODSTs and split since he was already on a tight schedule. Even with how fast they'd gotten the job done they were still behind on their delivery. He would have to simply apologize when he got there. He told the bridge crew just that as he made for the doors.

"Try not to scare them…too much." Abreo chuckled. "Wouldn't want them spacing themselves before we actually got there, especially considering we're still in the Slip."

"Aren't they LRSOIP Specialists?" MaeSchoff asked. "They shouldn't have any qualms about it."

"Yeah, but we don't have any of those special pods on us now. If they jump out, we'll never see them again." Delgado added.

Abreo grinned at the NAV Officer. "That's the point, Gado."

"Relax," Tarkovsky said. "I'm not talking them into suicide...at least not directly."

Jones waved a dismissive hand from his station. "You guys quiet down and let the Commander get going. You know how he is with last minute convos. If you start him up, he won't leave."

Delgado shrugged. "Fair enough."

"Get going Commander." MaeSchoff said in a sarcastic, sing-song voice.

Tarkovsky nodded and left through the doors, running over the details of the debrief in his head. He had kept quiet on the details till now so that the ODSTs wouldn't have the chance to hijack his ship and turn them around, not that he believed they would, but he wasn't about to get blindsided like Cordova either and took her warning seriously. Even his own bridge crew had to be kept in the dark about certain things that their missions entailed. It was all to preserve their own plausible deniability, and with respect to the true essence of what he was about to discuss, they would all need their fair share of it.

:********:

To Duncan, the Falkirk was more of a luxury liner than a Prowler. The sleeping quarters were first rate and the toilets never backed up, unlike those on other ships that did just that almost ritualistically. The shower was warm, the food hot and the air condition cold. It was a five-star experience compared to the brig of the Trafalgar, and the debriefing room had to be the highlight of the entire experience.

Several rows of semicircular seats ascended from a large walking space on the main floor. The seats were comfortably cushioned and the aircon chilled the room in such a way that he found himself ready to drift into some breezy dream when the doors suddenly opened.

Squad Epsilon's attention snapped to the doors on the main floor as they slid apart and Commander Tarkovsky strode inside.

In a moment of hesitation Duncan wasn't sure whether to salute the man or stay put. The source of the inner conflict stemmed from the fact that he hadn't wanted to be here. None of them had. But they didn't have a choice. By the way that the Staff explained everything to them when he returned to their cell days ago, telling them about the Commander's offer and what it meant if they refused, Duncan knew they'd been backed into a corner. Being in the same room as an ONI officer was already bad enough. Working for them felt like a mortal sin. However, sin or no sin, they were here, onboard an ONI prowler, about to work for them.

He eventually stood with the rest of Epsilon in saluting from the two rows they occupied. They were all dressed in their ODST T-shirts and camo fatigues.

Tarkovsky took the middle of the ground floor. He quickly looked them over, probably to make sure everyone was present. "At ease."

The troopers sat down, watching him with an intensity that was wholly warranted.

The Commander snapped his fingers. The large, wall-mounted screen behind him turned on. ONI's symbol slowly faded into view.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Tarkovsky began. "More like lady and gentlemen, welcome to your new lives for what will be the next seven months."

Though he didn't show it, those last words pierced Duncan like sharpened arrows. Without moving, he glanced over at the Staff. A few of the others were looking to him as well, mostly with disguised concern beneath their poker faces. The Staff remained stoic, looking straight ahead at the Commander.

"For those of you that are concerned, yes, you heard me right. Starting in two days, your service to the Office will begin and run from October 5th, 2544 to April 25th, 2545. During this time, you will be expected to work under the same branch as I do."

Tarkovsky stopped to let his words settle. "That's right, welcome to ONI. You'll be working under Section III within a highly specialized and equally classified division known as Beta-5. There's a very short list of people within the UNSC and even in ONI who know we exist, and as of ten seconds ago, all eight of you are on it."

There were sections in ONI? That was news to Duncan. He'd always thought everyone worked under a single umbrella of organization, not several.

The screen behind Tarkovsky changed to show: 'S-3/B'.

"For the next half-a-year or so you will be assisting in a specialized project. To even speak to you about this matter is highly confidential and its disclosure to non-certified personnel is punishable by an indefinite suspension of habeas corpus. To put it plainly, we're allowed to shoot you if you don't have the credentials to receive this info or if you pass it on to anyone else equally unqualified. For that reason, I require you to sign your personal signatures on these contractual agreements."

Beside each ODST, a section of paneling next to their individual seats shifted aside and datapads slid out vertically from the openings. They tentatively took the devices which automatically turned on in their hands.

On his, Duncan saw the title beneath the ONI symbol: 'Beta 5 Division (Section III X-Ray Directive /Eyes Only/)'. Beneath that was a lengthy list of contractual requirements and obligations spanning eight pages. He peered over at Deaks who sat a seat away as he simply flicked to the bottom of the document and used his finger to sign his name on the line. He looked like he wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. Duncan took a breath and did the same thing, ignoring the stipulations at first. He stopped halfway through, feeling that he really should read what they were asking of him. It was ONI after all. He raised his hand. "Excuse me sir, are you saying we take a bullet if we listen to the debrief without signing this first?"

Tarkovsky shook his head. "Not necessarily. You can just walk out." He pointed to the doors. "However, know that by doing so you're also walking out on our agreement."

Duncan sensed an unspoken threat. There was no way they were going back to the Trafalgar to drop off one ODST in the brig. Since they were already going God-knows where, it was likely they wouldn't take too kindly to a freeloader loafing around the Falkirk either.

Duncan swallowed. He gave the contract stipulations a cursory glance. There was little comfort in finding only a few violations warranting death outside of conveying classified information, which was understandable. It didn't mean though that there weren't other terrible punishments promised in the document. He took his chances and signed his name on the bottom line. By then the others had already finished signing.

"Good, please return the pads." Tarkovsky said. They did and the devices retracted into the slots shortly after.

The main screen changed again, this time showing a line of persons.

Duncan perked up as he recognized them right away or thought that he did. His nerves settled when he realized it wasn't the Spartans that they'd encountered on Miridem. The squad had plenty of time to think on the armored strangers back aboard the Trafalgar. They speculated on who they were or what they were precisely, although those conversations always led to the same dead-ends and different speculations.

Now on the screen were more of these so-called Spartans. Only they didn't look like the ones they'd fought alongside. Their armor was different. It was a similar shade of green but their helmets were more uniform, reminding him of those worn by Air Force pilots. The armor design was similar to what he'd seen but still different in a way that he felt only the squad's engineering specialist could describe. The image was positioned at an upward facing side-angle, showing the Spartans standing side by side, each armed with MA5K Carbines and the flag of the United Nations Space Command waving behind them.

"As per the X-Ray Directive, you are now officially authorized to receive this information." Tarkovsky said. He stopped, closing his eyes for a moment, then reopening them with renewed fervor.

"Starting today, you eight are now facilitative personnel for the Spartan III Program. Your job will be to assist drill instructors already on the ground in conducting the final training stages for the candidates of Beta Company."

Duncan's first thought was to wonder one thing…why 3? Did that mean there was a 2 or even a 1 designation? His head swarmed with questions. So did the rest of the squad who stayed mostly quiet, their eyes fixed on the image of the Spartan IIIs.

Seeing that no one moved to ask any questions, the Commander continued. "To be specific, you will be lending us your knowledge in the use of these."

The screen changed again, this time displaying three individual images. They were schematics showing the top-down, side and frontal profiles of a pod that everyone recognized. Studying the exact dimensions of these pods had been vital for the last operation they'd undertaken against a more human threat what felt like a lifetime ago.

"The Long-Range Stealth Orbital Insertion Pod has yet to enter mainstream usage due to its experimental nature. However, since its initial test under real-world combat conditions during Operation BAGMAN, it's undergone further improvements to the accuracy of its slipstream transition technologies. Regardless, it hasn't changed so much that your expertise becomes unvaluable. In fact, its invaluable since you're among few with heavy experience using them. You will work to transition your expertise to the Beta Company Spartan IIIs along with assisting in other training exercises throughout the duration of your stay at Onyx."

Tarkovsky could already detect more questions forming at the last name-drop and his smile curled with satisfaction. The screen behind him changed again, this time displaying a blue and green planet against a backdrop of stars. "Onyx is a highly classified location within the equally secretive Zeta Doradus System of the Dorado constellation. It's the unofficial home of the Spartan IIIs and now yours temporarily."

There was another shift to an image of the surface. It was a heavily forested area save for a set of buildings forming a distinct horseshoe shape. There were a few noticeable parade grounds as well. "You'll be staying here at Camp Curahee. Here is where the Spartans hone their skills and specialties. Get an eyeful because the next time you see it, you'll already be there."

The screen changed once more, this time capturing the individual profiles of three persons, two considering that the third's ghostly glow disqualified him immediately.

The first was the frontal profile of a man in an officer's uniform. He had hazel eyes, brown, low-shaven hair and a slightly cleft chin. There were several scars on his face that appeared more like the aftermath of some medical procedure than the result of normal damage. He looked to be in his early thirties and smiled in such a way that seemed both earnest and strong, a natural leader by appearance alone. "This is Lieutenant Commander Ambrose, the man in charge of the day-to-day operations of Camp Curahee and the resident Spartans. You'll be working under his direct leadership for the duration of your stay."

He pointed to the second picture which showed the similar profile of a man that was almost the first' polar opposite. He was older, perhaps in his early fifties with a head left nearly bare save for a light coating of white hair. He had a set of scars running from brow to chin, a stony face and a hard stare that suggested he was ready to kill the photographer. "This is Senior Chief Petty Officer Mendez. He is a veteran Marine, drill instructor and the worst nightmare of most Spartans. He serves as the Lieutenant Commander's righthand man and is second-in-command of training operations on Onyx. Keep in mind that he's not anywhere near as hospitable as Ambrose."

"I can tell." Duncan said under his breath, swallowing down his rising nerves. He was starting to feel way over his head. To make matters worse, Tarkovsky wasn't even finished yet.

He switched to the final 'person'. What at first seemed like a kindly old man with a walking cane was proven to be an incorrect assumption by the minute trails of code that floated over his skin. He had chiseled features, eyes that glowed a cold white and, on his back, a snowy cape that blew out gales of snowflakes and ice. "This is the AI Deep Winter. He keeps things running around Curahee. You'll be seeing him quite a lot during your sojourn."

Tarkovsky clasped his hands together as he appeared to reach the end of his presentation. "Now then, are there any questions?"

The room was quiet, almost uncomfortably so. The only person that didn't seem to pick up on it was Tarkovsky himself as he searched around the room.

It was ten long seconds before someone hesitantly raised their hand. It was Hector. "These…Spartan guys, you said they were 3s right?"

"That's correct."

"Does that mean there are other Spartan-types, like 1s and 2s?"

The Commander shifted his jaw around, contemplating the question. "I'm sorry, you don't have the clearance for that information."

It wasn't a yes. It wasn't a no either. Duncan couldn't help wondering which it actually was. These Spartans looked different than the ones they'd encountered like the Master Chief, so maybe there was some weight to the question.

"Any others?" Tarkovsky asked.

There was another span of silence before the Staff raised a finger. "Two actually."

"Go ahead, Staff Sergeant."

"First, its been some time since we've actually used the LRSOIPs. Our skills may not be as sharp. We're not trained instructors either. Will we get a chance to acclimatize to our roles?"

"Yes. I spoke with the Lieutenant Commander before we left the Trafalgar. We agreed to get you trained for at least two weeks on how to handle the Spartans before you're reassigned to direct tasks with Beta Company. Plenty of time for you to refamiliarize yourselves with the Stealth Pods."

"Understood. Second question." The Staff leaned in, pensively rubbing his chin. He shook his head. "Actually, never mind."

"Right, will that be all?"

No one else spoke up so the Commander took the hint. "Alright then, there's something I want to show you all." He gestured towards the exit. "Follow me."

:********:

Tarkovsky led the ODSTs along a few hallways until they reached a section of featureless wall. He placed his hand on an area of the bare surface. A second later a small section of the wall came apart and a retinal scanner emerged along with a bio-scanner right beneath it. He stood close to the first to allow it to get a scan while placing his hand on the second.

There was a beep of confirmation from both devices. Seams suddenly appeared, tracing out a rectangular door that hissed apart for them.

What lay beyond was a dark, open space. Tarkovsky placed a finger on his earpiece. "Get me lights."

Overhead lights turned on one row at a time, bringing the room into a fuller view. Each light shone upon the pillar-like, cylindrical capsules the size of cryo-pods that latticed the room, which was slowly panning out to be more of a chamber. On each ground-mounted capsule was a display and keypad that pulsed with readouts of whatever was stored within.

At first Duncan only saw a few dozen. Gradually he could make out hundreds of the capsules that together formed a kind of incidental maze.

"Hit the switch." Tarkovsky said into his earpiece.

The lights on the capsules themselves turned from a pulsing red to an active green. There was a collective hiss as across the space, they began to open. As they did, they revealed hundreds of the same set of armor standing on pedestals that they'd seen worn by the Spartans in the presentation.

The Commander made his way down a short staircase onto the main floor.

The ODSTs came down after him, moving with mixed expressions of awe and suspicion as they looked around. The individual armor sets bore either male or female proportions. Names winked on the capsule displays, assumedly those of the wearers which were followed by the letter 'B' and then triple digit ID numbers. The ID numbers of those in front suggested that the armor sets really started from the back since the ones they were looking at now were between the ranges of the 290s and 320s.

Tarkovsky stopped in front of a set with male proportions. The name on the display read: 'Tom-B292.'

"This is Semi-Powered Infiltration amor or SPI, Mark II. They feature photoreactive panels that mimic the surrounding textures of any environment." He pressed several buttons on the keypad and the armor winked out of peripheral existence. There were a few 'woah' sounds and looks of intrigue from the troopers. After looking for a few seconds they made out the slight visual distortions that retained the shape of the SPI armor.

"Since when did we get active camo?" Deaks scoffed. "That would've been nice to have a few, I don't know, years ago."

"It's a derivation of the Covenant's active camouflaging technologies." Tarkovsky said. "We've reverse-engineered it to utilize those capacities within a select few armor systems such as these." He placed his hand behind the armor. Sure enough, they could still see it although the system's light-bending technology somewhat distorted it. They could notice it because they were staring, but any Covenant that encountered a wearer wouldn't give them a second look since their first guess more than likely wouldn't be to search for an enemy using their own tech against them. That was probably the armor's greatest advantage.

"The camouflaging allows Spartans to conduct specialized stealth missions and carry out objectives with a lowered risk of detection." Tarkovsky pressed the keypad again and the armor flickered back into view. He pointed to the individual components as he spoke. "Some of the components include a Mirage-class Helmet, Techsuit, Environmental controls, Biofoam injection ports, Data sockets and a built-in power cell fueling the entire operation."

He turned to the ODSTs. "The reason I'm being so open about them is because you may be asked to utilize this armor yourselves. Camp Curahee DIs are known to use them in certain simulations. Right now, we're currently transporting these armor sets to the camp for use by Beta Company. The candidates are already lethal as they are, even to people like you, so keep on the lookout in case the Lieutenant Commander calls for you to wear these. You can look at a few more sets if you'd like. Just don't touch them or the special security tasks will activate."

Duncan kept that last sentence in mind. So did Zack. "What special security?" He asked mockingly. "What, is the armor gonna come alive and snap our necks or something?"

Tarkovsky spared him a threatening grin. "Would you like to find out?"

Zack winced and shivered. "I-, ugh…nah I'm good."

The Commander gestured for them to look around. Everyone except the Staff took him up on his offer and dispersed around the room, moving along the lanes of capsules to check out the different armor sets. The Staff meanwhile stayed behind with a pensive look on his face.

Duncan went further right along the very front. As he checked out the different sets, he overheard the Staff.

"Its about my last question earlier."

"Go ahead." Tarkovsky said.

"Back in 2537, at the Battle of New Constantinople, my platoon was fighting near the oceanic border towns. The Covies had us hard-pressed up until we ran into reinforcements wearing this same armor or something similar. We encountered a few individual teams along the way, figured they were just some new ODST units with special armor we'd never seen before. But everywhere they went, we won. We never even got to find out who they were. What I'm getting at is that if Beta Company is still in training, then who were those guys back in 2537?"

"…That…would've been Alpha Company, Beta's predecessor."

"Right…tell me something…if you can anyway. What happened to them, Alpha Company?"

There was no immediate reply. Duncan glanced back to see Tarkovsky and the Staff staring each other down for an unnervingly tense moment. The latter shook his head. "I'm sorry, that's classified information. Highly."

"How highly?"

"I would be obligated to shoot both you and myself under the condition that I told you."

The Staff continued to stare him down with suspicion. At length he gave a slow nod and changed the subject.

Duncan released the breath he'd forgotten he was holding to wonder down to the end of the lane. He found himself looking at the armor set at the far end. It fell on the female side in terms of proportions. He noticed that this one was somewhat different. It had a forearm mounted TACPAD on the left arm bracer. The device had a dock to the MC5 Individual Data Net and was often used by Officers, Intelligence agents and even Cryptanalysts like himself, which was why he recognized it to begin with. He felt a good deal envious of the gear and checked to see who it was that was getting the armor. The name on the capsule display read: 'Catherine-B320'.

He nodded off to the suit with a modicum of respect for the tech. He was walking back towards the Staff when another armor set caught his eye. It wasn't the armor itself but rather the display. There was no name, merely the letter B and a following trio of ID numbers alone. He took a step closer. Why was there no name? Maybe it was a malfunction in the system? He didn't want to risk touching it to find out. He called over to the Commander instead. "Excuse me sir, I think something's wrong with the display on this one."

Tarkovsky excused himself from the Staff's conversation and came over. Duncan pointed to the display. He looked at it. Duncan saw his forehead wrinkle slightly. He momentarily glanced between Duncan and the display and touched his earpiece. "Abreo, shutdown the unit in front of me now."

Someone talked on the other end.

"Alright, just close it."

A second later the capsule's lights pulsed red and it slowly hissed close. Duncan watched the number fade off the display. He turned to Tarkovsky in confusion. The Commander looked at him seemingly on the verge of an emotion Duncan had never seen on the man's face, none at all. He was deadpanned. He laughed it off. "Sorry about that, that one wasn't supposed to be on display. Please." He gestured with an open hand to the rest of the room.

Duncan took the hint and got on his way. As he walked, he chanced peeking back over his shoulder and saw that Tarkovsky was still watching him out the corner of his eyes.

Duncan quickly turned away and joined Hector and Rico near another set. The two were talking about noticeable differences between the male and female versions. He couldn't bring himself to join them, however. For some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd seen something he wasn't supposed to. He joined them as they headed further in to study a few more sets, himself moving a bit more cautiously so not to accidentally run into anything else that he shouldn't have.

De Assistentibus – The Assistants