“Clarify.” Gabriel said with narrowed eyes.
“Last night, after you awoke from your nightmare you experienced a brief spike of anger followed by a round of sexual activity.” The doctor explained clinically.
“Clarify why that is any of your concern.” a note of danger crept into Gabriel’s voice.
“I ask because it appears that you had a mildly physical argument which was subsequently…resolved.” the doctor explained, unconcerned with the personal nature of the question, and unfazed by the threatening undertone in Gabriel’s voice.
“That is accurate,” Gabriel confirmed through gritted teeth, “what of it?”
“There is a clinically acceptable range of emotional coldness,” the doctor explained, “but it cannot be allowed to degenerate into sociopathy towards your loved ones. It is possible that Mrs Thorn goads you into these arguments in order to elicit affection from you.”
“Leave my family out of this.” Gabriel warned in a raised voice.
“Unfortunately, I can’t do that.” The doctor replied sympathetically, “Maintaining a stable and healthy family life is important for ensuring maximum effectiveness in the field, particularly for voidstalkers. And since aggression and arousal are the only two emotional responses which are not suppressed, it is a delicate balancing act.”
“I can handle my own personal life just fine, thank you.” Gabriel responded icily.
“The directorate has a direct interest in that being true.” The doctor replied.
“So, are we finished?” Gabriel asked, his defensiveness turning to abrasive impatience.
“Yes.” The doctor answered, “Good luck on your next mission, colonel.”
With that said, the holographic screen deactivated and a new set of procedures began, starting with the foot of the examination bed pitching downwards until it stood at a perfect 90 degree angle. Gabriel stepped away from the vertically angled slab, and forward onto a small platform, standing perfectly still.
A set of nozzle-equipped robotic arms descended from the ceiling and sprayed a gel-like substance across his skin from his ankles up to his neck, avoiding his feet, hands, and face. Gabriel resisted the urge to shiver with discomfort as the substance congealed into a light blue under-suit that hugged his skin.
Once the under-suit had fully congealed, a pair of armoured boot soles were placed on the floor in front of Gabriel, and he planted his feet on the cushioned soles, digging his toes into the material until he had settled comfortably into them. Once his feet were firmly in place, the robots did the rest.
The robotic arms put on the secondary armour skin first. Made from flexible plates of carbon nanotubing, it formed a dull grey, full body layer of protection over the gelatinous under-suit, including covering his feet and hands. This layer of armour was for absorbing and dispersing the effects of energy weapons as well as providing an extra layer of protection against extreme temperatures and excessive radiation.
Finally, the primary armour was installed. Instead of flexible carbon nanotubing, the primary armour plates were totally rigid, and were manufactured from custom-forged metallic composites strengthened with carbon nanotubing, increasing the tensile strength and impact resistance by an order of magnitude.
The armour had to be fitted piece by piece, each part interlocking with the others until it formed a vacuum tight suit of armour covering Gabriel’s entire body all the way up to his neck. Apart from his head, he was now virtually invulnerable. A robotic arm politely handed him his helmet; he took it without looking and attached it to his belt for later.
Now that he was dressed for battle, a holographic video image of Gabriel appeared in front of him, acting as a mirror. His armour was a deep crimson colour with black trimming; traditionally, the colour scheme would be some form of khaki, eschewing any sort of easily identifiable colour. But in an age of advanced sensors and combat armour that could turn an ordinary man or woman into a walking tank, camouflage was a quaint concept.
Gabriel had no sense of vanity of which he was aware; but he looked like the angel of death with a Human face.
* * *
Below the Rand Block was the ‘Under-block’: a maze of bombardment proof chambers and corridors stretching dozens of levels below ground. It had various purposes, many of them pertaining to various doomsday scenarios, but one of them was to house much of the DNI’s massive stockpile of weapons, munitions, and other essential supplies.
The Under-block also housed a mag-rail station for the exclusive use of the military, with high-speed lines running directly to various key facilities in and around the city. Gabriel linked up with the squad of DNI operators he would be commanding, and together they took the mag-tram from the Spire’s station to the military terminal of Asgard’s main spaceport.
The sight from inside the tunnel wasn’t as impressive as the sky-high view from the public mag-rail, but the DNI’s mag-tram system was no less a marvel of engineering. Unlike the public mag-trains, the DNI’s mag-rail tunnels were almost completely evacuated of air, minimising air resistance and maximising speed. Travelling at close to half the speed of sound – and in a straight line – meant they would reach the spaceport in a fraction of the time.
Gabriel stared out through the wall-sized observation window at the front of the mag-tram, his own train of thought circling back around to the previous night. He couldn’t tell Aster what the DNI did to his body and mind, let alone where he went or what he did on his missions. The secrecy made perfect sense to him, and the children were blissfully ignorant either way, but it clearly hurt her. Even so, what his family didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
So what in Terra’s name gave the DNI doctors the right to bring them up in the first place? What possible right did they have to help him ‘maintain a stable family life’? He could manage that perfectly well without their interference. It would be myopic to complain about the DNI techs monitoring his neural activity – that was part of being in the programme – but what business did they have asking about his private life?
That really was myopic. Of course monitoring his neural activity gave the DNI an insight into his family life, however indirect. And yet being questioned directly about it angered him even more than the actual monitoring. After all, he had volunteered for all of this, and thereby agreed to have his neural activity monitored. His family hadn’t volunteered for any of that, and that was what angered him.
Then again, it was the DNI which supervised the children’s medical check-ups.
Gabriel stared out into the shadowy distance, watching the ceiling lamps zipping by so quickly that they seemed to form a continuous stream of light. As he stared, a new question came to mind. The whole point of the voidstalker programme was that a single voidstalker could be sent in to deal with the most difficult assignments without the need for backup. Red-eye’s decision to place a squad of operators under his command made no sense.
There was something else about having ‘backup’ foisted on him that bothered Gabriel, but he couldn’t pin down why. It certainly wasn’t pride; if Red-eye doubted his abilities, he wouldn’t be a voidstalker in the first place. Nor did he doubt the abilities of the operators. They were part of the DNI’s Special Operations Division. Not as deadly or versatile as voidstalkers, but perfectly competent.
“Colonel Thorn, sir?” someone interrupted Gabriel’s train of thought.
Gabriel turned to face the speaker, recognising him as Captain Bale, his nominal second-in-command. He was a veteran operator with a weather-beaten face and a Marine Corps buzz cut so short he almost looked bald.