Credit to Deramen!
The Athena Program
Agency for Theoretical Hazardous Events Neutralization Actions
0437, Central European Summer Time
ATHENA HQ - Geneva
The wall-mounted videophone chirped, and chirped, and chirped its irritating alert for an incoming call.
Finally, the sleep-thickened voice of ATHENA’s field force commander called out, “Accept call - outgoing audio only.”
“Sorry to wake you up early, Brigadier - er, Commander,” the ruffled, backshadowed image of Britain’s ambassador to the UN said, and suddenly Peter Beaumont was all ears.
“What is it, Ambassador?”
Despite all the projections, and as many exercises as the planners could dream up against a completely unknown enemy, he’d never expected to use them. Lulled into peace and inaction by the sheer improbability of Drake and his equations.
Well, damn the man and save the Empire. And the world, it seemed.
The ex-Royal Marine officer who’d been known, unimaginatively but serviceably, as the Old Man to his onetime RM subordinates, reached out and began issuing a series of keyboard and voice commands.
A doctor from the early 20th century could have been forgiven for believing that a private, high-class clinic occupied Level 2 of the unassuming little building that stood on the far side of the Chemin de Franchevaux. Within line of sight of the CERN Hostel and the statue of Shiva, visiting scientists often wondered what the odd stumpy structure behind a fence, barbed wire, guard post, and five languages’ worth of “USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED” signs really was.
But the board magnetically clipped to the lone bed in each dorm room would not list the occupant’s medical history. Instead, fifteen of them in particular lit up. Beaumont’s voice gave a terse set of cryptic phrases that would mean nothing outside of the elite group.
The Great Commandy One, as a few wags were wont to call him when they were sure he was nowhere around, had spoken...and his message would be enough to launch those fifteen from their beds in a frenzy of action.
“Confirming Plan 9. I repeat. Plan 9 is now in effect. Immediate response to Aiguillette and Iridescent. Detailed briefing at 0530. Brocade is to stand Day watch.”
With that, the boards in the barracks dimmed once more; but others, elsewhere throughout the building, lit up.
“Doctor Gordon. Messrs. Tessasohn and Flores. Aspirant Holmes. Your presence is requested in the briefing room at 0530.”
Beaumont was not yet familiar with all their individual routines yet, except for Holmes'. The sniper was long on math, short on imagination, and seemed to live on B1 and B2, so much so that there was a gambling pool open on whether he'd sleep in the shooting range or the Kill House if he was given a choice. As for the others...their off time was their own, and it didn't matter much to him whether they shopped and relaxed, worked, slept, drilled, or chatted with the pilots and the maintenance crew.
As if to make up for his disbelief, Commander Beaumont stood, DPM crisp and beret perfectly centered, at the front of the room. He fiddled slightly with the marker and its cap, popping one out of the other with a quick series of snapping noises, before standing straighter as the men and women of Fireteams Aiguillette and Iridescent began to file in.