Cyberpunk: Spartan Walker

Chapter 183 B-6 (2)

Please come to elevator No. 8. After he finished speaking, he looked down at the monitor again.

O'Signin made a mental note of this sharp-minded person, planning to find out who he was and see if he could be transferred to three locations. She walked to the steel wall, and the two doors opened with a buzzing sound. She stepped into the small elevator room, and the door closed with a slight click and was locked.

A DNA authenticator and retinal scanner stick out from the wall. O'Signin put his hand on the identification device, and a needle pierced his index finger. They wanted to test her DNA and compare it with samples on file. She blinked, then placed her chin on the retinal scanner.

Good morning, General. A neutral and frivolous voice sounded in her ears.

Good morning, BB. How are you feeling today? O'Signin asked.

Very good, because I saw you returned safely from your mission. I guess everything went as expected.

You know that's a secret, she warned the smart AI.

Of course. He replied, his tone was very naughty, But I will always find out clearly, and you know this, so you'd better just tell me.

Although she was happy to have such private chat with BB, she knew that such a conversation was part of the biometric scan. He scanned her brainwaves and voice patterns during her responses, then matched them with Ossignin's previous recordings stored in his memory. It's possible that he was still testing his loyalty to secrecy - she couldn't spare the guys from Division 3, and they were becoming more suspicious by the day.

When Tommy Price comes back, she'll give those guys a good shake.

Of course you will get to the bottom of it, O'Signin replied, but I still can't tell you. That would be a violation of the confidentiality regulations and will be severely punished under Section 428-A. In fact, she said in a more serious tone intonation, I have to report this violation to my supervisor.

She had only one boss - Margaret Parangoski, a woman who was feared by both the fleet and the Military Intelligence Agency. BB must know the stakes.

BB laughed, it sounded like delicate bone china touching each other, crisp and sweet. You can go, General, he told her.

The door opened to both sides, revealing a corridor. The corridors are decorated with walnut panels on both sides, including oil paintings Victory on Harvest and Commander Cole's Last Battle, as well as a variety of exotic landscapes and space battles.

Although Osignin barely felt the descent, she knew she had penetrated three kilometers into the earth, passing through layers of solid granite, reinforced concrete, and A-type titanium alloy plates, as well as metals that could withstand electromagnetic pulses. However, none of these things made her feel safer.

The structure of several research centers of the Military Intelligence Agency on Reach is exactly the same as here, but it does not bring any benefits to the poor people hiding there.

As she walked out of the elevator, a three-dimensional holographic projection image of a black box (BB) dangled in front of her.

This is BB. His entire projected incarnation is a cube, a featureless box surrounded by blue light, because he sees no point in pretending to be something other than who he really is. He is pure intelligence, with intricate thinking beyond the reach of organic creatures. He could not tolerate the appearance of a flesh-and-blood body.

BB whispered to her, Be careful out there. Exxon is trying to put someone's head on a spear!

O'Signin frowned. This flea was about to act like a monster again, but it happened that Parangoski was not there. She straightened out the tiny wrinkles on her uniform so that she could look fresher after working overtime all night.

As she approached the double doors, two gendarmes suddenly appeared. They did not salute, but placed their hands on the holsters of their weapons. Their eyes were fixed ahead, but O'Signin knew that if the visitor behaved in the slightest wrong way, they would shoot him down first and then interrogate him.

The door opened silently from the inside. She stepped in and the door clicked shut behind her. The lighting here is very dim, and there are a dozen unnoticeable cameras hanging from the ceiling.

The senior officials sitting around the crescent-shaped table were all old acquaintances of Osignin: Rear Admiral Nicholas Strauss, Fleet Commander Terrence Hood, and Captain James Exon. Lieutenant General Whitcomb and General Parangoski's seats were empty.

There were also six officials present, all of whom were general-level figures. Each of them had a monitor placed in front of them.

Good morning, Major General O'Signin. Hood spoke, as gentlemanly as ever, Where's Margaret? I thought it would be her.

O'Signin came to sit down at Parangoski's seat. She can't leave for a while. There is something wrong with the construction of Infinity.

Hood nodded and said no more.

The weird silence didn't last long. The door opened again, and a man wearing a black military intelligence uniform walked in.

The visitor saluted, his expression slightly twisted unnaturally.

Wagner, relax. The corners of O'Signin's lips curled up slightly, giving him a reassuring smile.

Wagner's mouth was still tightly pursed, but he exhaled through his nostrils and relaxed slightly.

O'Signin looked at Hood, who was sitting on her right, Commander, I think we-

Major General Strauss clicked off the monitor in front of him and leaned forward. God! Did we know they had so many damn spaceships before? He slammed his fist on the table, causing a shock that made the water glasses on the table jump. Why on earth don't we know? Who in the Military Intelligence Agency let this information pass so easily?

Strauss meant something, and O'Signin narrowed his eyes and gave him a sidelong glance.

Axon leaned back. No one to blame, Rear Admiral—except the Covenant troops, obviously. I'm more concerned about our response to this invasion. Our fleet is screwed.

To Osigenen, Exxon was a nuisance. He always spared no effort to ensure that his military operations were more than three, and she happened to be the minister of Delta Department Six, which created a strange competitive relationship between the two.

Exxon has always had various disputes with Dr. Katherine Halsey, the host of the Spartan II program. She had thought Ackerson had been reassigned to a frontline combat role, but apparently he was back from there. Herein lies the trouble.