Into The Rift

Damage Control (32)

-1058 Military Hours
-Tartarus Base

A lush expanse of natural green, and a small portion of organized grey. The morning begins for Tartarus Base just like the day preceding it, warm rays glancing down from a sky patterned with clouds. What should have been a normal day was anything but that.

On the second floor of a prefabricated building in the Southeast corner, lies the command and control hub for the small human presence in this world.

Peering through the windows and into the interior, one would witness the controlled discipline displayed by the UN personnel manning their respective stations.

Despite that however, a quiet yet stern tension remains prevalent in the intelligence wing, thick enough to snuff out any semblance of perceived normalcy. To say the men and women of the New Eden deployment are feeling anxious would be a considerable understatement.

Sitting tensely in front of a row of monitors is Senior Operations Officer Meagan J. Pierce, having replaced her counterpart from the nightshift. A constant frown graces her lips, eyes downcast in deep thought, rarely looking up to the security monitors.

From her perspective, if the situation with the Rift wasn't enough, she now had to deal with the issues associated with upholding Jupiter Contingency.

With all expedition teams successfully withdrawn from their respective sectors of work, the stressed out Operations Officer could direct her focus onto more immediate concerns such as the recent destruction of a V-280.

Beyond that irreplaceable loss, she would have to contend with limited food supplies. The list goes on with varying levels of severity. Simply put, things are not looking good for Tartarus Base.

These matters should have fallen under the jurisdiction of the logistical staff, but they were on the wrong side of the Rift. At a vague estimate, the base could only sustain the UN deployment force for approximately sixty days before running dry.

That was in the long run, in the immediate present, the sole reason for humanity's presence in this world was shattered in a single night. There isn't a reason to explore if the researchers couldn't even send an ounce of their findings back home. Back to Earth.

Occasionally, whispers would fill the intelligence wing as a negative comment pierces the silence. The inkling of isolation was not lost on Meagan as she lets out another sigh.

"Ma'am, incoming fast mover from sector Delta One-Fiver," a Comms Operator sounds out, pushing through the heavy tension with his leveled tone.

Pulling her mind out of her musings, Meagan faces the source of the voice, "Is it one of ours? Check the logs now," she orders, holding her voice firm.

A few seconds pass before a response is given. "Negative Ma'am, all air assets accounted for. The uh... last aircraft to clock in is a Humming Bird, carrying Expedition Four personnel away from Objective Spartan, Site five. We're all here aside from the guys down on Visegrad."

"Alright, anything else?"

"Aside from the radio silhouette, nothing much. Definitely one of those flying reptiles, perimeter sensors are tripping left and right. Target will be within our visual range in fifteen minutes." Looking squarely at his assigned monitor, the comms operator highlights the incoming contact for Meagan to take note of.