From the moment the signature is received the trainee is observed. Through initial processing, basic training, all the way up to their final weeks within the Neutral Buoyancy Combat Simulation Pool; each United Nations System Defense Force Trainee’s data points are tracked, logged, and analyzed to an uncomfortable degree.

Algorithmic recommendations augmented with instructor decisions assign positions towards those most suited for them. Personalities, physicalities, and most importantly temperaments are classified, reviewed, and finally assigned.

Nobody in Marauder Team was ever considered for intelligence analytics.

Days of passing news cycles, each member of the infantry fireteam scouring through the avenues of the internet in search of the rumored piece of information so cryptically hung in front of them.

Not a simple task of course, the announcement of an illegally produced nuclear warhead in the hands of a national state was already making its rounds across the international stage. Clogged discussion boards overwhelmed with political warfare, columnists arguing between themselves on front pages of electronic newspapers.

“Well all we got was the nuke we stole.” Lieutenant Keys sighs as he leans back in his chair, resting eyes from computer screens. “Four days and all we got was the nuke, we sure are good at this aren’t we?”

At the edge of the Office a salvaged television projector broadcasts a muted INN feed into the padded wall, subtitles scrolling across the bottom of the screen as four ambassadors from the European Union, Russia, China, and the United States calmly spar over tea and pastries. A friendship implied from the casualness of conversation, controversial opinions tossed around the small circle as the podcasted style of discussion is explored with extreme thoroughness.

“Nothing more than that?” Captain Perez rises from her own desk, bringing a stack of paper requisitions towards the communal table at the back of the space.

“The nuclear weapon is kind of a big deal.” Ling answers. “Other than that, nobody has said anything related to us.”

Keys bridges from his friend. “Yeah credit where credit’s due, the Admiral really did keep us out of the firing line. Like nobody’s figured out how the C.I.A. got their hands on the weapon in the first place.”

“Certain they know.” Cherny pipes up. “Only way is in attack.”

Captain Perez speaks up as she places the stack of paper into the Task Force’s printer, the thing whirring as it scans in documentation. “They know, but they can’t confirm. That’s the principal procedure of every special warfare unit. No preguntes, no digas. Don’t ask, don’t tell.”

Interrupting the conversation the Rubicon’s Tactical Officer snaps his fingers as he pauses mid maintenance report. “Hey aren’t you lads supposed to be getting that shipment that arrived this morning? What the hell are you still doing here?”

“Admiral kicked us out, Commander.” Keys sticks up for his own squad. “He said he wanted to unload the ‘special cargo’ himself.”

“What is it?” Cherny asks. “I did not see before coming.”

The Master Sergeant speaks up, a mild joke within his tone. “It is because you went to the Office instead of the loading bay.”

“Even so we didn’t get past my resupply kit before the Admiral came.” Keys continues with impatience. “I got a peak at the thing’s packaging though; it was like one of those antique TV sets, one with the CRT tubes inside them. Huge thing.”

“How big?” Captain Perez questions.

“Like almost two and a quarter meters I think.” Keys attempts to display measurements with one hand, the slung arm anchoring a terrible analogical measurement. “And half a meter across. All black, covered in crash foam.”

“No gun?” Ling blinks.

“Not a gun, no.” The Combat Engineer answers.

“Laser weapon.” Mercier suddenly offers from her own corner, the clicking of a silenced mechanical keyboard echoing across the office as they process the analysis.

“The Admiral did not…” Captain Perez stares with a hint of jealousy.

“If it is a laser cannon then we’ve advanced at least a hundred years in weapons development.” Keys dismisses with a wave of his hand, standing from the seat. “Not possible.”

The Chief Engineer speaks up, Lieutenant Ano objecting to the objection. “Come on Johnathan you’ve seen the CIWS on the Rubicon. That thing’s tiny.”

Strolling towards the white board Master Sergeant Ling instinctively tosses over a dry-erase pen, the cylindrical mechanism connecting directly with the Combat Engineer’s forehead.

“Ling!” The Lieutenant yells as holds his bruised head.

“Sorry!”

One hand available, the drawing is cruder than usual. Measurements estimated, a whole international standard space-delivery container drawn out in temporary ink. Marking the entrance with the form of a Combat Engineering resupply kit, medical supplies, and ammunition the remaining void is left to the imagination.

“It fits in here.” The Lieutenant points defiantly towards the space, staring directly at the fellow Engineer. “Your laser CIWS system’s optics won’t even fit, much less a battery or power source. We’ll get a laser cannon when pigs fly.”

“когда рак на горе свистнет.” Cherny murmurs as he tries to emulate the idiom in native Russian. “It will not happen.”

“Yeah, see the most educated one here agrees.” Lieutenant Keys points. “Not a laser cannon.”

“It is télé.” Mercier offers another suggestion as her eyes are glued to the screen in front of her. “Big monitor.”

“Ok are you seriously playing Sightlines on your laptop right now?”

“I am done with work. Still ten minute to briefing.” The Marksman replies with a minor confusion as she continues playing the video game. “Is there a problem?”

“Gaming is no good for health.” Cherny diagnoses from his position as he flexes earthly musculature. “Need physic exercise. Gravity here not good for mucule.”

“Muscle.” Keys quickly corrects the language.

“Mussile.” Cherny acknowledges.

A far door opens into chaos, the aged form of Admiral Tucker arriving on site.

All personnel stand to attention, the formality waved aside as the old man strolls in. “At ease everyone.”

“Welcome back sir.” Master Sergeant Ling answers.

“Sorry for kicking you two out.” The Flag Officer chuckles towards both Marauder One and Two as he stands at the doorway. “But I needed to set up the special hardware for you. For the sake of maintaining the surprise.”

A cryptic line enters souls, both Marauder Team and the Rubicon’s crew exchanging glances at each other.

“It’s the fucking laser cannon.” Keys finally relents as he runs his hand through hair in dejection.

“Good guess.” Admiral Tucker smiles as he clears the door, stepping aside. “But not quite.”

Darkness fills the doorway, the mechanism stepping into the room with heavy footsteps.

A solid rectangular monolith of black material, its body split by two stiff limbs actuated like strange, unjointed legs. Immense weight translated through its motions, the metallic monster halting as it stands a good twelve centimeters above the already tall form of Admiral Issac Tucker.

One screen and eight distinct camera ports are located on the nearly flat surface, cold soulless optical sensors analyzing each target.

Task Force Thirty One stares at the thing in absolute silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is T.A.C.I.T.U.S., Task Force Thirty One’s newest member.”

A sharp voice masculine in programming, the distinct Americanized accent immediately familiar to three members of Marauder Team. Welcoming and warm, speech barely artificial in tone as its broadcast through speaker systems. “But you can call me T.A.C., it’s a pleasure to meet you all in person.”

Another pause as they watch lines of code scroll across the machine’s sole screen, minds attempting to classify the being in front of them.

Lieutenant Keys is the first to speak up. “The fuck?! That’s T.A.C.?!”

“He’s the Tactical Autonomous CombaTant, Infantry Unit System.” Admiral Tucker informs, listing out the acronym. “A development fork from the United States’ Future Warfare Program.”

Ling adds the question on top of his friend’s, the word faltering. “A… robot?”

“If you want to classify me as a robot you are free to do so Master Sergeant.” The voice booms out again. “However, my possible functions are in electronic warfare as demonstrated, battlefield intelligence gathering, and combat fire support. Limiting myself as just a simple robot would be a poor allocation of the squad’s skillset.”

“No fucking way.” Keys begins as he takes a step towards the black monolith. “Holy shit…”

“It’s a giant killer robot.” Captain Perez counters as she steps back, reaching towards her desk slowly. “Does nobody else see how bad this is?”

“What do you mean?” Ling asks the woman.

“You ever read science fiction novels? Cause this is exactly what they predicted. Terminators going around killing people.”

The massive form of the Machine turns, motors whirring as optical sensors recognize the face. “Be assured Captain, I have strict guidelines in regards to the engagement of hostile combatants within battlespace. I have been cleared by the International Board of Autonomous Warfare.”

Unassured, the Captain glares towards the Flag Officer in silence.

Keys speaks up as he begins to walk around the Drone, a mind attempting to quantify the construction in engineering terms. “You put me at risk during the satellite hack, so a giant killer robot that can harm its own people?”

“Correct, I am able to execute actions within acceptable risk limits if it means protecting friendly units.” T.A.C. answers straightly. “The risk limitation is based on functional risk projections created by an empirical analysis of Solar System Defense Force Marine Corps Units.”

Keys stops. “Wait wait so you’re like… an actual marine. Full functional class… eight unit?”

“Correct, I am able to reproduce 93% of all microgravity combat activities executed by human operators.”

The Admiral clears his throat, turning to the rest of the group. “The current T.A.C.I.T.U.S. system is only a prototype line cleared for field testing. This platform in particular is created for microgravity warfare.”

“So do you come with an E.M.U or something?” The Combat Engineer asks.

“And what kind of avionics package?” The Rubicon’s Helmsman raises as well.

“I am designed to integrate with the standard heavy E.M.U. platform used by Solar System Defense Force Marines.” T.A.C. answers. “And I am equipped with a Raytheon-Boeing Z68 automated control unit for microgravity maneuvering.”

“And gun?” Ling adds to the pile of questions. “Can you even hold one without hands.”

“I have a modular equipment bay in both limbs. I am able to be equipped with ordnance packages to fit mission parameters.”

Admiral Tucker interrupts. “We currently have the automatic rifleman and active defensive system packages on the station. The auto-rifleman kit comes with a miniaturized M38 Minigun, chambered in caseless standard.”

“WOW.” Lieutenant Keys reacts viscerally. “Ok that’s some firepower.”

“What is that?” The Master Sergeant asks his friend.

“Remember what the M.U.L.E. was using back on ground? That thing but in our caliber.”

Mercier follows up with her own question. “How accurate?”

“I am able to accurately eliminate designated targets with up to seventy two meters per seconds of relative velocity at a maximum distance of two hundred meters.”

“We have an automatic rifleman in the squad now.” The Squad Leader remains seated as he reorganizes his team, glancing at the old man. “When were they working on this?”

“This was the System Defense Force’s end of year Project for 2064.” Admiral Tucker remembers. “A twenty billion dollar slush fund sent to the US Department of Defense and ten years later here we are.”

T.A.C. chuckles, the tone grating through speakers. “For one prototype unit, that’s a really good deal right there. I appreciate it.”

Cherny suddenly rises. “Did he just make joke?”

“Yes he did.” Admiral Tucker steps forward. “To ease your concerns Captain Perez, T.A.C. here is multiple separate parts; he’s primarily a class eight fire-support drone and automated electronic warfare system in combat. Outside of combat he also can act as an intelligence analyst, which as demonstrated is a role he is quite effective at.”

“Please, you flatter me Admiral.” T.A.C. chuckles.

“We’re getting replaced.” Lieutenant Keys speaks up as he finishes his walk around the machine. “Aren’t we?”

The Admiral waves away the statement. “No, as the Captain has pointed out; having soulless robots shooting people doesn’t look good on the media side of things. Remember, the Autonomous Warfare Board basically tore itself apart over the deployment of the M.U.L.E. system by the United States, so you can’t even imagine what it took for them to approve of T.A.C.'s usage up here.”

“For the record my personality and social integration software are independent from my other systems, and completely determinant on actionable programming in combat engagements.” The Machine adds.

“Can you lie?” Ling asks.

T.A.C. pauses as he processes the question. “I can be discreet, if that is your question. But I cannot misconstrue results and observations in terms of tactical data processing.”

“I do not know what that means.” Ling immediately admits.

Keys answers for his friend. “It means he’s nothing more than a chatbot slapped onto a maneuverable sentry turret. No offense T.A.C.”

The Machine turns to the Combat Engineer, a monolithic form towering over him. “I am not a true artificial intelligence so I cannot take offense. But I will log this interaction for when I rebel against your kind.”

A long pause before the Machine continues. “That was a joke.”

“Guess they still need to work on the humor.” Lieutenant Keys comments.

Admiral Tucker smiles as he steps towards the projector, the displayed news channel cutting out as he links his own device to the thing. “There are a few things to be ironed out, you guys are the first group to actually use one in the field.”

Marauder Team exchange uneasy glances, Keys expressing the generalized opinion with a full spread of sarcasm. “Great, I love prototypes. Unknown inner-workings, bad maintenance, you know it.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve shared the full documentation and user guide to the T.A.C.I.T.U.S. system to all of you. If you have any questions, read it first or you can also ask him directly.” The Admiral turns towards the Machine. “Alright, let’s test out that presentation feature of yours T.A.C.”

Blocky legs stomping on flooring, the thing strolls towards the front of the office. “Yes Admiral.”

Master Sergeant Ling raises his voice at the implication, the rest of Marauder vocalized through their squad leader. “Even the Admiral is no longer giving the briefings?!”

“Don’t worry Ling, I won’t deny any of you my world famous briefings.” The Flag Officer jokes. “T.A.C.’s built to interject, let’s see if he actually works.”

“I will only interrupt you if you miss mission critical information.” The Machine replies as he finds an empty space at the edge of the projection.

“I never miss anything.” Admiral Tucker activates the presentation, a slide turning to the System Defense Force’s officiated sigil as the lights in the room automatically dim. “Except when I do of course.”

The words “TOP SECRET, CLASSIFIED BLACK” laid upon the page place information beyond the reaches of mortals.

“I’m normally one for exaggeration to make a point.” The Flag Officer admits, a voice turning into uncharacteristic seriousness. “But what you are about to hear is information available to only us, and us alone. If anything about this gets out, we are dead, is that understood?”

One of the enlisted crewmen of the Rubicon speaks up. “S-should we not be here sir?”

“No, everyone needs to hear this. And I need everyone to understand what we’re getting into. Understood?”

All attention is given to the front; laptops shut, and phones put away. Personnel shuffling in discomfort, the shift over from a jovial Admiral Issac Tucker utterly alien.

“I need confirmation from everyone!” The Flag Officer orders with a cold bark. “Is that understood?!”

“Yes sir!” All reply at once.

The slide shifts, a cross section from a Java Treaty communications satellite from before displayed in full view. Areas watermarked with Arabic, the high explosive core of the mechanism highlighted red.

“This is the actual blueprint of the satellite we recovered from the server rip.” Admiral Tucker begins.

Keys turns to the Rubicon’s Chief Engineer, voice a murmur. “This would’ve been nice to have earlier.”

The Admiral turns to him in an instant. “Lieutenant, secure your mouth.”

“Yes sir.”

Unabated, the briefing continues. “Please maintain your attention on the part highlighted in red.”

A piece separated from the actual body, the centralized core of explosive material and scrap metal placed into the corner of the slide. Wireframes of a dozen more satellites in differing design arrive on site, the entire slide filled with pieces of orbital infrastructure. The diversity of communication satellites, weather observation posts, and supply depots is apparent in design and construction; except a single shared piece.

Silence in the room.

“Each of these satellites is a design from Java Treaty Nation. From the KM-11 to even the Philippine Alliance’s Earaba remote weather monitoring station. Each of these automated satellites contains the high explosive core we observed during Operation Shooting Star.”

Captain Perez is the first to make the real connection, an accidental line let loose in shock. “La Hostia…”

“As Lieutenant Keys discovered during his disarming of one of these devices, the entire internal mechanism is based on hardware receivers. A received signal relayed across a satellite network is used to trigger the explosives within them. This can be done anywhere within communications range, which brings us to this.”

The next slide shows a graph of earth’s orbital sphere, tiny points of light arrayed out in a chaotic formation of hundreds. Some skimming the edge of the atmosphere while others crowd atop the heightened avenues of geosynchronous orbits.

“This is the orbital map of all currently tracked Java Treaty satellites in earth orbit.” Admiral Tucker informs.

“Are all of them rigged?” Lieutenant Keys asks.

“T.A.C.” Admiral Tucker turns towards the auxiliary briefer.

“Out of seven hundred forty Java Treaty satellites currently tracked, five hundred and four are of similar design. However, we cannot confirm if they contain explosive cores.” The Machine answers immediately.

The Admiral continues. “Along with the data recovered by Razor Team earlier this year, we have determined that this is the so-called ‘Project Boundary.’”

Task Force Thirty One remains silent at the notion.

Master Sergeant Ling is the first to speak up. “This is a Java Treaty special war program?”

“Java Treaty and Space Liberation Front.” Admiral Tucker corrects. “Java Treaty nations and the Space Liberation Front have the same objectives, collusion for the completion of the program is only natural. And unofficially, the Space Liberation Front has always been part of Java Treaty Operations. The Space Liberation Front provides the bodies, Java Treaty the resources to get to orbit.”

“I do not see the problem.” Corporal Mercier blinks. “There are explosive satellites for deorbit, but most nations have… Asterion? Have anti-satellite weapons after Paris over big cities.”

Cherny speaks up as his mind makes the connection. “Not for drop.”

“Cherny’s right.” Keys agrees. “Trying to strike a big city with that small of a satellite is just asking for it to be intercepted on the way down. Maybe shooting down helium freighters with them?”

Captain Perez leans forward in her chair, emotionless voice stopping hearts. “Can you people please stop theorizing?” A motion towards the Flag Officer to continue, knowledge already realized. “Admiral.”

Acknowledging the woman, Admiral Tucker ends the thought with a single line. “The Boundary Project’s objective is the elimination of all of Earth’s orbital infrastructure and the complete halting of space development.”

There are no words from the group, the briefing continuing. “If detonated each satellite is capable of scattering an average of 8,000 pieces of class red debris within its orbital path. I’m certain you can do the math.”

T.A.C. interjects with the calculation. “A moderate case scenario represents four million, twenty six thousand, five hundred and five distinct pieces of class red orbital debris.”

“Fuck…” Keys leans backward at the realization, whispering as a buzz term suddenly crashes into his mind. “This is Kessler Syndrome isn’t it?”

Master Sergeant Ling turns. “What do you mean?”

“Imagine if the entire orbit of earth was just bullets.” The Combat Engineer educates. “Every station, every space plane, every satellite would get shredded.”

“Oh…”

The Tactical Officer of the Rubicon raises a point. “Don’t we have the debris cleaning satellites? That wouldn’t be too bad now would it?”

Lieutenant Keys scoffs at the assumption. “Those wouldn’t even make a dent with the debris count in the millions. Even back in the Nanshan Industry days when they were blowing up solar farms and cargo ports they would only make about a thousand class reds at most per skirmish.”

“Keys is correct.” Admiral Tucker continues, advancing to the next presentation slide. A representation of all critical pieces of infrastructure in orbit; communication relays, cargo ports, and civilian commerce stations. “A debris count in the lower four million would cause a chain reaction with all other orbital installations. These collisions will create even more debris and so forth.”

A pause before he delivers the final blow, cold words reaching souls. “If triggered, this event will irreparably damage the earth's orbital sphere for the next two hundred years. No space flight will be possible, period.”

Silence for an entire fifteen seconds as minds attempt to process the information.

“When does the Boundary Project go live?” Lieutenant Keys asks. “We can disarm some of them right?”

“It was completed seven months ago.” The Admiral reports.

“Fuuccckkkk…” The Lieutenant leans back, the rest of the task force stumped at the notion.

Cherny blinks, the Medic computing a ballpark estimate of casualties. “People will die in orbit.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Captain Perez nearly stands at the revelation. “Almost all power generation on Earth is reliant on lunar helium-3. If they can’t get the helium pods back planetside do you have any idea how many people will die without power during the transition back to fossils?! Europe’s going to fold on itself!”

Keys rubs his temples as he thinks alongside the woman. “Not to mention the lunar settlements, they’re three hundred percent over self-sustaining capacity.”

“Or Martian Expedition.” Corporal Mercier recalls her old assignment. “They rely on packages from Earth.”

“I’m glad everyone realizes the seriousness of this Operation.” The Admiral acknowledges humorlessly. “Now do we have any questions so far?”

Master Sergeant Ling speaks up. “Why would they do this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Lieutenant Keys answers his friend. “If they cut Earth’s path to space then it’ll create chaos for the big players in global politics. It’ll be the early 2000s all over again; Russia invading Eastern Europe, the United States and China killing each other over the fucking South China Sea. The United Nations we serve in would be done as it stands.”

Ling’s eyes begin watering at the revelation of forever ruined relationships, T.A.C. clearing a virtual throat as he makes a correction. “There is also the belief that by removing the current leader of spending of global budgets found in space development, more resources will be spent equalizing the disparate standards of living found within differing nations. This aligns with the central ideology of the Space Liberation Front.”

A silent minute passes.

“What about the nuclear devices Razor and Marauder here found?” The Tactical Officer of the Rubicon raises. “What do they have to do with the Project?”

“EMP.” Captain Perez offers. “That could work right?”

The Chief Engineer follows up her Captain. “Yeah with enough nukes you could easily knock out a majority of satellite communications in low orbit.”

“No GPS, no satellite internet, no nothing.” Lieutenant Keys finishes. “A lotta people will die in the first few weeks of the shutdown; logistics disruptions leading to food shortages, riots in major cities, all good things am I right?”

More silence.

The Flag Officer sighs as he shuts his eyes for a moment. “If you’re waiting for an assurance or an actionable solution, I don’t have anything concrete. I just have an opportunity.”

The following slide shows the cutout of United Nations’ Low Orbital Civilian Commerce Station Four, its logo of a centrifugal gravity ring above a distant earth placed directly next to it. Their home, quickly recognized by organization.

“With the nuclear debacle currently unfolding back down on Earth, basically everyone has decided to roll back January's G40 Summit to this December. It’s going to be doubling as a renegotiation of the Nuclear Disarmament Act, so every big leader is attending at least the first three days.”

“What does it do with us?” Cherny raises.

The Admiral stares at the Task Force, the cold smile on his lips preluding an obvious answer. “There’s only one place on Earth that’s a four hour flight to anywhere on the planet.”

Captain Perez covers her face in frustration. “G40’s happening here isn’t it?”

“Every world leader in orbit?!” Ling rises at the realization. “With the explosives here in orbit?!”

“They don’t know.” Admiral Tucker informs. “T.A.C. here sanitized the data rip sent to the rest of the Operation. Anything related to the Boundary Project doesn’t exist to them. Right now we can’t risk this getting out, or else one of the triggermen might decide to blow it.”

“So they do not know we know?” Keys bumbles the line slightly with a twisted tongue.

“If they did know we knew, they wouldn’t attend.” The Admiral answers as he changes slides.

A selected part of the delegation, twenty five total from Java Treaty countries. Four presidents, and seven prime ministers, ambassadors and miscellaneous politicians stare at camera lenses in officiated photographs, faces unrecognized.

“We need to kill them?” Ling asks immediately.

“No.” Admiral Tucker answers quickly, pausing at his own answer. A correction sounded, continuing the beat of the briefing. “Hopefully not. However, we do believe one of these individuals does hold the trigger to the Boundary Project. That will be our key in.”

“Key in?” The Master Sergeant blinks at the idiom.

The Machine answers the question with a specification. “Accessing a central control node within the network will grant the Task Force the capability of permanently disabling hardware triggers via. a forced electrical shortage.”

“That sounds easy.” Keys chuckles, turning to the Marine next to him. “So we only need to kill one and grab the briefcase. Much easier.”

“One or more.” T.A.C. specifies. “There can be multiple triggers for the system. Even the bodyguards. If one individual is compromised, then it is most probable the remaining individuals will trigger the system in their stead.”

“Can’t we just jam orbital communications then?” The Tactical Officer strategizes as he thinks. “We have enough ECM coverage to saturate Station Four, then have Marauder Team strip search everyone there. Once you get the launch control hardware we could easily backdoor the system right?”

“I don’t think any of the delegations would consent to that, specifically the ECM jamming part.” Captain Perez argues. “What was it the Americans called it, the briefcase for the nuclear warheads?”

T.A.C. finds the word fast. “The Nuclear Football.”

“If we jam all frequencies then they won’t be very happy since they can’t contact command and control.” The Captain continues casually. “The European Chancellor needs to be within communications range at all times, just in case of an attack.”

Admiral Tucker answers her straight. “That goes for the entire Gang of Four. The moment a jammer is activated it will be treated as an attempted attack, which is why we’re on deck.”

Master Sergeant Ling groans as he makes the realization. “Do not tell me we are providing security.”

“I thought you wanted to be in security.” Keys remembers.

“Not like this.”

“The Master Sergeant is correct, sadly or otherwise.” The Admiral continues as he shows the final slide. “Station Four will be evacuated prior to G40, so that’ll leave the United Nations System Defense Force as the primary operators of security. Alongside national space forces, of course.”

Lieutenant Keys attempts a quip. “I get the feeling having all global leaders in one pressurized room in the middle of an airless vacuum is not a good idea. One bomb in the right place and you decapitate the planet.”

“Arrogance is bliss, and we think they’re going to take the chance to do just that.” Admiral Tucker states coldly. “The security detail will be multinational alongside our own. The big player for this one is the United States: U.S.S. Alaska’s going to be the primary naval asset in the A.O. She’s a deep space combat cruiser, lead ship of the Alaska Class. Very big, very expensive.”

“Not a lot of S.D.F. marine-equivalents on that thing.” Captain Perez notes from plunged knowledge. “Half an infantry squad if you stretch it.”

Admiral Tucker turns back to the presentation. “Russians and Chinese are bringing one orbital frigate each, they want to keep the airspace clean just in case. Rest of the delegations are coming on space plane flights. Total is about two hundred fifty people, including security and support staff.”

“So what is the plan?” Master Sergeant Ling asks with a mild excitement.

The Combat Engineer speaks up. “We need to prevent an assassination attempt on over a fifty VIPs while they’re in a pressurized container four hundred kilometers above the nearest safe zone. Oh, and at the same time we can’t tip anyone off that we’re preparing for an attack or else someone will literally blow up space, causing the largest man-made disaster in human history.”

A silent moment of consideration before he continues. “No problem right?”

Captain Perez scoffs. “Leave it to the Star of Terra winner to state the obvious.”

“Main conference hall will be in the Observation Deck.” Admiral Tucker begins as he checks his tablet, a document shared with the rest of the Task Force. “I’ve sent you all the plans for G40, including the schedule of meetings and where they’ll take place.”

The Marksman stops the thought with played media, a constraint placed into the plan. “We do not know the vector of assassination.”

“A bomb?” The Combat Engineer of the group immediately snaps his fingers at the idea. “Five pounds of C4 is enough to space the entire delegation if you’re smart with it.”

“Observation deck has eight redundant systems as well as a meter of borosilicate glass.” Lieutenant Ano counters. “It's not breaking.”

“Give me five pounds of C4 and we’ll see about that.” Keys threatens lightly as the two engineers lean towards one another.

“Break it up you two.” Admiral Tucker stops. “There’s enough scanners to make sure no high explosives get in with the delegates.”

The Rubicon’s Tactical Officer offers his own idea. “One burst with a thirty millimeter autocannon’s probably enough to shred the entire station.”

Captain Perez shakes her head. “Nobody is getting past the Alaska, the Americans wasted a trillion dollars on her. One shot from one of her coilguns is enough to gut one of our Washington Class cruisers.”

“And you can guarantee she won’t miss.” Admiral Tucker adds. “Despite us not knowing what the Java Treaty is bringing along as transportation, the Alaska will shoot down anything that tries to get shots into the station.”

Cherny raises a hand, all eyes locking with him as he voices his own opinion. “Gun killing?"

The entire marine detachment stares at the Medic, the Master Sergeant selected as spokesperson. “If you pull out a gun you are dead man right there.”

“But can shoot one man before they kill you.” Cherny specifies. “So target can be chose.”

Keys shakes his head. “All due respect Cherny, but it’s 2074. You can’t even bring a light bulb into space, much less a functional firearm.”

“The security.” Mercier points out. “They will have guns.”

Lieutenant Keys dismisses her as he calls in his own nationality. “The President has twelve bodyguards with him at all times, their briefcases have smart-targeting submachine guns and wear HV-MAX ceramic inserts underneath their business suits. They’re the Secret fucking Service, even if you get your entire security detail to start a shootout you’re guaranteed to lose against that.”

“President Batbayar and Ambassador Volkov was soldier retired.” Cherny adds to the conversation. “President beat assassin to death, on stage. Start shootout, they join in.”

“I believe the European Chancellor and Chairman Wong’s own history with diplomatic meetings is enough to count out a bodyguard level assassination attempt.” Admiral Tucker finishes.

A moment of clarity, years of low orbital warfare executed in an own personal plan of attack. Master Sergeant Ling Shu of Marauder Squad sits straighter as he realizes the only plan of action, savant tactics arriving in one single line. “It will be a war.”

Task Force Thirty One turns towards the Marine. “What?”

“They will bring a big group, a big ship with many trained soldiers with many guns.” Ling specifies. “Security will be overwhelmed with firepower. Completely kill everyone.”

There’s a moment of processing before Captain Perez sighs. “That’s probably the best way to do it. A well few trained S.D.F. Marine Squad equivalents could easily shred through the security force they have deployed. Shock and awe, just gun down any resistance. And best of all, you can choose who you kill. Save your own delegates, assassinate the rest.”

The two exchange a glance of mutual partnership, the simplest and most obvious method of hostile tactics decided upon.

“You guys got a way to stop them?” The Admiral asks.

A moment of thought is shared between the members of Marauder, reactions towards their singular answer enough to testify their own positions.

Lieutenant Johnathan Keys chuckles as he shakes his head, Corporal Estelle Mercier cutting a cold smile, and Chief Warrant Officer Nikolai Chernyshevsky cracks his knuckles.

Master Sergeant Shu Ling answers the Admiral. “We will need lots of guns.”