Pilot (Nick)

Like all good things "The mission comes first."

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The most noteworthy thing about OPIA's headquarters, I would say, is that the operations deck has its own elevator; it's impossible to miss the gigantic column that dwarfs everything surrounding it. I wouldn't blame anyone if they felt just a little bit intimidated when their superiors literally work some hundred meters above everyone else.

Luckily, I have the privilege of working as the Director's left-hand fox.

Two armed gray wolves stand guard in front of the elevator doors, only allowing in those with a specially marked access card. The same kind that I can flaunt at the envy of my colleagues on the lower floors.

"Your ID, please," intones the wolf on the right.

"Shouldn't you know me by now, Alex?" I emphasize his name to get his attention, raising my eyebrows at him while he scans my card. The wolf doesn't offer me as much as a smile.

"Apologies, Agent Gray. It's just procedure. And as we all know, procedure must be followed."

The scanner's feminine personality reads my name. "Special Agent Nicholas Gray. Access granted."

Boring.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I swish my tail as I tap "Operations" on the elevator touchpad. I admire the elevator decor as classical music plays from the speaker to keep me company on this long journey. As we near the summit, the elevator smoothly deaccelerates and the doors open to a familiar setting. Two dozen or so operators focus intently on whatever mission they were assigned, occasionally offering directions or briefing their field agent on some new development. I walk forward, catching snippets of conversation, likely all being recorded and encrypted.

"The door should be on your left..."

"Tan, the Director orders you to stand down..."

"Five minutes to extraction..."

"Special Agent Gray. Welcome back to Tyroine. The Director is in his office."

I blink and look up at an otter, who's slightly taller than I am. I recognize him from before, when he worked on one of the floors below.

I nod and trail after him toward the room with heavily tinted glass. I can't help but ask, "You work for Admos now?"

"We all work for the Director," he replies curtly.

"Mhm," I snort. No fun, these guys. We approach Admos's office and the otter presses a button on the interface on the glass doors. An orange icon appears, and for a few seconds, rotates rapidly. The doors glide open and I see the Siberian tiger standing at his desk, observing a live operation on a holoscreen. I hear an explosion, and Admos's brow furrows.

The otter coughs. "Director, Agent Gray."

Admos looks up and waves the projection away. "Thanks. Dismissed."

The otter leaves. The doors slide closed, and though I've been in this room before, it seems to have been renovated. An assortment of exotic plants on marble shelves line the walls, and behind Admos's desk is a large bookshelf that doubles as a wall. Based on the subtle metallic border of the bookshelf, I'm almost certain there's a hidden room behind it, but I don't think I'd ever be let inside.

The tiger paces over to the left side of his desk.

"Agent Gray." He pauses to water what appears to be a cactus. "Outstanding work in Vectra. Well done."

"Thanks." I accept his praise cautiously. "I didn't run into anything I couldn't handle."

"I've read the report," he says, dousing a shelf of succulent plants. The tiger narrows his eyes at me. "Now that you're back in New Carthage, I have another assignment for you. It's quite different from what you've been doing recently, but I'm sure you can handle it just as well."

Great. Right on to the next one, then. "I take it I'm not allowed to decline," I mutter.

"It is my understanding that you've lived on the planet Reverie. You are familiar with the capital, yes?"

"Merida? I was born there, actually. Is that where my vacation will be?"

He ignores my pointed question and hands me a rather thin folder. I open it, and inside is a short summary of my assignment, clipped together with several photos of a wolf in various locations.

"This is Nathan Warren, one of the children of the Reverian Prime Minister," Admos says.

Judging by the angular precision and their high quality, these photos were taken by OPIA surveyors. I admire his toned body. Interesting.

"I don't think I've ever seen his face on holo," I comment. The Minister's other kids aren't exactly camera-shy.

"Apparently, he prefers to stay out of public affairs, but it wasn't too hard to find him since he still uses his given name. In any case, I need the Minister gone."

My eyes widen and I flatten my ears. "Is that even possible? I won't get within 100 meters of him without getting caught."

"That's why you'll get close to him," he emphasizes, gesturing at the file.

"Close to? Or with?" I'm not as sure about this as he is. Not that I have a choice.

"That's your job, not mine. If you hadn't already guessed, he and you share the same... preferences. It doesn't really matter how it's done as long you follow procedure, of course. I don't want anything tied back to OPIA."

"What's the deal with him?" I question.

"He is funneling money into the Devil's Angels," Admos says simply.

"The terrorist cell? No way," I snort. Admos's face doesn't betray any changes in emotion. "You're sure about this?"

"Our intelligence," Admos says coolly, "is rarely wrong, and in this case, I'm_certain_of its accuracy. You've been assigned with Operator Shern again. Speak with her before you leave, which will be in 12 hours. Remember your objective."

"Gotcha." He hasn't really given me much to work with, but the file lists a few places where I can start. I turn and exit his office. The sliding doors hum behind me as I look around for the snow leopard.

Shern is one of the most experienced operators in the Agency. We've been partners for so many missions that I can barely remember working with an operator other than her.

I find her in the break room, reading a novel. "Hey, Ophelia? Admos said you had something for me."

She looks up and studies me briefly. "Oh, hey. I hear Admos is making you go back-to-back with the ops."

"Ugh, yeah. I was hoping for a break, but at least it's not another active field op."

"I feel you. I just want to get out of here sometimes, though I suppose it's nice not to get shot at," she says, smiling thoughtfully.

"Wait, is that a shirt with OPIA's logo on it?"

"Pfft. It's the only thing I could get, really. I can't even wear it in public. But I mean, you can't just put 'Outer Planets Intelligence Agency' in block letters and not expect to get kidnapped or something, right? Anyway, I've already configured your comms. You're pretty much good to go unless your spaceship needs fixing."

"Thanks," I say earnestly, nodding in appreciation. Tuning the communications beacon has always been a huge pain. "The_Paragon_'s in good shape, but I need to restock the fridge with goodies. Here to the Crest is about 100 hours after FTL, right?"

"Yeah, something like that. Your ship might be a bit faster, but I'm no mechanic. By the way, we have a place set up for you in Merida. I'll send you the address and the access code when you arrive, so check in with me when you land. Just want to make sure everything's in order before you start killing stuff."

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After stocking up large amounts of supplies for the next few days in space, I take one of the other elevators to the living deck. I step out into the foyer, which is well-lit by artificial candles lining the halls. A large, crystalline chandelier acting as a centerpiece hangs from the ceiling. On the left is a wide, aquamarine couch is placed in front of a holoscreen, showcasing an esports game. On the right is are the public restrooms and the shower stations.

I walk through the open space and down a three-step staircase as the floor transitions from chiseled marble to an illustrious red carpet. I stop at the entrance to my room and the biometric lock scans my paw, unlocking the door. I walk inside and my room looks just as I had left it, but the room smells of scent blocker and air freshener, a parting gift from the cleaning service.

I sigh heavily as I start packing. I hate long spaceflights.