They all trooped into the Vault access building. It acted as a control centre for all signals interacting with and being extracted from the Cradle, and more recently, the new asset found on Rothia. It was buzzing with activity, as hundreds of people worked to maintain the Vault’s unique homeostasis. 

The Facilitator led them through the fray to a set of heavy blast doors down a narrow corridor, guarded by half a dozen heavily-armoured CraSec troopers and two drone-cannons. Sensors scanned the group one by one from all around, filling the air with green lasers. “Ordinarily, weapons are not allowed inside the Vault. But since our esteemed Rothian guests are part-weapon, we’ve decided to make an exception just this once.” The Facilitator pontificated before the blast doors swished open.

Freyr walked into the airlock along with some others and raised her arms. Decontamination jets sprayed them from all angles, but Freyr’s gaze was fixed straight ahead of her. The next few hours could determine the fate of Outremer, did she really have what it took? Could she trust herself to stand by her oath to champion the greater good? No one appeared prepared to stop her if she couldn’t.

The opposite door of the airlock hissed open, and the first group walked out into the lab. Nestled on the inside of the Vault’s thick mechanical skin, Freyr smiled when she caught sight of team members she hadn’t seen in weeks. They were similarly busy to the people outside, scurrying between banks of consoles under sickly blue light. CraSec guards and suits carrying close-quarter rifles were everywhere, watching on.

Freyr’s mouth dropped open involuntarily when her gaze shifted to the large, incredibly thick viewing port on one wall. It afforded them an uncomfortably close view of the Rothian Object, which hung eerily suspended inside the staging area. Like the feed Freyr had seen earlier, it was so black that light didn’t reveal its spherical nature; rather it appeared as a black hole in the wall behind it. A low humming sound trickled through the speakers listening to it. “She’s a beauty, ain’t she?” The Facilitator cooed, walking around Freyr. “Dear gods.” Dr Wetherall muttered from behind her.