The aerial view currently being transmitted to the Delta Force by the microbot circling inside the habisphere looked like something that would win an avant‑garde film contest‑the dim lighting, the glistening extraction hole, and the well‑dressed Asian lying on the ice, his camel‑hair coat splayed around him like enormous wings. He was obviously trying to extract a water sample.
Weve got to stop him, said Delta‑Three.
Delta‑One agreed. The Milne Ice Shelf held secrets his team was authorized to protect with force.
How do we stop him? Delta‑Two challenged, still gripping the joystick. These microbots are not equipped.
Delta‑One scowled. The microbot currently hovering inside the habisphere was a recon model, stripped down for longer flight. It was about as lethal as a housefly.
We should call the controller, Delta‑Three stated.
Delta‑One stared intently at the image of the solitary Wailee Ming, perched precariously on the rim of the extraction pit. Nobody was anywhere near him‑and ice cold water had a way of muffling ones ability to scream. Give me the controls.
What are you doing? the soldier on the joystick demanded.
What we were trained to do, Delta‑One snapped, taking over. Improvise.