<em>"Since you have a name for them, am I correct in thinking that youve' seen them before? Were your weapons effective against them in the past?"</em><br/><br/>The unnamed soldier was halfway through the observation corridor when Sean spoke.  His head turned slightly and exposed the curve of his visor.<br/><br/>"I can't disclose that information," he said flatly, then turned to face forward as Sean and Zoey spoke.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Taylor and Fitzsimmons appear to be in fine condition, but they do not react to Alec's gesture.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The window on your right offered a full view of the people huddled in the Holding Area, but the deep tint of the glass and the dim lighting on your side indicated that they would only see their reflections if they tried to gaze through.  A one-way mirror.  Inscribed or drawn on the glass are a grid of faint grey lines, so thin and light that you're surprised you even spotted them.  They are spaced equidistantly, marking out half-meter intervals horizontally and vertically.<br/><br/>Boots thumping across the gently vibrating rubberized floor, you note that the tilt of the plane is increasing ever so slightly; not to the extreme degree as it had during the encounter with the Augurs, but it is noticeable.  The pressure in your ears is building at a fast pace, however.  It was not readily apparent if this rapid descent was intended or the result of the attack on the plane.<br/><br/><hr/><br/>The unnamed soldier paused in front of the CIC door as Zoey responded to Sean.  He punched in a long alphanumeric code and degloved his right hand.  Before he could press his thumb to the biometric sensor, the door slid open with a dull hiss of pressurized air.<br/><br/>A tall woman swaddled in an arctic suit stood in the doorway, hunched beneath the low ceiling, her pale face looking out at you.  A few curls of black-grey hair stuck out beneath the cowl of her hood, etching shadows across her tall forehead.  The corners of her steel-grey eyes and small mouth were crinkled, her forehead and cheeks developing the first hills and valleys of post-menopausal wrinkles.  A professional set of glasses rested on a nose that was slightly too large for her face, but what she lost in attractiveness she gained back in charm.  Her's was a kind face, a clever face, one that laughed often and always had a smart comeback at the ready.  She looked fit to chuckle even now, her lips cracked by a thin smile.<br/><br/>"It actually is an organosilicate, Dr. Calhoun, albeit one not arranged in any structure that makes sense biologically."  Her voice bore the faintest hint of a Kiwi accent, buried beneath an otherwise authentic sounding Midwest clip, and beneath that was a vague familiarity, of warmth and memories recently remembered.<br/><br/>She stepped through the doorway and the unnamed soldier stepped back, positioning himself like a bodyguard, hands still resting casually on his rifle.  The door closed behind her, cutting off your brief view of a short room with a desk and chairs.<br/><br/>"Silicon, carbon, oxygen, iron, titanium, trace uranium, nitrogen, phosphorous," she listed, ticking them off gloved fingers as she went.  The smile had faded quickly, and her voice now took on a serious tone.  "A trillion individual particles, each autonomous, or at least we think so.  We've never seen anything like what just attacked us; that is, a self-propelled, self-powered, and openly aggressive specimen.  Normally it's just lumpy goop in a glass gar.  Mobile?  Somewhat.  Sapient?  Maybe, jury's still out.  Deadly?  Not unless you eat it.<br/><br/>"Now, I could spend days telling you everything we know about the Augurs -- their chemical makeup, their reproductive methods, etc. etc. -- and it would be a mere drop in the ocean of truth.  So here's what needs to be known: they are numerous, they are very dangerous, and they are<em>here</em>.  On Earth and above it."<br/><br/>Kai stood behind you, but now she was sidling up between you and the one-way mirror as if intending to join the unnamed soldier.  His visor turned slightly in her direction, and she stopped.  The woman eyed them coolly, then tsk'd and made a matronly patting gesture in the air in front of her.  "Hands off the AIR now, Gerry," she chided, spelling out the acronym.<br/><br/>Gerry lowered his hands to his sides.  They came to rest not all that far, you may note, from where his pistol hung snug in its holster.<br/><br/>The woman looked back toward you and the other three survivors.  "My name is Abigail Czeremin, but do us all a kindness and call me Czar.  No need to introduce yourselves, since I know who all of you are.  What I don't know is why a certain..."  She paused, searching for the right word.  "<em>Seeker</em>is sending you text messages.  I'll remind you that we're currently spiraling towards the Antarctic plateau, and any information you can provide on this front would probably be necessary if we're to survive more than hour down there.  Let alone the world."