Fabienne Gschwind - The Fallen Heroine

"Does Tamara need extra publicity shots that she even raids two restaurant a day?" remarked Thibault, then awkwardly made his way to his apartment to refill his IV bags.

One of the posh restaurants agreed to deliver a full menu, on the house. Whether it was voluntary or whether Tartelette had helped out, we didn't know.

"Verinne de deux saumon dans sa gelée de madeire; Trio de l'agneau au piment d'espellette; gratin de pomme de terre dauphinoise; mousse au fruit de la passion sur lit de crème à la menthe," Tartelette read us the menu as we bent over the plates in full battle gear.

We ate up hungrily and then practiced bomb disposal.

Finally, around midnight, when Tartelette had gone to town (I have no idea where she lives) and Gabin and I were holding down the fort, another distress call came in almost as expected.

It was also an animal that had received a faulty antivirum. This time a German shepherd, but its owner had muzzled it thanks to the doctor's warning. Nevertheless, the dog had fled.

So I walked with Gabin all night through quiet St. Martin on Île de Ré, looking for the mutt. At one o’clock Tartelette came by, bored, walked around with us for an hour, and told me details about the use of flame bombs.

It was well known that repros were fascinated by flames and would stare into them motionless. Thus, an flame bomb, fire, or torch could be used to distract and kill the beasts. This method was popularly used in the backcountry: The units there lit fires in the evening, checked the spots before dawn, and killed the gathered repros without danger.

"Yup, go ahead, I'm going to do some fitness," she said at three in the morning.

As the town slowly woke up, it became easier as residents were supposed to report the dog to us immediately if they saw it. There were also promptly four false alarms from people who wanted to have seen something dog-like. A shot of Adalin made me feel better and more composed right away. Around seven o'clock Tartelette rejoined us and we had breakfast first.

"Tell me, mon Capitaine, do you sleep at all?"

Tartelette just laughed. "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" She had a black eye that she didn't have earlier. I wondered what she had been up to, during that short night. She saw my curious look.

"Little sports accident ..."

"Don't get carried away, kid!" bawled Thibault over the private radio. "Tartelette occasionally supplements her allowance by brawling in illegal boxing matches.”

"Oh nonsense ... I'm banned from there and nobody wants to fight me anymore. I was going to do a little sea kayaking tonight and when I docked, the paddle hit me in the face."

I must have looked completely befuddled because Tartelette laughed out loud. I imagined Tartelette competing in an old-fashioned boxing match in a dark backyard. It wasn't far-fetched.

It wasn't until late afternoon that we caught the repro hiding in a neighboring underground parking garage.

"It's a shame that animals don't wear tracking chips," Gabin commented, "but the animal rights activists have managed to get their way. To them, knowing exactly what animals are doing day in and day out is a serious violation of their privacy."

I could only agree with Gabin on that one. After all, everyone was wearing an NFC chip and polices and emergency forces could access the data and locate people if needed.

The NFC chips, - unfortunately I don't know what the abbreviation means - are used in all sorts of life situations. A truly gigantic step in technology; all bank payments, accesses, keys, and also access to all one's personal data were thus regulated. As a flip side, they could also be used as a location unit.

When we returned to the barracks, the climbing wall was set up by robots.

Gabin disappeared home, finding he had done enough now after 30 hours of non-stop duty. Meanwhile, I also knew Gabin’s Hobby. He had a whole cultivation of peppers in an allotment and took care of the plants in his spare time.

I went to the medicine cabinet in the basement and pocketed an Adalin injector and picked up a fresh box of dream inhibitors. That one might come in handy if I ever needed to perk up in a hurry. The medication helped me feel more relaxed and less anxious. Certainly I noted down the medications I took, after all, I was a no junkie.

Afterwards, Tartelette called me into the office. She showed me a large interactive map of Europe.

This was her famous software: a complicated program that recorded all the repros killed and used complicated algorithms and projections to show where the greatest danger of a repro outbreak was imminent. A masterpiece of programming art, it also helped make Tamara indispensable to ReS headquarters.

"There's always something going on in the Pyrenees. But that's also because any animals that are seen are shot down and no one checks to see if they're even repros," she explained to me, pointing to this mountain range where the repro density lit up red.

"Here in the Italian Alps, you should keep an eye on everything, there's always something going on there too. The Eifel anyway, even the tourists avoid the restored resorts there, way too many repros. And then these empty spots. Liguria surprises me, there it has always blinked normally in the last half year and now for months nothing more. Something is wrong there."

I looked at the map with interest for a while. As a big geography fan, this display had a special appeal for me. But then I was sent home. Finally! Quickly I went shopping, my account was already a bit fuller because of the videos, but it had nothing at all to do with the payments on my employment contract. The hazard pay had still not arrived and my inquiries to the ReS personnel department remained unanswered. I would have to check with Marjolaine, our secretary, on Monday.

When waking up, for a moment I wondered if I didn't deserve some days off. Or were they only planned for later? And when were the weekends? I gave up calculating and went to work. After all, it was so much habit that I didn't even know what I was supposed to do for a whole day off. I arrived first and met a beaming Tartelette returning from a forty-kilometer morning run.

I put my battle gear in the rack and let the computer run a diagnostic. While I was at it, I nibbled on one of the energy bars that were in boxes in the basement. They tasted good. Logically, otherwise our greedy boss would never have bought them.

As I climbed the stairs, Thibault awkwardly got out of the small elevator. He lived on the fourth floor of the barracks, and there were six small apartments. This was the most practical thing for Thibault, because due to the high paraplegia he was very limited in mobility since the accident and needed constant special care. A special infusion set kept him alive and his blood was filtered regularly. I knew that as soon as things were not hectic, he would order a nurse to help him with his hygiene. Because he didn't like his nursing robot. It was only something for emergencies.

Finally, I joined him and the others for breakfast.

"So guys, I've completely revamped our training schedule," Tartelette announced as we gathered around the table.

She showed tutorials and videos made especially for us. I looked forward to it all - with all this knowledge, I would soon be as good as any super agent in spy thrillers. I dreamed of becoming world famous and performing heroic deeds. Finally, the media would mention my name and not always refer to me as 'Tamara's shipboy'.

All morning long we did stretching exercises. Tartelette proved her twisted sense of fitness by having us do exercises on the ballet barre while she yelled in drill voice, "Plié! Tendue! Deuxième position! Grand plié!"