"Each of you will be full to the brim with motivational boosters to keep you oriented to the mission. You won't stray, whatever the temptations. We'll install undetectable barriers against psychic probes; then there are…"
"Damn you, Ram." Brad cut in, his voice crackling with rage. "You sons of bitches are going to robotize us. Expendable is bad enough; you're programming us into suicide."
"Not quite, Brad. Hear me out."
Ram paced restlessly as he spoke, his tall, slender frame swaying, his head changing direction to maintain eye contact.
Brad rose and stood erect, legs apart, fists on hips, fury pouring out in his body language.
"Your team has just been assembled," Ram said, "yet we don't have a moment to lose to get you in place and operational. Orientation and training will allow no more than four sleeps. The special knowledge and skills each you needs for this mission will be implanted into your conscious and subconscious minds, and, as it suits our needs, into your survival instincts. We have a long history at this game."
Brad rose and strode angrily up the aisle to the door and pressed the panel that would slide it open. The panel did not function. Other than raise his eyes to follow him to the door, Ram continued talking as if Brad had remained nearby. After a moment's hesitation, Brad returned to his seat. Ram paused and gazed at Brad sympathetically.
"If you're all going to operate like a well-lubed machine, without appearing to be doing so," he said, "you'll need all the gimmicks we can hang on to each of you."
Ram shrugged and went on, "News of your escape will be broadcast system-wide; all part of the cover. They'll be suspicious for quite a while, but you've got to infiltrate, despite the risks.
"The mission has many subtleties; you must all understand how they interact. Above all, you must never, despite the most extreme interrogation, betray the mission. In that sense, yes, you are expendable. Small comfort, I know, but insurance against betrayal will entail a simple psy-mod."