“The Glock.9mm semi-automatic disposable hand gun was designed for police use but will meet our needs rather nicely. You will notice the protruding twenty-five-round magazine here, the over-sized safety here, and the thumb-activated laser sight there. Each weapon is capable of firing up to three magazines prior to deactivating itself.” Norris smiled. It appeared and disappeared so fast I couldn’t be sure that I’d seen it at all.

“So, if we lose a team member,” Norris continued, “and the scrappers grab their weapon, there’s a limit to how much damage they can inflict with it.”

The guy next to me cleared his throat nervously. He had the soft, pot-bellied look of an off-duty security guard. “What if we need more than three magazines?”

Norris raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Then we are in deep shit. Seventy-five rounds should be more than adequate for this particular mission, but if it isn’t, then use your own piece as a backup. Satisfied?”

He wasn’t, but the man swallowed and nodded his head anyway. I made a mental note to stay as far away from him as I possibly could. They guy had “casualty” written all over him, and I had no desire to die.

After that we were issued one-size-fits-damned-near-everybody body armor, feather-light headsets, and a call sign. Norris invented them on the spot, and mine was “Lurch.” It could have been worse, so I didn’t complain.

Then, exactly one hour and fifteen minutes after Jaspers had started his presentation, we were ready to go. And not through the public walkways as I had assumed, but down through the nearly empty lift tubes, stairways, and corridors normally reserved for Zeebs and other officials.