Brady snatched his computer fast enough to surprise the fed in blue and strode towards the gates. They opened, and he led his team past the layers of security into the facility.
"You have orders for lodging and supplies," the fed said, hurrying to catch up to him. "Decontam chamber is that way."
Brady turned in the direction indicated and yanked open the door to a dark room with a glowing red floor. The medic gave him a worried look as he passed, and Brady's gaze went again to the wounded soldier. The decontamination chamber sealed itself. Heat then red light washed over them. Faster than he expected, the door opposite them opened.
"Where's the med station?" Brady snapped. He stepped through to a massive atrium with a marble floor, pillars, and water fountain surrounded by small gardens. The facility was clean and elegant with crisp light emanating from glowing orbs on the walls.
"This way," the fed said, starting down a corridor lined with gilded mirrors and marble statues. "I'm Planey, in charge of security here at the hospital. Your communiqué-"
"Is this real?" one of the men trailing asked in surprise. "Light, water, you have food, too?"
Planey looked from Brady to the soldier before motioning them down another hallway and quickening his step. Two more men in blue appeared, trailed by two in pale red leading a self-propelled gurney. They paused a safe distance from Brady's restless team.
"These doctors will take care of the injured," Planey explained.
Brady stepped aside first, and the others followed his lead. The four men were clean, neatly dressed, and without the signs of lack of sleep or food that Brady's men displayed. Brady watched the feds, irritated at the pockets of elite unaffected by the squalid conditions the non-elite were forced to live in.
He looked over his team, whose mission was to protect both the elite and non-elite. They were hearty, dedicated men, but their gear was damaged, their protective suits sloppily stitched in many places, their boots in need of soles. There were circles under their eyes and strain in their features.
The disparity disturbed him. This was why he'd followed in his father's and grandfather's footsteps in running a militia to challenge the elite's power and affluence while the rest of the people served the elites or went into the regular military, the only two reputable professions. The rest of the population lived on the streets or underground.
"We don't need lodging," he said. "We've got other teams out there who need us. We'll take the supplies and come back for our team member when he's well."