Chapter 10: Dear Mother, Please Don't Kill Us

Boyscout silently walked up to face Jack. He was tall and imposing in addition to having a masked, mirrored faceplate impossible to see through. Nonetheless, Jack glared.

Shaking his head, Boyscout spoke in exasperation. “How do you still not understand this situation, Citizen? We are conducting ourselves with the full authority of every high official of our culture, society, and species. Who the hell do you think you are to protest? You’re damned right I can put this anomalous, unknown entity in proper containment. What is your problem? Hmm? Is this your girlfriend? Weird fetish, man. Did you ever consider you might’ve been supernaturally charmed, Jack? Or are you just a boy that has to touch a hot stove to know what burning yourself like an idiot is?”

Jack let his jaw work a bit as he took a breath and avoided saying something he shouldn’t — yet again. Let’s just keep it short and sweet. And noninformative. Investigators like to dig and implicate. “She’s my friend. She’s a good person that doesn’t deserve this. It’s as simple as that.”

“Is okay, Jack,” Neex called from inside the sphere. A supportive smile was painted on her face, and she gave a firm, cheerful thumbs-up. Her head tentacles curled and emulated the gesture, if poorly. “Thank Jack. Good friend. No death!”

Taking another deep breath, Jack made himself return the thumbs-up and muttered, “No death.”

“Awww!” Lighthouse exclaimed. “Fraggin' cute. I think I see why he’s so protective.”

“Am I the only sane person here?” Boyscout queried breathlessly with his hands out. Grunting disgustedly, he slapped the vehicle frame and called, “Seal’r up!”

The hatch closed down and there was a definitive locking/sealing sound. Jack immediately reached out to Neex via brain-speak. “Neex, all is well?”

“Yes!” she replied enthusiastically, authentically unperturbed. “It’s a standard sealed housing, well-lit, with filtered air. Roomy. A place to sit. I’ve been instructed to strap a safety harness on after sitting down. Should I do that nude or is the shirt-robe okay? Handy that I can ask you that instead of the stranger.”

“Uh, yeah, clothing is better. Same goes for anything public in general.”

“Understood! Thanks!”

“Good luck, Neex. I don’t know what will happen from here.”

“I know. Good luck, Jack.”

Jack was silently brought to a separate Q-23, as he suspected would happen. He was more or less filed into the vehicle to take a sitting position in a chair, the forcefield contouring itself flexibly. The Q-23 had chairs on locking poles that could swivel, and a section between could create a wall between half of them, but that didn’t appear necessary. Boyscout and Lighthouse sat across from him, while InSite took the front passenger seat next to the pilot. That compartment was also separated by thick, transparent plastic. It was soundproof, too, requiring an intercom for dialog back and forth.

Jack noticed those across from him strapping themselves into their chairs, so he asked with false innocence, “What, I don’t get the same treatment? Not very safe of you.”

“I won’t let one hair on your head come to harm, Citizen,” Boyscout replied. “You’re safer than we are in that, trust me.”

“What’s your handle, anyway?”

“It doesn’t matter. Just think of me as the faceless executor of the People’s Will. That’ll be all for questions, Citizen. Shut up and relax. While you can.”

Much as it would be logical to relax, Jack was wired up. It was a messed up sort of wired — strained and depleted. Without the gifts he’d received, he’d probably have passed out by then. Maybe never have gotten up after the crash or moved fast enough to survive it in the first place…

Lucky. That’s what I am. I can do this. Everything is going to be fine.

The vessel lifted off and went cruising leisurely over the wilderness landscape of Eden making for the edge, though at a greater than ninety-degree angle upward while keeping everyone in the vehicle fully upright. Jack noted there were multiple other vessels spaced out and circling in every direction around the location. No chances being taken there.

“Would you just let it through? Okay? He needs it.” Lighthouse tossed a little silver pouch in an arc, which blorped through the force bubble to land in Jack’s lap. “Water. Want a juice, too? Isotonic.”

Jack nodded as he readied himself for another throw. “Orange?”

“How’d you know?”

“No one drinks it. Got me through a long trip once when I forgot my lunch pack and no one restocked the emergency rations. Had five orange pouches in the glove compartment of a shared vehicle. And one of those huge, awful crackers with grape jelly.”

Lighthouse laughed as she pulled out the pouch and tossed it to him. “Sorry. Nothing else on me, sadly — not even an awful cracker.”

“Are you kidding? I skipped breakfast. This is heaven right now.” Jack twisted off the cap and drank a wonderful, sugary mouthful.

“Skipped breakfast? You poor, downtrodden soul.”

Jack coughed and winced after swallowing. It was wonderful, yet also terrible. “Ahh. Just like I remember. Tangy chemical ass-juice when you have literally nothing else. Thanks.”

“I’m glad it meets the requirements of a fine connoisseur.”

Jack only nodded as he slurped the too-rich liquid down, then opened the water to use as a chaser.

“Stow that trash in your pocket, after,” Boyscout muttered. “It’s now part of your quarantine.”

“You got it, boss,” Jack replied, nodding. At least the guy had let the drinks come through.

Just as he was swallowing the water, a definitive threshold was crossed out of Eden’s territory. He felt it like passing from an airy void into a thick liquid at high speeds— a slap in every molecule.

No sooner than it happened it was over, though. And a horrifying pause stretched, like the silence and shock of the gods at an awkward, odd duck suddenly thrust before them. To smite or not to smite, was that the question?

A bit of text flashed in his head.

Jack swallowed a very dry throat, despite all the liquids he so recently imbibed. His heart was pounding. His life had felt more on the line than ever in that one split moment, but his head was still attached to his body. The people in the vehicle seemed unperturbed entirely, as if nothing had happened at all. InSite appeared to be chatting with the pilot, his hand gesturing emphatically. The other two seemed lost in their own thoughts, but calm and relaxed.

She’s aware of me. Memoria addressed me and knows me personally, even if she didn’t actually talk to me.

He thought there would be more, though. To Mini-Mem, he sent a query. <Mini-Mem, what’s the deal? Did you get updated? Shouldn’t something more be progressing?>

<I was accessed, not updated, Jack. As for progress, surely you expected such an anomalous scenario to end up not following the standard protocols. I happen to think you’re a smart boy. Good things come to those who wait!>

<I can think of a lot of bad things that could come, too, and I was not assured otherwise. Don’t tell me you didn’t detect that existential hiccup.>

<Surely you expected surprise, alarm, and threat assessment for such an anomalous scenario, Jack.>

<I see you’re not going to bother being helpful, either. Great.>

<Nothing has changed, Jack. You’re being taken to Nimrod for processing. I don’t detect any execution protocols. Honestly, if that was going to happen, I’d have been shut off, I think. But I can think of one thing to help with because I think you’re going to freak out about it. I just want to tell you: don’t freak out. You don’t need to.>

<What are you on about? Out with it.>

<She is still alive and healthy. Meaning Neex. Neex is fine! But. You’re quarantined from her, Jack. You are blocked from communicating with her by Memoria due to the way it must route through her. Now that Memoria is no longer ignorant due to the restrictions on Eden, she’s updated that particular vector of liability.>

Jack rather subconsciously switched to the brain-voice. “What!? Are you kidding me? Liability!?” Jack quickly tried to send something to make contact with Neex and get a response. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. “What the frag!? This is pure bullshit! She could’ve told me!”

<I’m not sure on what conscious level that act was performed, honestly. It is logical to separate you in that way — for now. I’m not sure Neex has even been moved out of Eden yet. She might get held there. I could make a case for not bringing her across that threshold.>

Jack shifted in his seat, his eyes flashing to the others. He could hardly gripe to them about something they didn’t even know about; he could hardly gripe to Mini-Mem, who was just a local computer AI, basically. He had precisely no channel to complain to other than an apparent ‘absentee superior,’ effectively.

He switched back to the thought-text. <Can you send a message to Memoria?>

<Normally, there’s a better route for such communication, but yes. I’m your only option right now. She’ll get to it when she gets to it.>

<How thoughtful. Okay, I’ll draft it. Off the cuff. Alright, here goes…>

<Processed and sent. Wowza. Quite a manuscript, here. Do you really think this is necessary?>

<Doesn’t matter. I feel better.>

<Well, good for you, Jack! Seriously. And it looks like your transport time is almost over.>

He looked out to see the unusually close sight of the top of the Great Tower. A massive dome with a great lightning rod at the top, and jutting from it and floating clustered all around it was a multitude of communication towers, sensor arrays, and weapon platforms. Just before the curve of the dome, the typical irregular gradation of panels that was the tower proliferated, ostensibly appearing to be light filtering through transparent windows, as existed in truth lower in the tower. Thick plastic stronger than the metal around it, supposedly.

In the case of Fort Nimrod, however, the panels were false.

The vessel approached an apparent huge window, but then went under it and back up into a small, featureless hangar bay. The opening closed behind them. Jack held his breath.

They passed very slowly through, and after a few moments, the wall ahead of them smoothly slid out of the way. They picked up speed quickly, passing through an area as thick as a warehouse.

Jack let out his breath. Memoria — or, he supposed, her subsystems — could crush a threat detected inside that ‘airlock’ like a pancake, with zero chance of escape.

Damn, was that quick or what? Rolling out the red carpet. I had to wait twelve minutes last time.

He’d been less than a dozen times since his military days, utilizing his ‘Z’ clearance to transport those who wanted to dodge the elevators for whatever reason. Most base personnel who did that had their own vessel or had a friend ferry them because a taxi was pretty much among the lowest priority for approval. Most of his clients had been drunk sorts smart enough to promise a fat extra tip.

Under a massive dome was a deceptively small military base in the center, with a suspiciously large amount of relatively barren metal acreage surrounding it. All of it was sectioned into zones marked by towers with huge glowing numbers displayed on them. Jack knew they were primarily covered hangars housing an army of drones, vehicles, missiles, and the top brass only knew what else.

Nukes, maybe. It was an exceptionally classified subject, but one greatly speculated upon by the rank and file. Rumors seemed to be tolerated on it, which made info exceptionally dubious. By any sane deduction, though, they were as rare as one-winged angels.

One hangar panel was open in the flats right then, to admit thirty or forty ten-meter stealth drones like big, gray wings, the ends already folded up as they lowered in sync. Almost perfectly in sync. To Jack’s trained eye, he could tell they were being operated by drone pilots, probably conducting one of their innumerable training exercises. Their size and look made them hybrids — capable of powered engine flight without levitation if needed, out on the frontiers where Memoria’s power waned.

Their vehicle passed over it all to zoom to the center base and land on an upper roof pad he’d never been to, smack in the middle atop Central Processing’s tower.

Central — Fraggin' — Processing. Holy shit.

“Quite a high honor,” Jack muttered as they locked in anchorage on the roof next to a nearby elevator. “Certainly not what I expected. Medical and Psych? Quarantine?”

“These are our orders,” Boyscout said in a failed attempt at a flat tone — he was plainly annoyed — as he undid the straps around him to exit. “I’m done being curious about it. Or you.”

Lighthouse exited as well, and Jack more or less floated afterward. The pilot and InSite appeared to be staying in the vehicle. Jack’s head, enshrouded by the forcefield, ‘banged’ on the slight lip of the roof just before the exit.

“Hey!” Jack protested. Despite a vague sense of jarring, he wasn’t hurt. “You did that on purpose.”

Boyscout turned around. “Huh? Shit, you hit your head? Should’ve been watching.”

“How would I-?! No, see, you hit my head-”

“I meant me. I should’ve been watching.”

Coming around, Lighthouse snorted. “A subconscious slip, eh? Gotta watch those.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Jack replied with a frown, unsure if he should believe it. “No hanging me over the edge of the building for window cleaning, though, lest another ‘accident’ occur.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Boyscout insisted adamantly. “I’d never-” He cut himself off with a scoff and turned on his heels to head for the elevator. “Let’s just get this over with. I need a smoke.”

To the brief tune of Lighthouse’s amused laughter, they entered a heavy-duty elevator and went down a few clicks. The doors opened into a lobby vacant except for an attractive, impeccably semi-uniformed — Since when do they have skirts? — secretary, apparently waiting for them in front of the counter, hands folded and a polite smile on her lips. Over red curls of hair, she had on a hat tilted sideways, the winged sun symbol of Babylon emblazoned in the center.

That symbol was taboo and illegal for just anyone to wear. It denoted the official administrators and servants of Memoria. The government of the government.

Before Boyscout could say anything, the secretary held out two welcoming hands and warmly greeted Jack specifically. “Welcome to Central Processing, Mr. Laker.” Her hands dropped and folded at her lap. “We’d like to extend our firm desire and intention for fair and upright dealings in the processing of your situation. Please rest assured all conduct within these walls is vetted rigorously — internally, of course.”

“Wait,” Boyscout started, “What exactly is-”

“You’re dismissed, Agent Girdle,” the secretary smoothly interrupted with a firm look. “You may drop your containment bubble and exit. Agent Lighthouse. We have it from here. Thank you.”

Girdle, huh?

Agent Girdle was quite surprised. “What? Are you sure, ma’am? This guy-”

This time, Lighthouse interrupted, and only with a loudly cleared throat.

Girdle seemed to shake himself. “Yes, ma’am.” He dropped the bubble, which almost caused Jack to trip as he suddenly had new footing and balance to account for.

Jack didn’t bother protesting. Instead, he grinned at the helmeted figure now saluting the secretary. “Girdle is perfect for you, by the way.”

The helmet turned slightly as Girdle dropped the salute, and Jack felt like he was being studied. Perhaps memorized. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard come out of your mouth today, Citizen.” With that, he turned on his heels to march away. Even his walk was ‘no nonsense.’

Perfectly lame, that is. ‘Boyscout’ would’ve been even better.

Lighthouse lingered briefly. “Don’t mind him. He’s just not a fan of things he can’t control. Sucks for him in this line of work. Anyway, good luck with everything.”

“Thanks. And thanks again for the juice maneuver. Do you get to take it easy, now?”

Lighthouse made a long, doubtful ‘Tsssh’ sound. “There’s always hope, right?” With that, she turned to follow after her captain.

Through it all, the secretary had waited patiently. She smiled and nodded to Jack once he made eye contact. “Follow me, please.” She turned around and led Jack down a hallway to the side of the front desk. Her heels clicked on a marble floor and Jack walked through the wake of some perfume she was wearing.

I wonder if I smell it due to the sensory boost…

The architecture and lighting were subtle but had an intent. ‘High-quality official,’ he’d say. A careful avoidance of dingy and clinical, a splash of cultured character. Lots of polished hardwood paneling; calming mood lighting down the liminal corridor.

They went past rows of closed doors and after one turn down some more, they went through one that was already open.

Jack was somewhat disappointed to see an obvious ‘questioning room.’ Obvious to him, anyway — it wasn’t intimidating and didn’t have the stereotypical observation window. It even had a water cooler. One could confuse it for a small conference room or breakroom. But there was no refrigerator or kitchen area, a black camera shield was in one corner, and a hardwood table and chair were set in the center. Mood lighting again. Calm but serious.

The secretary turned and gestured with a hand. “Have a seat, please. An agent will be with you shortly. Would you like some coffee?”

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