Called, page 12
“Taking out the modern Carlton connection concludes the cryo units and the medical pod were accidentally uncovered by an unknown explosion and that they had been a secret to the recently deceased occupants of that farm.”
“They had a connection to Carlton—distant—but still.”
“Wait until you see the genetics.”
Giovanna poked her head in, “All finished here?”
Simeon quickly recovered. “So, you believe this unit predates Conglomerate health services?” The two men hurried to meet Giovanna outside the pod, stepping back into the larger work area.
“Sure does - primitive by current standards but would have been outfitted with enough equipment to support and treat at least fifty bodies.”
“Any evidence of that many people having used it?”
“Negative. Only four.”
“There were only two farm residents, so how could there have been four? Have you been able to sample any genetic signatures from the cryo units?”
“To answer that, we’d best take a look at what Doctor Chakravarti has found, sir,” Giovanna interjected, leading him toward the genetics theater embedded in the space beneath the stairs.
Simeon’s mind was racing. He wished they hadn’t been interrupted.
What was Freddy talking about? Besides cryo, the team hadn’t shown him anything pointing to Jonas Carlton.
Simeon’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting.
“Mister Godwin, hello.”
“Doctor Chakravarti, I hear you may have good news.”
“Objectively, news simply is. The concept of news being good or bad stems entirely from the bias known to pervade entertainment masquerading as information. I trade in facts and must protest presenting so soon. We have not had time to conduct a thorough enough investigation, and unanswered questions remain. I am unconvinced that we have enough evidence to support the conclusions in our findings. This information will be used to detain citizens, and it is my duty to ask that we do so respectfully.”
“Noted, Doctor Chakravarti,” Simeon said with a polite smile. “I am sure you understand that the discovery of unlicensed cryo is taken quite seriously. I most certainly do not want to rush your investigation, yet this case represents a serious transgression. You may continue your analysis, but I must be kept abreast of any developments after this point. Please, indulge me with a progress report.”
“Very well, sir,” Jumaline acquiesced. “As Miss Rostand showed, there were remnants and duplicated parts enough to suggest three cryo units. This fits with the conclusions we have made from the available genetic signatures. The alpha unit—the most damaged—is of superior construction to the remaining units. The beta and delta units seem rudimentary in comparison. They were likely made in the image of the first, rather than by the same hands.”
“Would you say one predated the others?”
“There are more synthetic minerals in the composition of the beta and delta, indicating they were completed later.”
“How are you determining their relationship to the alpha?”
“They are the same design—one MAIA recognized.” The projected units disappeared and were replaced by a schematic. “MAIA analyzed several thousands of pieces of debris, including the reconstructions the team produced; however, these schematics bear a ninety-six percent similarity to those originally proposed by the original inventor.”
Jumaline paused, expecting a reaction that didn’t come.
She cleared her throat.
“As is commonly known, even the earliest successes in using those designs could only be about eighty percent faithful. Most required rework to function, but these appear far closer to the original concept.”
“Why do you suppose that might be?”
“I’m not here to suppose, Mister Godwin; I only present concrete findings based on the available evidence.”
“Fine, then, what does the evidence tell you, Doctor Chakravarti?”
“This evidence points to one almost irrefutable conclusion,” Freddy’s voice came from the doorway as he stepped into the theater. “One of these units was made by Jonas Carlton..”
Jumaline’s face froze in a mask of frustration.
Simeon whirled around, “Made by him?”
“His is one of the genetic signatures we found,” Freddy responded.
Genetic evidence was far more than a passing connection. This would definitely hamper Simeon’s ability to keep his inquiries private.
“You were able to sample genetic signatures?”
“She was,” Freddy said, gesturing to Jumaline.
“That is correct, thank you, Doctor Orson,” she continued stiffly. “As I was saying, Mister Godwin, all units record the genetic signature when putting a subject into a cryogenic state. It is necessary to calibrate the exact ratios of the sustaining solutions. We identified four genetic signatures between the three units.”
“Were you able to match either with the remains from the scene? What about the more recent remains I brought from Jericho’s suburbs?”
One by one, genetic signatures appeared on the screen as Jumaline continued, “The first three genetic signatures have been identified. The first, MAIA matched with Subject Number One. The second matched the bones found in the fire’s aftermath.”
“What about the third?”
“The third was a match for the remains found along the Expressway in Jericho Suburb 17,” said Jumaline reluctantly.
“An excellent instinct you had there, sir,” Freddy said slyly.
“Then who is the fourth?” Simeon looked at her expectantly while Jumaline glared at Freddy, who shrugged apologetically. Jumaline shook her shoulders, the slight forgiven but not forgotten.
“Mister Godwin, despite what Doctor Orson would have you believe, we have yet to identify the fourth one.”
She changed the projection to overlay add the final signature to the screen.
“But…that looks like…”
“It certainly does. An overwhelming number of genetic markers in common despite the incompleteness of the sample,” Jumaline said blankly.
Simeon couldn’t believe his eyes.
A child?
How could he keep any of this to himself if there was a whisper of evidence suggesting that a descendant of Subject Number One existed, let alone that they had been unearthed as part of a newly exposed unlicensed cryo scene in Exurb 32?
Simeon realized he had taken a huge risk, having managed to keep everything a secret until now. If he were suspected of a betrayal this deep, would he survive?
He was getting closer, though; he could feel it.
“Am I to understand that this lab has no other conclusions about the fourth signature?” Simeon asked.
Jumaline shifted uncomfortably. Her head almost imperceptibly shook.
Simeon looked at Giovanna.
“Our reporting is not yet conclusive on that subject, sir.”
“Surely the team has a working theory?” He turned to Freddy, pleading with him silently. Simeon wasn’t even sure what he wanted at this point. Once the Conglomerate knew about a child, forces far more powerful than Simeon would start looking.
Jumaline opened her mouth to speak, but Freddy jumped in again, “It is safe to conclude the fourth signature belongs to a direct descendant of Subject Number One. A daughter.”
Expressway to Zion
It felt good to step out of the library’s basement, even if only into the hazy air of 31-2 Junction.
In a matter of a few sols, Pauly turned me into a minor scholar on the subject of my own parents. Honestly, I don’t know that I studied that hard during my time at Antioch. It still feels strange to think of the larger-than-life Jonas Carlton as my father, but at least I know more about them both.
Under the Articles of Incorporation, the Conglomerate can Assume any business. When they took NovaGen, all of my parents’ research and patents were forfeit. Their team at NovaGen believed so strongly in my parents’ vision that many resisted the takeover that followed Dad’s arrest. Pauly’s records showed that the vast majority were silenced, but a few managed to leave the organization and escape the Incorporated zones.
I knew there was a vague connection between my father and cryo, but I’ve come to understand it was much more than that. He claimed the science would be a means of preserving life in the face of mortality. Cryogenics had awesome potential for studying disease—preserving patients until a cure could be found.
Unfortunately, the Conglomerate and my father disagreed on the most appealing possible use. Dad was horrified to learn the Chairman intended to use cryo to destroy lives rather than try to preserve them. My father’s resistance pitted him against the Chairman, putting a substantial target on his back.
The Conglomerate teaches life beyond the Citadel is wild, lawless, and almost impossible to survive. On the Outside, there’s no service, no utilities, no sustenance, no shelter. I’ve never been outside a Citadel except on the Expressway where the tracks are covered so you can’t see anything. The walls were too tall on the farm and my residentials never had windows. Some of the towers in the centers are tall enough to see the Outside, but I’ve never been up that far.
Yet here I am, planning to simply walk out through a Gateway.
Well, not me.
Heather Farmer.
It isn’t as though I can return to being River Mason, and it is way too dangerous to be Clementine anything. I had an even better idea of why Marya had been afraid. The Guardians wouldn’t have just taken me. They would have held her and Jeb, too.
Working with Pauly to create my new identity was eye-opening, to say the least. Like so many things from when I was younger, I never thought much about what went into it. You can’t just create fake versions of all the necessary academic records, but existing ones are easy to doctor. Pauly explained that other Exurbers’ hard-earned achievements would at least count for something if little pieces were stitched together. A knowledge credit or exam score here and there, each transferred to a new owner, and it looked like I had every right to be on a train bound for Triple A.
The fastest way from 32 to Antioch is the local Expressway that runs through Jericho and Zion. They’re the only twin citadels, connected along the norvern edge. I can get all the way through Zion to 47-8, where I will change trains to a reserved seat on the Antioch Express.
Because Heather Farmer was traveling to Academy, it made sense for her to bring a large bag. I don’t know how he managed it, but Pauly delivered some great gear. He even got his hands on some new apparel made with temperature-regulating fibers. No matter where I was, the clothing would adapt and keep me warm or cool me down based on my body temperature. It was also zoned so it could keep my arms cool while simultaneously warming my ankles.
Naturally, I also made sure there was room for a few bits of tech in the bag. Pauly told me no one else ever had my level of interest and let me take some of the tools from the workshop. Saying goodbye to him was really hard. Pauly was all I had left, with Jeb and Marya gone. He had done so much for me.
For all his help, I wasn’t entirely honest with him either. I never told him about the papers I found in the barn, nor the letter Marya gave me from her recipe box. In it, she said she loved me and that raising me had been her greatest joy. She regretted losing me but knew that I was never really hers, only in her care.
It wasn’t enough, but it felt good to have some closure after the way…
Her journal—
Logbooks.
Huh?
They were not journals, they were logbooks.
What’s the difference?
A journal is used to record one’s personal thoughts and feelings. A logbook is used to record data.
Fine…the logbooks…only raised more questions. After my mother was abducted, my father asked Marya to keep me safe. She brought me to the farm where I spent my first solaris as their daughter. At first, she documented everything about me. It was like I had been some sort of science project for her: my mental and cognitive development, even a gross listing of the contents and consistency of my bowel movements.
Around a solaris later, my father returned with components from each of the labs he visited; he had collected all of the pieces he needed to put together a unit. When it was ready, I was put in, and then he recorded that message on the URL bar. After he finished at the farm, Dad drew attention to Argatha, where the Guardians eventually arrested him.
Once I was in cryo, Marya’s logs changed to regular updates on the unit’s performance and a recording of my vital signs. They monitored any evidence of the unit deteriorating or me growing in order to calculate how long I could stay in stasis. Dad had given them most of the materials needed to create two more cryo units.
After five solarii of observing my unit’s minor power fluctuation and no evidence of my body growing, Marya and Jeb ran the first tests on their own units. The last logs narrated preparations to safeguard themselves and the farm while they went into stasis with me. Marya wasn’t clear about what exactly we were waiting for and didn’t keep records after we woke up.
Or, if she had, she didn’t save them.
A few pages had been torn out of the final book though. If those pages had been on the farm, they were collected as evidence or destroyed.
In her letter, Marya also said they knew they would be called upon to give their lives for me. That they understood the terms when they took me in. Despite everything, she said they were glad to have done their part.
I hoped to make peace with the loss of Jeb and Marya, but it will take a long time to accept that they expected to die all along, only to protect me. What Marya wrote felt too personal to share and I didn’t want to talk about my time in cryo until I had thought about my feelings more.
Knowing Pauly planned to destroy the rest, I snuck Marya’s logbooks into the pile and said nothing.
The sol shone brightly as I emerged from the alley to face the first test: 31-2 Station. I needed to get on the Expressway without drawing any notice from the Guardians. Heather Farmer was real enough for the ruse to work, but if I were detained, they’d sample my genetic signature, which would match River Mason.
Hard to explain.
Thank goodness the Conglomerate doesn’t know both women are actually Clementine.
Entering the station, instead of an increased presence, there was the obligatory sole Guardian. Pauly had been right to wait—things were back to normal. Even so, I was hooded and masked. I focused on breathing to remain calm until the cars came in for boarding and I could find a seat.
The Expressway car eased into motion, the sol’s light beginning to glitter through the windows. Looking out at the Junction, I wondered if I would see this place again.
Would I survive long enough to make a return trip?
Even if I did, who would I be coming to see?
Unsure of much else about her, I decided Heather Farmer was sad to be leaving home. Her lips quivered as the Jericho Exurbs disappeared into the distance behind her.
Suite 16
Simeon exited Lab 4 calmly but was soon rushing for the safety of his office. The team had not disappointed, but he was leaving with new questions to answer—and a much larger puzzle to solve.
How much would he have to share with the Board because of the ties to the unlicensed cryo?
Would he be able to keep his own investigation going without attracting attention?
How were there no records of Carlton having a child?
Would he be able to find her?
There were so many threads to follow that it made his head spin. Jonas Carlton’s previously unknown daughter was one of three kept in unlicensed cryo on a farm in a Jericho Exurb?
As if by rote, Simeon blazed through the approval protocols. He was thankful for new information to work with since Processing still hadn’t finished the transcription. Reportedly the ink had deteriorated, making the certainty calculations take longer than anticipated. From what they had, it was an innocuous entry in a lab notebook used when building the cryo units.
Giovanna knew how seriously the Board took cryo and the warranted expedience. Her team had, once again, delivered, and she would redirect them to their previous investigation.
Except for Jumaline.
Laboratory analysis was only meant to support prosecutorial review. If there were a clear victim at the scene or a high-confidence match, Simeon would have a list of suspects. Because of Jumaline’s insistence that there were no reliable matches, he had been forced to offer her the opportunity to finish her work on the “as-yet unidentified” genetic signature. It was unlikely she was interested in the Carlton connections, but she seemed perturbed by something. Simeon made a silent wish that Freddy would keep an eye on her.
Back in his suite with the doors closed behind him, Simeon turned IRIS off so he could be alone with TESS.
“Catch me up, darling.”
“At your request, Guardians returned from 32 with no new evidence because the units could not fit inside the bolt hole discovered at the base of the well.”
“It’s just as likely the Joneses had no idea it was there. Thank you, darling. Keep looking for anything new. Let me check in with your sister.”
He flipped the switch once again, and IRIS returned to the room.
“Ma’am?”
“In a review of the ocular footage recorded near the explosion, I found little of importance. The barn is removed enough from the property line and is partially hidden behind the hill on which the farmhouse stood. Even recordings that captured the explosion only saw reflected flames and billowing smoke. No footage exists that identifies any subjects at the scene; we are still reliant on simulations from the video evidence.”
“Explosions used to draw crowds with everyone hoping to go viral. These kinds of things always catch Exurbers’ attention.” IRIS displayed some of the available ocular footage, and Simeon had to admit that it wasn’t close enough to discern if it were flames or the brilliant orange red of the setting sol. “Catalog all of it for records and commence a search for any record created in the time window preceding and following the explosion.”
