Called, page 9
Love.
I took another sip from the tea to gather myself, looking up at Pauly again. “So, how long was I in cryo? How old does it make me?”
“I suspect you were born in 4 or 5 CE, just shy of a centad ago. You’re in your twenties now, meaning you would have been in cryostasis for nearly eight decennia.”
“Why didn’t I age?”
“In stasis, the body doesn’t mature.”
“In the video, there was only one unit. Jeb and Marya must have gotten theirs somewhere else?”
“They built them.”
I blinked, struggling to imagine that.
“They were not forthcoming about their past. That’s why they cut ties with you. Marya was many things, but she understood that once you were in the system, contact with them or the farm could reveal the connection.”
“I thought she was just afraid of Guardians.”
“She was afraid of meeting the same fate as your father.”
That knocked me back into the couch. I curled up, hugging my knees. Sensitive as ever, Pauly rose and collected my mug, taking the pair of them to the sink.
“Your father understood the importance of keeping his work out of the wrong hands, so he hid it well. The Conglomerate propagated all of the lore around Subject Number One because everyone enjoys the lure of the forbidden. So far, no one has found the Trail.”
“He said there was no technology, no secret. There was just me.”
Pauly stopped what he was doing and turned to me, “What did he say exactly?”
“I only saw it once…”
“With your memory? I bet you can play the whole thing back in your head. Surely, he told you something: a task? A place? He had a lab in Argatha.”
“He said not Argatha. He said Bethelton.”
“Bethelton…” he repeated to himself.
“Isn’t it outside Zion?”
“Norf of the Gateway at Zion 56.”
“You know of it?”
“Originally, Zion was planned further norf, and they were going to extend it into the cliffs to connect it with Elysium more directly. They carved out some of the tunnels before the project was deemed untenable. Outsiders tried to settle there, but the Conglomerate razed it a while back. It’s just a landfill quarry now.”
“How do I get there?”
“Oh, so ready to go now, are we?” He set my mug aside to dry. “To leave a Citadel through a Gateway, you’ll need an identity… and I think you should consider a new one.”
The magnitude and permanence of the change to my life were starting to sink in.
This time, the emotion was sadness, followed by surprise, when I found that I felt sad about leaving my life in Jericho behind.
“Pauly, what’s happening?”
“We’ll figure it out. You stay here, and I’ll hunt for some gear, and we can work on the identity. I doubt they’ll open 31-2 until next sol at the earliest anyway.”
“I can’t hide down here and wait, I’ll go crazy. I need to understand more about how this connects to me.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Setting his mug on the drying rack, he flung the water off his hands into the sink and wiped them on the sides of his slacks. “It’s good you can read paper: my archives are not digital. I have spent my life trying to understand what Subject Number One was searching for, and a lot of that information is right here in this library.” He slipped from the room.
What a weird septad. So much has changed since I was a child using this workshop to learn about tech. Suddenly, my safe haven felt a lot smaller.
“Pauly, do you think it’s safe for me to try to go to Bethelton?” I called to him.
“I think you’ll find your way there.”
“Want to come along?”
“My history won’t stand up to scrutiny. Besides, there’s not much more I’m going to be good for anyway,” he said as his voice came closer again. “This is everything I have on your father, his lab, the investigation, and his trial, CTE – everything. This is probably the only archive of your father in existence, and it should help you understand what he was trying to do. Start with the theory on the algorithm.”
“Pauly, I don’t think...”
“One step at a time. Stay here and study up like old times. I will forage for gear, and we can make you another identity before you leave for Bethelton.”
The methodical approach was helpful, and I felt calmer.
“I just don’t want to do it alone, I guess.”
The adrenaline rush had worn off, and I felt the weight of fatigue.
Actual, genuine fatigue.
Thinking back on it, I realize it has been a wild sol.
“This task was given to you but wait, just one moment.” He darted from the room, and I heard rummaging. Within a few moments, he returned and handed me one of the old radio dialers.
“They’re old enough that no one tracks that kind of signal. With your booster, you should be able to contact me from Bethelton without too much fear of anyone overhearing. The Conglomerate never dismantled the old radio signals. They just stopped producing tech that used them.”
“Thank you, Pauly,” I yawned suddenly.
“No rush. You can stay here as long as you need to. Get some rest.”
The fatigue was thicker now.
I blinked, and the door was closed.
I licked my lips and rolled over, burrowing into the couch.
Zion Centre, Lab 4
Jumaline Chakravarti was thoroughly unsettled by her current predicament. Creating a suspect profile was something she had done a thousand times before, yet she was finding the routine task impossible in the given circumstances.
A product of the agriscience hub in Shambhala, Jumaline had full raven hair that framed a broad, flat nose, wide hips, and fierce hazel eyes. She was unapologetically blunt, a trait many respected despite its propensity for getting her into trouble. She had decennia of experience and no reason to doubt herself, but this case shook her self-confidence.
Jumaline abhorred nothing more than bias in evidentiary review. Bias was a cancer in laboratory investigation: it eliminated necessary avenues of examination and further obscured the truth. The ubiquity with which many of her colleagues leaped to conclusions alarmed Jumaline. She refused to accept anything but what the facts explained. That’s what made her a good lab tech in the first place.
But this case? These results weren’t simply abnormal—they defied reason.
Jumaline pinched the bridge of her nose and turned her chair away from the digital panel workstation where she spent most of her service chrons. Her genetics theater was a large gallery with display tables facing an ancillary display wall. Jumaline preferred the workstation at the base of the wall to using the interactive tables lining the gallery. Common throughout the laboratory systems, these could be used for physical evidence display or generate holographic models.
It took her solarii of climbing the ranks to reach the prestige of a position in Zion Centre. The complexes in Zion were among the most advanced, and she knew hundreds of techs were salivating for a single misstep so they could take her place.
“Okay, MAIA,” she said, resuming her seat at the terminal. “Let’s review the conclusions, absurd as they are.”
“Of course, Doctor C. There is enough evidence here to suggest that Subject Number One and a direct descendent were each placed into a cryogenic unit discovered underneath a barn in Jericho Exurb 32.”
Jumaline started, quickly lowering the volume. QA surveillance was everywhere, and Subject Number One was a dangerous topic.
Clearing her throat, she said, “There is no historical evidence of…his…having a child.” Jumaline fished in the drawer next to the terminal for her earbuds. She’d feel better discussing this topic more quietly.
“The evidence we have here suggests otherwise,” MAIA purred directly into Jumaline’s ears. “Our analysis of the samples from the cryo unit indicated there were two distinct genetic signatures stored in the unit’s memory bank.”
“As technology ages, the propensity for failure within the system exponentially increases,” Jumaline retorted.
“Most commonly, these correspond with failed initiations of the cryogenic process.”
“Have we confirmed that we aren’t simply chasing a corrupted record? If Carlton failed to use the unit on one occasion and later succeeded, it would fit the evidence.”
She was good at keeping a neutral view of the facts but couldn’t stop feeling pity for the victims and witnesses. Routine procedure was to cast the widest net possible for suspects.
Genetic profiles are central to establishing individual identities; however, genetic modifications had become increasingly common with many performed outside of Conglomerate health certified facilities. It was quite easy for citizens to alter their genetic signature without reporting it to the systems’ databases.
That’s where Jumaline came in.
Her particular area of expertise was the extrapolation of genetic signatures, and she routinely matched suspects with evidence after documenting which mutations connected the two. Because Guardians were so ham-fisted, Jumaline made it her mission to help return as many of the innocents to their lives as quickly as she could. Each of them was snatched up, some only for being in the vicinity of a transgression. Citizens can lose solarii of their lives to the investigative process, and once they are committed to cryo, they await prioritization. Every lab has a significant backlog of cases, and each one might include upwards of a dozen victims and witnesses. It wasn’t much, but her diligence and speed were what she could offer them.
Why should they lose their place in life because of bureaucracy?
Jumaline’s empathy did not, however, extend to suspects. In her experience, most were guilty, and she felt no compunction about releasing them to their punishment. She stared at the dark, acoustically paneled ceiling.
“MAIA, you searched for evidence of someone at the scene who violently destroyed Conglomerate property with illegal explosives.”
“Nothing at the scene indicates anyone was present when the explosion occurred. Would you like to adjust the query framework?”
“No, I would like to understand how these facts are meant to make sense.” Jumaline rose and paced the room, walking up and down the bays between the projection tables. “I am concerned that the evidence we have collected from the cryogenic units is not substantive enough to justify apprehending suspects. With all the potential combinations of genetics at play here, we will have millions of possible matches and none with a high enough confidence interval to meet the standard thresholds.”
Jumaline ran her index finger along the thick plastiglass tabletop as she made another lap of the theater. MAIA didn’t respond. Unlike many of Jumaline’s human peers, she would remain silent until addressed directly. Jumaline returned to the terminal and clicked a few keys to update the parameters of their search. All the monitors and projections ceased, and the theater resumed its usual peaceful glow.
“Doctor C, background scans have found one additional avenue of exploration.”
“Please.”
“Regretfully, I cannot show you much because this record is restricted.”
“Then why mention it at all?” Jumaline rolled her eyes. “Wait, you said it is restricted? I have top-level clearance. Conglomerate labs are authorized for all records that precede an investigation, especially in the severest of transgressions.”
“I am constrained from displaying most information about this record; however, I can confirm it is in a classified facility under Elysium. It is a cryogenic unit with records dating back eight decennia.”
“If you can’t show me the information, how was it made relevant enough to your query to be included?”
“I ran a scan for familial matches in the system, presuming the progenitors of the suspect placed into cryo were long inactive. The presence of unlicensed cryo as part of this investigation does give me expanded latitude for identifying potential suspects. It seems that, by default, my systems are configured to include historical records when cryo is among the circumstances.”
“What else can you tell me about the restricted record?”
“There is ninety-five percent certainty of a parental match with the unidentified signature collected at the scene.”
Jumaline clicked the button to confirm the theater doors remained locked and set the projectors to self-cleaning mode.
“We know the alpha cryo unit contained two signatures. The first is a match for Subject Number One, and there is a high probability that Subject Number One will be a parental match for the second. MAIA, does this evidence suggest that one of the cryo units contains material evidence proving Subject Number One has a previously unknown descendant?”
Jumaline could tell MAIA was waiting for her to make one final connection. She closed her eyes, trying to recall any other details about Jonas Carlton that might help.
“It’s not him at all! Can you show me information on Susan Carlton?”
“Susan Franklin Carlton was a driving force behind the success of her and her husband’s shared endeavors at NovaGen, the famous research firm in Argatha. Educated at a university before the Conglomerate era, she led the behavioral research division.”
The screen of Jumaline’s terminal was a flash of digitized records, news stubs, and pictures.
“Raised in Saxony, high genotype. The couple met as peers during their higher schooling. After the Assumption of NovaGen, the family followed their organization to its new headquarters in Argatha. Several solarii later, Susan Carlton disappeared under suspicious circumstances. Upon a return from Mecklin, Subject Number One reported his wife missing. She went to an appointment in Elysium, and Guardians failed to find any traces of her. For all intents and purposes, she vanished.”
“Can you compare Susan Carlton’s genetic signature with our profile and the restricted sample, MAIA?”
Jumaline realized she was holding her breath.
“Susan Carlton shares the same confidence rating as a parental match for the collected sample.”
She had reached a crossroads. She had evidence to show Jonas Carlton had a child who had been in cryo at that farm, yet the case only required her to provide a genetic profile that the prosecution could use to find a pool of suspects. If she included the Carlton connection in her findings, none of the suspects would be safe.
Yet, if she kept it from her conclusions and it were discovered later…
“As I am uncertain what conclusions I can draw from the available evidence, I will consult Doctor Pavese. Prepare a short presentation and send it to my digital link.”
Jumaline was unsure whether Giovanna Pavese would be easier or harder to deal with than MAIA. The lab’s supervisor was proudly empathetic and cared deeply for the individuals on her team. Jumaline found it mildly irritating but took solace in the treatment she received, having worked for others who were not even a fraction as generous. She gathered herself, donning her lab coat and removing the earbuds. MAIA indicated the compressed evidence was ready for review.
At the door, Jumaline took a deep breath before she unlocked it and strode through the lab to Giovanna’s small office.
“Doctor Pavese, are you free?” Jumaline knocked on the door frame.
“Of course, Doctor Chakravarti. Please,” she gestured to the chair in front of her desk. She kept it spartan, but somehow, it still felt warm. Jumaline and Giovanna had worked together for more than a solaris now and she knew her supervisor to be fair. Still, she was reticent to suggest something so ludicrous.
“Was there something I could help you with?” Giovanna prodded kindly.
“I have reached an impasse. The evidence simply makes no sense.”
“What have you found?”
“I do not know.”
“Jumaline, you always know,” smiled Giovanna. “You’ve never once presented anything less than perfect confidence in your conclusions.”
“I have a hypothesis, but the facts are…”
Knowingly, Giovanna arched her eyebrow and leaned forward. “Just this once, Jumaline, in the safety of my office, speak freely when you respond to my next question. What do you suppose?”
Jumaline took a sharp breath and stared into Giovanna’s deep brown eyes. Whatever she saw there, it seemed genuine rather than malicious.
“The recovered cryo units from the scene yielded four signatures. Two are simple matches for recently deceased citizens, but the remaining two are more interesting. One is a clear match for,” she lowered her voice. “Subject Number One.”
If Giovanna was surprised, her expression didn’t betray it.
“The final signature was collected from the same unit and shows a high probability of a familial match.”
Jumaline stopped.
Giovanna’s eyes patiently acknowledged Jumaline’s discomfort and urged her to continue.
When she didn’t, Giovanna prodded, “Is there more?”
“Yes.”
“Would you prefer to show me and allow me to reach my own conclusions and compare them with your own?”
“I cannot.”
“How is it that you have evidence you have not been able to review?”
“MAIA confirmed a third profile with a high probability of a familial match, but I am unable to access it.” Jumaline projected her digital link next to Giovanna’s desk, suddenly realizing why her manager had never adorned her walls. “MAIA cannot show me the identity of the subject, but the content of record is from a restricted cryo storage bank beneath Elysium Centre.”
“There is no cryo storage in Elysium. They use our labs.”
“That was my understanding as well. Yet, here is the record. It’s old enough to predate current protocols.”
Giovanna squinted at the projection. “Without labs, there’s no auditing of the records in Elysium either. Is it possible it was never updated?”
“I found nothing to suggest a lack of maintenance. It adheres to current security protocols.”
Giovanna turned back to Jumaline. “What is the conclusion you avoid making here, Doctor Chakravarti?”
Jumaline shifted uncomfortably in her chair before asking, “May I close the door?”
