Freedom's Last Gasp

by M. A. Rothman

  As the customs officer pulled the next item from the duffel, Terry spotted the telltale color pattern of contraband. He snapped his fingers. “That! Ian, have him take a look inside those gloves.”

  Ian tapped his ear. “John, examine the gloves.”

  The officer felt along every inch of the mining gloves and shook his head. But when he swiped it against the detector built into the table, a red LED flashed. “Mr. Watanabe, are these the gloves you used in the mines?”

  “Well, yes. I didn’t think that was a problem.”

  The officer adjusted a gooseneck lamp attached to the examination table and put one of the gloves under a magnifying loop. After a moment, he frowned. “Sir, I’m afraid we’ve got some ore dust embedded in the fibers of your gloves. You do realize that this ore is an export-controlled substance, even in microscopic amounts. It cannot leave the colony. I’m afraid I’ll have to hold these for your return.”

  “Of course,” said the miner, his eyes wide. “I would never—I just didn’t think about the dust. I’m sorry about that.”

  Ian turned to Terry. “How the heck did you guess it was the gloves?”

  Terry waved the question away. “I thought there was a clothes change protocol when the workers entered and left the mines.”

  “There is. But apparently we need to work on enforcement.”

  They returned to the viewing window overlooking the arrivals gate, where Ian took a seat and leaned back with a smile. “You going to talk to our lady governor about her miners?”

  Terry grimaced at the thought of talking to the governor. “I’d rather not.”

  He pressed the mic on his lapel. “Okay, Vincent, you can give the go-ahead and let our visitors disembark.”

  “Roger that.”

  Terry turned back to Ian. “Keep your eyes peeled for anyone with a transmission tag. And flag anyone who didn’t drink the contrast solution for further checks. If those UN assholes think they’ll get another spy into our operation, they got another thing coming.”

  As the disembarking passengers entered the far end of the gate, they were limned with an orange glow and a holographic overlay that was only visible through the viewing window glass. Each person’s overlay included all variety of stats, including the strength of the marking signal they’d ingested in their trip to the colony.

  As Ian watched the arrivals, Terry walked to the window that overlooked the departures. Mr. Tanaka had rejoined the other miners, his duffel slung over his shoulder, minus a pair of gloves. The gloves were probably an innocent mistake, but that was why procedures were in place. That ore could not leave the colony.

  Terry was more concerned with the arrivals. Every visitor to this colony had to be considered a threat. There would be no more Earth-based spies infiltrating his colony—not while Terry remained in charge.

  His people’s lives depended on it.

  Harold shifted in her lap, exposing his fuzzy belly, and Priya absentmindedly scratched him with one hand as she tapped notes into her notepad with the other.

  The engineer at the front of the classroom was warming to his subject. “For braking systems that are less sensitive to temperature variants, we’ve resurrected a process from the twentieth century that involved a byproduct of the cashew nut, namely cardonal. The polymerization of the unsaturated side chain of cardanol, followed by cross-polymerization with formaldehyde, yields a cardinal-formaldehyde resin that works perfectly in the mining conditions we find in the depths of Chrysalis.”

  Priya sighed. After accepting her mission, she had been inserted into the mining program at a tech school just outside of Arlington, Virginia. The military intended to have her enter the mining colony as an ordinary intern with no connection to the David Holmes Academy—and especially with no connection to the military. Just a student trying to gain credits for school. The approach made sense, but the classes were dreadfully dull, and she had six weeks of this to sit through.

  The door opened at the back of the classroom, and a man slipped into the seat next to her. As Priya glanced over at him, she did a double take. It was Colonel Jenkins, in civilian clothes. He looked straight ahead, avoiding eye contact, as he slid a slip of paper toward her.

  Priya read the hand-scrawled message.

  The security team wants to meet. Can you do it right after this lesson? I’ll be at the tube station, waiting.

  Without waiting for a response, the colonel got up and walked out, leaving Priya sitting uneasily through the remainder of the lesson on organic friction compounds.

  Who and what was “the security team,” and why did they need to meet now?

  As Priya walked across campus, resentment built within her. She had agreed to this mission, but the more she thought about it, the less she liked how it had been presented to her. Either take a role as a military puppet, possibly saving millions of lives, or be blackballed from any future in the sciences.

  That was no choice at all.

  “Goddamned bastard,” she groused, tucking her hands into the front pocket of her hoodie, where Harold nipped at her fingers.

  Colonel Jenkins was waiting at the entrance to the campus tube station. Priya wiped the expression from her face as she jogged up the stairs to meet him.

  As always, the hologram of a smiling recruiter blinked into existence. “Welcome, neighbor! It’s people like me who keep the tubes running efficiently and safely. Type *92-8374 on your SMS device to learn more about joining the team.”

  Colonel Jenkins motioned for her to follow as he walked toward the station’s control panel. He placed his hand on the touch screen, and a voice with a singsong Indian accent said, “Good afternoon, Michael. I’m Mahesh, your tube assistant. You have authorization for all active destinations on your account. Where would you like to go?”

  The colonel swiped across several screens that Priya had never seen before. Clearly his access was much broader than hers. After a few taps, the disembodied voice of Mahesh returned. “Two passengers for classified location code HF-392.5. Please confirm.”

  “Confirmed,” Jenkins said.

  The sound of rushing air grew louder behind the metal doors to the tube. “Establishing vacuum. Queuing request for transportation link between the Virginia Mining School campus and the terminal at HF-392.5.”

  “Where are we going?” Priya asked.

  “I can’t say, but it’s not too far. After we’re done, you’ll go home like normal.”

  “Link complete. The car is arriving in three… two… one…”

  The doors slid open, revealing an empty capsule with two padded armchairs inside.

  “The car is now ready for boarding.”

  When they were both seated, the doors closed, and the windows in the capsule all turned opaque. So—she was being prevented from even seeing where they were going on their trip. Harold oozed his way through a seam inside her hoodie and began wrapping himself around her waist.

  “We are about to depart.”

  Priya closed her eyes, feeling the acceleration kick in.

  Ten minutes later, the doors slid open.

  They were underground, a first for any tunnel station Priya had ever seen. But she was beginning to realize that there was a lot more to this world than what she’d been made privy to. There were also no markings, no signs, no windows. This was definitely a classified location.

  She followed Jenkins out of the station, which seemed to be located in a building with no obvious markings, signs, or windows. There was nobody in sight until they entered a distant hallway and passed several unmarked offices, some of which had people at their desks doing who knows what.

  The lighting was dim throughout the building and the beige halls were a maze of identical corridors. How the hell anyone knew where they were in this place was beyond her.

  Priya kept pace with Jenkins, who’d been eerily silent the entire time. “So, is there anything at all you can tell me about why I’m here? What’s this security team about?”

  “I’m
sorry, I’ve been told not to say anything. In truth, I’m just acting as an escort. The UN intelligence folks don’t always confide in the military on this kind of stuff.”

  “So, I’m guessing this is one of the UN’s classified—” Priya stopped herself. “Never mind, you can’t answer anyway.”

  They turned a corner and stopped in front of a door with a video camera. The door opened, and they stepped through into a large room that was part conference room, part medical lab. A long table sat at its center, surrounded by chairs, but the walls were covered with the sorts of charts and posters that were common in medical offices. At the far end of the room, a man in a dark suit was working at an ancient computer, the kind with an actual physical keyboard and monitor. The computer was attached to a reclining chair by a series of thick cables.

  The man looked up, nodded at the colonel, then walked over with a smile.

  The colonel leaned in toward Priya. “I’ll be back when you’re done,” he whispered, and he departed the way he came, the door closing behind him.

  The man stopped in front of Priya. “Welcome, Miss Radcliffe. It’s good to have you in the dungeon.”

  “The dungeon?” Priya arched an eyebrow. “Is that what you call this place?”

  “It’s just a nickname. Fitting, though, as we’re about five hundred feet under the streets of New York City.” He extended his hand. “My name’s Agent Ted. I’m going to walk you through the security procedures that we’ll employ to maximize your chances of a successful mission.”

  Priya studied the man as she shook his hand. He was of Asian descent, maybe mid-forties, and spoke with a generic American accent. But it was his eyes that caught her attention. They were clearly implants, steely gray, the pupils growing and shrinking repeatedly as if he were scanning her for something. It was unsettling.

  Ted gestured for her to take a seat at the table. He then retrieved a tray holding several vials and an injector, and sat down beside her. “Miss Radcliffe—”

  “Please, call me Priya. I’m nervous enough as it is.”

  “There’s no need to be nervous. This is completely routine, and besides, the agency wouldn’t put a civilian in any real danger. Trust me.”

  “Agency? What is this place?”

  “Well, that I’m afraid is classified.” He smiled.

  The agent’s smile was eerie. Unnatural. Priya felt a shiver of uncertainty race up her spine.

  He picked up the injector and one of the vials. “You’re going to need some inoculations before you go. The colony is a bit backwards technologically, and they have some strains of diseases that we haven’t seen on Earth for nearly a century. This one is for measles.” He pushed the vial into the injector’s carrying chamber and motioned to Priya’s forearm. “Please roll up your sleeve.”

  She did as he asked and took a deep breath. As the agent pressed the injector against her skin, Priya felt the cooling sensation of a numbing agent, followed by a click.

  They went through the rest of the vials, some for diseases she hadn’t even heard of. When they got to the last vial, one with a red stripe running around it, Ted said, “This one is a tracking device.”

  Priya pulled her arm back. “A what? I didn’t agree to a tracking device.”

  “It’s harmless. It’ll help us keep track of your movements, and—”

  “No,” Priya said firmly. “There’s no damned way you’re putting that in me. It’s probably how the colonists detected the other people you guys sent, and now they’re probably dead. Radcliffe or not, I doubt they’d hesitate to shove me into a meat grinder if they figure out I’m spying on them. I’ll take my chances without that thing in me.”

  The agent’s pupils grew and shrank like spastic camera lenses. “I’ll have to clear that with my superiors.”

  “You do that.”

  Ted paused, as if uncertain, then picked up a remote and pressed a button. A hologram of a woman’s face appeared just above the table. She was older, but still blond, and on her face was a serious expression that brooked no argument.

  “Let’s discuss your mission,” Ted said. “What do you know about the mining colony?”

  Priya shrugged. “Not much. I know it was founded a handful of years after the Great Exodus by David Holmes, and its first governor was that woman, Margaret Hager.” She pointed at the hologram.

  “Anything else?” Agent Ted stared unblinkingly at her with his creepy artificial eyes.

  “Well, there’s some stuff that General Duhrer told me about, but I’m not allowed to talk about that. Apart from that, I know there’s around three million people there, and… that’s about it. It’s weird, because the internet usually spews out tons of data about almost everything you can think of, but I searched thoroughly, and other than a bunch of stuff about the restrictive travel and immigration laws, there’s almost nothing about Chrysalis online. No details, no maps, no anything.”

  The agent nodded. “Let’s talk about the organization running things.” He motioned to the woman’s face. “As you noted, that is Margaret Hager. She was the American president during the Great Exodus. And ten years after arriving here, when the terraforming of the Chrysalis mining colony began in earnest, she became its first governor.”

  He clicked on the remote, and the image changed to the face of another woman. The image was much grainier, obviously taken from a distance.

  Priya frowned. “Who’s that? It’s hard to tell, but it looks a lot like Margaret Hager.”

  Ted nodded. “We believe that is the current governor of the Chrysalis mining colony. And yes, the two women look alike. In fact, there is an eighty-six percent match on key facial features. We have no genealogy data from the colony, but our intelligence tells us that the governorship is matrilineal. Which means that this woman is likely a direct descendant of Margaret Hager.”

  “Their people don’t vote in their leader?”

  “The colony is very secretive about some things, especially their leadership structure. We only know what I’ve told you, though we’re always looking to enhance our intelligence. We also don’t know why they would be trying to sabotage our society. After all, there’s very limited movement of people between us and them and it’s been that way for nearly a century. They don’t allow tourism, and they limit the number of their people that are allowed to travel to Earth. The few colony citizens that come here do so typically for education purposes.”

  Priya pressed her lips together. “So you’re sending me there with almost no information about anything? How am I supposed to find out who’s responsible for the attacks? I’m just a student.”

  “You’re more than that, to them. You’re a Radcliffe. And over there, that’ll mean something. Among the few things we do know is that the colony-borns practically worship Dr. Holmes and the Radcliffes. You’ll be the first Radcliffe to set foot on the colony since the founding generation returned to Earth after Dr. Holmes’s death.”

  “That’s all well and good, but it would be nice if I could know a bit more before I risk my life trying to infiltrate the colony.”

  “And you will.” Agent Ted rose from his seat and walked to the ancient computer with the keyboard, the one that was connected to the recliner. His fingers flew across the keys as they noisily clicked and clacked. “I’m adding a clearance marker on your identification record. It’ll open access to files that will fill you in on all the intelligence we have regarding both the terrorists and the colony.”

  “Great. Can I access these files from home?”

  The agent smiled that lifeless smile of his and shook his head. “These aren’t that kind of file. They’re deep learning files; they use transcranial magnetic stimulation to deposit working knowledge into your head. Given the seriousness of the mission, we can’t leave it to chance that you’ll absorb the necessary background information in the time you have before your departure.”

  He stepped over to the recliner, flipped up a dome-shaped object from its back, then returned to the computer
. After a few keystrokes, a humming sound came from within the chair.

  Priya looked at the recliner apprehensively. She’d read about transcranial magnetic stimulation, or TMS, and how it was supposed to help bring back memories that were lost due to trauma. But using it to inject new memories? That was unheard of.

  “Is this safe?” she asked.

  The agent laughed, and it almost sounded like genuine mirth. “Of course it is. We use it all the time in the intelligence unit, especially when we’re trying to onboard someone into…” The agent stopped himself. “Let’s just say it helps bring people up to speed much faster than they’d otherwise be able to do. Effectively we’re depositing pre-formed memories into your head, accomplishing in less than an hour what would normally take six months of study.” He gestured to the recliner. “Please, go ahead and take a seat in the chair. I’ll explain as we go along.”

  As Priya rose and walked over to the recliner, the butterflies that were normally dancing a jig in her stomach died of fright, and all she felt was a hollow feeling of dread. Even Harold remained silent.

  She sat down and sank into the cushions. At least it was comfortable. The chair’s dome attachment hovered above her head.

  “Okay, let’s get started,” Ted said. “Lean your head back, and don’t move while the computer takes a few startup measurements.”

  Priya heard something whir. “What’s it doing?”

  “That’s a MEG scanner. Short for magnetoencephalography—a neuroimaging technique for mapping brain activity. It’ll help us get the information we need so that the computer can direct the data into exactly the right landing zones within your brain.”

  The dome lowered itself until it was practically touching her head, but not quite. The chair hummed with what sounded like a power plant’s worth of energy.

  “Good,” said Ted. “Now just relax, and I’ll start transmitting the information.”

  “Wait, what’s this going to be like? Should I close my eyes?”