Uprising
Page 16
Chapter 11: Ambition
-One Day Later-
It was late morning. Even though he'd gone through an entire workday and night since Gottfried woke him in that early morning, Citizen Michaels still felt tired. He had awoken from his fitful slumber at about 8AM, bleary-eyed. An hour and a half later, showered, shaven, and caffeinated, his mind remained fuzzy from the recent upheaval of his biorhythm. Because of, Michaels assumed, decisions still pending regarding the ambush, the patrols and flow of subjects for conditioning had ceased, pending action.
It was thus that he had little to do. He sat, hunched over the computer terminal in his office, one elbow perched on the desk and his hand propping up his face. His other hand lazily moved the cursor around the screen.
It was absurd: another of Coleman's ridiculous software tricks. There was a video file that magically appeared on the desktop called 'mlc-dscv.' He had noticed the tip of it doing what could only be described as cowering beyond edge of the screen.
When he passed the cursor over it, the file skittered… Yes, Michaels thought, that's exactly the word to use. The file sprouted tiny insect-like legs and skittered across the screen. His sluggish mind was trying to get irritated about it, but he felt unfocused.
He lazily dragged the cursor around the screen, the video file retreating away each time he moved too close, and he considered the situation now a day and a half past. Something had continued to nag at him regarding the subject Jeffrey. Michaels, checking up, had contacted the Re-education center, and indeed they had approved Jeffrey fit for service and had honored his request to serve in the Institute.
"Sentimental fools," he muttered. He rubbed his eyes. Maybe I'm not used to seeing a subject so quickly, when they're… freshly interrogated. He couldn't think of a more proper way to say 'beaten to a pulp.' Still, something about it seemed off.
Then there was the business about the ambush. Inconceivable! How was it possible that the vermin could have planned it so efficiently? He scoffed. Luck. There had to be as many enemy casualties, the surviving soldiers were too addled with wounds and fear. He stared off into space, considering the other possibilities. What else could make an ambush like that successful? He wondered what munitions and supplies they had gotten a hold of, but strategic planning and guerrilla fighting tactics were out of the realm of his expertise.
He pondered this and other similar ideas when he realized the icon had stopped moving. His eyes snapped to the screen, the legs, apparently having retracted, popped back out and the file began skittering around again.
What the hell? He blinked. This is ridiculous. His eyes set upon a small circular dot at the top of the screen frame. The device served as a camera for live feed messaging or recording of some variety.
A wild thought struck him. He focused his sight on the left wall of his office, away from the screen. Through his peripherals, he smiled as the file-creature did indeed seat itself and retract the limbs. He looked directly at the screen, and the file started running around again. He shook his head. Clever, Marcus, he thought. The camera has sight-line detection.
Michaels focused his gaze on the side wall again. He moved the cursor over the file, and double-clicked. The video file opened. The still image, at the beginning of the video, sat on the screen; it was the smiling face of Marcus Coleman. Eccentric, clever bastard. Using something so bizarre as the in-screen camera for file protection. Then again, who would have thought of it? Michaels cracked a smile, in spite of himself. As much as he hated the man, there had to be a grudging respect.
He clicked the play button, and the on-screen Marcus Coleman sprang to life, reaching his hands towards the screen, fiddling with the tilt to align the camera. He sat in a similar chair at the same desk in the same office. A timestamp at the corner of the video placed the day March 17th, 2032. Michaels glanced at the time on the computer. September 15th, 2032. This file was nearly six months old, putting its creation at around the time of Coleman's strange behavior. Michaels perked up as the dead man began speaking, barely containing his excitement; this was three months prior to the man's death.
"…extraordinary discovery by a soldier in one of the Acquisition Squads, who fortunately was willing to part with it for a small," he grimaced, "fee. It is the remains of some object of foreign origin, buried in a small depression, a crater perhaps." He frowned. "Unfortunately, there are no photographs of the site for confirmation, nor will the man divulge anything further about it."
Coleman continued, "The object appears to be a small material inside a clear, dense casing. The encasement is a transparent synthetic which so far has proven impregnable to any attempts at access. The object inside the containment is a small piece of a blue-grey material. I am only willing to provide light speculation on what it might be at this time." He shrugged, grinning with excitement. "It could be a strip of cloth, but why encase a patch of fabric in such an impregnable material? It could be geological, botanical, even." The onscreen Coleman rubbed his bearded chin. "Another possibility… one I dare not hope to entertain, is that it is a tissue sample. If this is the case…" He smiled, eyes twinkling. "Then we might have the first evidence of an organism not of this world. Very exciting!" The video ceased, freezing the image of Coleman's grinning face.
"So this is what the old fool found," Michaels muttered. Very interesting, he thought. But this must be only the beginning of it. He stared at the timestamp. There has to be more.
The intercom on his desk buzzed loudly, breaking his chain of thought. Irritated, he tapped a button and said, "What?"
Dunlevy's exuberant voice passed through the speaker. "Well, my dear Gregory; cheerful as always, I see!"
Rolling his eyes, Michaels replied, "What do you want, Citizen Dunlevy?"
"I want you to call me Arthur, dear boy! Always so forgetful!"
Michaels sighed. "Fine. What do you want, Arthur?"
Dunlevy didn't appear to notice. "That's much better. I have some news for you, my boy, and an invitation, if you are interested."
"Look Citiz-… Arthur. I am very busy today, and I've just found something very intriguing, so I simply don't have time-"
Cutting him off, Dunlevy spoke. "Never mind that! There is an advisory council meeting in half an hour. You are hereby invited to participate, being officially approved as Citizen Coleman's replacement as the head of the department. Of course, we could always find someone else, if you are not interested…" Dunlevy took on a teasing tone.
Michaels exhaled a long breath, his heart suddenly beating as if to burst. "No, no! Of course I'll be there."
"That's more like it! I knew you'd warm up, my boy. I hear Citizen One is eager to meet you. Half an hour; I think you know where." With a click, the intercom fell silent.
Michaels sat in his chair, staring off into space, numb. A smile spread across his face. Finally. It's my time, now. He caught a glimpse of Coleman's smiling face, staring out at him from the still-image of the video file.
Michaels frowned and closed the lid to the terminal. Are you proud of me, Marcus? No? What a shame. You're dead, and your job is mine.
He pulled on his lab coat and walked out the door, ready to officially begin his new tasks. Despite the happiness about the promotion, he couldn't shake the image of Coleman's smiling face on the terminal screen.