“Only if you don't want to face the hard questions."
He waited a beat and continued, “One in ten people were naturally immune to the plague, that means about one billon should have survived worldwide. Assume that half of them died from exposure, lack of medical care, not enough nutrition, and finally, the war started by your father, and you would still have four hundred million globally. Here in the US we had five hundred million citizens. Following my logic that would leave about twenty million survivors, so Miss Patterson where are they?"
Her heart began to pound. After all that she had been through recently, she was in no mood to have a complete stranger, and obvious jailer, torment her with fabrications about her father, a man who was likely beside himself with grief right now. “Screw you, I don't have to listen to this crap."
Williams sighed placing his face in his hands. He was about to speak when the door flew open, startling her. A young man, clearly her own age by the appearance of his eyes, strode in and shouted, “Look here, you spoiled little bitch, your dad is a murderer and you better get that through your thick fucking skull before we decide you aren't worth our time and move to tie up loose ends!"
She pulled away from the sudden and unexpected burst of violent behavior, anxiety at the memory of her earlier violation coming back to the surface. His brown eyes burned into her like lasers and his neck and jaw muscles jutted outward, his white skin bright red from rage. Before he was able to get out another word, David was between them, his large hand on the younger man’s chest. “Sean, back out into the hallway."
“Why the hell are you letting her say that crap Dad? Pretending like she doesn't know what that monster did to the world."
Dad, he had called him Dad. Maria watched as the son tried to get around his “father” only to be firmly held in place. Williams leveled a gaze upon the younger man, one that frightened Maria and she wasn't even the recipient. “Leave, now,” David growled.
Sean looked at the older man and after a moment hung his head. He sputtered out an apology and walked out, closing the door behind him. David sighed and sat. “I apologize for my son. He's a little worked up from this whole situation."
Maria saw an opportunity to possibly strike at the morale of her interrogator and gain a respite from this whole affair. “I don't know how to break this to you, but I think your wife cheated on you."
A brief flash of emotion crossed over his face, but it vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Funny, how do you know my wife wasn't white? Anyway he's adopted… I didn't have much of a choice either. I found him on the side of the road crying his eyes out after both his biological parents died from your father’s plague."
She simply sat there at a loss for words, and finally responded, “I'm sorry to hear that." Her feelings genuine.
“Wrong person receiving the apology and the wrong person giving it. You shouldn't have to bear the burden of your father's decisions."
“Look, I understand that you believe my father is guilty of this horrible atrocity, but I'm telling you it isn't possible. If he was, he would have been just as harsh with our rival Spire families."
He chuckled, “So I'm assuming that you think the nuclear reactor of the Sao Paulo Spire just magically melted down, killing the entire family, a week after your father had visited."
“My father had nothing to do with that. The valves for the coolant system…”
He cut her off, “Had triple redundancies, just like the ones in your Spire."
“That's not all.” He tapped on his pad a few times and then held it out for her to take. She looked at it, not moving to accept it.
“Is it really like you to hide from information? I've made some pretty bold claims about your father, and I can already tell you aren't the type of person to take that sitting down. If you want to refute me, you need to be able to dissect my evidence."
She hated to admit it, but he was right about her. Even now, all she wanted to do was rip his argument to shreds and prove to him how wrong he was. She slowly and deliberately took the pad from him. “How do you know that I won't use this to knock you out and stage my escape?"
A smirk crept up the corner of his mouth. “If you managed to take me out with my own tablet, hell, I’d show you the door myself...after I woke back up of course."
“Aside from satisfying my desire to rub the truth in your face, why should I bother entertaining this pitiful attempt at turning me against my father, the man who raised me, and I know would sacrifice anything to protect me?"
“Because once you read that, I plan on taking you on a little field trip and then after that I will personally arrange for you to be placed back into the loving arms of your mother and father.”
She raised an eye an eyebrow, skeptical at his proposition. “You went through all the trouble to get me here and now you are offering to just let me go. Why should I believe you?”
He nodded and said, “Well, originally the goal was to turn the occupant of the transport into hamburger."
She winced at how casually he brought up the recent attempt on her life. “However, when I realized you were not, in fact, your father, I was overcome with the need to make things right."
She laughed, “Oh really, bad ass soldier man brought me to a hospital, using up what I assume are limited medical resources."
She paused waiting for a confirmation. He nodded slightly. “On the daughter of the single largest mass murder in history,” she said and raised her hands and made air quotes as she referred to her father in the way her captors did. “All just to be nice."
“I’m an efficient man Miss Patterson. If I can satisfy my conscience while at the same time seizing on an opportunity, I will."
“What opportunity would that be? I won't betray my family."
“When we finish our field trip, I'll let you know. For now, hold up your end of the deal, and I'll do so with mine. I'll give you a few hours to read through it and then we can discuss."
He stood stretching with a groan. “Ya know, when I first got the longevity treatment I thought I'd be exactly like I was when I was in my early twenties, no soreness, and yet here I am today sounding exactly how I did in my early fifties.” A quizzical expression crossed his face as he queried, “You think I’m remembering my twenties wrong or is all the discomfort in my head? Some kind of learned behavior I haven't shed yet?”
She raised an eyebrow at him, shook her head, and looked down at the tablet. He waved his hand dismissively, and commented, “Yeah you’re right, should probably ask someone else." With that he left the room. She tried to catch a glimpse of the hall but from her position in the room all she could see was the door blocking her view.
She quickly realized that he hadn't handcuffed her to the bed again. She swung her bare feet over the edge and placed them on the floor, yelping as the chill from the stone surprised her. She looked around the room for her clothes. In a chair in the far corner was a set, clean and folded, but not hers. She took a deep breath and braved the freezing floor again as she quickly scampered to the offered set of clothing. She prioritized the socks, wincing as she bent down to pull them on. She slowly pulled off her gown, wondering why the back was wide open. She looked down at her bruised legs. Her heart began to pound and the sensation that she was being watched washed over her. She grabbed the clothes, fell into the chair, and pulled them on over her battered flesh. Her breathing increased and she frantically pulled the top on, ignoring the burning pain that spiked in her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around her torso, pulling herself toward her knees.
This was surreal and things were moving too quickly. She knew panic was taking hold. She could feel it working its way through her mind, loosening her composure. It was so tempting to just let go. To allow herself to melt into self-loathing and pity, to say to hell with everything and everyone, to turn her back on the world and even her family. Then Tobor's featureless face crystallized in her mind.
“Only they can make themselves victims for life."
“I won't be anyone's victim”
She walked over to the bed, sitting on it and activating the pad. There was no lock out code or biometric scanner requirement so it opened immediately. The desktop screen had several files on it and nothing else. She ignored them and went straight into the settings and attempted to access the local network only to discover that the device didn't even have a wireless card. The option existed in the programming, but registered as an error. Williams must have physically removed the card or the antenna. She flipped the device onto its edge and sure enough there were several small indentations where a fine tool had been used to open the incredibly slim case. It was too thin for her fingernails to get any purchase and any makeshift tool she could craft in here would be too crude or flimsy to get the job done.
She tossed the pad toward the end of the bed; her pulse quickened again at this fresh loss. She shook her head vigorously and bit down into her knuckle a second time.
“No,” she said to herself.
Breathing deeply, she brought the fresh panic attack back under control. She looked back at the pad. If she couldn't fight back one way, she would do so in another. She grabbed it and reopened it. She immediately opened the first file, determined to learn their argument, prove it wrong, and resist in any way she could. Never again would she allow herself to feel like a victim. She might not always win every fight but she knew full well she was going to fight like hell.
8
A slight knock on the door tore her attention from the screen. Strewn about the bedding and on the side tables were the various pieces of paper she had written notes on, surprised that they had included such materials in her room. At first she resisted their use, they had been anachronistic before “The Fall” and were even more so now. But it quickly became clear to her that she had absolutely no ability to input anything into the tablet, it’s user interface having been limited to simple access and navigation of the documents on it’s home screen. So she relented and used the pencil and paper.
She smirked, realizing how far she had come in such a short time. When she had originally started using them she had contemplated hiding the pencil and using it as a makeshift stabbing weapon should the need arise. She quickly realized that, wherever she was, she didn't know the layout and almost certainly there were more staff here than the three people she had encountered, and they would not have to resort to using number two pencils to inflict bodily harm beside, she mused to herself, if her stabbing skills were as bad as her penmanship, she’d never hurt anyone.
As the door opened, she tucked the pencil behind her ear and arranged her notes in an orderly pile. Williams came in carrying a tray with sandwiches and plastic cups. “You've been working hard. I figured you would want something to eat."
“That's very nice of you. Are you hoping that deli meats will convince me to become a turn coat?”
“Nope, just trying to be civilized,” he said setting the tray down on the end of the bed as he pulled a side table between them.
“So, how did you know I was working at all? Were you spying on me the whole time?” she said, trying to start a verbal sparring match, seeing if he would deny something that would be regular operating procedure for an intelligence officer.
“Of course, there are at least four cameras in this room, not counting the one in the tablet you’ve been using. That one’s been tracking your conscious and subconscious facial expression and correlating it to each batch of information you've been reading." He placed the tray on the recently moved end table and then pulled a chair up to it on his side.
“Didn’t think about that…."
“I’ve been a spook for decades darlin’. If you knew everything I did about this trade, then I really need to rethink my occupation. Feel free to use it." He picked up a sandwich and offered it to her.
An audible rumble emanated from her stomach, and she suddenly realized how hungry she was. Her mouth had even begun to salivate in a very Pavlovian way, still though she couldn't resist being difficult. “How do I know it's not poisoned?”
He shrugged his shoulders and took a colossal bite from her meal. She didn't realize she was reaching to stop him until her arm went up, and she quickly snapped it back down hoping he hadn't noticed. He chewed for several long moments. “Unless overcooking pastrami is an attempt on one’s life, then I think you'll be fine."
He offered it again. This time she snatched what remained from his hands. “You sure do have a unique way of punishing resistance,” she said around mouthfuls of food.
A laughed filled the room, following a drink from his glass. “Well, I hope I haven't dissuaded you from trying in the future. For my part, I’m having a great deal of fun."
She quickly finished off the last bite of the sandwich. He was about to ask her something when she held out a finger and quickly drank from her cup. Once she finished, she cut him off, “Well, I’m so glad that I was given the opportunity to drop in and brighten your day.”
He burst out laughing, his hands coming together in a clap. “Amazing Miss Patterson, simply amazing.” He leaned forward, his eyes gazing directly into hers. “It is rare indeed that I meet someone who has gone through as much crap as you, in as such a short time and at such a young age, and still has the ability to keep it all together and even make light of the situation."
Confused at how their captor-prisoner relationship was evolving, she wasn't sure how to respond, “Umm, gee thanks."
“It speaks to your resiliency, which is one of the two traits I need from you."
Ah, there it was. The other shoe dropping and he was now getting this new interaction moving on to his agenda. She decided to play along. “And what would the other one be, beauty, brains….?"
“Your humanity."
“Aren't you accusing me of being complicit in the murder of modern civilization?”
He shook his head. “Did those words ever leave my mouth?”
“No, but your son sure seems to think so."
“People who are hurting often misplace their anger and latch onto the easiest solution available,” he paused, his eyes seeming to lose focus and at that moment she realized he wasn't talking to her. “Anything with even the faintest potential of stopping the pain offers a twisted form of hope. In their haste, however, they often create greater pain and suffering."
He cleared his throat and looked back at her. “I suspect this is partly to blame for why your father did what he did."
“So in your interpretation of my father, he's a wounded soul who had to destroy the world that was hurting him?”
“Something like that. Are you ready to prove me wrong?”
She grabbed a stack of papers. “Very much so, make sure you focus, this will be educational."
He smirked, “You have my undivided attention professor."
“So your entire case against my father is based on three points, first being social media posts from two groups known as the RAF and Justice or Blood."
“The Reborn Anti Federalists, yes,” he confirmed leaning back into his chair.
“Yeah, I thought their use of names from Revolutionary era Anti Federalists in their postings was cute. I especially appreciated the use of Patrick Henry’s name."
“You know your history.”
“My parents taught me well, which is how I know that your conclusions are wrong.”
He motioned for her to continue so she did. “Your position is based on the idea that the accounts for each of the core members that posted were in fact not people but artificial intelligence programs.”
“Yes, after the collapse we located several servers with posts from RAF members. Patrick Henry actually posted on two separate servers at the exact same time and with a very similar message even though both servers had been cut off from the greater internet due to battle
damage in their area.”
He paused to take a drink, and continued, “And, JoB was also still posting on several servers as well."
“And you rightfully concluded that it was because of two AIs that originated from the same program. How though do you make the mental leap to accusing my father?”
“Your dad was, and is, one of the greatest engineers in history. He easily could have engineered the programs. After all, he created the AI system that runs your robotic force.”
“While interesting, my father was not the only person who could develop such software."
He nodded and responded, “True, but their actions directly benefitted him. For example, these programs encouraged thousands of JoB followers to storm the Capitol Building where your father's boss was testifying before Congress, which turned out to be a signaling event to members of both groups, both nationally and internationally, as they had been whipping themselves into a nice fervor for weeks prior.”
Before she could respond he held up a finger and continued, “It also effectively decapitated Congress when many of its ranking members were killed depriving the nation of much needed leadership. With their death and the chaos in the legislature, the President declared martial law, feeding into the paranoia and anti-government sentiments of many and swelling the ranks of the RAF.”
“So the RAF seems to be the one benefitting the most."
“Except those AI posts were later used to direct their insurgent units into traps, where they were often outnumbered or outgunned by what was left of our armed forces.”
“Or maybe it was this other group?” Maria indicated as she held up a paper. “The Guardians of Christianity, they appeared to have infiltrated the ranks of the military and even commandeered a good percentage of the drone forces you had… seems well within their coding ability to create those AI programs. The RAF would have been competitors for them after the fall. So it only makes sense that they would manipulate them into engagements with you, weakening your military but at the same time wiping out the Anti-Federalists.”
The Spire Page 22