Citadel 32: A Tale of the Aggregate

by Tom Merritt

  Then he looked down and gasped. The stars existed on the ground below, more numerous than the stars above. It couldn’t be reflection. It wasn’t the same pattern of stars he was used to. Was it another universe?

  Jackson stayed silent, letting him stare at the marvel. Finally, Michael asked the question. “What is it?”

  Nobody knows. Some old technology that outlived its purpose but not its battery, I’m guessing. You can walk down in them too, and not discover anything more than lights in the ground. You can’t dig them up and you can’t break them. They shine all day and all night. Some people have dug tunnels underneath, but they can’t find much of anything below them, either—a few legacy tunnels, probably left from when they were put in. But nobody can touch them. They’re invulnerable. And their purpose is lost in time. Unless—”

  After Jackson failed to finish the sentence, Michael asked, “Unless what?”

  “Unless those men on the Moon know the answer,” said Jackson. “But that’s enough for tonight.” He turned, suddenly and unexpectedly gruff. Let’s pack it in and head back home. We’ll have a talk tomorrow, Michael.”

  Michael slept most of the way back to the metal shack. He was dozing and dreaming about a sunny day in the courtyard of the Complex. While he spent most of his time hidden inside the Citadel, he only did so because of his anxiety around others. He longed for the sun and enjoyed the few times he felt comfortable outside lounging alone. Not that he got much time for lounging.

  He woke to shouting. More men than Michael could count rushed up to the cart, grabbed the mean men and Jackson and carried them away. Two of the attackers grabbed Michael roughly and pulled him down as well, ripping his clothes and scraping his legs as they dragged him away from the cart like a sack. He could see the metal shack nearby, but the attackers were taking him in the other direction.

  A nasty voice spit as it whispered uncomfortably in Michael’s ear. “Shoutta want ye, Monk. Wedon care. A sooner ye tellat we need, a better.”

  With that, someone cracked Michael on the head and he heard, “Whajoo dodat for?” as he passed out.

  CHAPTER 9

  A lone man walked across a desert scene, his photon gun drawn. He wore a white shirt with a black vest and black pants.

  An accented voice yelled, “Hey! Han Solo! Think fast!”

  A bolt of fire kicked up dust in front of the lone man, who immediately squatted and returned fire. Suddenly, an implausibly large spaceship rose up above the horizon behind the lone man.

  “I told you a million times, Duresh. I was headed to a Halloween party!” said the lone man.

  The scene cut to a man standing in the same desert, wrapped in ungainly brown garments with a look of surprise on his face as he dropped his weapon and sank to his knees.

  A mechanical-sounding voice spoke out of nowhere, ostensibly from the spaceship’s speakers. “We can still make the party if we leave now, sir— and break a few hyperdrive laws.”

  “All right, Trinket. Let’s roll. Just make sure Duresh here won’t bother anyone else, OK?”

  A red beam of light shot through the air from the ship. The scene cut to Duresh shaking his hand, his weapon a melted mess at his feet.

  The lone man ran back toward the ship as the camera zoomed out. until you could only make out the spaceship, then the planet, and then you zoomed faster through a stellar system, then a galaxy, then a star field.

  Credits began to roll. “So what did you think?” Corge asked LeAnn.

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Fine.”

  “One of the greatest science fiction movies of all time, and you say, ‘Fine’?”

  “It was boring.”

  “How can you say THAT was boring? That is one of the greatest space battle sequences in movie history ever.”

  “Things don’t explode like that in a vacuum.”

  “You’re missing the point, LeAnn,” Corge sighed.

  “Oh, am I? And what is this essential point I’m missing? That everyone must like what you like?”

  “What?!” Corge screeched. “EVERYBODY likes this movie. It has been consistently rated in the top five science fiction movies since before Disconnection!”

  “Maybe that’s why it’s boring?”

  Corge stared at her.

  “It’s old,” she shrugged.

  Corge took a deep breath to calm himself before mounting another defense when the station alert rang on his com.

  “Yellow,” LeAnn said. Corge stared at her, his eyes blazing coals of offense. “The alert, dummy. It’s yellow. Might be interesting.”

  “Oh,” Corge launched the alert. Its text replaced the movie credits on the screen.

  “In an urgent session of Assembly, a Vote of Caution was taken on segmented matters. Teams A, 10, B, 75, HAB, 32 and 16B should consult team leaders for altered instructions.”

  “What the hell was that?” LeAnn asked Corge.

  “A Vote of Caution means a passed measure received enough concern from committee experts to require a delay in implementation while more information is collected. It’s a safety valve against measures that might have been honestly passed before previously unknown evidence could bear on the issue.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Textbook. I knew that. I mean, what’s it about? Why is it segmented? It’s not vent related, I know that much.”

  “Only one secret session I’ve been to lately. My guess is the Passives got a delay on the machine preparations.”

  “Oh crap,” LeAnn sighed.

  Corge’s com rang again. LeAnn’s rang at the same time.

  “Meeting with Ibrahima?”

  “Yep,” Corge said. “All right, LeAnn. Let’s roll.”

  LeAnn rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you’re not going to quote that movie for the next week.”

  “No time to talk, LeAnn. We can make it to Ibrahima’s if we leave now—and break a few hyperdrive laws.”

  “That isn’t even the quote,” LeAnn sighed.

  “So you were paying attention,” Corge smiled.

  LeAnn hit him gently on the back of the head.

  They met in Ibrahima’s lab with Chi-lin and several other team members. Once they were all settled, Ibrahima spoke.

  “As you may have surmised from the alert, the Passives organized a Vote of Caution on the work we’ve been doing to prepare for the machine. They took the vote without my knowledge, input or presence. That is not acceptable, but it is done.

  “They found some psychological studies in deep databanks that they claim bear on the effect the machine work would have on the populous. They swayed the council by arguing this was not a veto of the Assembly’s decision but a ‘go slow’ until the procedure could be adapted.

  “To me, it’s obviously the first step on the way to killing the project. Otherwise, why shut me out of the proceedings? In any case, we’re awaiting new instructions from the Assembly. I’m told Serafina will arrive shortly with those.

  “At best, we’ll be told to limit our preparations to the point of transmission and not beyond. In that case, we carry on as usual and I’ll only ask you for more speed. It will become a race to see if we can force a vote on transmission before they make their next move to shut us down.

  “At worst, they convince the council to suspend our entire operation until the caution is lifted. In that case, you’ll all find offers to assist me with my next, entirely unrelated project that is too early in its development to require me to inform the Assembly.” She uncharacteristically winked. “Now, talk amongst yourselves while we wait. I have some messages to attend to.” She sat down at her screen and ignored us all.

  It didn’t take long. Serafina shuffled in, carrying several info devices. The room quieted again, and she read from one of them.

  “As I told Ibrahima, the Assembly was presented with new evidence of psychological studies to be weighed and incorporated into procedures for the machine reactivation sequence, thus instigating a Vote of Caution, which
passed. I’d like to emphasize that your team is not being disbanded, and you still must operate under a strict nondisclosure policy.”

  A sigh of relief swept through the group.

  “However, the limits of your immediate mission have changed. Transmission and Operation have been reclassified as follow-on missions. In accordance with the research needs of the Caution Vote, all efforts should be redirected into research internally. While survey missions on the surface are still authorized, the machine itself is off limits until further notice.”

  A groan swept through the group, driving out the relief.

  “The Assembly has expressly restricted the machine to Assembly-specific authorizations only. Those authorizations are limited for the time being to Psychology team members on the new Effects Evaluation and Research mission. Thank you for your continuing work in this effort.”

  Serafina did not use any of the soaring tones or rhetorical devices she had displayed in the Assembly meeting. She kept a flat, emotionless voice through the entire reading. Now that it was done, she looked up and regret crept into her face.

  “I’m really sorry, as I’ve told Ibrahima. None of us were expecting this Caution Vote. Some even suspect the Passives may have withheld evidence in initial discovery so they could spring this on us in case they lost the first vote. I doubt that. My guess is they got lucky with a random hit by one of their researchers and went with it.”

  “Why is the machine restricted?” yelled one of the team members.

  Serafina just shook her head. “I’m not even sure. An argument was made that, to prevent accidental transmission, the team should be kept off the machine. Then Psychology noted they needed access, and somehow or another it ended up making sense to carve out a narrow exception for Psychology. When we tried to make a similar exception for specific Communication team members, it failed. We just didn’t have the votes. Apparently the Passives have convinced several members of the Assembly that our—I mean your—team is too enthusiastic.”

  Ibrahima stood. “Thanks, Serafina. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but at least the team is still together and we, in part, have Serafina to thank for that. We’ll abide by the decision.”

  “Thank you, Specialist Ibrahima,” Serafina said, then lowered her head and left.

  Ibrahima waited until Serafina was gone and said, at full volume, “Like hell! I’ll be damned if the Passives keep our hands off that machine. Keep planning as if we’ll have access. Don’t doubt it for a moment. We will find a way. Corge, Chi-lin, LeAnn, with me.”

  She called them over to her desk and began lecturing them in a low voice. Most of it was about the importance of the mission and how she was almost certain that the Caution Vote was illegal, and she said she’d even risk a trial to prove it.

  “But I won’t put you three in that position unless you agree. Back out any time, including now. Otherwise, I have a special task for you.”

  Her searing gaze told a different story than her words. Corge felt she might capture and torture any one of them who backed out. Or at least scorch them with her disapproving glare.

  “Good. I need someone who knows the surface,” she pointed at Chi-lin. “Someone who knows the tunnels,” she indicated LeAnn. “And someone who knows the machine,” she pointed at Corge. You’re going to need to look like you’re working in this lab every day and show that work to the Passives from the Assembly, but be ready to access that machine on my notice, get to it fast, and work it as if you’d been at the real thing every day. I can help you with the hiding—”

  “I can’t do it,” Chi-lin said, interrupting her.

  “What do you mean you can’t do it,” Ibrahima snapped, belying her assurance that they could walk away at any time.

  “I want to,” she said defensively, “I really mean I can’t. I’m not capable. I’ll get caught.”

  “What a pile of reclamation sludge. You will not,” Ibrahima barked.

  “Look at my record,” Chi-lin protested. “I’m practically a Tripathi!” Even Ibrahima looked shocked by the self-insult. “I’m brilliant for part of any job, I know that. But I’m never good at all of it. I’m not reliable! This is too important to risk it on me.” She ended this with a pleading look to Ibrahima.

  “Insult yourself all you want, but don’t insult me,” Ibrahima said in an even tone. “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

  “What? No! Of course not.”

  “Or do you think I’m growing feeble in my old age? That I’m no longer capable of judging risks or character?”

  Chi-lin saw her point immediately and looked down.

  “I’m not putting you in this job because I have some altruistic chance to do good by someone. You’re right about that. I wouldn’t risk this effort’s chances of success to make you feel better. Stop flattering yourself. I don’t think—I know—that you are the best for this job. You know the surface. You’ve been out there constantly. And you proved your ability to judge the terrain when you recovered from that ridiculous mistake you made up there at the machine.

  “I’m pretty much counting on you to make some dumb error like that again. Partly because I know you’re clever enough to recover from it and partly because it will be unexpected and something these prigs from the Passives won’t anticipate. Be original. Be clever. Make mistakes. Just make damned sure you recover from them. Got it?”

  The color drained from Chi-lin’s face. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. That’s enough on that. Corge, the first phase depends on you. Remember, I said it’s a race. The faster you figure out the machine, the faster we can make a break and try it. I need you to be five nines sure you can make it work, and I need you to get there fast. So get to work.”

  Corge just nodded.

  “LeAnn, come with me. Your part will be easy since we just need to map out a few alternate routes out there. It’ll be the easiest thing to hide.”

  Corge asked, “How do I hide my research?”

  “Look in the files for ‘Semiological Resonance Estimates.’ It’s the most boring title I could think of. Everything you need will be in there. Just open up stuff until you figure out what’s what. Should be self-explanatory.”

  “What should I do in the meantime?” asked Chi-lin.

  “Go up on the surface. You heard them. We can get to observational distance. Go scout some stuff out. Mess up some minor stuff. It’ll lower their suspicions of you.”

  “Right,” Chi-lin looked a little miffed by this. “I’ll go do what I do best.”

  CAPITULUM 5

  Michael woke to find himself tied to another chair. This one was all metal with spindly legs and a solid back. He had seen more types of chairs in the last 48 hours than he’d ever seen in his life. He began to giggle. He suspected he must be drugged and giggled again.

  He opened his eyes and saw something that made him guffaw like a maniac while crying like a baby.

  Jackson lay face up in a pool of blood at Michael’s feet. His throat had been slit and they laid him spread eagle, a horrible rictus grin on his face, his eyes staring up into nothing. Michael heard his own uproarious laughter and began to vomit.

  In his brief moments of clarity, Michael noticed the room. It was dark and there was a dim light coming from somewhere unidentifiable. He had no real sense of time. Waves of fear, panic, elation and delusion racked him in random order. All the while his only company was the dead body of Jackson and figments of his mind.

  At some point, he fell unconscious. He woke to a man sitting on a stool in the place where Jackson’s body had been.

  “Feel better, Michael?” the man said.

  The man wore a thick, grey shirt that Michael had heard called a “jumper” by some. It was always too hot in New York to wear such a thing. The man held a large knife in one hand, playing with it like a toy, rubbing its handles, cleaning his nails, poking the stool. Throughout their conversation, he kept the blade moving, but never in a menacing way.

  “The drugs were meant to
make you easier to transport, but uh—heh heh—they do have other side effects. Some even find them pleasant. From the way you look, I suspect you didn’t,” the man said.

  Michael stared. The man had grey, rheumy eyes, short grey hair and a face full of wrinkles. He never smiled, but everything he said sounded like it carried a smirk.

  “Why did you kill Jackson?” Michael rasped. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt.

  “Get him some water,” the man turned and shouted to someone Michael couldn’t see, then turned back. “I’m not sure who Jackson is, Michael. But if you’re meaning the men who held you before, we didn’t kill any of them. I’m certain they’d like to kill us now, but we got you and were gone. We hurt them, sure, but nothing deadly—at least, that I’m aware of.”

  “You’re lying. Jackson was dead right there on the ground in front of me,” Michael countered.

  “Here?” the man shook his head. “That’s the drugs, Michael. I’m sorry that’s what you thought you saw. It must have been horrifying. But you can see, nobody’s been here. This is a dirt floor. It’d be awful hard to clean the stain up, or the smell for that matter. You see?”

  Michael shook his head. “It’s gravel. You could clean it.”

  The man sighed. “Well fine, Michael. I don’t care if you think we killed your former captors or not. It doesn’t much make a difference. So let’s drop it before we get off to a bad start. I’m Martin Chao. I head a secret organization here in the wilderness that is the arm of a—well—let’s calls it a faction of the Authority. It’s hard to explain, but there are many factions in the Authority. Your Guteerez is part of one. My superiors are of a different faction.”

  “Dabashi’s faction?” Michael asked.

  The man shook his head. “No, but I can see why you might think so. From what I know, Dabashi’s been giving you a hard time. But Dabashi doesn’t have a faction. Or at least not one we know of. It makes him an oddity and quite interesting. He’s been able to balance a very precarious neutrality. Not many people can manage that.”