Desdemona chuckled. “Ironically, the new prisoner might be part of the movement begun by our disowned son. Even though he is our son.”
They chuckled at this apparent joke as Roddy’s face contorted in confusion once more. Mona cringed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have said that while you’re unable to appreciate the mild irony.” Her face changed again, moving from humor to discomfort to comforter in the span of seconds. “Let me give you the highlights of your story. We must leave you for a while—there are other prisoners to question and administrative matters waiting for our direction. But we’ll leave you with materials to help you understand. When you’ve finished with those, you’ll know enough to make a major decision about your future. Fair enough?”
“I don't know if it’s fair.” Roddy’s mouth felt dry. “But I also don't know if there’s a better alternative.”
Mona nodded. “I doubt you heard much about Phoenix during your time working for Oswald Silver. That's the nature of the group: only those who are admitted know of its existence. Far fewer—the elite of the elite—know of its true purpose.”
Roddy nodded. “They… explained a bit about that group. When we were up in space.”
Mona nodded. “At that point there was no need to keep things hidden from you; you couldn't warn people already dead or stop an assault already begun. And given the general cruelty and indifference to the suffering of humanity at large among those pulling the strings, they’d probably tell you just to see the horror stretch across your face.”
Roddy thought about the machines they'd described while he was a captive within the city floating in space. He remembered watching as those same machines devoured Delaney and the others aboard the crashed ship, and the ship dissolving around him. Once started… there was no stopping the Ravagers.
And he remembered the cruel delight on the faces of Silver and Delaney as he’d learned the truth. Mona was right. There was a deeply rooted evil in those men, an evil that delighted in causing suffering in others.
He shuddered.
“Phoenix, at its essence, seeks a rebirth of sorts in humanity, a fresh start with a world landscape created by design, populated by those who either knew of and agreed to Phoenix's approach and methods, or who unknowingly provided some incredibly valuable skill and insight required to meet those aims. Or those who were, shall we say, genetically pleasing to the leaders. All others, bluntly, would be… discarded.”
“Genocide.” Roddy spoke the word through clenched teeth.
“It's not a perfect word, but it's close enough. The original founders of the group believed the overwhelming majority of humans to be inherently inferior to themselves, and believe the continued existence of those lesser humans would drag humanity further and further away from its potential over the course of generations. By… selectively eliminating those they believed pulled humanity down, Phoenix's founders intended to reverse that perceived trajectory, pushing humanity to reach its physical and mental potential.”
Roddy felt the bile rising in his throat, reminded once more of the sickness he’d heard in the words and tone of Silver and Delaney. “Then those who knew and opposed them should eliminate the leaders. It sounds as if everyone else thinks they’re doing something altruistic while achieving the genocidal aims of the leaders. Chop off the head and the body dies… or gets a better head. Either way, the threat ceases to exist.”
“That works in concept, and is in fact our end game,” Jeffrey replied. “But while we know there’s a core group of leaders directing everything, they’ve disguised themselves well. We only know the identities of a few of them, and unlike them, we aren’t willing to destroy the innocent to get the guilty.” He scowled. “We wouldn’t know if we’d gotten all of them even then.”
“Oswald Silver is one of them,” Roddy replied, more confident about that than anything else in this strange new reality.
Jeffrey nodded once. “That’s confirmed. But he’s just one member of what appears to be a cabal of thirty. We have evidence that that’s the right number, but don’t know the names and thus solid proof that the number is correct. Silver is one of the major players within that group, but killing him at some point in the past would do nothing but alert the others of the existence of our resistance movement. Killing Oswald Silver would do nothing more than eradicate those best poised to stop the long-term threat to humanity.”
Roddy glared at him. “There are millions of people dead now. The current plan didn't work well, did it?”
His father hesitated. “It's worked better than you could know right now, despite the devastating outcomes you’ve seen.”
Desdemona held up a hand, stopping Roddy before he could offer the sharp retort about what constituted a successful resistance movement against pure evil. “Jeffrey, we actually need to leave before people get suspicious; we’ve already spent too much time with Roddy.” She turned to Roddy. “Let me summarize in this manner: the three of us worked tirelessly to extract information that would help us cut off the head, as you noted, because failing to eliminate every single one of the leaders meant humanity would face the next threat with the leaders aware of a stronger resistance movement than they recognized this time. The threat to humanity—and to your family—was great enough that you chose to lose your memory, forget who you were, to drastically alter your physical appearance via surgery, and to willingly move into the realm of the enemy in a less-than optimal set of circumstances. Your existence would eventually draw their attention and their resources, leaving your family and the rest of the resistance to operate without suspicion or surveillance, leaving the rest of us—yes, including the wife and children you no longer remember—at a near zero risk of identification and extermination. You became our lightning rod and changed your name to reflect that, and your efforts succeeded just as expected in focusing the attention of the top people in Phoenix on you and drawing them out of the shadows. Because of your efforts, we now know the identities of nearly all the leaders. We have enough information now that we can start to launch retaliatory strikes that will be surgical in nature.” She patted his head in a way only a mother could, beaming at him. “You accomplished the mission you chose, Roddy.”
“How did I—?”
Jeffrey walked to the wall, where Roddy noted a view screen. “We've hooked you into a private network from this room, Roddy, a network only you can access. If you touch the screen, you'll have the opportunity to learn of the life you’ve forgotten. You’ll learn who you were, what drove you to make the decisions you made… and what you can do now to best help yourself and those you love. When we leave, put your palm on this screen and state that you want to watch your life story. When we come back with your next meal, you'll have had the opportunity to see it all.”
And without waiting for him to reply or indicate that he understood, they left, shouting angrily at him as they walked through the door out into corridor.
Roddy, with no better option to clear his confused mind, did as they suggested, palming the view screen and stating that he wanted to see his life story.
The videos and audio took his breath away.
He saw a youngster, barely a toddler, a skinny child with a mischievous smile; he touched his own mouth, recognizing that same smile from photos and videos taken of him in the life he remembered, instantly recognizing the frail child as himself. The wider landscape in that first image showed that they lived in one of the cityplexes; with no sign of the giant lake in the background of the panoramic shot and no familiar skyline landmarks, he suspected that it wasn’t the Lakeplex he'd lived in during his remembered times. His parents looked much as they did now, little changed save for a few more wrinkles around the eyes. He watched a video of himself taken during his tenth birthday, and all the other young children in attendance looked happy. He opened gifts, people sang, they enjoyed cake and ice cream. Everything seemed quite normal. Roddy smiled at the happy scene… until he realized that only three of the people in that happy scene were still alive.
The somber mood returned.
The videos shifted. He was older now, more developed but still with a lean build. His facial maturity and the faint dusting of facial hair suggested he was in his late teens or early twenties. Though he could see a resemblance in the eyes of the youngster on the screen to those he saw in the mirror, there was still little physical similarity between the younger Roddy on the screen and the man he’d become today.
Young Roddy had his arm around the shoulders of a beautiful girl, and the couple beamed genuine smiles. Images showed them watching movies, biking, swimming, dancing, singing. They interacted with his parents. Roddy noticed the change in Jeffrey and Desdemona in those images. Their smiles, even as they celebrated Roddy’s wedding, didn't reach their eyes, and he suspected it was during this time that they'd begun to unravel the mysteries of Phoenix, gaining knowledge that would add years to the face of even an immortal.
His fears were confirmed.
He watched as he and his wife learned about firearms and self-defense. They learned about explosives. They learned how to hack into any technical device, how to determine who else might have access to those devices and any information it gathered. They worked out constantly, sweating, urging each other on. He'd started to pack on some muscle, and though he’d firmed up and added bulk, he was still a much smaller man than the one he’d become now.
The scene shifted again.
His parents were telling him that they'd been asked to join a prestigious research company, one that specialized in designing the best methods to quarantine populations in the event of a highly contagious bacterial or viral infection. They'd help build and then manage the ongoing operations of a facility just south of one of the large inland lakes in the northern part of the West’s territory. The facility—part research think tank, part paramilitary fortress—would be called New Venice, after a mythical city from the Golden Ages well known for its waterways. They asked Roddy and his wife to join them. The young couple agreed.
The scene shifted.
They were talking about the best approaches for construction, gathering input from former members of the Special Forces unit of the West’s military and law enforcement about perimeter defenses, materials scientists about the best construction materials, and research scientists about the best methods of deterrence against any viral or bacterial airborne contagions. They built a fortress capable of operating without drawing upon the outside air or water systems for months, bringing in water and air recycling systems and enhancing them until even the most sensitive constitutions could tell no difference between fresh air and outside water and that recycled through the site. Roddy glanced at the abundant green plant life in his cell, recognizing the practical purpose beyond any decorative motivations. The plants would recycle the exhaled carbon dioxide into the oxygen required for breathable air.
It meant this facility was sealed tight against any potential Ravager infiltration. If the tiny robots eluded the abundant water spilling over the facilities and found holes in an exterior he suspected to be constructed of Diasteel, they’d find no opening to be used to penetrate New Venice.
He watched his parents address the hundreds of workers appointed here at the grand opening, telling them of the virus mutation spreading throughout the walled cities, a virus that took years to display symptoms despite being passed easily from living creature to living creature. They’d all been screened and found clean, but the virus had reached such widespread levels of contamination that even if an antidote was found, it was unlikely they’d be able to create enough, and administer it quickly enough, to avoid catastrophic death totals.
And that assumed the virus didn’t mutate again, thwarting efforts to find a cure.
The somber looks moved him. The workers believed the story. They were here to save humanity… or to propagate the species if efforts to eradicate the virus failed. It was a noble cause.
His parents frowned. They told of whispers, people saying that the organizations sponsoring this noble effort were actually the ones spreading the illness, creating and spreading a deadly disease to hawk cures and expensive ongoing prevention schemes. The crowds hissed and booed, each person trying to prove themselves the most horrified at such disgusting claims.
Roddy watched the faces in the crowd closely. He and his wife cheered and booed with the others, but there was a different air to them; they knew the accusations to be accurate, not conspiracy. And… there were others with a similar look on their faces. Not many. But some.
He understood why. Given the crowd’s reaction, even considering something other than altruistic motives for Phoenix would lead to shunning, anger, and possibly violence.
The scene shifted once again.
He, his wife, and his parents were in a private room. His wife's belly protruded from an otherwise lean physique, and she rested her hand atop the bump. Roddy felt a lump in his throat, unable to tear his eyes away as his mother spoke. “We've identified a half dozen of them so far, despite Micah's efforts aboard the space station, but the evidence assures us that represents at best a quarter of their total. But if he pushes much harder to draw out the others, Micah will be compromised and we'll lose our inside source.” Her eyes dropped; Mona was losing hope and running out of ideas.
“What's the latest about the superweapon they're rumored to be developing?” the young Roddy in the video asked, apparently trying to change the topic away from his mother’s distressing news.
His father’s face twitched. “Micah managed to attend a high-level meeting. The concept is nearly complete, basic functionality is working in early prototypes, but they’re stymied by some critical technical difficulties that are blocking further progress. They're trying to bring in, via coercion or subterfuge, a few key people to make the breakthrough they need. If everything works, it will be unstoppable using any conventional weaponry. Micah said they’re discussing some form of biometric marker that can be used to repel the weapon from attacks against what they deem valuable assets, but he’s not been able to get more information on what form that might take.” Jeffrey sighed. “Stopping this purported superweapon, assuming it’s ever operational and deployed, won't matter if we can't identify the rest of them. We can stop this weapon, destroy those we've identified… and the others, true to their name, will rise from the ashes with plans for something even worse. And they’ll be better prepared to squeeze us out into the open where we can be destroyed.”
“We need someone else on the inside. Truly on the inside.” Roddy's wife rubbed her extended, pregnant belly as she spoke, as if the gesture focused her thoughts. Roddy felt something stir in him; her voice felt familiar. “It needs to be someone they'll feel free to talk in front of, who can transmit what they've learned without revealing anything. They’re careful around Micah because they correctly perceive that a general can be a threat if his opinions on their methods change. If we can get another person, someone they can’t possibly suspect, into a position of trust with one of the leaders…” Her voice trailed off.
“Audrey's trying to get a position on the inside with Oswald Silver,” Jeffrey murmured. “His wife’s been dead for years, see, so…” He paused, as if realizing what he was saying, then snapped his mouth shut.
Mona snorted. “We’re all aware of your sister’s unique… talents. And her… techniques may be useful in this regard.”
Jeffrey's face reddened. “I agree, but I’m not sure that’s the idea here. Oswald isn’t likely to bring her to secret meetings at distant fortresses or aboard the station. She’ll learn only what she can pry from him in moments of… weakness. It will help, but I agree: we need more than that. Someone who’s essential to his efforts on behalf of Phoenix.”
“Like a pilot.” The younger Roddy on the screen stroked his chin. “Someone could join Special Forces, become a pilot, get hired away by one of those elites as an airborne chauffeur to all of their private meetings. They might even be asked to fly them to the space station. And why not? Someone wh
o knows that powered flight isn't a myth won't be surprised by anything else. Right?”
“I suppose,” Jeffrey said, nodding. “But why would they pick our hypothetical mole over anyone else?”
“If someone displayed hints of the old magic on the surface, despite not even recognizing what they were doing… wouldn't that intrigue an elite to get that person aboard?” The young Roddy arched an eyebrow; the older Roddy tried to replicate the move without success, wondering how he’d lost that skill. “Might the elites keep our mole around at all times, trying to figure out the secret to their displayed power, wondering how that mere pilot can do what hasn't been done on the surface in a thousand years or more?”
“What are you suggesting, son?” Mona asked, though her tone suggested she knew exactly what he was suggesting.
Roddy glanced around. “Use the machine. Take my memories and knowledge of the resistance, my knowledge of how my powers were reawakened on the surface. Let me join Special Forces; my instincts will get me into their secret pilot program, and my uncanny intuition will get the attention of the right people. If I'm bugged to transmit anything I see or hear in an untraceable and unblockable manner, then everything I hear and see comes back to you. That should get us the names of the rest of them. It will take time, to be sure. They aren't ready to launch this alleged superweapon, not yet, and it may take years to reach that point. Between what I’m able to transmit back without realizing it, and what Aunt Audrey can share with her… unique approach? That should finally get us what we need to launch the final attack on the leaders.”
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