…
"And yet, I can't blame my God for staying his hand, or quieting his voice. After all, I was the first to abandon my oaths and promises to him." - from Markus' Final Log.
…
Administrator Clarence rifled through his stack of paperwork. It was once believed paper would be seen as an archaic method of storing data. The digital age promised so much in its infancy. The malleability of information was an unforeseen consequence when the "paperless era" was first theorized. In truth, paper remained the most economical method of retaining information. Clarence could never be certain of the facts he did have access to within the digital storage banks of his mind. How much of that had changed without him noticing? But paper? Paper was solid. It wasn't so easy to alter what was written on paper.
He wanted to look busy while he assessed his thoughts. The man in front of him was difficult. His records made sense at a first pass, but follow up analysis revealed certain holes. They were holes only the paper could reveal. One could lost in the digital realm. One never got lost in paper.
"Sir, if I may," Sully started.
"Just a moment," Clarence interrupted. He needed to have his facts together. What was Sully? A doctor from Ganymede should have a physician's chip, and while Sully was skilled, he appeared to lack the basic applications. He was noticeably slower, and worked with the arms through analog means. He didn't just connect, like the other physicians could. It appeared he had a blank chip. He could make calls and run basic tasks that helped him, but nothing specialized. At least, that's what appeared to him. In fact, many of his actions seemed to come exclusively through experience, not AI aim assisted software. What is he? Clarence asked himself again.
He checked through the papers again. Ganymede Medical Academy degree, but no chip from said academy. Birth certificate for Ganymede, but could he even be certain of that? Most of the people who came out this far were from Europa or Callisto; natural explorers or people looking for escape. There were some people from Mars, like Mick, but most of them had been missionaries or had come from wealth. Nobody stayed on Mars if they could, and very few would willingly leave Ganymede, least of all physicians. It was one of the things that made Sully so attractive. It was one of the things that infuriated Clarence about him. Nothing added up with what Sully was supposed to be for his colony.
"One hundred sixteen. One hundred sixteen. Do you know what that number is?" Clarence asked, hoping to find his footing in a line of questions directed at the enigma sitting across from him.
"It's the total—"
"It's the total population of this particular colony, and we're growing." Mick didn't want Sully to be comfortable. He wasn't a Hegemony agent, but enough ideas had slipped down through the digital media grapevine. Maybe Sully would crack under the right kind of interrogation. "And we're growing, Sul. We're growing based on what?"
"It's based on—"
"Stop. Stop. Just stop," interjected Clarence. Don't let him get comfortable. "You don't know. That's the answer. You don't know. You're too busy doing your own thing to know. So, let me educate you. This colony is owned by the most powerful governmental entity. The Hegemony controls everything outside of the belt."
Sully frowned.
Is that good? wondered Clarence. I can't download his memories like an agent.
"You didn't bring me in to quote doctrine," Sully responded plainly.
"It's not doctrine, Sul. The Hegemony is more than that. And you're not above him."
"I know. I've seen him," said Sully.
Clarence froze. Then he let out a laugh. "I don't know what to make of you Sul. I really don't. I knew your story was full of lies, but—"
"Why do you think I'm here, Clare?" Sully asked, leaning forward.
The question gave Clarence pause. He did pull something out of Sully, though it was the last thing he'd expected. And yet, somehow it was the first piece that might fit.
"Tell me," Sully continued. "Are you The Hegemony?"
"No."
"Is he here to keep you safe?"
Clarence reached under his desk, but stopped himself. No, he thought. I need to record him saying this. I need him to say more. Clarence had been recording the dialogue, of course. But, as always, paper was infallible. So he began to write.
"I keep this colony safe," Sully continued.
Clarence didn't look up. "By ordering a bronchoscopy for every patient that walks through that door?" he asked.
"I didn't check last year. My wife is dead because I didn't check. I won't lose my son—"
"Do you ever see your son?," Clarence interrupted. "You've been in here near eighteen hours a day for months!"
Sully hated Clarence for that statement. He struggled to admit that it was true. He just didn't know what else to do. His promise was to keep Isaiah safe, not to spend time with him. He could handle the stress of the med-bay, the long hours. Sully was built for a certain kind of action. Being still, present with his son felt wrong to him. "What did my wife die for, if not to learn from our past mistakes," argued Sully.
"Was your wife not aware of the risks? Didn't she sign off on her contract?"
Sully's trigger finger itched. He knew Clarence was playing him. What Clarence didn't know, however, was how much that question bothered him. Still, Sully kept waiting for Clarence to give him his way out.
Meanwhile, Clarence finally looked up at the tense man. If only I could read his mind, he thought. I got something by mentioning the Hegemony. His wife's a dead end. Can't get anything from that. "When did you see him. The Hegemony?"
"Right here," answered Sully with a smile. "I'm sitting across from him."
"No, Sul—"
"And last night, when I made sure my son was in bed. I saw him in my wife. He's everywhere, remember?" Sully said.
"You know what I meant," Clarence argued, getting flustered.
"Don't you want me to be overly protective of him. He could be anywhere. Anyone," Sully continued.
Clarence opened his mouth to speak. He stopped short, though. He's good, Clarence thought. Somehow, Sully turned the interrogation on him and made him almost record himself speaking blasphemy. He hadn't thought. Clarence was careful. One didn't get to his station without being careful of the words that were spoken. "So, why are you here, Sul?" he asked, trying to shift the conversation. "And where did you come from? Really come from?"
"You know why," Sully responded with a straight face.
"No, I really don't. You came from Ganymede but don't have a chip from the academy, or at least it appears to be blank…" Clarence trailed off, realizing something. Sully's background was full of holes, but only in very specific places. He had medical knowledge, but no evidence of where it came from. Clarence rifled through the papers, realization dawning. His face paled.
"Clarence?" Sully asked.
Clarence didn't respond. He stopped trying to fit the pieces that didn't fit. He looked instead for the blanks and inconsistencies. Sully's birthplace was one such inconsistency. The information pointing to his schooling, followed by the lack of supporting evidence painted a different picture. Clarence connected the missing pieces as though they formed their own puzzle, the puzzle of who this man was that claimed to be a doctor from Ganymede. Clarence looked up, aghast. He pressed the button under his desk. He had all the evidence all along.
Sully's face darkened. "You're right, Clare," he said. "I never see my son. Does that change what you know I'll do to protect him?"
"I don't know anything," Clarence responded, trying to control his shaking, knowing for the first time how out of his depth he actually was.
Sully sighed. "Do you have kids?" he asked.
"What?"
"You promise to keep them safe. Every day, you promise them. And yet, so often you fail to keep that promise. You start to question if…if promising anything is good."
"I'll call for your son, if you want," Clarence offered, his voice timid. Just have to keep him here, he thought. Long enough for him to get here and save me.
A deafening siren ripped through the room. Both men leaped to their feet. The siren was long, continuous. Its meaning was clear. Another outbreak. Both men had ten minutes to get to the bunker. If they didn't get there within that time, nothing would save them.
Clarence saw an opportunity. He hurled his precious papers at the man between him and the door, praying the action would disorient him.
It didn't work. Sully threw a blindingly quick jab, hitting the administrator square on the chin. The momentum carried Clarence's chin in an arch, and pinched the carotid nerve in his neck, and Clarence's vision blackened in an instant.