Haze and the Hammer of Darkness (28 page)

The colonel nodded. “Your report suggested that this Danite terrorist organization might pose a regional threat to the Federation. I would be interested in why you think so—beyond the reasons you stated in your reports.”

“I don't know that I have reasons beyond what I reported, sir. The terrorists seemed almost contemptuous of the Federation, as if we had no idea what we were up against. The fact that I could be assaulted with relatively sophisticated medical techniques openly in a public restaurant also suggests a wide degree of at least tacit public support.”

The colonel's laugh was soft, short, and scornful. “The Agency has been aware of the Danites for many years. They meet and plot and think we know nothing, and so long as they do nothing, we allow them to have their secrets. When they do something, as they did in St. George, we act, as you did, and for a number of years thereafter they decide that meetings and muttered words in hidden rooms amount to rebellion. Then they attempt to act, and once more fail. It is predictable. It has been so for centuries.”

“The Sorensen woman was a Federation employee,” ventured Roget.

“All her communications were monitored. We thought they might use her as a lure. Did they not do just that?”

“I was aware that she had ulterior motives from the first, sir, as my reports indicated.”

“As you should have been and were and as has been the case for generations. They seem to think that we see nothing and hear nothing when everything is seen and heard.” The colonel paused. “You reported on the geothermal power units, but your report was less detailed on the chamber adjoining the one where you observed the terrorists. Can you elaborate on your report?”

“I hurried through it. I was trying to find an injector that might have held an antidote. It looked like a combination of a small manufacturing operation and a laboratory. The facility under DeseretData was used to fabricate nerve shredders, but I couldn't determine what the equipment beneath the sculptor's building was used for. The lab looked more like a very professional medical facility. As I reported, Marni Sorensen had told me she had a background in biology.” He didn't mention her doctorate because he wanted to see how the colonel responded or avoided dealing with that fact. “When I reported in, I was told to vacate immediately. So I didn't go back and make a more thorough investigation.”

“Her background didn't deal with biological terrorism, and she would have known any number of agents that might have disrupted your system without registering on your internals. She would not have needed a laboratory so elaborate for that. It would appear that either someone else had to have been involved or that she had some other project of value to the Danites. Would you have any idea who or what those might be, Agent Roget?”

“No, sir. None of those I investigated had that kind of background, not that I could determine.”

“A pity. We will find them. We always do.” The colonel paused. “After consulting with the medical staff, we have decided that you will be granted three weeks' convalescent leave. You will report back here for medical tests three weeks from Thursday. If those tests indicate that you are fully recovered, you'll be posted to your new assignment. If not, but it appears that you will recover, you will be temporarily assigned to analysis.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That will be all, Agent-Captain. You are free to leave the base at your convenience. If you choose to spend any or all of your leave here, you may request a room in the officers' quarters. If you wish to spend time elsewhere, you're authorized to receive the government travel rates at any lodging establishment, but the cost is your responsibility.”

Roget stood. “Thank you, sir.”

“Thank you. You managed to keep a messy situation relatively quiet. All the people of St. George know is that a fire brought an inspector and several people vanished. That's enough to keep them looking over their shoulders.” The colonel looked down at the desk.

Roget inclined his head politely, then left the office, closing the door quietly.

The only person outside was the colonel's assistant, an older woman who said politely, “Good day, Agent-Captain.”

As he walked from the security building to wait for a shuttle outside, he considered his options. Three weeks' convalescent leave. He frowned. His sister lived in the Fort Greeley complex that had grown up after the reduction of Denver, and that wasn't all that far from Cheyenne on the maglev. He'd have to see if he could visit there for a few days, not that he'd impose on her for a bed, but he hadn't seen her in several years, not since she and Wallace had moved to Fort Greeley because he'd been posted away from Noram and couldn't justify the expense of transoceanic travel. He wouldn't stay that long because he didn't want to spend too much of his pay on lodging.

First, though, he wanted to do some research after he checked out of the medical center.

He had to wait almost a quarter hour for the shuttle, and it was another quarter hour before he was back at the base medical facility. By the time he collected his few personal items and authorized the various bureaucratic acknowledgments and releases, another hour elapsed.

Finally, some two hours later, he was settled into a small room in the officers' quarters, using his monitor to access the commnet. His first inquiry was for Joseph Tanner.

The response was close to immediate. While there were almost a hundred entries, none of the living Tanners, or those who had died in the last century, fit his criteria. When he eliminated them, just three remained, and only one fit his criteria. It was comparatively short.

Joseph Jared Tanner, Senator, United States of America 2039–2127
A.D.
, reputedly a former naval military pilot who was known as an opponent of “excessive” social programs and a staunch opponent of global federation … instrumental in the temporary resurgence of U.S. military forces before the Wars of Confederation …

That was it. Roget still smiled. Joseph Tanner had been real. His smile faded when he thought about how few Joseph Tanners remained in the records once they died. Fame—even remembrance—was indeed fleeting.

His next inquiry was on Marni Sorensen. Interestingly enough, there was but a single entry matching her name.

Marni Carpenter Sorensen, (3162
F. E.
–) B.S., M.S., Deseret University, Ph.D., University of California–Davis. Coauthor, “RNA, ‘Junk' Matter, and Memory Retention,”
Noram Medical Journal …

Following her name was a listing of articles and publications, but the last was dated some five years earlier. Given the delays caused by peer review and editorial matters, that suggested she had stopped researching and publishing when she'd returned to St. George. He frowned. She'd stopped publishing, but not researching. He also wouldn't have been surprised to learn that she'd contacted some of Tanner's descendants. Had she also obtained the basis of what she had used on him from Tanner descendants? Or from Saint genealogical tissue samples? He would have bet on one of those and given odds. But he wasn't about to say anything, because he'd either end up out of the FSA and being a medical guinea pig somewhere … or worse.

Was that why the major had dismissed Marni so cavalierly? While it might have been because he couldn't believe a woman was that brilliant, or because he hadn't been told the full extent of what had been going on in the laboratory, it was far more likely that the FSA didn't want it known, even among agents, exactly what she had been doing.

And that suggested…? Did the FSA already have the ability to extract and process memories for reimplantation? Were they already using it? Perhaps in the low-function relocation communities?

Roget repressed a shudder. There wasn't much he could do about it if the Agency were doing that, but it was definitely something he needed to keep in mind. Even so, one way or the other, he had no doubts that Marni had been the source of his “flashback memories,” although he doubted that he'd ever know for certain whether her research had resulted in an implantation of genetic-based memories or “merely” gene-based suggestions of memories that his own brain had reprocessed into coherence.

He could see why the Saints were interested in her work, though, especially if it rendered people more susceptible to being supportive of the Saints … or even made them likely to convert. He could also see, scientifically important as that research might be, why neither the Federation nor the Saints would want to make it public. He certainly was in no position to inquire more directly than he had. Even so, he'd likely face more questions about his inquiries. But he'd had to know. And now that he knew … there wasn't a thing he could do about it.

 

25

23 MARIS 1811
P. D.

Roget had gone back to the capitol for an hour on Tuesday by himself after he and Lyvia had eaten lunch. Once there, he had watched and listened to the Judiciary proceedings, but he didn't see anything out of the ordinary. The case itself dealt with the issue of misrepresenting a product, as depicted on a fictional drama. The plaintiff contended that, regardless of whether the drama represented a series of fictional events, the defendant had used the setting of the drama to overrepresent the product's capabilities, with the active collusion and support of the designing firm, and that was an actionable event under the law, and the designing firm that had supplied the product was liable for damages.

Roget was shaking his head, figuratively, when he left the Judiciary, because the case wasn't something that he would even have considered. Yet it made perfect sense under the system Lyvia had described, and again, that bothered him.

Later that afternoon, he visited a series of art galleries on the south side of Skeptos, but while he saw all types of art—except art forms such as multis that required continuous energy output—he didn't see any other depictions of spacecraft, or any kind of aircraft. He did see depictions of sailing craft and something that looked like a human-powered submersible, as well as several scenes of mountain or highland villages with snow. One was even captioned
Winter in Chaco.

He ate alone but decided on Dorinique, although he had to walk around the square several times before they could seat him. He only saw one dog, if from a distance, but it wasn't even a dachshund.

On Wednesday morning he was in the lobby of the MEC building by quarter past nine, and he waited for a good ten minutes before Lyvia appeared. They walked up to the third level and to the conference room with little more conversation than polite necessities.

Director Hillis walked in and came right to the point.

“Agent Roget, your dropboat will be ready for launch tomorrow. After breakfast Agent Rholyn will escort you to the … transport facility. You're expected there at eleven hundred—noon local. That will require your leaving Skeptos at about nine.”

“What about the documentation?”

“It's already aboard the dropboat. You'll have time to check it after you reach the facility.”

“The other agent?”

“He's already there. Given his mental state, it's questionable as to whether he'll be of much use to the Federation, but removal from Dubiety and the strain it created within him might allow personal restabilization. It will also make it slightly more difficult for the Federation to use his absence as a provocation.”

With three other agents perishing in the attempt to land, would one make a difference? And why would Dubiety create that much strain on an agent? “Was he exposed to anything markedly different from what I was?”

“No. In fact, he saw far less before he became totally unstable and uncontrollable. That is understandable, however, since his background is Sinese.”

“Did you apply greater distortion to his perceptions?”

“We have not attempted to distort either your perceptions or his,” replied Hillis calmly. “What would be the point? It's against our beliefs, and once you return to Federation jurisdiction, any such meddling would be apparent.”

“It's not likely that they'll believe me, you know?”

“That depends on you, doesn't it?”

“And on them and on whatever you send back with me,” Roget added.

“The documentation will be there, as will other evidence if you choose to take it.”

“You're being awfully casual about all this. You're the first splinter culture the Federation has encountered.”

“The first of which you're aware.” A wry smile appeared. “I also wouldn't say that we're casual. Weren't you met with someone prepared to talk to you? Haven't we attempted to show you how Dubiety operates? No … we're anything but casual. ‘Resigned' might be a better term. Hopeful, but resigned. The Federation is rather set in its ways.”

“Are you suggesting that they've hidden or destroyed other cultures?”

“I'm not suggesting anything. Remember, we're Thomists. I'm certain you know the origin of the name.”

Roget did—a takeoff on the idea of Doubting Thomas.

“We well may be the first splinter culture the Federation has encountered. We may not be. We can't speak for that which is beyond what we know. Neither can you. Not accurately.”

“I stand corrected.” He kept his voice wry.

“I have two last observations for you to keep in mind.”

Roget waited.

“First, the longer a culture or society exists without external pressures or conflicts and the more successful it is in maintaining its institutions unchanged, the more likely the slightest pressure, even the pressure of knowledge, is likely to result in unplanned change. Second, the speed of technological development is directly proportional to the true effectiveness of education and markets and to the amount of resources behind the discovery and dissemination of knowledge, as well as being inversely retarded by the degree of governmental control and regulation.” The Director turned her eyes to Lyvia. “It occurs to me that Agent Roget has not seen any background on the planoforming of Dubiety. The Natural History Museum.”