Protector of Men Ch 81
Professor Sherman wasn't sleeping well. Something had disturbed him the night before that left him to constantly revisit his unusual conversation hours before. Things were definitely strange: not only had the visitor mentioned that she had been an old student of his, but she used the term 'accomplice'. Only once had he used that term before.
It was disconcerting to think what the conversation might have become had he stayed with her longer. It must have been her - all the signs pointed to it.
He sat at his computer, eyes bleary from overuse. Before him were countless windows, many resting under others and out of view. No one disappears without a trace.
"Alexandra Richards Suspected to be Kidnapped"
"Still No Leads, Police Say"
Many were from newspapers, government sources. But not all:
"Richards Spotted in Paris, France"
- "She Can Fly: Richards Spotted Performing Impossible Acts"
And each led him deeper down the tunnel. Perhaps it was his incorrigible curiosity, but something led him to think that Miss Richards wasn't gone after all.
He was at his telescope, adjusting the input data. It was nearly morning – not much time for observation, though a little would be enough to satisfy him for the moment. 83º 45' West longitude and 42º 17' North latitude. The image was ruddy and blurred, but that was all he needed: Orion's belt. Perhaps the tunnel would show to be deeper…
But something still caught his eye. Something was familiar about this picture… was it deja-vu? It must have been. Dr. Sherman stood next to his telescope, staring up to the sky.
"What is it?" he asked aloud. As he would have guessed, there was no answer. He looked through the eyepiece again, but the same image presented itself to him. Something still nagged at him – there was something about this that was familiar. He had seen this before – this exact image before, but when was it? The professor racked his tired brain for minutes, attempting to figure out when he had observed this before. Was it a meeting, a presentation? Professor Sherman stopped.
The holographic universe.
Zandra woke up in a sweat and found herself wide-awake. Her dream was unsettling: both in its vividity and in its subject. She had dreamt about Professor Sherman, and it seemed so real… so present… that she questioned her lucidity. Either way, she wasn't getting back to sleep. She quietly got off of the floor and tiptoed out of the room, making sure not to wake Kesia. Someone else was up.
"Have you been busy?" she heard, a little muffled over the sound of Libertas' air purifier. Curious, she walked further down the hallway. There was a reply, but it was too muffled to hear. She moved closer, but stopped before entering the main deck. It sounded like someone was on the videophone.
"Yeah, I understand. How's the newbie?"
"Good, good… [mrifflegh] last week. Did you [ullyhgh]… decision?"
Zandra inched closer still – at the same time hungry for the conversation, but also afraid to eavesdrop. It sounded like a woman on the line, and it was definitely Cover that was on the connection.
"I'll do it silently," he answered.
"[mrff]… to tell them?"
"No. I'll just casually keep it posted. It's got to be done, but I don't think it should be paraded."
"I agree about that."
There was a silence then, and for a moment Zandra was worried that she had been found out. But a second later the woman started speaking again.
"But Cover… [mpleggh] necessary to change it?"
"At this point I think so. Our crew has completely changed, and I think this would be a minute addition."
She was quiet, so he explained further: "If something happens, the best candidate needs to be in charge."
"Why not Zandra?" the woman asked. Zandra's heart started pounding in her chest at the sound of her name.
"She doesn't know enough about the real world," he answered, "And Shade does."
"I guess […] true enough. I just [wrehkll]… they'll react."
"I don't know, but I guess I'll find out."
There was silence again.
"Well," Cover restarted, "I'd better head out. The crew'll be up soon."
"Me too."
"I'm sorry we don't get to talk as much anymore," he said, a little softer in his tone.
"Me too."
"We'll have to rendezvous in Zion again."
"I know. [Limnhy] know when you're […]."
"I look forward to it."
"Me too."
"Over and out," he said, and everything was quiet. Zandra was still again and listened for any movement. She didn't want to be found, because that would mean she had eavesdropped on her captain. Her eyes grew wide as the seconds grew longer.
"Hey Zandra."
She turned around, surprised – but it was only Trim. He wore a smile that confused her, but she dismissed it as only strange because of its rarity.
"Hey Trim. Just get up?"
"Maybe a minute ago. Got a contact?"
Zandra paused a second before answering. Something was definitely odd about him – but was it only because he usually wasn't as cheerful as he seemed to be now?
"A few candidates, but none are concrete."
"I see."
They were quiet, but Trim soon spoke up again:
"I made an upgrade to that virus today – just in case you want to use it sometime."
Zandra nodded again. "Yeah," she answered, "I'd appreciate that." She sighed, her nerves beginning to subside. Cover still hadn't shown up yet.
"You mean you and Shade."
"Ah, I think so."
Now Trim nodded. In a moment he had excused himself from their conversation and was gone, again confounding Zandra with his fleeting moods. After a few seconds she too decided to abandon her little cubby of Libertas for the mess room. She was frustrated - frustrated about everything. She was supposed to be leading the war against the machines – but was she? That answer seemed obvious enough. They had told her that it was now or never – that the machines were going to start really fighting, but nothing was happening. Wasn't it supposed to be a war? Wasn't there supposed to be a great struggle before the end? And now the crew… Trim was a bundle of confusion, Cover was their empty leader, and what was Shade?
It was the frustration that had built up in her since the day she had been unplugged. So many questions… and so far, few of them had been answered. She could have forgotten what she was fighting for if it hadn't been for the constant reiteration of the battle's existence. In anyone else, the faith would have been lost. But not Zandra: she was a fighter even in the absence of struggle. Fighting was like breathing: it was just what she did.
But could she lead without reason? Without purpose? Each mission had its small purpose – a contact here, a lead there, but what did it all add up to? Something wasn't right, and it disturbed her. But, as usual, she'd let it slide for now. Zandra was used having things not add up. After all, it was what led her to the real.