Apertio
Southampton, New York – 2130
A sleek, white car pulled into the roundabout of a large medical facility. A young woman stepped out, examining the building. The sign, which read Hilltop Assisted Living & Hospice, was designed to resemble a Nantucket bed and breakfast. She grimaced, and for a moment she hesitated to walk up the stairs to the ominous pair of black, tinted doors, but her friend and business partner, Kenny, snapped her out of the daze.
"Amanda!" he shouted.
She quickly turned around. "Yes?"
"Be careful. And look... if it's not him... or if it is him, and something happens... I don't know. I'm just here for you."
"Thank you," she smiled.
"I'll be right behind you with the gear."
As she watched him pull out of the roundabout, the uneasy feeling that kept her from running up the stairs disappeared. She glided up and forced her way through the doors into the cold, sterile embrace of the building.
"Of course," she said to herself, noticing the automated front desk.
She tapped the screen, and an animated image of a nurse appeared.
"Welcome to Hilltop Centers. How may I help you today?"
"Locate resident."
"Sure. Please say the full name of the resident you wish to locate."
"David C. Smith."
"I'm sorry. We don't have anyone by that name. Please try again."
"Devin P. Boscoe?"
"I'm sorry. We don't have anyone by that name. Please try again."
She thought for a moment. Then, "Leslie O. Brown."
"I'm sorry. We don't have anyone by that name. Please try again."
She reeled back to think. Then it hit her. "Arthur D. Schmitz."
"Mr. Schmitz resides in Room 32B, on the second floor. However, as of 6:07 am, he has been sitting in the Common Hall—North Wing. To access a map, please say, 'Directions.'"
Amanda scoffs. "I think I'll take my chances."
The Hilltop Centers have always felt menacing. In her long journey, Amanda had seen her share of nursing facilities and hospice centers, and they all left a deep, grim impression on her. They all looked the same—blinding, white Venetian or attractive Georgian on the outside; and stark, yellow corridors on the inside. All of them had the same pallid halogen lights; the walls were always empty; the linoleum floors lacked any color; and the hallways were always stuffed with the same crooked, angular machines. No matter how much they tried to dress it up with ice cream parlors and theater rooms, they were places wrought by sadness, loneliness, and death. Most of the residents were alone, but their illnesses and degenerating cognizance spared them from that awful reality, but Amanda could see through the veil.
Then a flash of bright sunlight. Like a gleaming mirage, Amanda saw the foyer at the end of the hallway. She sprinted through the open doors and found herself standing in the center of an enormous 2-story hall, flanked by large pane-glass windows, and chandeliers that hung overhead. There was a fireplace, a couple of stiff couches, some plastic tables, chairs, recliners, and a few discarded breakfast trays were strewn about. Out of the small number of people mincing around, only one caught her eye.
A hunched figure sat quietly beside one of the windows that overlooked the ocean. The man's head hung very low. The chair he sat in was wired directly into his body to monitor vitals and activity. It seemed painful. As she lurched closer, she could not help but recall a photo she had seen of him from many years ago. He stood proud, brawny, and immaculately dressed in uniform. It hurt so much to see that very same man reduced to a crumpled figure slouching in his chair. With a small muster of courage, she reached out with her hand.
"Colonel Russell C. Pound," she whispered.
The old man carefully lifted his head to see the horizon. He was crying, but he held his gaze so firmly on the endless ocean. "Miss... I haven't gone by that name in fifty years. I almost forgot I had an old name."
"My name is Amanda Spender, and I'm—"
"I know why you're here. Just make it quick," he grumbled.
"What? No! I'm not here to kill you... I'm not here for that!"
She quickly rushed around to face him, and in that sharp second, when the old man peered into her cerulean eyes, an overwhelming sense of warm familiarity struck him. He recoiled in paralytic shock. Suddenly, the world around him stopped, and death no longer held any weight. This young woman with golden hair and sharp features stood over him not as an arbiter of death, but as a ghostly visage... a solemn reminder of his sins.
"My god," he whimpered. "You look just like her."
"Like who?"
"Like..."
"We don't have time," Kenny loudly interrupted, slipping past them, and throwing a few bags next to Russell. "It's going to take me a few minutes to get things set up. We need to test the encryption; we need to make sure we're using the right frequencies, disable all nearby radio and television signals, and hope to god we don't show up on any wireless device."
The shock finally wore off. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you people are, but I want you to get away from me," Russell sternly demanded. "Get away from here! Live your lives as much as you can, and leave me alone!"
"Mr. Pound, please listen," Amanda begins to plead.
"All I want is to be left alone to die! You people keep trying to find me. When will it get through your head: I don't want to be found!" He grabs one of Kenny's bags and tosses it away from him. "You people are like vultures."
"Please, just listen to me," Amanda pleaded.
"I don't want to hear it. Not from you, and not from him."
"Please, I spent my whole life trying to find you!"
"Yes, yes, like everyone else who wants a damn story!"
"No, no! I'm not like everyone else. I'm here for the truth!"
"Oh, the truth, the truth," Russell mocked. "Everybody thinks they need to know the truth, and when people got the truth twenty-five years ago, what did they do? What did they do? Nothing! The ratings and viewership skyrocketed—that's all that mattered!"
"Because it wasn't the full story!"
"The full story? What else was there? GUN's raid was a tragedy—a mass murder that I participated in. 30,000 people died aboard Space Colony ARK, not including the 10,000 police and military staff; ten of which were acting on my direct order. Over 40,000 people—men, women, and children—were sentenced to death. I killed one of those children myself. If that's not the full story, then please enlighten me, Miss Spender, what am I missing?"
"Nothing," Amanda admits, almost collapsing against the wall. "But when Scarlett Garcia visited you, she only wanted to know about the raid—why her parents were killed—what led to 40,000 deaths that night. I'm not here for just ARK. I'm here for everything else."
"What else do you think there is?"
Amanda reached across her chest, and lightly rubbed her left arm. "I don't know," she admitted. "But you were close friends to Robotn—"
"Don't say his name," Russell hissed. "Don't you speak that name to me."
"He was your friend, wasn't he? He trusted you. If the unthinkable happened, you were his successor, right?"
The old man scoffed. "I was. If you knew what he was facing—what we all were facing—you'd know why things escalated so quickly."
"Yes. And I know there is more to the story."
Russell sunk into his chair. He closed his eyes and imagined neon-lit hallways, and his friend, somewhere around the corner, calling his name. There was laughter—children's laughter. The flat stillness of that great hall seemed, for an instant, alive and radiant, but it remained in his imagination. It soon faded away.
"Remington... the committee... we did what we could to avoid conflict," Russell explained. "But the raid was inevitable. GUN was always going to attack us. It was only a matter of when. None of this is new; I don't have anything else. What happened up there is dead and buried. All you're doing is opening up old wounds."
Amanda pulled up a chair and sat in front of him. She reached out to hold his cold hand. A memory flashed across Russell's mind. He remembered Scarlett Garcia—auburn hair and a gleaming smile—reaching over the table to hold his hand. As Amanda's warm clutch radiated up his arm, he saw himself in her eyes; fifty years younger, and happier.
"Scarlett Garcia is actually my hero," Amanda began to explain. "As far back as I remember, I wanted to be a journalist just like her: bold, adventurous, dedicated to the truth."
She gestured to various pins and medals on her jacket.
"That's what these are. Journalism awards. I can't tell you how many times I doubted myself, or thought I might be killed, but I always remembered something my parents told me when I was a girl. Nothing starts until you take action."
A chill ran down Russell's back. The words from her mouth almost finished themselves in the voice of his long, dead friend. Amanda continued to talk, but he could not hear her. He was consumed by those words. She affectionately rubbed her thumb across one of the pins that had HORIZON: NASA 211 printed in bold, white lettering.
"Who told you that?" he calmly interjected.
"My parents."
"Who did you say you work for?"
"I didn't, but I was assigned this story through Station Square. My producer, Caleb Renner, gave me the clearance to pursue this assignment—"
"I've changed my name, my social security number, moved all over the country; burned every paper trail I had, and somehow you still found me. How long did that take you?"
She was almost reluctant to answer. "Five years."
"I made damn sure the world thought I was dead. You spent five years chasing a ghost. You're a local reporter. No one from Station Square would waste five years of their life trying to find someone who they knew was dead. No, somehow you knew I was alive."
"No, I knew you were dead, but—"
"When Scarlett came to see me, we were all looking down the barrel of Cosmic Fall. She wanted information, but more importantly, she wanted closure. What do you want? Why are you here?"
"SSTV—all journalists—we're all dedicated to the truth, as subjective as it might be. No matter how dangerous or unrealistic a story might get, we all have a duty to inform the public. Five years isn't even the longest I spent on a story." She forced a chuckle, gesturing back towards the HORIZON pin. "When I was assigned to Horizon, that was seven or eight years..."
"I've met plenty of liars in my life. Most were convincing, and some were too stupid to hide it, but you… there's something about you. I know when you're lying."
"I'm not lying."
"Yes. Yes, you are."
"Amanda," Kenny heeded.
"You either tell me the truth, or you get the hell out of here before I call security," the old man threatened, clenching his fist.
Kenny was already grabbing his bags. "I don't think he's joking."
"Give me a reason now," Russell demanded, gritting his teeth.
The young woman quickly stood up. "Your full name is Russell Christopher Pound. You were born on April ninth, nineteen seventy-eight, in Arlington, Texas, making you one-hundred and forty-five years old. You were Chief of Special Sciences; Colonel Commander of GUN Special Colony Forces; First Admiral aboard Space Colony ARK, appointed personally by GUN Commander Oliver Remington; and co-founder... of Project Shadow. Your wife, Linda Pound, was a biologist who died in the raid. And you have no surviving relatives."
"You could've pulled that from any site."
"Except... you had one son... who died in childbirth. Maximilian Pound. You named him after the industrialist who built Knothole."
It was a punch to the stomach. Russell fell back into his chair; lips trembling, and hands shaking. He pulled his glasses off and rubbed the tears out of his eyes.
"He was a distant relative," he explained. "A great, great, great uncle, I believe. You couldn't have known that. Only a few people knew. Why do you know that?"
"I don't know why." Tears welled up in her eyes. "I don't know why I know a lot of things."
She flew past him and gazed out of the pane-glass window at the morning sky. The hot white sun bathed the ocean's vivid blue surface in a glimmering cascade. Somewhere on the distant mainland, she could see the skyline—a tall range of curved and oblong-shaped skyscrapers that also seemed to sparkle in the sun's rays. But no matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes on the ocean, she could not help but stare off into the blue abyss of the morning sky.
"Ever since I was a girl, I was infatuated with space exploration. The planets, the stars, the possibility of life beyond our frustrating world... it all seemed so romantic. When I first heard about ARK, I was still in grade school, and the thought of a massive, orbiting space station was just so thrilling! I looked up pictures of it online, and they were gorgeous: the Grand Hallway; the big neon labyrinths in the colony's core; the breathtaking view from the Cosmic Wall; and the little flickering lights on the artificial planets. It was like this magical kingdom far away. Pretty soon I started to pick up on everyone's names: Second Officer Eric O'Murdoch, Arthur Briggs of Prower Inc., geneticist Jeffery Ferris, the Thordyke family, David Muldoon, the game warden, and… obviously Jonathan Robotnik. Your friend. It was an obsession. I wanted to be a part of their world—to be a part of something special, but I couldn't. That was eighty years ago, and I'm only thirty. ARK was just this old, abandoned place in the sky. A little white dot that I would watch from my bedroom window as it shot across the sky every night."
A tear gently rolled down Russell's cheek. He remembered the neon-lit hallways.
"But, I suppose in some strange and spiritual way, I was a part of it. Sometimes I dream of walking through those crystalline hallways, or floating beside the 'crazy gadget.' I even dream of staring out at the moon from the observation deck."
The old man's heart nearly stopped. "The observation deck?" he faintly asked.
Amanda nodded. "I've had that dream more than any other. It felt so real to me… so close to my heart that… I had to do this story. You're right, Mr. Pound, I lied. My producer didn't choose it—I chose it five years ago, and as a result, I was fired from SSTV."
"You were fired?"
"The content was too hot," Kenny explained. "The FCC threatened the network, but our producers didn't take it seriously. IRS came at us in full force with accounting and wire fraud. Pretty soon it was either us, or the whole network, and the board had no choice but to fire us. But when we left, so did the whole editorial staff. SSTV isn't a thing anymore; it's gone."
"We knew it wasn't the FCC or the IRS that gave the order," Amanda added.
"It was GUN..." the old man affirmed.
Kenny nodded.
"But why would they do that?" Russell asked. "Everyone knows about what happened up there. There's nothing more to hide!"
"Like I said," Amanda continued. "We're not here for just Cosmic Fall. We're here for everything, before and after." She wiped away her tears. "I love the people up there, Mr. Pound. They were like family to me. Yet, they were all killed, and for what reason? What was so important that it cost the lives of 40,000 men, women, and children? I know it wasn't just Project Shadow, but something much bigger, and much older. That's why I'm here. I want justice for everyone. And I mean everyone."
"It's strange," Russell smirked. "When I look at you, I see the very essence of ARK herself. The spirit of discovery; alive and well. There's something about you that's deeply familiar to me. And I know you're not lying anymore." He propped himself back up, and gently placed his glasses back on his nose. "Okay, Miss Spender, you have my attention."
Kenny wasted no time in unpacking all his bags and rigging up the interview. First, the lights could be adjusted remotely for brightness and diffusion. The cameras used an A.I. to maintain focus, aperture, and white balance. Once everything was set up, Kenny pulled a tablet from his bag and started a video switcher app that he coded himself. It received the Bluetooth signals from each of the cameras, allowed for live video editing, and then distributed a direct signal to a wireless storage device. Within a few minutes, they were the only three people in the room.
"I haven't done this in years," Russell confessed.
"It's okay," Amanda assured him. "Neither have I. But don't worry. Just look at me the whole time, and if you make a mistake, Kenny can edit it immediately."
"Fastest fingers in the west," Kenny added.
"Yes, I'm sure," the old man nervously rebuked.
"We're not live," Amanda reiterated.
Kenny secretly hit record on all the cameras from his tablet. The lights for sound, speed, and picture lit up sequentially. He lifted his fist just high enough in the air for Amanda to notice, but not too blatant for Russell. Five seconds.
"Okay," Amanda took a deep sigh. "Let's start from the beginning."
It all suddenly hit Russell like a spear through his chest. He drew a blank. Everything around him—the room, the windows, the table, Amanda, and even his wheelchair. They all erupted into black, inky clouds, and from that oily hazy emerged a distant memory. His eyes opened, and he found himself a young man again, standing in a glass-paneled corridor with steel floors, and neon lights, and presiding over a barely visible boy. He could not make out his face, but he recognized the brown curly hair. There were people around them; some in white lab coats, some in blue GUN uniforms, and others in plain clothes. A young girl approached, but her appearance had faded away from time. The boy muttered something indistinct—something upsetting, but Russell could not hear it. The young girl then pointed to the long stretch of windows that bent with the corridor, and Russell, for the first time in decades, was so mesmerized by what he had seen, he fell to his knees. On the other side of the long window, like a giant glistening blue marble, was Earth. The boy leaned in and whispered something insidious in his ear, but it was too muffled. Then the girl screamed, and a shotgun erupted.
"Run! Hide!" the old man shouted, trying to grab the children.
"Mr. Pound!" a voice came through.
"They're coming! Hide! Hide now!" He was grabbing, but nothing was there.
"Mr. Pound, are you alright?"
Russell nearly kicked himself over. "Oh my god... oh my god!"
"Mr. Pound! Mr. Pound!" Amanda grabbed him. "Stop the cameras!" She tilted his head back and checked his eyes for hemorrhaging. "Mr. Pound, can you hear me? Can you hear me?"
"I'll get a doctor!" Kenny yelled.
"No!" Russell firmly shouts back. He lifts himself back up and gently pushes Amanda away. "No, no, no. I'm okay. I'll be fine. They're just very painful memories that surface now and then. I just need a deep breath."
"Are you going to be okay?" Amanda asked, helping him back up.
"Yes. Yes, I just need a stiff drink."
"How about some water instead?" Kenny asked.
"Right. That would do too."
Amanda rests her hand on his forehead. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine. I just have the sniffles. Ever since I was a boy, I had bad allergies. They called me a walking histamine," he nervously chuckled. "Forgive me. Sometimes the memories feel very real. I just have to work through them."
"You were grabbing at something."
"Was I? Huh. I don't even know what it was."
Kenny gave Russell a cup of water, which he consumed in one swig. He gave Amanda a very worrisome expression. Her feelings were mutual.
"I'm okay. I think I was dehydrated. Besides, there's no time now. I suppose if I'm to divulge everything, I can't let my memories deter me from conveying the truth."
"As long as you're okay," Amanda assured.
"I am."
"Alright. I'm going to give you this time to say whatever you want—a lead-in. This is the first time anyone has ever seen you in twenty-five years. You're a dead man to most people... especially GUN. So talk to them directly. The world will be listening."
"My name, as many of you know, is Russell Christopher Pound... and I'm still alive. It's hard for me to reconcile with the secrets I've hidden for so long, but now—especially now—I suppose I'm ready to let them all out. Initially, ARK was a space station—a sort of orbital defense battery, equipped with the most advanced weapon of its time: the Eclipse Cannon. Gerald Robotnik intended for ARK to be used against... foreign invasion. The blueprints were conceived at the end of the second World War when the need for such a weapon seemed all the more paramount. But over time, as we waned out of the Cold War, Gerald, and eventually his son Jonathan, believed the station should be a research colony. John saw the potential... a prototype—an experimental community for a brighter, happier future."
"Is that why you volunteered?" Amanda asked.
"Sort of. I enlisted in GUN as an idealistic young man. Like so many others, I saw it as an opportunity to do the right thing. GUN were peacekeepers, or so we were told. So when the application to volunteer aboard ARK landed on my desk, I saw it as the culmination of my oath to peace."
She nodded. "I'd like to start from the beginning"
"How far back?"
"I want to start with the Knothole Freedom Fighters."
The old man smiled. She had done her research.
"In 1870, a meteor was recovered in Mount Washington, and a diary was kept."
"Indeed. The diary is a legend. GUN has murdered in the pursuit of that diary because they believe it holds answers. Gerald Robotnik was said to have based Space Colony ARK on something he read from that diary."
"And you know where it is."
"History will villainize and deify many individuals throughout time, but in rare instances, it will do both," Russell surmised. "We are taught that Charles Morgan was a brilliant scientist, which he was, but who nevertheless aided in facilitating the autocracy of the Robian Empire. He was a war criminal, but he was a freedom fighter. The diary was his."
"And you know where it is," Amanda sustained.
"Truth, as you'll quickly come to know, is stranger than fiction."
The old man reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small, leather-bound diary. He held it firmly up to the camera. Amanda was speechless; she could not move. The diary was in poor condition—the spine was worn down and chapped. After decades of mishandling, the embossed leather slowly fell apart in chunks of red powder. Even the paper was frayed, brittle, and stained with foxing.
"This is the diary of Charles H. Morgan, the first person to have studied a Chaos Emerald." He leaned forward, peering into Amanda's eyes with unflinching severity. "What I'm about to divulge... the contents of this diary... will mark us for death. This diary is the catalyst for everything. Do you understand?"
"I do," she lightly nodded.
"Do you?! Wars have been waged over this book!"
She pulled her eyes off the diary and veered up to confront him. "I understand the danger. I've been running from it for five years, and now I'm ready to fight it."
He backs down. "I'll read it out loud for you... and when I'm done, it's yours."
"Mine? Why me?"
"Because I think it belongs to you more than it belongs to me."
She holds back another flood of tears. Her entire life has led her to that moment. Every decision she made; every person she met; every relationship she had; every action she took... it steered her directly into that room.
"I think I'm finally ready," she said.
"I think I am too."
He slowly opened the book to read the inscription on the paste-down.