Interlude
"Is the line secure?" Kenny asked as he gripped the phone. He stood behind a nurse's station, nervously picking his nails.
"Yes," a crackling feminine voice on the other end replied.
"Alright. What is it?"
She paused to take a deep breath. "Thorndyke pulled through."
Kenny almost screamed; he could not accept the words. "Don't lie to me. Don't lie to me; not right now..."
"I would never lie to either of you. Not anymore."
"It's been four years, Bre. Four years."
"I just got off the phone with him."
He scoffed. "You don't just call Christopher Thorndyke."
"I didn't. He called me, Kenny."
"What?"
"He called me. He wants to help."
Four years of hopeless, aimless uncertainty suddenly dispelled. Kenny collapsed against the wall, labored by harsh gasps. A nearby nurse asked if he was okay, and he smiled and waved her off. It felt good to feel a sense of hope again.
"He's giving us everything, Kenny."
"You're not lying to—"
"Never!"
He leans into the phone. "Tell me everything."
"Redundancy servers, overlay networks, data encryption, firewalls—anything we need to protect the media. Kenny... they're giving us access to all their affiliates. Every single one of them."
"Across the board?"
"Across the board and over it. Once we hijack their sub-channel, within minutes, we'll be funneling through every circuit. We're not looking at North America anymore, Kenny, we're looking at global coverage. Every person in the world who has a television will see her. With Twinkle and Thorndyke on our side, GUN won't be able to catch up with us!"
"Global coverage," Kenny softly repeated to himself. The concept was still hard to grasp.
"Global coverage," she assured him. "Every hemisphere."
"And subtitles?"
"Real-time, A.I."
"And Thorndyke is just going to let us do all this...?"
"Yes. I mentioned her name, and that's when he called. Didn't take long. He's apparently taken a very keen interest in her since SSTV."
"What does he want with her?" Kenny asked.
"I don't think it's about her; I think it's about him. The old man—Russell. He wants to see him again."
"Again?"
"M-hm. Christopher's father knew Russell; he helped him in some capacity during Cosmic Fall. Maybe they're friends or something—I don't know—but he seemed very choked up when I mentioned his name. Some people have been in this war long before us, Kenny—before ARK was finished. I think it's just taking a while for some to realize they're not fighting alone."
"And I thought our world was so small."
"It never was, Kenny. It was just a huge puzzle waiting to be put back together. And you wanna know something crazier? Chris' great-great-great grandfather was a friend and colleague of Gerald Robotnik."
"What?" Kenny almost shouted. "That's unbelievable. Thorndyke Industries wasn't around then!"
"It's so weird, I know. I didn't believe it when he told me either, but I had to look it up, and it checks out. Seventy-five years ago, Cyber-Net Incorporated changed their name to Thorndyke Industries when Charles Thorndyke took over, Chris' grandfather."
"That was right after the GUN raid."
"Exactly. It was a win-win. Re-brand the company, and disassociate from the disaster. Well, thirty-one years before the raid, Jonathan Robotnik was Cyber-Net's lead technician on ARK. He oversaw the final phase of its construction. And before that, Gerald Robotnik—Jonathan's father—worked for Cyber-Net."
"This is utterly insane!"
"And get this: in the late 1950s, before the Hurricane Flossie incident, Cyber-Net was commissioned by GUN to not only design ARK's security systems but to design the entire colony!"
Kenny felt overwhelmed. He could only muster a few redundant words. "They built ARK..."
"Cyber-Net was founded by Jim Thorndyke and Karl Wagner right after the second world war."
"And yet I've never heard of Cyber-Net."
"Do you want me to look more into it?" Bre asked.
"Could you? GUN was subsidizing contractors left and right back then to back-engineer Robian technology. HEXA, Meropis, Meteor-Tech—even Twinkle—were all part of that. I just have a feeling we might be overlooking something."
"I'll see what I can find."
He took another deep breath and straightened up. "I just still can't believe it, you know? It doesn't feel real—like I don't want to believe it's happening."
"You two deserve it, after all you've been through."
"Well, I think we all deserve it," Kenny softly laughed.
"Not as much as her. I told the two of you I would do everything in my power to keep you safe and to help the cause. That's a promise I intend to keep."
Kenny's eyes welled up. "You've come a long way since working for GUN."
"They were bad employers. Never got my checks on time."
He laughed to mask away the tears. "Right, right. But I wanna thank you, Bre. You don't know what this means to us... especially her."
"You guys aren't alone in this. Sonic Team may not be around anymore, but we can still fight this thing. So many people are willing to fly the Jolly Roger, so until we're all dead, we're still in the game."
"I guess you're right," he laughed, rubbing his eyes.
"I'm always right," she joked.
"The new Freedom Fighters."
"Sally and all the rest of them would be proud."
"Okay," Kenny said, clearing his voice. "I'm uploading everything to Breeze Media now. It's encrypted, so it'll take some time to download—the overlay network has around fifteen-hundred or two-thousand relays, but you'll have it. Scan each file, and make sure there's no GPS software. There shouldn't be since I'm going through a private Twinkle host."
"Breeze Media automatically removes all GPS software the second it passes through our firewall, so I wouldn't worry about it."
"Good. I've been editing this whole thing in-app, so all you need to do is pull b-roll. Otherwise, it's PAL, NTSC, and SECAM ready."
"And the password?" she asked.
"It's near Antietam."
Within seconds, the media file was transferred to an undisclosed server. Kenny carefully watched Bre decompress the file. He took a deep breath.
"How's she holding up, by the way?" she asked.
Kenny peered across the hallway at the ice cream parlor, where Amanda nervously watched the news. She braced herself against a wooden chair and held a diluted glass of soda. Five other people were sitting down, and the sun bounced off her auburn hair in a radiant halo. Kenny smiled.
"She's doing fine right now. We took a break. She had a panic attack a few minutes ago, but she's doing a lot better. I think things are adding up for her."
"I can't even imagine," Bre whispered.
"That said, we're being followed. We noticed a black car last night and this morning. They followed us to the hotel, so we're keeping to the road."
"Followed? Is everything okay?"
"We're fine. The petty cash will last us another two weeks, but I think it's only a matter of time before they try something."
"If they pursue, do not hesitate to move forward with our arrangement. You don't need my blessing," she hastily instructed. Though she kept calm and professional, Kenny sensed fear and panic in her voice. "Just keep things open and public when you're not with him. Otherwise, they can easily black-bag the both of you. If I can get into the traffic system, I can act as an early warning if they bring the heat. Just don't let your guard down."
"We won't, but I think it's time we notify our friends of the imminent possibility."
"I will."
"As for Thorndyke," Kenny sighed, "we'll proceed under the assumption he's compromised. Just easier that way."
"Already on it."
He drew another long, deep breath to keep his heart steady. He was staring across the hall at the same television that ensnared Amanda. A banner ran across the bottom: More than 68% of the country immunized against NIDS-21.
"I've been so detached," Kenny lamented. "I don't even know what's happening out there anymore."
"A lot. Something big is coming, and whatever it is, it's coming fast. Ten million cases of NIDS, the EU water embargo; it's all coming to a pressure point"
"We're running out of time..."
"There's one more thing," Bre said.
"What is it?"
"Ever heard of Ramanda?"
"No. Should I?"
"Not really," she dismissed. "Small startup turned major player in pharmaceuticals. The largest distributor of the NIDS vaccine. We did a little digging and found out their largest benefactor is... GUN. We're going to crack their database like an egg; see if we can get some insight into what GUN's planning."
Amanda leaned over the table, holding her stomach. Kenny took immediate notice.
"I gotta go," he said.
"Okay. I'll call in three days. After that, we can't speak. You know the drill. And I'm sorry again."
"Thanks, but don't apologize."
He hung up the phone and darted into the ice cream parlor. Panic and urgency had overwhelmed Amanda. A flood of bad memories and self-contempt crashed into her thoughts like violent storm surges. It was a moment of dark realization; she felt like an impostor. She felt her heart racing—her hands grew cold and clammy like she had a fever. Counting things around her always worked in the past, and while she did count the people in line, and the list of ice cream flavors, it was not enough. The panic was too great. She curled forward and rested her head on the table.
"Amanda!" Kenny's voice felt warm and tangible. "Amanda, are you okay?"
His voice was enough to pull her out of the abyss. She looked up at him, standing in the shower of golden light.
"I think so," she softly replied.
"Do you need something to eat?"
"No, no. I'll be fine. I just need to catch my breath."
Behind him, she saw the sun bouncing off the water and tried to imagine the azure oceans glistening from above. It worked. Her grip on Kenny's hand tightened for a second, and then it faded. Her labored breathing returned to a gentle calm.
"Are you sure you gonna be okay?" he asked.
"I think so."
"You're having them again."
"No! No, nothing like that. I'm just remembering things is all."
"Remembering things?"
She nodded. "The whole world was crashing around me, and I felt so helpless. Now things are starting to make sense—the secrets, the lies—it's all starting to make some sense. I'm not used to this; I'm just really, really scared."
"If it's too much—"
"It is too much! That's the thing, it's so much, and it's only going to get worse. Seeing Russell's eyes—the way he looked at me—it suddenly became so real. I mean... I was holding his diary, Kenny. It was his writing I felt beneath my fingers. I'm not dreaming anymore; I'm actually here and alive. I'm just not used to it; I'm overwhelmed. But I can't turn away now."
"Yeah, but I don't want this to kill you like it did mom and dad."
She smiled. "Listen, some shaking hands and a few tears won't kill me. GUN might, but we already knew that. What I was like when I was younger—that's not me anymore. We're not the same people anymore, so you don't have to worry about that."
"Mom and dad didn't—"
"Mom and dad did what they had to do, and I don't blame them anymore. If they told us the truth... we all would've been dead a long time ago."
"They loved us. You know that," he said firmly, taking a seat.
"I know."
"I can't imagine what you're going through, and if I could, I'd wish it all away, but I can't. All I can do is say that you're not alone. We're all just as scared as you are. I've never been more scared. And in that, please know you're not alone."
She held his hand tightly. "Thanks, Kenny. Thank you so much. I guess it's a good thing, you know? Being scared. Let's me know I'm still human."
"You were always human, Amanda."
"Yeah..."
Her eyes wandered away from him. She was more focused on the television tucked away in the corner, which was tuned to a news program. Kenny was insisting that she eat something, but the anchor's voice slowly drowned him out.
"It has been nearly a month since the disaster that befell Twinkle Park's illustrious theme park, the Starlight Carnival, leaving it in ruins. The World Space Foundation is now cooperating with GUN to salvage fragments from the still-standing elevator that once brought visitors to the world-renowned Tropical Resort. Colonel Douglas Tower issued this statement last night: 'If there is anything that we have learned from this tragedy, it's that space is not the final frontier. At least not at this time.' He went on to say, 'The Twinkle Corporation should have taken a lesson from Space Colony ARK: man's hubris is a dangerous weapon.'"
Those last words felt acidic. She leaned back and watched as everyone in the room bitterly and scornfully gawked at the television. They looked disgusted.
The anchor continued, "Additionally, late last night, a Twinkle Park spokesperson released a press statement, urging: 'we are in the business of entertainment, not terrorism. We were, however, admittedly ignorant of the production of weapons of mass destruction, and the subterfuge that came with it. Had we known, rigorous security measures would have been undertaken, and GUN would have been notified immediately. This is a cataclysmic disaster that we take full responsibility for, and we have initiated our investigation into the matter. We must insist; this is not a repeat of the ARK insurrection or Cosmic Fall. We do not support or sponsor terrorism, we are not a terrorist organization, and we do not appreciate being treated like one.' However, in more relieving news: GUN Press Chief, Brian Foster, confirmed that the alleged "Nega-Plasmic Armor" was confiscated, and is no longer in possession by the Neo-Robotn—"
"Amanda!" Kenny shouts.
Her concentration shattered. "I... I think we need to head back. We're running out of time."
"Alright then," he hesitated.
Russell was still next to the window when they came back, looking out into the deep blue sky.
"How're you holding up, Miss Spender?" he asked.
"I'm doing fine," she replied, rubbing her arm again. "It's a lot of information, but everything's starting to make sense."
Behind her back, she twirled her finger at Kenny, instructing him to roll the cameras as soon as possible. She took a seat next to Russell.
"You look tired," Russell observed.
"Very... but I'll be fine. I just have a few quick, clarifying questions before we continue reading."
"Sure."
"When we are taught about the Robians in school, the explosion is often cited as one of the instigators, but Dr. Morgan's involvement in the proceedings after the explosion is very murky. There is little to no information about the proceedings, especially considering how significant they are. There has to be something you know about them or Dr. Morgan's involvement."
"The details of those proceedings are kept locked away deep beneath the Earth. Not even I was allowed to see them. And even if I could, what use would they serve now? The details are not as important as the trajectory, and the trajectory was San Francisco. Had the explosion never happened, I doubt there would ever be a Knothole."
"But you must know something about Dr. Morgan," she insisted.
"I know the proceedings were quick and decisive. His diary was submitted as evidence; the plot he and General Stripe uncovered was dismissed; and more than likely the extent of Dr. Morgan's involvement was relegated to yes or no questions. There was no moment where Dr. Morgan made an enthusiastic, sweeping plea for retribution, no was there some grand plan to subvert the committee. That's not how these things work. The proceedings weren't even held in the war department; they were held on the second floor of a grocery store. Dr. Morgan probably received the biggest dressing-down of his career and was promptly dismissed. Contrary to what the movies portray, Solaris—as it existed in Washington—ended not with a bang, but with a quiet vote."
"But after everything he saw, I find it so hard to believe he would just sit on it."
"You'll find out soon enough, Miss Spender, that when you're in this profession, there are no room for candid remarks. You keep your mouth shut and your head down. All that matters is the work."
Amanda frowned. She looked at the diary, which was still in Russell's hands.
"Do you know what Dr. Morgan's legacy is before the war?" she asked.
Russell nodded. "That of a butcher—a mad scientist who stood idle as tyranny reigned over. I was taught that Dr. Morgan was the man who surrendered everything to the Robians. A treasonous war criminal of the highest order."
"That's what I was told too. 'A passionate Robian supporter and ideologue,' is what they called him. When they show all the faces of the Robians, he is one of them—counted among monsters, murderers, villains, and traitors. But that's not the person in that diary. He seemed so lost and disheartened by everything. What happened to him?"
Russell opened the book. "You're asking the right questions, Miss Spender. And to answer them, we must continue."
"Alright. I think I'm ready."