Chapter 13 - The Technology To Build

 “Nine at alpha,” Marion came over, “I'm at three.” Jim was on his third patrol with Marion. As they approached a 4-way intersection, Jim, in front, deviated left, Marion taking the right path. The roads were made from a metal-stone composite that made a subtle pinging sound with each footfall. The first few days of patrols, people stopped whatever they were doing to gawk at the building-sized behemoths lumbering through the cordoned-off streets. The whole city was a marvel of modern ingenuity and ancient technique. Unlike the cities of classical antiquity, Roma, the aptly-titled IA capital city, was not a city of the future built on the bones of the past, but instead a city of the past built with the technology of the future. The city was designed for foot travel as much as for automobiles and mass transit. The streets were wide and accommodating, the sidewalks broad and bustling. Roma was the most populace city on the planet, rivaling the density of the once great ancient empires. Now, as Jim and Marion split directions, only a few, mostly children, stopped and pointed at the Goliath machines.

The city was a masterstroke of engineering genius, Jim was constantly reminded. The crown jewel of the Alliance, Roma was an architectural and city planning masterpiece. The entire plot of land was scoured to bedrock, and a foundation was built consisting of various 20-foot cubic blocks. Some were built to contain vacuum tunnels for the trains, some with transmission wires, some with anti-field generators. Each block was pieced together to form the “slab” the city was built on. Then, manufactured buildings were printed and similarly pieced together, and slowly but surely, the city took shape. As Jim wandered the street, following the orange mission line transposed on the street in front of him, Roma looked very different than when he was born. Due to the modular and building-block nature of the city, buildings were constantly being constructed and deconstructed. Roads were regularly being lifted and the foundation blocks being replaced to accommodate new trends in design and technological advancement. Jim wandered the streets, marching from way-point to way-point as the orange mission line brought him ever deeper into the bowels of the city.

“How's it looking over there, Jim,” Marion questioned into his headset. “All clear over here as usual. No suspicious activity?”

“Nothing over here. You'd think after our dramatic entrance, we'd have an equally dramatic time patrolling,” Jim responded with a breathy chuckle. Their drop-in was a spectacular show. The Valiant, still loomed overhead after positioning itself over the square for the deploy. The domes pulled back, exposing a small aperture; a blue, spark-ringed portal into the city. They bullet-dropped in, all at once, impact thrusters disconnecting in a dramatic kutcsh as they flew back into the Valiant on blue rockets. The bustling throng of on-lookers silent in stunned awe. Now, the awe was gone, and if anything, a mood of fear had settled in. A militarized feel. As though martial law had been imposed. “Hey,” Jim patched through to Marion on a private channel. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure,” she responded dropping her authoritative tone and taking on a much more casual lilt. “What's up?”

“Well,” Jim began, “Auging. What's your opinion?”

“Well,” Marion began herself, taking on a philosophical and contemplative air. “I'm a Culture Kid. I was raised in a Cultural Nexus. We were taught to revere cultural heritage and that our mission, our purpose, was to preserve the Old Ways. To be a pure representation of the people of the past. I couldn't Aug if I wanted to. It goes against everything I stand for. We're a dying breed. Most of us, like me, leave the Nexuses and join the regular society. My dad says that at the current rate, we've only got a few generations left before all of the Nexuses will be empty.”
“How does that make you feel?” Jim inquired, utilizing the rare opportunity to talk so candidly.

“I left, didn't I?” She snarked. “I say to hell with the Old Ways. Life for my people was shit back before the Collapse. Everyone is so obsessed with those days. We're stagnant, artistically. We barely make any new music, we definitely aren't producing any new books, when was the last time you went to a movie theater and the majority of films on the marquee weren't at least a thousand year old remake of a five thousand year old screenplay? Hell, why do we even HAVE a movie theater? I have a holoprojector in my bedroom that can render someone in near-perfect detail. Why aren't we taking that technology and building a new type of theater were you're literally a part of the movie? Like, it's happening around you?”

“I never thought of it like that,” Jim said, “My parents always watched all that old stuff, and I just kind of watched it with them.”

“Exactly,” she replied passionately, her delivery was rapid-fire. Jim had never heard her so fiery. “There's so much undiscovered from our past and everything is readily available. All you need to do these days to get rich or famous is just sift through an endless stream of content and find something that matches the zeitgeist. Who needs to invent anything when you can just go dig around in an old ditch and find a machine that does something we haven't seen yet, and you'll be rich beyond measure. There's no incentive to be original. We're not just stuck in the past, we've completely lost site of the future.”

“So what are you saying? Should I Aug?” Jim tried to pull her back.

“I think you need to take a good hard look at what it means to be Augmented. Tomah and Blaize are young. We all are. Hell, even Standish isn't an old man either. He's a young guy in his prime, too. What will it mean to be Auged in twenty years? Fifty? A hundred fifty? What's the failure rate on those little bugs, how long will they keep ticking away? They say it's 'completely reversible,' but what does that even mean? Your brain is adaptable. If you just take that away, is it like losing your eyes? Just what does it even mean, Jim, that's what you have to ask yourself.”

“I never thought of any of that. I'd essentially be a guinea pig. A test dummy,” Jim sounded scared.

“Or a pioneer,” she retorted. Her tone brought the image of her shrugging to Jim's mind. “Maybe that shit is the key to the future. Maybe that technology is what breaks us away from the teat of Mother Antiquity. Maybe Augmentation is the way forward.” Her voice signaled another mental shrug. “I'll never know. I'm not brave enough. Or daring enough. I'm just a pilot. I perform my job more than adequately. I don't need much more than that.”

“That's true, too.” Jim conceded sheepisly, more confused now than ever. “Thanks for the advice, it really means a lot. I know you guys aren't too fond of me, so I really take it seriously when you're so candid.”

“We don't hate you,” She responded consolingly. “It's just that you say shit like that. 'You're not too fond of me' or some other socially awkward, passive-aggressive bullshit. We're all assholes, and that shit is easy pickings. You're nice, Jim, and sweet. We didn't get where we are now because we're some genius child prodigy. I'm sure you worked hard, but myself and the others all started out as enlisted.”

Jim's mission line snaked endlessly through side-streets and alleyways, popping him back out on major thoroughfares. Dead silent. It was mid-afternoon so there were a lot of people out, but the facial recognition software had not flagged a single suspicious entity, and Jim could see no traces of sketchy activity. “Enlisted? How long have you been in the service?” Jim was puzzled.

“Well, I did my stint and I'm on the end of my third re-enlistment,” Marion replied deadpan. “Tomah is a confirmed lifer. Adrian and Blaize were recruited like you, but they had already served their enlistment before they were pulled out of Gymnasium.”

“Wait,” Jim halted. An older man in a modern one-piece walking along the sidewalk, startled by Jim's abrupt stop, faltered, stumbled, recovered, and continued forward at double-time pace. “Lifer? Third enlistment? When did you leave Lyceum?”

“15 years ago? Something like that,” again with the mental shrug. “I got a deferment because of the Culture Kid thing, so me and my ex-wife took some time to travel the lecture circuit with my dad. When my deferment ended, the last thing I wanted to do was go into academics, so she and I enlisted to piss off our parents. She got into the airborne division and I was a drop ship pilot.”

“Wife? What happened to her?” Jim had a hard time imagining Marion with a significant other, let alone wife.

“She and I split up at the end of the enlistment. I said I was going to re-up, and she said that the service was hardening me and that she wanted to go into theater. I told her I wanted to make it work and she wanted someone who wouldn't be on deployment for months or years at a time. We were stupid teens for getting married in the first place,” Marion chuckled, but a noticeable sadness was hiding underneath. “I haven't talked about her in almost ten years, Jim,” she continued after a long pause. None of the other guys know about her. I don't know why I told you that.”

The orange line snaked through more side roads and alleyways. The external cameras put squares around all of the faces it detected and populated little blurbs next to each with vital information. Government ID number, registration information, an analysis of their threat level. Still so far, no one had been flagged. “Don't worry. I won't tell. When did you join the program?”

“Middle of my second enlistment,” She started flatly. “I did some time with the Commander and Standish before they got pulled out for 'Administrative duty.' Apparently me and Tomah impressed them. They pulled us in for the initial project and the rest, as they say, is history. Blaize and Adrian got pulled in for the second wave and we were going to wait for you go through enlistment before we pulled you in, too, but things have been getting thick politically and we needed a fifth, so here you are.”

“You're all so much older than I thought you were,” Jim replied, not really knowing how to respond.

“Clean living and lots of exercise, I guess,” Marion snarked with a chuckle. “So if we seem a bit cold with you, that's why. You're a nice kid, Jim. But we're all a bit jaded. Standish and the Commander are holding your hand through all of this, but the only thing we care about is if you can perform. We're soldiers. We're a unit. We're here to do a job. We don't have time to make nice and be and make friends.”

“I see,” Jim tried to grasp what that meant. “Well,” Jim began, shaking his, and his core's head into place. A family walking on the sidewalk stopped to observe him as he walked by, “I guess I'll just have to put in my time and prove I'm worthy.”

“Just don't get us killed and we'll be square,” Marion replied as a group of school kids on the sidewalk in private school uniforms stopped and pointed at Jim's core as he followed the orange patrol line to side alley. None of their faces were identified by the software as dangerous.

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The smell of simmering onions and garlic permeated Molly and Jim's apartment. Jim could hear the vegetables sauteing in the kitchen. Jim, in the study, had a map of the city, targets of interest, and any number of critical mission details peppered over the chalkboards. He, sitting reclined at a 45 degree angle on the chair in the center of it all, was swiping and flicking and moving files around the Z-axis with his gestures, occasionally using the keyboard and trackball and digital pen on the tray in his lap.

Molly popped her head through the door, “Jim, dinner's almost ready.” They had fallen back into their daily routine now that he had returned to his normal schedule on base.

“I'll be right in my love,” Jim responded, pushing away the tray on a swiveling hinge, unlocking him from the chair as he pushed the various screens and eye pieces back from the headrest he had been using to generate overlays. He snapped, and all of the data adorning the screens and the models being rendered by the holoprojectors drained toward the far corner like the meltings of a Surrealist painting before vanishing into a small, labeled, digital rendering of a box. He made his way out of the study, across the main living area and into the adjoining kitchen. Molly had served out, the plates and flatware already set up in the adjacent dining area inside the giant faux-bay window.

“Dig in lover,” she said as they lowered themselves onto the elegant black leather parsons chairs flanking the beautiful stained-oak table. Even considering the obsession with the past, modern styling sensibilities marched ever forward, and by current standard of the times, they might as well have been living in a medieval castle. The rich dark-stained cabinets against the brown and white-green quartz of the marble floors in the kitchen felt more like an ancient country estate than a dorm on a military base.

“Thank you, dear, this looks great. It smells delicious,” Jim was practically drooling. Molly had found a really classy cookbook amongst the tomes she was studying and they had been trying their hand at the recipes. It was a bit more difficult, as none of the ingredients available to them even remotely resembled what was available back then. The base had turned all of the growing rooms into training facilities, as well. Natural ingredients needed to be shipped in, making them quite scarce. Thankfully, some food-hackers in the People's Island Republic had decoded the DNA structures from a newly-discovered ancient seed bank near the Western Colonies. The colonists who actually used the seeds to grow crops say that it's near-impossible to tell the difference between the natural specimens and the food synthesizers. “What's this sauce called again?”

“Bearnaise. It goes amazingly with the fish and mushrooms, right?” Molly was very animated as she watched Jim take the first bite before diving in herself. “It's really hard to do. I found some video archive footage of master chefs making it, so I hope it turned out well.”

“It's amazing, my love,” Jim said around a mouthful of pink fish and succulent fungus. “This is the best yet.”

“I think so, too,” Molly had commenced stuffing her own face with her meal. “So, you guys head out tomorrow?”

“I'm not happy about it,” Jim said. Patrols had been taken over by the robotic Third Legion after they completed their campaign against the mercenaries some time ago. He and the others had been training intensely for their upcoming mission.

“What even is it? I know it's more excavation stuff, right?” Molly said before shoveling another fork-full of meat and sauce between her pink-red lips.

“Security detail. It's not even a campaign,” Jim scoffed as he put his fork down and began gesticulating. “SU is excavating another info cache and even though they've reconciled with Gotoma, and no one from the Outsiders have claimed responsibility for the Central Square attack, The SU thinks that there'll be another jab at their dig.”

“You know,” Molly began. She put her fork down on her half-finished plate and began gesticulating herself. “I still can't believe they haven't found the guys responsible and don't have any group to pin it on.”
“Reeks of suspicion to me,” Jim quirked an eyebrow and picked his fork back up and toyed with the food on his plate idly. “I think it might be home-grown. I think maybe someone internally is trying to foment hatred and suspicion to gin us up so we can get behind a preemptive strike on someone.”

“That's a hell of an accusation,” Molly leaned back in her chair, her face pulling a flabbergasted expression. “But who would want to do such a thing? We're in an unprecedented time of peace and economic prosperity.”

“Someone with a 'grander agenda,' I'll put it,” Jim used his own air quotes this time. It felt good. “Someone who would profit immensely from a conflict with, say, the DPRC or the Outsiders. Someone who, I don't know, controls a massive international producer of goods and services that allies would most definitely leverage for supplies during a period of armed conflict.”

“NRI.” Molly replied flatly. “You think Dyman is behind all of this, playing some chessboard scheme?”

“I won't say one way or the other,” Jim began after pondering his response, “but I think that something below-board is going on, and I think Dyman is involved somehow. I don't think a guy with that level of power and influence can get away without at least some culpability. I mean, he's the guy who can manipulate everyone around me to get me into this program so suddenly. And, once I'm a little battle-tested and that crazy thing happened in the cave, all of a sudden, here we are, imposing martial law after a supposed” very emphatic air quotes this time, “'terrorist attack.' I don't know. It just seems curious.”

“Jim, you're sounding like a conspiracy theorist,” Molly replied, highly skeptical, and almost a bit alarmed. “Martial law? Manipulation? Listen to yourself! There's always been tension. And the terrorist attack happened before you'd reported about the craziness with Vishnu. There's no way Dyman knew that was going to happen and could have staged a missing warhead. And Manipulated? Really? Sure they'd been scoping you out, but they'd needed someone LIKE you for a while, and not for a grand scheme. You fit a role and were suited for their needs.” She picked her fork back up and began sticking food onto the tines before holding it up to her mouth. “I get the impulse to try and connect the dots and form some kind of pattern, but I think this is just a series of coincidences, Jim.” She took the bite and spoke around a mouthful. “Unfortunate coincidences, though they may be. I've known Tyler since I was a baby. He would have to be a particular brand of sociopath to live with all of that blood on his hands if that were true.”

“You're right,” He recanted. “It's just suspicious, is all. I can't help but think something sinister is going on.” Jim pushed some food onto his fork and took a last big bite before pushing his mostly-empty plate away from him. “That was so good, my love. Thank you.”

“You're welcome. It was my pleasure,” Molly replied as she finished her plate and pushed it away from herself as well. She stood up and walked around the table to Jim, where she wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind and kissed his cheek. “You're under a lot of pressure, my darling. I know you're just trying to make sense of it all.” She squatted down and gently touched her lips to his ear. “Just don't think too much about it.”

Electricity shot down from Jim's ear, through his neck, and into his heart. That pressure behind his eyes, like from their first date, sent shocks through his spine and beyond. “And what should I think about?” Jim reached up and softly caressed her cheek as he rested it palm flat and pushed her face into his lips, kissing her deeply and passionately.

“I can think of a few things,” she replied when they broke lips, the sides of their noses nuzzling lightly. She grabbed his hand and stood up, pulling him out of the chair and leading them away from the table.

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Jim brushed his hair back away from his eyes and pulled his head away from the pillow, stuffing his hand into the gap. His bicep had become quite large, as had most of his muscles via his rigorous training, and it bulged against his forearm, requiring effort, minimal but still required, to keep his arm bent. His pec was much larger than it was on their first date, as well, but Molly seemed to think it still made a comfortable pillow. Her loose red rivulets exploded across his chest as her cheek smooshed against it, her free arm resting lightly on his sternum, Jim's arm wrapped underneath her, pulling her in tight. The dawn sun was bursting through the curtains from their digital window, a light melody of chirping crickets, and the chirping birds hunting them, sang through the room's ambient noise generators. Jim preferred the sound effects of the growing bustle of the city, but Molly missed her summering home in the rural part of the Dome. His alarm wouldn't go off for another half hour, but he always woke too early on mission days. He'd slept rough all night, but knew, now that his brain was engaged, that returning sleep was a distant fantasy. He let his thoughts come and go as he laid still and tried to rest his body. Molly shifted a bit at the motion of his arm and flexing of his pec, but didn't wake from the jarring.

After a a short time of dozing into and out of semi-consciousness, the alarm blared from the nightstand. A shrill, tinny klaxon connected to a simple quartz-motion digital clock, honked with such obnoxious discordance that Molly groaned a loud disapproval and crawled across Jim's torso to hit the small, stiff button at the clock's base to shut it up. “Snooze? I want to snooze. Ten minutes.”

Jim kissed her on the forehead, which was now under his chin, and patted her on the butt gingerly. “I'm getting up. I'll wake you when I get out of the shower.”

Molly writhed and smiled and pushed Jim down when he attempted to get up and push her off. “You'll do no such thing. You keep the bad dreams away. You're gonna stay right here.” She slid back down and rested her head back on his pec again.

Jim, gracefully, rolled her onto her back, and then her side, and wrapped himself around her. She wiggled her lower half into him, and smiled serenely as Jim kissed her cheek. “I love you,” he said as he rested his head on the pillow between his shoulder and the mattress.

“And I love you, too,” she replied in a hollow but sincere tone, drifting into and out of light slumber. “Don't die, OK? I don't think I could handle it.” she purred, her eyes closed in a half-dazed almost-sleep.

“And leave you? Heaven forbid,” Jim snarked into the torrent of fiery ringlets tickling his nose. He brushed them out of the way and adjusted his head so he wasn't inhaling coppery tangles anymore. “I might not be deploying today, thought.” He continued.

“Oh?” Molly replied, eyes partially open now, as she rolled onto her back to look at Jim sidelong.

“I think I'm going to Aug.” Jim said flatly but with a bit of leading edge.

“Oh?” Molly said more pointedly as she rolled to face Jim, nose-to-nose, gigantic green eyes fully open now.

“You don't think I should?” Jim inquired, lost in her emerald gaze.

“I don't know what you should do,” she replied. “Do what you want.”

“You don't sound enthusiastic about the idea,” Jim responded to her coy tone.

“I like your pretty eyes,” She said with a smirk, the warm smile pushing her wide eyes slightly squinted as a sullen expression flashed briefly across her face.

“I've been thinking on it for quite a while. You're the only one who can veto me, so you need to tell me now if you don't want me to,” he stared at the copper-paneled ceiling, tracing the intricate pattern on each recessed cell in the grid. “I think it's the best thing to do. Will you still love me if I do?”

Molly rolled on top of him, and rested her hands chin on his sternum. She wiggled her lower body against his, rocking back and forth. “Of course. I'll always love you. You'll just have those weird white eyes, is all. They are kind of cool, though. Just don't let it change you, OK? Don't try to be like Standish.”

“Why not?” Jim craned his head down to meet her eyes over his newly-formed double chins. “He's a pretty cool guy.”

“Maybe. But he's not my kind of cool guy,” she replied with a devious smile and another wiggle of her butt. “I fell in love with you, Jim, not Standish. He's creepy.”

“Well, I like him,” Jim said, a bit defensively.

“Don't get me wrong,” Molly said, equally as defensive, “He seems nice and he's really taken you under his wings, and you've learned some pretty hot things from him,” she chuckled and wiggled again, “He's just got a, I don't know. A mood. An air about him. I don't want to say he feels slimey, but there's just this very insincere, sort of, well, creepy vibe.”

“I get it,” Jim said as he returned his gaze to the ceiling, “I get it, too. I never feel like I can trust him. It's like he's always hiding something. Like, I don't know, like everything he does is a part of some grand plan.”

“Maybe HE'S the one orchestrating your massive conspriacy,” Molly smiled as she rolled off of Jim's chest in a torrent of orange pale pink-white.

Jim propped himself up on an elbow, eyes locked on Molly's supple figure as she sauntered into the bathroom adjacent to their sleeping quarters. “I wouldn't put it past him. If anyone fits that 'special kind of sociopath' description, it's Standish. I told you the story he told me about the Outsiders, right?”

“The one from your graduation ceremony?” Molly popped her head around the door frame, tooth brush stuck in her cheek as she tied her hair back.

“Yeah. Pretty messed up, right?” Jim swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched his toes, “I mean, he seemed remorseful, and maybe he'd sunk into the bottle about it. But I don't know. Marion said he's the best Core pilot they've ever had. Better than me, even. Maybe he knows about Vishnu and this is all a set up.” Jim pushed himself up, wobbling and swaying a bit at his newly vertical position.

“But why?” Molly said after spitting into the sink. “What's his motive? What would he be playing at?”

“No idea,” Jim shrugged as he wrapped his arm around her waist, kissing the top of her fiery head before he walked over to the shower stall and turned on the shower tap. “Maybe he just wants to watch the world burn.” Jim, in the universe's infinite karmic justice, said as he yelped from the too-hot shower water.

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“Keep very still,” Magister Rinaldo said through his surgical mask, “You'll feel a sharp pinch. If it hurts too much after, let me know.”

“Alrigh- Ahhh,” Jim was cut off as the Magister shoved the giant IV needle into his forearm. “Ouch,” he completed, deadpan. The exam room was brightly lit, the black and white-grid slate tiling disorientating from his vantage point, semi-reclined on the stiff mattress of the medical gurney.

“Good. It'll take about an hour for the IV to drain and another for the nanomachines to finish their journey to the brain. Once they're in position we'll start the mapping.” The Magister's warm, affable smile and calm soothing tone eased the tension in the sterile, clinical exam room.

Jim looked over and met eyes with the Commander, who was watching from the research lab, through the observation glass. “And then what?”

“And then We'll have your Artifical Encephalographic Network, your AEN. Once we have your AEN, we'll start running you through the training program to build up your Natural Encephalograph. Should have it completed by the end of the day if we work quickly,” the Magister replied as pull his white lab coat's sleeve back to checked his uniform's wrist watch. “Then, once we've built the NE, we can upload it to your personal transmitter. From there, we'll hand you off to the training team tomorrow, and get you started learning how to use your new toy. Sound good?” His eyebrows jumped behind his surgical goggles, eyes widening, imploringly.

“I guess. How long will the training take?” Jim sat nervously as the machines flowed into his veins, painlessly and quietly.

“Depends on how good you are. I suspect you'll only need a few weeks of practice before you get everything down,” the Magister stood straight and pulled his surgical mask back, his crisp, well-groomed white mustache turned up in a smile. “I'll be back in a few hours. Try and get some rest. There's a mild sedative on the nightstand,” he tipped his head the small table next to the medical bed. There was a small platic cup with a single pill in it, next to a tall glass of water.

“Alright,” Jim replied, knocking back the pill like a strong shot of liquor, and chasing it with some of the water. He turned his head back to the black ceiling and closed his eyes. After a short while, the dull numbness of the soporific grabbed hold of his brain stem and dragged him into unconsciousness.

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Jim woke up on a spartan metal gurney inside a giant white halo, surrounded by giant metal monoliths. Startled, he attempted to sit up, but failed, his head strapped down by a tight brown belt just noticed as grogginess began to slip away. Similar cuffs were attached to his legs and hands. There was a throbbing in his skull, heavy pressure against his nose and eyes, and it felt like he needed to pop his ears, but no yawning was making it forthcoming.

“Be still, Jim,” Standish's voice soothed over the intercom from the research lab. “They're almost finished imaging and they need you to sit very still, otherwise we'll have to knock you out again and bolt your head to the table.” His usual irreverence had not vacated him since the last time they spoke, it would seem. “Your head's probably hurts like hell. It'll take a few days for the pressure to go away. Your head is also gonna feel a lot heavier. The nanomachines are light, but you'll definitely notice the extra weight for a while.”

“It'll even out once your fluid levels return to normal. The medbots we use to monitor your overall health quotient should make quick work of the equalization over the next few days,” the Magister confirmed. “Until then, Standish is right, you'll feel a lot of discomfort and pressure until then. We can give you some medication to cope if it gets too much.”

Jim laid very still, the threat of cranial bolts giving him the power to lie inhumanly motionless. Carefully, and making a special point to minimize the motion of his jaw, “that would be pretty helpful right now if I could,” he spat out belabouredly.

“Can't,” the Magister continued, “we need you unsullied for our next set of tests. That's why we woke you up.

“They're going to have you think of a few things so they can start keying into your electrical patterns,” the Commander gently interceded.

“Commander,” Jim sighed. Her voice was music to his ears.
“Yes. Jim, they want you to hold a picture in your head. It's going to appear from a holoprojector in front of you. Take a few minutes to memorize it, then hold the image as clearly in your head as possible,” her voice instructed in its pleasant, emotionless, comfortingly clinical way. A picture of a bowl of fruit against a white background hovered in front of Jim's face. He studied it as closely as he could, noting the arrangement of the fruits, their particular colors, what the bowl they were held in looked like, and any blemishes and deformities they had on them, how they deviated from the Platonic ideal he held in his memory for each of them. “Alright, now recall the picture in your mind as accurately as you can.” Jim closed his eyes and visualized a blank white space. He put a bowl in the center of it, a big blue one, and began filling it with fruit in the places they were. He then filled in their colors and how they deviated from what Jim thought of as a perfect ideal of “fruit.” longer stems, fatter shapes, big black spots indicating over-ripeness. “Perfect Jim, let's move along.”

“Now,” the Magister took over for her. “We're going to flash some images up very quickly, and we want you to say what you see out loud.” They began flashing up a series of basic images. Trains, balls, plates, food. Jim used the best word he could think of to name it as quickly as he could. The images only sustained for a split second, so sometimes he wasn't really sure what he was seeing, so he'd just give it his best guess. “That's great, Jim,” the Magister halted after about 20 images. “We're gonna do the same thing, but with people's faces now, Jim. Tell us what emotion you think they're feeling.” This time, it was cartoonish faces redered with highly dramatized versions of emotions straining on their faces. Beaming smiles, large fat teardrops, deep frowns, angrily squinted eyes. But, as the test went on, the faces got more subtle. A smirk and a glance away. A sneer and a furrowed brow. A wan smile and hooded eyes.

“Perfect,” the commander interceded again. “We're going to need you to solve some puzzles now. We'll flash up some math questions and some “spot the difference” pictures. Just shout out the answers when you solve them.” This time, the projector flashed up some math problems in standard notation. “5 x 5,” “20=5x-5” and so forth. After a very complicated math solution, the next image was two pictures side-by-side, of a little girl on a staircase playing with a blue rubber ball. He studied the picture on the left and named out the differences. The fact that the ball was red on the other side, the girl had green eyes instead of brown, and that there were 4 stairs in one picture and 3 in the other.”

“Perfect,” the commander eventually cut off. “Last test. We're going to need you to remember some emotions.” She left a long dramatic pause, causing Jim to feel vary anxious in expectations. “We'll start with happy. Not too Remember a time when you were really happy.” Jim closed his eyes and recalled his first date with Molly and what it was like to ride the train home. He felt the joy and happiness wash through his body. The joy in even visualizing her face made Jim's face smile involuntarily. “Great, now sad,” the commander led on. Jim remembered what it was like being in the hospital the first time his mom was diagnosed with her condition. An untreatable genetic defect. The medbots could hold it back for a while, but over time they will not be able to correct the differences and the defects will win out. The news crushed him when he was a toddler. “Really good ,Jim. Anger now, Jim.” He recalled the time the first time he and Molly fought. He remembers her screaming at him and him screaming at her. The look on her face and the spit coming out of her mouth as she angrily defended herself from his own vitriol. “Captured. Now, let's move to fear.” Jim remembered being in the tunnels when the rubble fell on Vishnu. He'd never been so afraid to die, ever. “Got it. Last one, disgust.” Jim remembered his anatomy class in Lyceum. There was this moment when they were going over ancient disease and showed images of badly infected wounds. He remembered wanting to throw up in revulsion from how gross and disgusting they looked. Black, swollen, infested. He felt his skin crawl and get goosebumps just thinking about it. “Wonderful, exactly what we needed.”

A nurse came up to him and pulled the gurney out of the white plastic halo, and undid the restraints. “The computers need to churn on this for a few hours now, so you can go back to your dorm and get some rest,” the magister instructed. The nurse handed him a vial of pills. “You can take your pain killers now, too. Jim knocked one back dry, and made his way out of the lab. The commander intercepted him and led him out of the research wing.

“Do you think I made the right choice?” He said to her as they walked down the maze of halls.

“I don't think this is a matter of right or wrong, Jim. I think you made the more interesting choice, though, for whatever that's worth. How are you feeling?

“My head feels like it's made of lead and like there is a bug trying to bore its way out of my eyeballs,” Jim responded as he dug his palms sharply into his eyes trying to rub away some of the pressure.

“Get back to your dorm and get some rest,” The Commander put a hand on Jim's shoulder as they halted in front of the exit. “The guys are handling the mission just fine. Rinaldo says you'll be combat ready in a few days, so we'll get you back in training soon. Just relax and enjoy the vacation.”