Warner 20
Warner
I push my hands into my coat pockets as I move, relishing the brisk air. The mountains rise above me in the distance, the range frosted with thick snow, gleaming under the fracturing light of the sun.
My pager buzzes.
No matter how many times I come back on campus, I never get tired of it. I feel proprietary toward every inch of this place, as if the sidewalk itself were an extension of my home.
In many ways, it is.
We brought this dream to life one brick at a time.
We all helped lay down the sod in these medians.
I personally moved the same park bench four times before we decided on its final location.
We stayed up late stocking the shelves of the local grocery store the night before it opened.
The shutters of the coffee shop are a shade of lilac because Adam got the paint order wrong and everyone decided they liked the mistake.
Kip’s Waffle Shop was renamed The Waffle’s Waffles less than a year ago, when Roman inadvertently gave the campus its informal nickname.
The Waffle is the size of a small city, but all of it feels like home.
Everything here harbors memory. Even those snowcapped mountains.
I look up at the sky again, allowing myself another brief recess from my buzzing pager.
Ella loves going up to those mountains.
The first time we went she insisted we build a snowman before we even finished unpacking the car, and then she dug around in the cooler and produced two bright green grapes, which she used for its eyes.
She said it looked just like me.
“Is this a joke?” Kenji had said, because, of course, Kenji was there. He’d heard about our plans and insisted on joining us, and the trip nearly began and ended with murder.
“Is this how you see him in your cartoon head?” he’d said to Ella. He then pointed in my direction. “You think this sentient block of granite looks like a fat, jolly snowman?”
“Yes,” she’d said, grinning at me.
Now, I shield my eyes against the cold sun, trying to ignore this constant ache beneath my breastbone. The wind pushes at me, tearing open my unbuttoned coat as I walk, and I choose not to fight that particular battle.
Ella chose this location because of its geography.
Not only do the residential streets here evoke the cozy neighborhood feel of our first year post-revolution, but everything is situated against a backdrop of natural beauty: acres of protected land rise into the distance, wild grass shimmering in the sun.
A couple miles off from the western edge of campus you can see the ocean and its staggering cliffs along the coastline.
The untamed coastal border provides an extra measure of seclusion while granting us access to the ports—and the temperate climate allows us to always remain in a state of readiness. There’s no need to hibernate.
Things never really die in the winter here; in fact, the rain often brings things back to life. Many trees are still leafy and lush at this time of year; the soft, rolling hills are green and invigorating.
The air is different.
I draw the clean, bracing oxygen into my lungs, fighting not to hear or feel anything new as I move past inoffensive passersby.
I’m enough of a fixture on campus that my presence is no longer a cause for overblown interest, but the normally busy sidewalk isn’t densely populated at the moment, which affords me a rare, uncontaminated diameter of psychic peace.
Even better: I sense no one I’m interested in acknowledging.
I slow down a little, finally retrieving the buzzing pager from my pocket.
I scroll through unread messages as I walk.
ALERT: INTERPERSONAL COMMS REMAIN ONLINE BUT MAY EXPERIENCE brIEF OUTAGES OR DELAYS AS WE ADDRESS LINGERING ISSUES RELATED TO THE RECENT CYBERATTACK
ALERT: IMPORTANT MESSAGES SHOULD BE COMMUNICATED VIA AUDIO RECEIVERS
Hello, sir, this is Elias
Jing forgets that Rosabelle is in hospital
He’s very excited
Apologies. Is she okay now?
Then, Jing:
I didn’t forget Rosabelle was in the hospital
I know she’s in the hospital
But she can still talk, right?
She was talking before
My pager buzzes in my hand while I’m scrolling, new messages overriding the old. These are from Ian Sanchez, the lead psychotherapist at the rehab facility. I’ve known Ian since the Omega Point days.
He and I did not get along back then.
Hey man, I know you’re slammed, but these scientists are bugging the shit out of me
They really want to talk to you
If you want me to kill them LMK
or I can lock them in the emotional garden
your call
I’m almost tempted to smile.
I’m almost ready to regret giving these scientists direct access to me. Very few people are allowed to contact me personally, but these four—three, without Leon—have proven worthy resources over the last several years.
They were of the rare stock who’d once worked on Operation Synthesis: the first iteration of a project dedicated to the mass control of the population.
At its heart were Ella and her sister, Emmaline.
They’d been bred specifically for the use of their bodies: for experimentation on their skin and organs.
Born in a closed environment, their births were never authentically registered in the world.
No true identities were ever formed; the sisters had no real existence on earth.
They were repeatedly modified and tortured via gruesome procedures.
Memories were altered over and over, relentlessly.
Emmaline’s incomparable telekinetic powers made her the architect of earthly perception; Ella’s lethal touch, transmittable across great distances, made her an unprecedented executioner.
We’d all led dark lives as children of supreme commanders, but Ella and Emmaline endured levels of hell so singular their stories test the limits of the imagination. The sisters were meant to be nothing more than containers; their bodies were to serve as conduits for a greater cause.
Ella, of course, is still suffering the consequences.
A brisk breeze barrels into me then, hanging shop signs groaning as I move down the sidewalk.
It’s a struggle to force that dark thought away.
Just before the revolution, The Reestablishment began initiating the second phase of the project: the implantation of neural chips in the body—and I’d nearly lost Ella in the process.
Emmaline was the organic mind of the operation then, sentenced to a blind existence submerged in electrified waters.
Her parents had bred her for her brain—there was little left of her body in the end—but they were never able to fully erase her humanity.
Emmaline sacrificed her life so that we could finally kill the program.
I always worried The Reestablishment hadn’t given up on Operation Synthesis.
The project was too great; its origins too old. It had long preceded the formal takeover of The Reestablishment around the world, and I didn’t think it would die so easily.
A scatter of voices carry from down the street.
My pager buzzes again.
Aya, Jing, Elias, and Leon weren’t the lead scientists on the original campaign, but they were the few who’d turned their backs on the regime, having seen the ramifications of the project up close.
I suspected their insight would one day prove invaluable, and when our scientists became regular targets for assassination, I took measures to keep them safe.
I made similar offers to many of our brightest minds—but few people will agree to live in hiding.
I pause for a moment on the sidewalk and look up, having nearly arrived at my destination. Three cars pass me by in quick succession. A row of quaint, colorful boutiques line the streets here.
A familiar pink storefront is just up ahead.
I reach into my coat for the scrap of paper Ella tucked into my pocket this morning. I look it over, a frisson of feeling moving across my skin. Her handwriting is so powerfully familiar it nearly transports me back in time.
There were a multitude of security reasons for constructing this campus; we’d always needed to build out proper headquarters; we’d always needed to establish a true capital city.
But to do it like this—to have created a small city within a larger city, and all of it nestled in the heart of so much natural beauty—
Bringing this to life was nothing short of a miracle. And underpinning all these choices, I knew, was Ella’s concern for me.
She wanted to build me a refuge.
It’s infinitely quieter here than in the New Capital City, and there’s abundant room to move around unimpeded.
I can go for long runs through the hills without being spotted.
I can find pockets of peace to exist undisturbed.
I can actually walk into a coffee shop without worrying someone will black out, hit their head against a table, and nearly die of a hematoma on the brain.
I tense at the memory.
I was lucky James was with me that day. Or perhaps, I reconsider, it was his presence that caused the problem.
I exhale softly, staring into the middle distance. As always, thoughts of Ella surge to the front of my mind. It’s hard not to think of her, constantly.
It’s hard not to run straight home, right now.
When my pager buzzes for what feels like the hundredth time, I fish it out of my pocket.
Hi! Jing, again.
I know you’re super busy! ha ha
We’re all super busy, right?
So, no offense or anything, but I think maybe you don’t remember why this is so important???
Frustration heats my chest. I search the skies for patience.
Do you remember Leon??
Leon was our old partner—the scientist Rosabelle killed at the rehab facility?
Here’s the thing: we discovered she didn’t actually kill him!
He remote-exploded!
Is Rosabelle feeling better now?
Can we please talk to her?
Irritation evaporates from my veins, a release of adrenaline clarifying my thoughts.
I scroll to read earlier unread messages.
Hello, sir, this is Aya
We have some files to share with you
We think Leon was writing letters to someone in his head before he died
Rosabelle said someone named Klaus was inside of him