Springer is a man of his word. Bram arrives the next day to give us an outline of our new task. "You will be addressing a situation in our local food production plant. As you are probably aware, these terrorists have no tracers, having been born outside of any community. That means your surveillance expertise and knowledge of the facility will be of utmost importance. Enora, I would like you to spend the remainder of the day reviewing your technical training, particularly with code. Then, prior to your departure, I will provide you with security clearances that will enable you to enter the plant's network and determine if the system was hacked."
"Yes, sir." I prefer to learn about the cyber-world lately. It feels removed from the reality of what we are doing.
Bram looks at Springer. "You will need to become acquainted with the entire facility. You must have a familiarity with the structure itself and all operations within. I will give you specifics this afternoon when you collect your identifications."
Springer thanks Bram, and we take turns shaking his hand. I have turned my attention away from him when Bram says, "Enora, I trust that your work will reflect the expertise I have seen in your previous assignments. The successful completion of this job will have its rewards."
It's a strange comment, and I'm not sure how to take it. Is he complimenting me? Am I going to receive better housing after I do this job? Is he trying to say he's watching me closely? I hate to think of him manipulating me like a pawn, but there is nothing for it. "I will give it my best effort, Commander."
"See that you do." He adds before walking out.
I have an insane urge to flip him off. He's acting like a Company thug with his subtle warnings and bribes.
I'm thankful when our new job is far removed from the city or any neighboring town. We're assigned to the largest food processing facility in the state, and I'm eager to go for reasons well beyond getting away from Bram or Drake. This opportunity may provide more insight into the workings of the Company, and I see this as another weapon at my disposal. As Springer and I pass through the barren landscape, I can't help feeling a sense of freedom. I always have this sensation when I leave the training center, but it is more prominent this time.
The ride is monotonous, and I can reflect on my decision to act on what I know. Up to now, I have kept quiet about the information I found on my last trip into the Renascence headquarters. Perhaps I was waiting for this opportunity, or maybe I just needed time to sharpen my weapon of knowledge. Whatever the case, I decide that the time is right.
I slightly raise my voice above the din of the jeep. "I need to tell you something."
"Oh?"
"I returned to Renascence headquarters while you slept."
His eyes swing to mine, and the jeep swerves slightly. "Are you insane?"
I hold up my hands, halting his words. "Springer, I needed to know. And it's time to tell you what I found. I guess I was waiting to see if I got caught."
"Dammit, Enora!"
"It's okay. I'm okay."
I see him clench his jaw, no doubt grinding his teeth in irritation. He's so righteously angry at the risk I took. I understand that. We've been through so much together, and I kept this from him.
"I'm sorry."
He huffs, but I know I'm forgiven. "Tell me then."
I lay it all out for him, the strange evolutionary web, the offshoots that were terminated, and those that remained—my theories on why those mutations were created. I tell him all of it, leaving nothing out. When I finish, I feel like a weight is lifted from my shoulders. He's quiet, so I ask, "So, what do you think it all means? What is the purpose for Renascence?"
Springer takes his time replying. I look out the window, giving him the mental space he needs to analyze everything I've said. "I have a couple of thoughts. I think that parallel mutations are being generated, almost like a warrior class and a civilian class. I agree with you that there is a direct relationship to water. It's clear that the Company sees this genetic manipulation as beneficial. My thought is that perhaps they are hoping to eventually cross breed both mutations, thereby creating a human that would have multiple desirable traits."
I chime in. "I see where you're going with this, but what is the end game?"
"It could be as simple as designing a breed of human that will become the ruling caste. What if there is some type of mental conditioning in this whole process? Then it follows that these individuals could ultimately be brainwashed." He pauses before adding a final thought. "Imagine what they would do if they had no conscience. Or if they simply believed that the rest of us are expendable. Or maybe they'll just be better suited to survive in this world."
Springer's theory reinforces my need to unmask the face of the DMC somehow. The world needs to know what they are. Perhaps in some way, by uncovering the truth, I can find justice for Safa and myself.
Having unburdened, I exude an air of calm as we speed along the road. He may not want to stand with me as I fight the power I am determined to bring down, but I feel at peace knowing that he won't stop me either. My admission has brought us closer. For better or worse, we are the keepers of a dangerous secret, and, in that, we are united. I feel strong and ready.
Since I was a child, I've wanted to see a food processing facility in person, and, prior to this mission, the closest I ever came was that distant view on our way to the city. I have always wondered what it looks like inside and how the Company grows so many crops or raises so many animals. As we get closer to our destination, I am filled with excitement to find the answers to my logistical questions surrounding how the DMC grows, raises, or manufactures the food I have eaten all my life.
I never learned when the Company took over food production, and my parents never spoke of it. So aside from information from texts or teachers, I have very little knowledge of the inner workings of each type of food-producing facility. I see rows upon rows of lush vegetables, plump tomatoes, and crisp lettuces in my imagination. I can picture trees dripping with sweet fruit and imagine the scent of soft peaches or tart apples, delicacies that I had little opportunity to experience growing up. My stomach rumbles as my thoughts drift in a cornucopia of food. A small smile curves the side of my mouth as I envision a dairy farm with cows devouring grass in an open field or being milked while happily chewing their cud. I know it's a ridiculous vision. The dairy processing plants are likely relatively simple, concrete, and steel operations. But it's my daydream. I'd much rather think of cows frolicking through a field than in a cold structure far from fresh air and sunlight, never mind that I've never even seen a field of lush grass.
As Springer drives, he fills me in on our directive, and my excitement begins to wane as it becomes clear that a group of rebels has been infiltrating the facility. We're tasked with discovering their origins and eliminating the problem. I can't help wondering about these people. They must live in perpetual desperation, being separate from everything that allows the rest of us to survive. I wonder what it would be like to join them. The stark landscape flies by while Springer drones on about the specifics, and I sit in silence with the realization that there is no escape from this, not yet. I move from one prison to another, though no bars surround me.
A few hours later, I see the facility growing in the distance. It's enormous, a monolith of human ingenuity. I feel Springer look my way, smirking at my apparent awe. "Bigger than you expected?"
I face him, trying to contain my shock. "Um, yeah, you could say that. What the heck do they grow in there? Giant, mutant cows?"
Springer laughs. "No, this is just a typical food production plant." He registers my skepticism. "I'm being perfectly honest. Think of it this way. This particular facility feeds Brigford's population plus a smattering of the towns on the outskirts."
I turn my attention back to the building, trying to take it all in. The closer we get, the more I recognize those elements that I've learned are a part of every greenhouse run by the Company. Surrounding the facility is typical barbed fencing with the added component of electrical current running through it, as evidenced by the warning signs I see posted as we pull up to the checkpoint. And sure enough, there are solar panels and huge windows to maximize the use of daylight. Now that we are closer, I can see that there are many levels of greenhouse and separate buildings that I assume contain different types of plants.
During the commute, Springer had informed me of our cover. We are inspectors assessing the processing plant's productivity, security, and procedures, hence the variations in our uniforms. But, like our assignment in Renascence, it's a necessary subterfuge. The guard places a security placard on the jeep's windshield, and we head through the gate to a designated area of the lot that houses the central offices.
As usual, I let Springer do the talking. He's so much better at bullshitting than I am. My part is to stand, arms folded, looking mildly irritated. I manage, but I hardly think I pass as some hard-ass.
Once we've been verified, we are led to our temporary housing, which is located on a lower level of the central office and consists of a two-room unit with a small sitting room, eerily similar to our quarters in Renascence.
Our guide, a young man about my age, hands Springer a key card then turns to me. "Are you agents?"
I'm taken off-guard, unfamiliar with the term, but am saved by Springer, who quickly replies, "I don't believe that is an appropriate question."
I actually hear the guard's gulp as he realizes that he may have committed some gross error in judgment by effectively asking our business. His face flames as he stammers, "Of course not, sir, my apologies." After which, he quickly escapes our vicinity.
Springer chuckles softy. "Damn, I'm good. Hope he didn't piss himself running away from us!"
"You're incorrigible. He's just a kid."
He just grins at me. "Go choose your room, Enora. I'm going to unpack and pull up a map of all known access points so that we can get started first thing."
As I begin to walk away, I turn to him. "You should also download personnel information so we can cross-reference."
Springer winks. "That's my girl."
I smile and head to one of the two bedrooms. It is small and stark, but I sigh in gratitude at having a private place to drop whatever façade I'm forced to wear. The bed beckons, so I drop my bag with a clunk and fall face-first into a surprisingly soft mattress.
For a few minutes, I keep my focus on the scent of the sheets and thin blanket, blocking any thoughts from creeping into my consciousness. I let myself be in the moment, knowing I have a job to do here. One that will likely prove as hard as those I have been a part of before. But I force myself to focus on how I can engineer this experience to my gain. I have been a pawn in someone's game for too long. Springer and I are like the cogs of a wheel on a runaway car. Unable to change direction or stop, as we barrel into an innocent crowd who wants nothing more than to live without the misery that is their only reality. I fall into a deep sleep with visions of Renascence spooling through my head.
A gentle shaking pulls me from disturbing dreams that I can't recall but leave me with an ominous feeling, like poisonous spiders creeping into my skull. My eyes focus on Springer's face, hovering a few inches above my head.
"You were whimpering in your sleep. Want to talk about it?"
My brow creases as I try to capture fleeting images from my dream, but they dart around, escaping me until I cannot recall even the slightest impression. "I can't remember."
Springer searches my face, likely gauging whether or not I am withholding anything from him, but it becomes clear that the haze of sleep is real, and my memory is a quagmire of random thoughts. As he continues to sit, I begin to wonder why he isn't leaving and letting me slip back into the arms of unconsciousness. I study his face and note that he looks haggard.
"You weren't sleeping at all, were you?"
He takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. "No, I wasn't. I haven't made out too well in the whole sleep department lately."
I feel bad that I have been so wrapped up in myself that I hadn't noticed the worn look on his face and the dark circles under his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I'm not really sure what to say," he says quietly. "I find that there is always a part of my mind that is struggling to suppress everything when I'm awake. When sleep finally comes, the ghosts of my actions haunt me. We all have our demons, Enora. Mine just wear a face."
"I see them too." But I know it's not the same. He's protected me from the ugliness. "Maybe we need to be more honest with each other and stop battling these thoughts alone."
Springer nods. "Yeah, maybe that would help."
But he is not forthcoming, and it takes me some time to realize that he won't want to talk about anything specific here, where we could be monitored even now.
So I yawn to feign exhaustion, paranoia is setting in, and tell him, "I'm beat for tonight, so could we talk it out tomorrow?"
His eyes crinkle in understanding, and a small smile curves his lips. "Sure, sleepyhead." Springer stands and softly pads to the door, glancing back once to give me a quick wink.
In the morning, we begin the first of many rounds through the complexities of the food processing facility. I am in complete awe of the magnitude of the place and begin to wonder why more food wasn't rationed to my family while I grew up. In fact, why didn't all of Prineville see more rations?
Undoubtedly, the most impressive of all is the use of recycled water, so much like Safa's invention, though on a much grander scale. Safa. At times like this, I feel a deep sadness and guilt that I have left her behind. She would have been such an asset to this place, helping them improve their designs. Everyone in my town could've benefited from her creative vision. As an image of her face enters my mind, I wonder if she's even alive, if they killed her, or if she's trapped somewhere in her private hell as punishment for bucking the system. I wonder who turned her in.
Springer's voice pulls me from my musings. "There have been cyber-breaches mostly, from what the report says, but it's clear that a physical operation is coming, and we are tasked with finding out where this group originates from."
Thinking of what must be a ragtag group of survivalists, I can't help asking, "Why are they trying to break into the building? Is it just for food?" But, in my mind, I wouldn't blame them for trying to steal from this gluttony.
Springer looks at me. "Does it matter?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I mean, what if they're starving?"
Springer grabs my arm and whispers harshly in my ear. "We are here to do a job, not to ask questions." His eyes pointedly roam our surroundings so that I'm reminded of those ears that may be listening too closely. I see a guard a short distance away, eyes averting when my gaze falls on him. I need to be more careful.
What Springer doesn't add in his overview is what we are tasked with once we know their location, but it's there, the ugly reality of the ultimate goal of our assignment. The day wanes, and by the end, we have been through the entire facility and know where each of the operation hubs is located. After dinner, we can return and get to work.
My preparatory training for this job has focused on using various computer programs that allow me to identify and utilize back doors into networks. I find these tasks much like a maze, only in the cyber realm, so it is familiar territory as I am, in essence, simply generating a path to infiltrate a system. Combine this training with the access codes that Bram provided me as part of our cover, and it's an easy job to enter the system and begin to search for hacks. My Pathfinder role is growing to include both the physical and cyber world of mapping, and I feel more comfortable navigating both realms. As Bram indicated before our departure, a group of terrorists has infiltrated the system. My job is to find out what information they accessed and how they plan to use it.
I begin to sift through reams of information and lines of code. Springer is off on his part of our mission, becoming familiar with the building and analyzing potential access points that rebels could utilize. He provides various updates as he runs around the structure, becoming acquainted with the different routes I have mapped and indicating any additional information he needs. It takes some effort to flip back and forth between his needs and my computer work. But after a time, he finishes and joins me, easing himself into a chair, exhausted.
Time passes quickly as I become completely absorbed in my task, thankful that my mind is fully engaged in something beyond my morose thoughts. I'm so focused that I forget that Springer is with me until I hear his deep breathing and look over to see his head resting against his chest as he sits sprawled in the chair. My hands leave the keyboard as I lean back and watch him sleep. The dark shadows under his lowered lashes are so prominent under the lights as I look at his face.
Poor Springer. I only know what we have been through together, but as I gaze at his slumbering form, I wonder what other things he's seen and done that keep him up at night. I feel shame wash over me as I accept my selfishness, so little of my thought has gone to others as I am only too ready to devote all of my attention to my misery. I shake my head and make a pact with myself that I will be a better friend and take care of him the way he so obviously takes care of me.
I resume my work, content to let him get whatever rest his poor body needs. My diligence pays off a couple of hours later, and I find the first breadcrumb. I can see an interrupted line of code, a backdoor into the system. I follow this, and I can see what parts of the network were accessed. As I continue to follow a trail of hacks, my fingers pause just above the keys.
If I go down this path, there is only one outcome. These rebels, whoever they are, will be destroyed. Their motives won't matter. A traitor is a traitor. What if this group is just a bunch of kids, youths like the ones Springer killed in Brigford? Do I honestly want to be a part of that? Bram's image enters my mind and a burst of anger with it. For me, his is the face of the DMC. He is the one who put me on this road to discovering whoever is on the other end of this trail. And it is Bram who is ordering their execution should I find out where they are. I'm a marionette. I can feel the strings he's pulling and want to rip them away. I'm done being some pawn he can move around like a mindless weapon. I feel my body burn with anger and begin to rise out of my seat, ready to walk away from all of this, to expose the truth. But then I hear the low rumble of Springer's snore and turn toward the sound. Can I do this without taking him down with me? And my parents, what of them if I turn traitor?
I feel air rush out of me, along with my rage, as I watch Springer's even breathing. How could I put him at risk? Finally, I sit down with a resigned thump and refocus my thoughts on the task at hand, following the trail to see where it leads. By being a good soldier and continuing to hide the truth, I will ensure that Springer and my parents are safe. As much as I hate it, I must do this job and all others that follow. I owe them that much, and maybe even more.
A couple of hours into the labyrinth of code, I find what I've been looking for, an IP address and approximate location of origin. It is a strange feeling that washes over me as I unlock this bit of information. I can't help but falter in my decision of whether or not to alert Springer. I know the result if I do. Murderer whispers through my mind. During this internal battle, Springer leans too far over in his chair and jolts awake.
He rubs his hands over his face to come fully conscious. "Sorry about that, Enora. I didn't mean to fall asleep on you." He yawns and stretches. "Find anything?"
I watch him briefly before responding. "Yeah, I did."