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[rayg]

It was all a matter of trust, Aral kept telling himself. That being the one thing that one could never have with the Pervaders running amuck. The little whispers, the random insights, the cognitive train wrecks that they occasionally caused. Sitting on your scalp, some of them - popping out X-rays and God knows what. Pushing synapses to fire, categorizing, observing, forwarding. He had heard that some shaman actively shunned hygiene so as to maintain the equilibrium and density of their "little friends".

It disgusted him. They weren't coherent, independent human beings anymore. They were some kind of .. soup, pieces of meat bobbing around in a bath of bacteria.

Aral knocked on the door. Eden 6 Security Council, it read. Plain and unassuming font on a drab orange background. The latch buzzed and he let himself in.

It was a small office with two women reviewing documents and sifting data. Once upon a time, he had assumed that it was a waiting room, until it had been pointed out to him that the room had only one door.

"Mister Mellis, hello," one of two said, with a hint of germanic lilt in her voice. The other peered over the paper she was reading. "Again."

"Good.. morning. Again," he said.

"Shall we begin?"

He hesitated a beat. "By all means," Aral then blurted. Trust was all it required. And these people were clean and fully invested in Eden 6's mission. If not them, then who could he trust?

"You can call me Ann, and this is Barb." Last time it had been .. he couldn't rightly say, off the top of his head. The names lingered a moment, just out of reach, and then vanished.

"Barb" set down her paper and produced a rather ordinary looking - scruffy, even - beret from a wall cabinet. She cut into an academic drone. "Ann," meanwhile, sat him in one of the two chairs and provided him a clipboard with a release form to sign.

"In order to protect the privacy of its members, as a cost reduction to Eden infrastructure and operations, and as an outcome of the technological boons granted us in our fight against the onslaught of the Pervasion, you are being invited.."

Required, he thought, trying not to roll his eyes. He relished for a moment the knowledge that no pervaders were lingering in his ear canals, feeding on pressure waves and ear wax to broadcast his secret unease to everyone in the room. "Barb" waited for his attention to return.

"... You are being invited to, as a precondition for meeting with the inner circle of the Eden Security Council, utilize an Urashima Device."

"Ann" had placed the beret on his head and was gently securing it to his scalp with alternating swabs of alcohol solution and glue. The glue had a cool, itchy pinch to it. While she did that, he placed his wristwatch, pens, and wallet in a plastic bowl Barb offered him.

"While localized effects during device activation, tuning, use and deactivation have been known to include migraine headaches, hallucinations, vivid memory recollection, susceptibility to suggestion, and occasional dizziness, the principal and intended effect is that of short-term memory encoding suppression. We ask your patience and understanding and assure you that every precaution is being taken to ensure your safety and comfort during your localized amnesiac episode."

Aral sighed. If only they could figure out how to suppress the hangover he had come to expect. He skimmed the paperwork for new clauses and scrawled his signature at the bottom. He glanced up and saw the reflection of traveling waveforms in "Ann's" glasses as she tweaked the Device using her palmtop terminal. She hummed unconsciously.

"What's your favorite color, Mr. Mellis?" Ann asked.

"Green," he replied. "Is it ready?"

Barb replied, "Mr. Mellis, if you would let the doctor do her job. If I might have that paperwork.." He handed her the release.

"Isn't that a bit rude, now, I was being asked a question. My favorite color's green," he said, looking back over to Ann.

"Which reminds me, are we just getting started or finishing?"

"I'd say we're just getting started. Could you recite the alphabet backwards?"

"Z, Y, X..." He paused for a moment. "My favorite color's green. Am I done? It looks like we're back. I'll need ibuprofen if you don't mind..."

Behind his glance, Barb was making poking her index finger straight upward and smirking. Ann pursed her lips and continued readjusting settings.





Sergio Gusman was impatient. He expected a long night of grading papers ahead, and as yet, they had yet to arrange an encounter with Aral Mellis that happened on time. Next time, perhaps he would find a way to recuse himself.

The five of them had set up borrowed chairs and stools around the hangar. Yukio Maeda was tapping severely at his notepad. Cornelius Whystelan was dozing lightly. Donal, whose last name he had yet to pronounce, never mind spell, had picked the lock of a toolbox and was inspecting its contents. And Angela Bryson was doing a cross-word puzzle out of a ragged paper book.

They lounged in one of the aging above-ground hangars at Eden 6. The three aircraft in the hangar were all ancient but well-maintained de Havilland Canada DHC-6 "Twin Otters", a mainstay of antarctic travel for decades. Surprisingly low-tech and perfectly sized for taxiiing people and equipment under harsh conditions, they had survived well past their intended production life by nature of fitting their niche perfectly.

Sergio swatted his thighs, kicked off his stool and started wandering around the hangar. He was tempted to beg Maeda's notepad off him to try to get some papers graded, but pride and the expectation that Maeda would simply give him a pained look in reply caused him hesitation.

A stiff rapping of knuckles on metal echoed through the hall just as Sergio stopped to run his finger along the edge of one of the Otter's propellors. He sped across the hangar floor with a crisp, no-nonsense gait unlikely to see in a septagenarian in prior generations, and came just short of yanking Aral Mellis up the stairs into the main hangar.

There was a note taped to the back of Mellis, as if the ladies down in the "office" had taken to sniggering pranks at the expense of their customers (nee victims).

"Getting more complicated to handle this one - he should be fine though. Recommend no more than five more treatments in the next year before we risk latent memory retention. - A & B"

"Good evening Aral, we're here to ask you some important questions and pose you with an opportunity," began Angela after they had collected themselves; Cornelius was still wiping what appeared to have been a wicked dream off his face with his ever-present handkerchief.

"Are you the Security Council? Have we met?" he asked the group as a whole. "Oh, wait, yes, remembrance is verboten. Let's proceed, then, the longer I go, the bigger the headache. At least, that's what I recall." Aral resisted the urge to probe his skull to assure himself that it was still there - his scalp was quite numb by now.

Sergio pressed. "Let's just start. Pleasantries really are a waste on them. Angela?"

"All right," Angela said, he de facto spokesperson. Her friendly eyes and practiced smile drilled into Aral. "Your output and reliability have been found substandard and as a result we will be terminating your residency here."

Aral gaped at her in disbelief. He motioned as if to protest and Angela's face twisted into a suppressing glare.

"There will be no rebuttals, no grievances, Mister Mellis. It is what it is."

Aral's was building up a good steam. Substandard? He prided himself on being god-damned exemplary.

"Nonetheless. As you know, Eden 7 has been out of communication for a number of months. We have recently regained communication capability with them. They suffered a mild social upheaval during this past winter and are now looking to .. repopulate a bit. You will be given the option to go there."

Aral spat out, "I resent the very implication that my work has been unacceptable. I have put in twice the effort of my peers, have fully tagged my reports, have.. This is really quite ridiculous and I would like to see it on the record .."

"Mister Mellis! However! However, we will give you a second chance. If you show exemplary discipline and resourcefulness, you may return to us with information on their recent history and current capability. There may be opportunities for Eden 6 to expand its resource pool."

"This is bullshit. You'll have to tranquilize me and throw me in a freaking pod before I'll comply with this.. fallacy."

Sergio looked at Angela. "I told you, guilt wouldn't work." He looked at Cornelius. "If you would, Cornelius.."

Cornelius, seated behind Aral, obliged. "Right, yes, indeed, Aral, you needn't worry then, though, one question. What's your favorite color?"

Aral swiveled around. "By God, what?"

Cornelius repeated, "What's your favorite color, Mister Mellis?"

Aral's face disintegrated into confusion. "It's green.. But what's that got to do with anything? How exactly did I get here?"

Cornelius answered, "Green, eh? That's a fine, fine color by my reckoning. Angela, if you would begin?"

"All right," Angela said, fumbling with her notes a bit. "I'll try for a summary, Aral. We have been, with your assistance, intercepting research done on the topic of the Pervaders' programming, emergent behavior, construction and evolution. What you haven't known is that it's been forwarded on to Eden 7 and may have contributed to its prolonged silence of this past winter."

Sergio added, "We suspect Eden 7 was conducting an R&D program trying to induce self-destruction of Pervaders, similar to how Eden 6 worked to develop electromagnetic pulse technology to terminate or interfere with the nanotechnological components of the Pervader bacteria."

Angela recovered her lead. "We've sent ROVs on several occasions to Eden 7 to bring back data, but as you know, winter travel is still hazardous. Eden 7 defense systems are apparently still intact, complete with some rather ominous warnings."

"Don't fill his head up with ghost stories," Sergio scolded. "It fills easily."

Aral asked, "ROV?"

"Remote operated vehicle," Sergio volunteered. "Though technically these are mostly autonomous.. But I digress."

Aral sat back in his chair and folded his arms, "Let them die."

Angela looked at Sergio, then back at Aral, "Pardon?"

"They danced with the demon and it burned them. Let. Them. Die. I take it you wanted my opinion? My insight? A guinea pig to send over there and find out what happened, perhaps?"

"Dear heavens, Aral, not that," Angela gasped, laughing. "Cornelius, if you could explain.."

Cornelius tapped Aral on the shoulder, again forcing him to turn around. "Aral, it's something like this. It's really all about color, heh, heh. Have a favorite color, Aral, do you?"

"How would green have anything.. to do.. with.. Are we starting soon?"

Angela had recomposed her benificent demeanor and resumed. "Okay, perhaps we should begin, Mr. Mellis, as we're running a bit behind schedule. You're aware of the state of Eden 7, I presume?"

"Of course, .. your name was?"

"Angela, you can call me. If you would, then, Mr. Mellis. Explain."

"The last contact with 7 was approximately three weeks before dusk. Some suspect civil war, reclamation failure or even simple distrust. I have a suspicion that they have a weapons program going that they distinctly don't want revealed until it's ready."

"And we are here to confirm that suspicion, albeit strictly under confidence, Aral. Now, if you'll give me a moment" - she shuffled sheets around her notepad - "we would like to give you an opportunity to ascend the ranks a bit, in exchange for a bit of a research trip to Eden 7.. How do you feel about that?"

Aral paused, considering. Cornelius caught Sergio's eye and winked in the interim. "So you wish me to be ... liaison with Eden 7, I'm presuming?"

Angela returned a smile. "That is precisely what we're thinking. Now, mind you, there are dozens of people who we've considered for this position, but you're the one we're giving first right of refusal. So, the offer is what it is. Consider quickly, Aral."

"How soon would I be leaving?"

Sergio chimed in, "Within a week. We're still working on details of getting you and your team delivered."

"Team?"

Angela cleared her throat, "Let's take that offline, shall we, since dear Aral here is under a bit of a .. disadvantage right now. Aral.. Do you accept?"

Sergio patched together a smile. "You can trust us."

Aral smiled back, "What do I do?"

"You're going to make a recording of your instructions to yourself, which we'll be sending along with you stamped with both your and the Security Council's credentials. Mister Maeda here will be doing the recording. I've outlined the major points for you, but you'll be expected to take whatever necessary steps to genuinely convince yourself. You should understand the importance and rationale and should follow of your own free will, even if all of this privileged information is denied to your everyday self. "

"Fine. Oh, by the way, one of your assistants wanted to know my favorite color - it's green. For the record," Aral chirped, pleased with the turn of events.

"Get the man his painkillers," sighed Sergio.