One of the hardest things for Geoffrey to get used to was the holo-net. Old as he was, he still remembered the University's neverending net broadcasts on some obscure field of study, some small achievement of discovery. It was a live-time nearly endless display of what the human mind could do when inspired...
Today, it was a constant barage of inane entertainment aimed at the mindless drones that were only driven to rage when their luxuries were denied to them. Contests that pitted men against each other for the smallest bit of coin and displays of vulgar greed for the vaguest chance at promotion. Not to mention the constant blaring propaganda that preached the dangers of the Hive's mindless masses. As if their own people were any better.
This much made him smile in a lazy sort of way. Any thought of anger was squelched by instinct. The implants in his head, Morgan designed of course, made it impossible for him to even entertain a thought of retribution or justice. Nevermind that the majority of the people in his own city never even saw him, even when he walked in front of them. Or that when they 'did' see him, it was only to look down upon him for his low status and obvious Drone status.
Drone. What a laugh. He'd joined the masses that had brought down his beloved University. He would have weeped from frustration if he had been able. As it were, he only sighed and waited for the monorail to get to his stop.
Greyheaded and railthin, his eyes stray upward toward the purple sky, for what passed for the night on this world. He remembered back to his earliest days, his father had told him of Earth and how their ancestors had dug up old bones from the ground, remnants of great things that had died so long ago. He felt like one of those old remnants, a relic of something dead and buried and he so wanted to be rid of that feeling. Or die and get it over with. Unable to help himself, he felt the despair sweeping over him, and the old man grips the handrail above him, waiting for the endorphine rush to wipe the depression from him yet again.
They wouldn't even let him grieve for the past. Not for long.
His sanctum, such as it was, was paid for out of his meager salary. It came with a daily allotment of food, water and air. The money that was left could be used to purchase Holo-net broadcasts or the various bits of luxury if he so wanted. As it stood, thirty years of servitude and pushing a mop had given Geoffrey the chance to save some few hundred credits. His palm was pressed to the reader outside the door, opening without pause to admit the tired janitor into the one room cell. It took the ex-professor some moments to realize that the lights hadn't come on before the door closed behind him.
"Professor Geoffrey Banks."
A soft voice, young and cool, brushed against his ear and the old man whimpered without meaning to do so. They'd come for him at last, and he didn't know if he should thank then or just wait for the shot that would end his torment. Instead, the lights came back on, stabbing pain into his eyes, removing any chance of seeing just yet who spoke to him. Blinking away tears and trying to push the confusion from his thoughts, he focuses on the blurry form that slowly coalesces into a slim blackclad female.
Memory cloth. It defeated thermal scans, biorhythm sensors and tracking devices. An almost instinctive reaction to seeing the spy's gear, remembering that much. Still blinking, he glances around furtively before looking back to the girl that leaned against the wall next to the small window.
"You're not here to kill me for Morgan, so either you're a spy come to recruit me or a ruse to get me to implicate myself. Except Morgan hasn't ever needed a reason to kill old teachers. So. What do you want?"
Where had 'that' come from?
The young woman only smiled and pushed off the wall and wandered over to the wary ex-University man, her hand lifting to brush against his cheek.
"What I want isn't important. It's what 'she' wants, and what you can do to ensure that she gets it. If you help me...her...us...then I can give you something that even your tired old mind hasn't conceived yet."
So lazy, that tone. Lazy, yet assured, as if she were in possession of some nugget of knowledge worth far more than any amount of Energy.
"Revenge? I'm too tired for revenge. So, don't you 'dare' try to tempt me with that." The surge of anger and indignation, tired frustration flowed through him and he shoved the woman away from him. "Now, you can leave or I can call..." Blinking a few times, realizing finally, that he 'had' been angry...He was 'still' angry.
The confusion on his face must have been obvious, as the girl lifted a small device and twirled it about in her palm. "Neural implant bypass. Domai's scientists discovered it some years ago. Very much a blackmarket toy, still. They have some serious dislike of Morgan, though, so..." A shrug before she stepped forward again and slapped Geoffrey across the face, rocking his head back.
Blood. Oh, how he had hated violence in his youth. It was uncouth and barbaric. That was before he saw the University burn and fall back into what was true barbarity. Stunned by the blow, he could only stare down at the woman, still overwhelmed by anger, confusion, frustration and strangely enough...something else.
"I never said revenge. I'm sure you've pondered 'that' for decades. No, what I offer is something far more, ahh, pure."
Slapping the device into the man's palm and smiling a touch, she steps back and glanced to the window before speaking again, soft and leisurely.
"Just how far would you go to rescue your Provost, Professor?"
~I~
Today, it was a constant barage of inane entertainment aimed at the mindless drones that were only driven to rage when their luxuries were denied to them. Contests that pitted men against each other for the smallest bit of coin and displays of vulgar greed for the vaguest chance at promotion. Not to mention the constant blaring propaganda that preached the dangers of the Hive's mindless masses. As if their own people were any better.
This much made him smile in a lazy sort of way. Any thought of anger was squelched by instinct. The implants in his head, Morgan designed of course, made it impossible for him to even entertain a thought of retribution or justice. Nevermind that the majority of the people in his own city never even saw him, even when he walked in front of them. Or that when they 'did' see him, it was only to look down upon him for his low status and obvious Drone status.
Drone. What a laugh. He'd joined the masses that had brought down his beloved University. He would have weeped from frustration if he had been able. As it were, he only sighed and waited for the monorail to get to his stop.
Greyheaded and railthin, his eyes stray upward toward the purple sky, for what passed for the night on this world. He remembered back to his earliest days, his father had told him of Earth and how their ancestors had dug up old bones from the ground, remnants of great things that had died so long ago. He felt like one of those old remnants, a relic of something dead and buried and he so wanted to be rid of that feeling. Or die and get it over with. Unable to help himself, he felt the despair sweeping over him, and the old man grips the handrail above him, waiting for the endorphine rush to wipe the depression from him yet again.
They wouldn't even let him grieve for the past. Not for long.
His sanctum, such as it was, was paid for out of his meager salary. It came with a daily allotment of food, water and air. The money that was left could be used to purchase Holo-net broadcasts or the various bits of luxury if he so wanted. As it stood, thirty years of servitude and pushing a mop had given Geoffrey the chance to save some few hundred credits. His palm was pressed to the reader outside the door, opening without pause to admit the tired janitor into the one room cell. It took the ex-professor some moments to realize that the lights hadn't come on before the door closed behind him.
"Professor Geoffrey Banks."
A soft voice, young and cool, brushed against his ear and the old man whimpered without meaning to do so. They'd come for him at last, and he didn't know if he should thank then or just wait for the shot that would end his torment. Instead, the lights came back on, stabbing pain into his eyes, removing any chance of seeing just yet who spoke to him. Blinking away tears and trying to push the confusion from his thoughts, he focuses on the blurry form that slowly coalesces into a slim blackclad female.
Memory cloth. It defeated thermal scans, biorhythm sensors and tracking devices. An almost instinctive reaction to seeing the spy's gear, remembering that much. Still blinking, he glances around furtively before looking back to the girl that leaned against the wall next to the small window.
"You're not here to kill me for Morgan, so either you're a spy come to recruit me or a ruse to get me to implicate myself. Except Morgan hasn't ever needed a reason to kill old teachers. So. What do you want?"
Where had 'that' come from?
The young woman only smiled and pushed off the wall and wandered over to the wary ex-University man, her hand lifting to brush against his cheek.
"What I want isn't important. It's what 'she' wants, and what you can do to ensure that she gets it. If you help me...her...us...then I can give you something that even your tired old mind hasn't conceived yet."
So lazy, that tone. Lazy, yet assured, as if she were in possession of some nugget of knowledge worth far more than any amount of Energy.
"Revenge? I'm too tired for revenge. So, don't you 'dare' try to tempt me with that." The surge of anger and indignation, tired frustration flowed through him and he shoved the woman away from him. "Now, you can leave or I can call..." Blinking a few times, realizing finally, that he 'had' been angry...He was 'still' angry.
The confusion on his face must have been obvious, as the girl lifted a small device and twirled it about in her palm. "Neural implant bypass. Domai's scientists discovered it some years ago. Very much a blackmarket toy, still. They have some serious dislike of Morgan, though, so..." A shrug before she stepped forward again and slapped Geoffrey across the face, rocking his head back.
Blood. Oh, how he had hated violence in his youth. It was uncouth and barbaric. That was before he saw the University burn and fall back into what was true barbarity. Stunned by the blow, he could only stare down at the woman, still overwhelmed by anger, confusion, frustration and strangely enough...something else.
"I never said revenge. I'm sure you've pondered 'that' for decades. No, what I offer is something far more, ahh, pure."
Slapping the device into the man's palm and smiling a touch, she steps back and glanced to the window before speaking again, soft and leisurely.
"Just how far would you go to rescue your Provost, Professor?"
~I~
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