Part 1 | Chapter 8 - Cut Off

Part 1, The Ticking Clock

Chapter 8 - Cut Off

“We’ve got a few announcements,” says Dr Dorrien, entering the bays of workstations by the door from the back of the lab.

I put down my inking pen and rub my eyes. I stare at the detailed lines of the feathers on the Larus’s tail, blinking away my apathy. Normally there was nothing I loved more than losing myself in the details of drafting but I’ve struggled to feel much of anything beyond the pit in my stomach for the past few days. Knowing I’ll let Gilroy down if I can’t get this finished is about the only thing keeping me going on this particular project.

Dad leans in the doorway, holding his hand-held in front of him while his Rattus twitches its nose on his shoulder.

“Listen up, cause I’ve been told not to print these. Firstly, there’s some new security changes they want me to read out. Everyone is now restricted to their own level only. If you need something for another level you need a security escort to go get it…”

One of the grad students raises their hand, “Every time? That’s absurd? I visit the eighth floor like twice a day.”

Dad shrugs, tapping his screen, “I don’t make ‘em, just reading them out. Just you wait… where was I?” he scrolls on his screen a moment, “Right, the turnstiles are being replaced as well, so it’s mandatory to both check in and swipe in with security for the next few weeks. They’ll be ensuring that they have a three person team always available to try and keep things moving quickly but expect some delays if you are entering or exiting at the same times as any shift changes. Now the fun one, we’ve got mandatory security re-trainings next week and the week after, they’ve scheduled them out of hours,” a collective groan goes up from all six members of the lab and Dad raises his voice, “so as not to interrupt regular working schedules. You’ll be getting an email with your assigned training shortly.”

Gilroy takes his glasses off, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “Well it’s not like I’m not here all day anyway.” His symbiont is in the lab today, a massive hunched Corvus sitting on a stand at the back of the room where it will keep out of the way of those that can’t see it.

“Some of us have lives…” mutters one of the other students.

“Some of us have papers to get out,” replies Gilroy.

“Quiet, final announcement,” Dad lowers his hand-held, “I’ll be out of office on Friday for Conrada’s manifestation. Gilroy can answer any questions if anything comes up.”

There’s a few polite claps, I can barely muster the smile of acknowledgement expected of me.

Dad pushes off the doorway, pocketing his hand-held again, “And that’s it. Don’t do anything stupid around the new security folks. I don’t know what’s got them cracking down, but let’s keep out of it yeah? Conrad, can you come chat in my office a moment?”

I stare at my pen, then close the folio over my work and rise from my desk to follow my Dad back to his office. His desk is covered with papers and older tech, the bookshelves behind him practically collapsing under the weight of books he’s managed to stack on the shelves. On the wall, between all the white furniture is one of the best drawings I’ve ever done, a Naja species symbiont. The body is coiled, wrapped around a Rattus not unlike his own, the neck hood opened and fangs bared. I spent hours meticulously drawing every scale from an absurd paper that described someone bonded to one counting every row of scales down their symbiont's body. I actually find it kind of morbid that it was the piece he chose to keep in his own office, or maybe it's always been an admission of who he is.

Dad sits with a sigh, and spins his chair to face the small couch crammed into the room rather than the seat across his desk. He gestures for me to sit, and I do so slowly, adjusting my ID badge so I don’t bend it.

“I got an odd email from HR…” he starts. I tighten my lips, waiting to see where he is going with this. “Did you have a meeting with them last week?”

I tuck one hand into a pocket, refusing to meet his eyes. “Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“It wasn’t anything serious this time. I didn’t sign in one night coming in late, I think Chuck was in trouble,” I explain steadily, “Why? What did it say?”

“Your authorization for this building is being revoked as of close of business today.”

I pause, trying to read into the implication he obviously thinks is there, “That's normal right? I might not be back in a few more days.”

“It’s never happened before new contracts were issued in my experience. You sure it wasn’t about you, Conrad? I know we’ve had some troubles in the past, I know you’ve been fighting with Harris, you’ve not-”

“I didn’t do anything,” I reply, sinking back into the couch, “I’m not a kid.”

“Clearly, I’m not asking to rat you out. I’ll always be on your side, but I can’t help when I don’t know what I’m helping?” Dad rests one of his hands on the couch next to me, giving me a patient half-smile.

I fold my legs and lean into my hand, turning from him. “They said they were looking forward to my manifestation… I think they’d been looking at whatever they had on Mum.”

Dad draws in his own breath sharply, “Who?”

“Some VP, Watanabe maybe. Security.”

“Did they imply-”

Stolen novel; please report.

“No, no one knows. I’ve been so careful…” my voice breaks, a wave of exhausted grief washing over me. For what purpose even, it might make no difference in the end? Maybe if I had told that stranger, it would have been my ticket out of here.

Dad covers his own mouth with his hand, glancing up at a security camera in his office, then leaves his eyes lingering on me in thought. “You’re not going to try anything?” he asks.

I bark out a coarse laugh, “Fuck, I already tried. It didn’t work out. I’m not trying anything between now and tomorrow.”

“Conrada, what have you been doing?”

“I’m serious. You have my word. I gambled and lost, nothing happened.”

Dad leans forward taking a deep breath, “They’re preparing for you to manifest like your mother then.”

“What happened? Other than ‘classified’, I’ve heard that bit. Was it like the other day?” I keep my legs folded, my arms tight around my sides.

My Dad shifts, his eyes darting, and rubs his sparse beard. “Nothing happened, and that is also what made it worse. There was just silence, and the screens shut down except for that one word, no designation, they didn’t even count down the bids.”

“Was she like me?” I ask, my words barely leaving my mouth.

He looks at me, and gives the barest shake of his head, “I’ll never know. But I’ve always wondered if she loved me because I was the closest she might ever come to someone who could see what she did…”

They are the coldest words I’ve ever heard come out of my father’s mouth. The emotions I’m holding back almost unravel. I spread my hands, my brows knitting, “What could it even be? What is out there that would be so secret that they wouldn’t even provide a designation let alone the species?”

Dad, spins in his chair, looking up at his library, “There are symbionts that have never been described…” he begins, lifting his hand to gently tug one book free from his shelves, “So rare and powerful their study would be better classed cryptozoology than real science.” Just like Johansen.

“What does that even mean?” I ask, wrapping my hands tight around my body, unconsciously rubbing my own shoulder in comfort.

“It means, there might be no price too high, even a serf isn’t safe.”

I stand, unable to keep the betrayal from my voice, “You always said it’d be fine. You said it wouldn’t happen.”

I know I never believed him, but I also know I’m not exactly able to see my own circumstances logically. Something always reassured me that he’d never changed his tone before now, even if I thought it put too much faith in things outside of our control. His uncertainty now was deeply unsettling, validating all the darkest thoughts that had been propagating themselves through my mind for years, and were lately blooming into dark flowers.

He doesn’t reply, all I can see is the resignation in his eyes. It feels like the wails of that mother in the crowd the other day, mourning her son but doing nothing real to stop anything. The black business card is still in my pocket, crumpled and torn. I was too scared to dispose of it, lest it somehow tie me to anything that happened.

I can’t. I just leave.

----------------------------------------

“Hey cob…”

Meiko sits slowly at the booth I’ve haunted in the lower mess hall. I’ve barely touched the tray of pickles, rice and simmered pumpkin I got at the buffet.

I don’t even look up as she sits next to me, and instead I just bury my head into her shoulder. The touch of her hand on the back of my head is almost enough to sap my strength.

“I’m sorry…” I mutter into her black overalls.

“Conrad… It’s fine, I know you. What happened?”

I take a deep breath, leaning back off her shoulder, and pass her my hand-held with the email notifying me of my manifestation date. She relaxes slightly as she reads it.

“That’s not all. I think I’m in trouble.”

She glances around the mess, I picked a spot I hoped was just crowded enough our words would be lost in conversations, but just far enough from other tables we couldn’t be overheard.

“Like what? Like last time?” she asks.

“Worse.”

“What did you do?”

I grimace. “Does it matter?”

“I mean, yeah… How bad are we talking?”

“I think the only reason I’m not in detention is they are waiting to see what I manifest. They’re locking me out of the lab. I haven’t been fired as a technician as far as I can tell, yet.”

“Okay… Does Harris know anything?”

I suck in my breath between my teeth, “I couldn’t. I’d ruin his career.”

“Is that why you’ve been fighting?” I grimace again. I must seem like a complete mess to them lately.

“Maybe.”

Meiko picks one of the pickled radishes off my tray. “Doesn’t seem like the only reason to me.”

I lean on her shoulder again, staring at the table in front of us. She helps herself to another pickle. “He’s one of those people that thinks fitting in is a choice.”

Meiko hums. “It’ll be alright.”

“I’m sick of hearing that.”

Meiko, places her own hand-held on the table. “I got mine too,” she says.

I sit up and skim the email, two days after mine. I might never know what will happen to her.

“How’s Jason?” I ask rather than addressing anything really on my mind. They’re not words easily said aloud.

“He’s good. He’s been assigned to the same generator sector as one of my cousins. We’re happy.”

“Good for him.” I try not to make the words come out sarcastically, but taking the edge off them is about the most I can manage.

Meiko shifts.

“I’m sorry,” I say again, it feels like the only thing I say to her, “I’m happy for him. I really am.”

“I know. Genkidashite, ne.”

“I’ll try.”