At some point late in the afternoon, Jocasta will pop around Archie's office and see if he has time to chat before heading home.
"Hello Jocasta, come on in, I've always got time for you. Did you make any progress with your research today?"
"I did, actually. I was wondering if you wanted to compare notes."
"That would be swell." Archie looks down at the files he's been going through. "I'm afraid it does look like that ... microchip" (he says the word with mild distaste) "could be our side's doing. Though I'm not sure the purpose was individual surveillance so much as something, ah, grander."
Jocasta smiles slyly, like a pupil who's guessed her teacher's answer. "I think we're on the same page, Chief," she says, laying out her notes. "I was working under the assumption we were just looking at an ordinary – well, extraordinary, anyway, but at least understandable – surveillance setup, but I don't think this elaborate a setup is as simple as just keeping tabs on us. In occult terms, it's more like a transformation, a ... a becoming; there's elements of shamanistic guidance, of the deliberate introduction into a malleable form powerful locus that can shape a young form into something else."
"I wouldn't be shocked, to be honest, if we find more than one chip or implant in Charley," she speculates with a bit of a shudder. "But, of course, we're clearly not dealing strictly with the occult here. Technology isn't my specialty, Archie, but the things I saw in my vision, the environment ... those were what they call 'clean rooms', areas with practically no contamination, not even a speck of dust or a lash of hair that can corrupt the machinery. My research tells me there's only a few places stateside where clean rooms like that can even exist; Bell Labs in Murray Hill, out in New Jersey, and closer to home, probably Fairchild Semiconductor or AMD in Sunnyvale. But the robotics they're using? That's not Detroit rolling iron assembly. That kind of thing is only going on at ..." and here she pushes forward a print-out of some microfiche, like a magician making a grand gesture just before the trick, "SRI."
"Whoever did this, if it's our people or someone else, they're not just using Charley to spy. Or, if they are, it's a side effect." She frowns heavily. "It's a working, a bringing into the world something that wasn't there before. They're trying to turn Charley into something more than human. Or less."
"SRI. Of course. My goodness." Archie sketches out his intel analysis of the dossier on Charley Helix, reading one passage to Jocasta: "With the implantation of direct man-machine interfaces, the (redacted) child can have an innate understanding of and mastery over technology and provide opportunities for remote viewing and or personality control ..."
"So," he says, to Jocasta but also just processing aloud, "this device is not just recording what Charley sees. It may be the source of her abilities, or some of them. It may be amplifying them, or altering her in some way."
So Archie goes back to the original telex sent to Livermore back in March when Agent Helix was loaned to the team given the dimensions of the Mansa mission. At that time Sophie only shared the pertinent bits about Charley's suite of powers and skills and training.
But there are tangential mentions of the Indigo Child program (never referred to directly as such; the pure text Telex copy has redactions everywhere) and they seem to focus on two things: esmological predictions that in the next 20-30 years, the power of mass media will grow, both through traditional broadcast media and through computers, such that SANDMAN will need a cadre of young people who've been trained from an early age to interface with said media directly, both for broad-scale memetic operations and for individual missions involving SIGINT, disinfo, electronic eavesdropping, and perhaps even narrowly-targeted memetic warfare. There's a bit in the materials explicitly on electronic eavesdropping, and the hope that "with [Indigo] Children taking places in important cultural, scientific, media, and political institutions in the next 20 to 30 years, that the Project will have an array of eyes and ears directly transmitting back to SANDMAN central all kinds of actionable HUMINT and SIGINT regarding enemy action within and possible infiltration of said institutions. The [Indigo] Children will be nodes of a network, centralized at Granite Peak, that will provide megabytes of raw data—textual, audio, video, and psychic—for esmological analysis." This paragraph has been circled, in a different pen color from Sophie's March annotations, with an exclamation point next to it. There are no mentions as to how this data will be transmitted in this section of the file.
But it's clear from another section of the file, again annotated with a slight pen mark in the same red as the exclamation point, that the Indigo Child program is orthogonal to other efforts going on at Granite Peak right now in "man-machine interface." "It is widely believed that by the end of the century, ordinary citizens will bear artificial and possibly even cybernetic implants to improve their lives. This can already be seen in technology leaked through Project elements at the University of Utah artificial heart research program..." etc. etc. "[Indigo] Child candidates should be found, or, if they cannot be found, trained, in all methods of cybernetic and technopathic psi abilities and/or mental acuity. With the implantation of direct man-machine interfaces, the [Indigo] Child can have an innate understanding of and mastery over technology and provide opportunities for remote viewing and/or (personality) control and adjustment. Cross-reference with Operation PALE RIDER," which the last two words of has a Sophie circle and a question mark next to it.
"Yeah. She may have been ... special already, and that's what made it possible for them to introduce the technology to her brain; in most myth cycles, the child-savior that renews the land is chosen or selected by fate in some way over others. Or she may have just been, well, a target of opportunity. But they're changing her into something new. She's a model for them. A ... prototype. I think." Jocasta starts idly sketching on her notepad. It's the Starchild from 2001, with Charley's face.
Archie reads another part of the file aloud: "With (redacted) children taking places in important cultural, scientific, media, and political institutions ... the Project will have an array of eyes and ears directly transmitting back to SANDMAN central all kinds of actionable HUMINT and SIGINT ... The (redacted) children will be nodes of a network, centralized at Granite Peak, that will provide megabytes of raw data — textual, audio, video, and psychic — for esmological analysis." He leans back in his chair.
"Esmologically, that part of the vision is not without its appeal. If you're propagating memes, and tracking them through a culture, sifting through underground newspapers and eavesdropping on street preachers will only get you so far. What if we had real time feedback on all the ideas and notions people were seeing and hearing, not just the media they're consuming, but everything? Like Nielsen families, you know?" Then he catches himself, shakes off the gee-whiz excitement in his voice.
"But those ought to be adults. Free actors who know what they're getting into. Using children in this way, it's not right."
Jocasta nods. "I believe in human potential, Archie. I really think that through enlightenment, through the cultivation of extraordinary powers, through self-awareness – even through technology – we can, and should, become something more than human," she says. "But there has to be some kind of consent, an act of will, of affirmation. If we're just using people as tools, well, we're doing the same thing as the other side." She pauses.
"And, I mean, to be blunt, I'm not just saying that out of sentiment, or because of the way we feel about Charley. The becoming, the ascension, it has to be done with willingness, with effort on the part of the subject. Otherwise, it's not transformation ... it's demonology. You end up not with a phowa, but with an imbunche."
She shakes her head. "Sorry, getting too far into the occult weeds there. But I think for a wide range of reasons, we owe it to Charley to do something about this, to give her some degree of control over her life."
Archie looks pretty lost around phowa and imbunche, but the last part is something he can respond to. "I agree completely. We have to do something about it. And this 'Houdini' business! The poor child! She thinks it's her responsibility, like his ... ghost is depending on her. It's a violation, is what it is."
"What Roger said, about an electrical pulse ... could we just short the darned thing out? I mean, if it were safe, if we knew it were safe, maybe Charley could be rid of it, could just be a normal girl. Maybe she could just have a normal life."
Jocasta stares for a moment. "The technology around the electrical pulses ... well, that's beyond me. The brain runs on electricity too, and I wonder if we could ... short out the chip without hurting Charley. But Roger knows better than I do. Hell, Rudy the night janitor knows better than I do. But as far as being a normal girl with a normal life ... Archie, that ship may have sailed. We can give her own life. We should. But it will be the life of an extraordinary girl. I'm not sure any of us can lead a normal life again."
"Yes, of course: she'll always be extraordinary. There's no question of that! But I'm not giving up on saving her, somehow, of setting her free from all this, whatever that looks like."
Archie sighs. There's another thing. "Jocasta, what I said earlier, about inflicting 'your' paranoia on Charley? That was uncalled for. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you to be right about this infernal device. And even though you were, I wanted to protect Charley."
"Thanks, Archie. I appreciate it. So much is happening now ... it's easy to lose sight of the fact that we all want the same thing. For our work, and for Charley," she says quietly. "I admire you, you know. How you've ... stayed who you are after all you've seen. And I'm sure you know that, whatever I've said and done, it comes from the same place of caring for her."
Archie's both touched and embarrassed by the compliment. "Well. Shucks. Thank you for that. I do see how much you care for Charley and I appreciate it."
"And listen," Archie says. "If it ever seems like I am skeptical about the veracity of your, ah, visions-- and this goes for Mitchell's hunches too, for Roger's personalities, what have you -- it has nothing to do with my confidence in any of you. It's more that, well, part of my job here is not believing in things. If that makes any sense. But I know you all get results."
Something's still nagging at Archie, though. "The purpose of the chip may not have been individual surveillance, but it could still be used in that way. That seems to be what Sophie was concerned about. Has Charley been inadvertently spying on us for Granite Peak? If so, to what end? I mean, so what if they see us at the water cooler, so what if they see me tucking her into bed at night? What did we have to hide from them, before today I mean?"
Jocasta mulls it over, as if this is occurring to her for the first time. "I'm not sure. I know we run kind of an ... unconventional operation here, by intel standards, but I don't imagine they disapprove too much or we would have been rotated out already. Why let us – why let you – bring Charley on as an asset, let alone let her into your family, if they thought it was a terrible idea? And they've certainly got better ways of keeping tabs on us." She thinks on it.
"What if we're the test case? What if we're ... an incubator for whatever they plan to do with Charley? In other words, what if our missions are trial runs for Charley's future as an operative? They're not observing us, they're observing her."
It's Archie's turn to stare for a moment. He nods, seemingly in agreement. Then he says, very calmly and quietly: "You could disappear with her, you know." He's not meeting Jo's eyes as he speaks, just staring levelly at the bulletin board covered mostly with detritus from the St. Francis mission.
"I'm not telling you to disappear. Not now, not yet. Not if that microchip is tracking her. But if it ever came to it, together the two of you could just, get away."
"I could never leave Mel and Jane and Eddie. I don't have the skills for it anyway. But you do, the skills and the temperament. I think you could make it. And I think she'd go, with you."
Jocasta gives a slight smile at first, as if she hasn't understood what Archie is saying. After processing it for a moment, though, her reaction is electric, galvanized, as if a short sharp stroke has pulsed through her body. She grips the edge of the chair in front of Archie's desk as if she's worried she'll slide out of it. It won't be difficult for someone as well-versed in human behavior as Archie to read the rapid shift of thoughts going through her mind, as if her training has abandoned her and she's forgotten how to play it close to the chest. Her eyes widen, and she might as well be writing it all down in her battered sketchbook.
First: He's not serious. It's a joke.
Then: Archie doesn't joke like that. This isn't a joke. It's a test. He's testing me, testing my loyalty. He's trying to see if it's me, if I'm the mole, if I'm the leak, if ...
And then, just as quickly and surely: No. Archie wouldn't do that. But they would. They're testing me.
And finally, for a brief but terrible second, with the finality of a coffin slamming shut: He's cutting me loose. Just like they all did before. But this time, he's leaving me with her.
Then: her body relaxes. She controls her breathing, like an old habit kicking in, and there's that disarming – and defensive – smile again. She searches for his eyes, even as they stay fixed.
"Archie. Oh, God, Archie, no. I can't ..." She almost unconsciously fumbles in her little leather fringed purse for a cigarette. "I forget to buy food half the time. There's more guns in my house than there are towels. I'm a drug addict. I don't know how to ... to be that for her," as if she can't bear to vocalize the word 'mother'.
"They'd never let it happen, either. Whatever their reasons, they've gone to extreme lengths to invest this all in her, and they'd ... Archie, they'd kill you to find out where she was. And if you didn't know, if none of you knew, they'd never stop looking for us. We'd be ... she'd be on the run, forever. She'd never know safety."
Once more, scrawled on her face, written on her body, as if she was saying it aloud: But I have money. I can be a dozen different people. I could ...
With her left hand, she jams the pack of Slims back in her purse, and with her right, she touches her forehead and sweeps a long, straw-colored lock of hair in front of her face as if trying to hide behind it. "You can't ask me. She's lost a family already. She can't lose another. She is as strong and as brave as anyone I've ever seen, and she can already cope with things that would have destroyed me – that practically have. But you can't ask her to lose you, or to lose us. Whatever we do, we have to be her family, until she doesn't need one anymore."
Archie's trying to read Jo's reaction. If the seed has been planted somewhere in her mind, if some tiny part of her is willing to entertain this idea of taking Charley and running, that's enough for now. It's a precaution, a rainy day plan. Assuming the meme has taken hold even a little (I could roll, but it seems to be from what's written above) he switches into cheery avuncular mode.
"Of course, of course! Forget I said anything, put it entirely out of your mind. Ha ha, now who's paranoid?" he laughs. He claps his hands. "So! SRI. Mitch will get in there next week as some kind of volunteer test subject. I almost feel bad for them, trying to figure out what makes him tick ha ha. Any thoughts on next steps there? We could have you and Roger switching off, lurking in the vicinity, but I don't anticipate there'll be anything Mitch can't handle ..."