Chapter 4
Transcript of conversation between XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX and XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX. July, XX, XXXX.
> Are those my candidates?
>
> Yes, XXXX. Three of them.
>
> You promised me eight.
>
> That was before the psych evals, XXXX. The procedure we’re looking at is far more invasive than anything we’ve done before. All the models we’ve run have required a very balanced individual. Aggressive, but compassionate. Able to act, but also able to refrain from acting when conditions require. Impeccably honest, but willing to do what is right even if it means lying. We’ve identified sixteen individual characteristics that will be needed, and each of these three is perfect in fourteen of them.
>
> So no one is perfectly perfect?
>
> No XXXX, but that’s not surprising. Statistically speaking, we’re quite lucky to have found three that were this good.
>
> And the imperfections? The two lacking traits for each candidate?
>
> The sixteen traits overlap nicely, XXXX. There should be no problems with any of these candidates.
>
> Very good. Let’s take a look. Are these in order?
>
> Our number one pick on top, yes, XXXX.
>
>
>
> Is this man really named XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXX?
>
> Is that a problem?
>
> Unfortunately it is. A rather big problem. It sounds too much like XXXXXXXXXXXXXX. Can you imagine what the press would say if this guy so much as stubbed his toe while catching a bad guy. Let me see the second one.
>
>
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> Good numbers. Nice face. Acceptable name. Military?
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> Four years, XXXX. Marines. Deployed twice but didn’t see any action either time.
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> It says he has a degree in business.
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> Actually, he has two business degrees. Including an MBA.
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> Don’t we normally look for engineering types?
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> Normally, XXXX. But there are certain implausibilities with the enhancements. We need someone smart, but only in the right way. All three of these candidates have MBAs.
>
> This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
>
> This guy looks good. What’s the next step?
>
> About thirty minutes after your approval, XXXX, your selection will lose his current job and then we’ll begin the process of grooming. We already have a close asset in place.
>
> Let’s get started then. Candidate two is approved.
- Aiden -
NOVEMBER
Dr. Garcia, she is the one who suggested this journal, thinks I should start by talking about the accident and what I remember and how it makes me feel and all of that. I’ll leave to you, my unknown reader, to guess what kind of doctor she might be.
Journaling isn’t the kind of thing I would normally be inclined to do, but I trust her and am willing to give it a try. If nothing else, it’ll help pass the time here in the hospital.
Three people died in the accident: Bill, Rebecca, and Josh. I suppose my feelings should start with them, the ones who died in the explosion that left me like this. I was the shift manager and all three of them either worked for me or worked for someone who worked for me. They were good people and now they’re dead.
According to the calendar, it’s been about ten days since that evening and they still don’t know exactly what happened, at least not that anyone has been willing to tell me. As far as I know and as far as I remember and as far as I’ve been told, it wasn’t my fault, but that doesn’t prevent the thoughts that come and linger that maybe it was my fault, maybe there was something I could have done, some warning that I obviously missed that could have saved their lives. But there wasn’t. Or at least if there was, I wasn’t smart enough to notice and neither was anyone else involved.
The first indication I had that something was wrong was the water leak. I had been walking in the main hall, in the midst of the processing line when I noticed water all over the floor, just a thin layer at first but it quickly rose to two inches in depth, maybe two and a half.
I shouted to Rebecca to kill the power to the system, and I assume she tried, but it didn’t work, at least not completely, and certainly not like it had in every simulation we had run in the weeks before we began this new process. Everything was supposed to stop, to freeze in place until whatever went wrong got fixed. But the vats of molten silver, floating over our heads continued to move forward on their tracks, even though everything else had stopped and there was now nowhere for them to go. So the track buckled and first one and then another of the vats came crashing to the floor.
From what I’ve been told, the first one was empty, but the vat itself is heavy and it landed on a tank of liquid nitrogen and cracked it open. The second vat, however, was filled to the brim. Molten silver. Very hot. And it crashed onto the floor, freely spilling the hot liquid metal.
And then there was an explosion, which I remember as a bright flash of light that must have knocked me over because I started falling and then time froze, just for a moment. And in that moment I saw two simultaneous rivers flowing towards me, one of silver and one of nitrogen, with me falling directly into their point of convergence.
What’s etched into my mind is a snapshot of that moment, brief but vivid. It’s probably just my imagination working after the fact, but I remember feeling the heat of the silver as it approached me as well as the cold of the nitrogen. And I remember feeling the presence of the water that was still wet beneath me even as it was being frozen and boiled by the oncoming rivers.
And then another snapshot, a few milliseconds later, me still falling, the rivers still flowing, my hands reaching forward to break my fall, oblivious to the dangers approaching them.
And yet another snapshot. When I close my eyes, I can count ten of them, memories of my fall laid out like images momentarily frozen by a strobe light. First there, and then there, and eight more theres until darkness enveloped me and I assume I presumed I was dead.
Dr Garcia says that this kind of thing is normal, the stobe-memory thing. Time simultaneously stretches and compresses and memories become snapshots. I thought she might be humoring me, but she assured me that she has has two other patients, each of which was involved in a freak accident, with memories of each stored as a series of snapshots. It seems weird to me, but I suppose ending up with perfectly embedded silver disks is even weirder.
I missed all three funerals, which doesn’t help with how I feel. Perhaps the act of saying goodbye to my comrades, of weeping in public and telling their families that I was sorry, perhaps that would have been a healing thing. Cathartic. Providing closure.
But I had been busy not dying when each of the funerals was held. Not that I remember much of those days. From what I have pieced together from the doctors and nurses and Alex, my boss who has already visited me twice, no one was at all sure that I was going to make it. The word miraculous has been tossed about more than a few times, but I’m not sure that I like that. Why would a miracle save me and not them? Who am I that deserves to live when others have died?