“There is too much riding on this.
We can't afford to have any more setbacks,
the Board's talking about reallocating funding!”
- Commander Ali-Baba, Houston Corps
Miss Penelope stirred her tea and sat down at her desk. Ottavio waited patiently on the other side.
The clinking of her spoon against the cup echoed lightly, competing only with the occasional hum of the air conditioning vent. He felt uncomfortable. She had such a presence.
Hers was not aggressive, nor violent, nor physical, not like Ali-Baba or Simon. They dominated a room by displays of strength. Shouting, flexing, using implied threats.
Miss Penelope was different. Indeed, she could be terse when necessary, but her voice, her face, her demeanor, it all remained so sterile. Clinical. Like she knew that she did not need to hound anyone for attention, that it was her right and privilege whenever she decided to speak.
She put the spoon down and looked up at Ottavio.
“I have been watching you in training, and in the field. Impressive work. Very impressive work. For the most part.”
She had added 'For the most part' for Ottavio's benefit, he knew. To remind him that she was not going to let go his insubordination.
“Thank you, ma'am,” he replied.
“You seem to work well with the team. Among the various reports I see consistent patterns. Your team members find you reliable, your goals are achieved.”
“Thank you, ma'am.”
“I do have concerns,” she said.
Ottavio sank inside. This was the moment when Miss Penelope would let fly with her take on Ottavio's questioning of orders.
“Ma'am?”
“Tell me, what do you think of Simon?”
The question took Ottavio by surprise. His eyebrows jumped, then furrowed.
“As a leader, ma'am?”
“Yes. And please feel free to tell me anything. This meeting is in confidence,” said Miss Penelope in what would almost pass as sincerity.
She flicked a piece of dust from the desk. It floated gently to the floor, disappearing on the mottled gray carpet.
Ottavio thought for a few seconds before saying, “I think he's perfectly adequate. He's, um, willing to take input from others, but ultimately once he's made a decision he runs with it.”
“Is this a quality you admire?”
“Yes, ma'am. A leader can't be two ways about something.”
“And what about a subordinate?”
Ottavio sucked his teeth involuntarily. So he was about to cop another bollocking.
He tensed himself and replied, “A good subordinate follows orders from a superior without question, ma'am.”
“Textbook, Ottavio. Ah. I suppose you think I have brought you here to add to what Commander Ali-Baba has already put forth? Well, I did not. It would serve no purpose. What is done is done. But I do wish to ask an important question in relation to your resistance to follow Simon into battle.”
Ottavio straightened himself. He might as well get his two cents in.
“Ma'am, if I may?”
“Ugh. I have not yet asked the question, but go ahead.”
“Ma'am, at no point did I refuse to follow orders. I was under the impression that our mission was to capture Fawkner, and I worked toward that goal. I was attempting negotiations when, I understand now, I should have dispatched him immediately,” said Ottavio.
“Hmm. Well, that does partially actually answer what I was going to ask. Tell me, do you believe that Fawkner should have been killed?”
“He did fire off two rounds through the door and threatened the life of a non-combatant.”
Penelope shook her head, “No, that is avoiding the question. Were you or any of your team under such a threat that violence was the only option?”
“Had negotiations failed, he might have killed the hostage...”
“Damn it, Ottavio! I have dealt with politicians, statesmen and lawyers all of my life. I know tosh when I smell it. Answer me straight. Do you, in hindsight, personally believe that Fawkner should have died that day?”
Ottavio was a little shocked by her outburst. It was the loudest he had ever heard her voice. A few strands of her hair had escaped from their rigid bond and fell lightly around her face.
He scratched his head, “Well, ma'am, I guess the answer is no.”
“You guess?”
“No. He didn't. I had disarmed him. Fired a shot, knocked the shotgun right out of his hands. Between Simon and myself we could have dropped him easily and cuffed him. Worst case would have been a round in his leg.”
Penelope carefully pushed the fallen hairs behind her ears.
“So in this respect, it would seem you chose to follow your own feelings over those of your superior. No, do not interrupt, I have heard everything I need.”
She made some notes on her console.
“Yes, ma'am,” said Ottavio, biting his tongue.
“On a change of topic, it would seem that you have taken well to your enhancements?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“There have not been any issues? Anything that might compromise your performance within the field?”
“No, ma'am.”
“Not that you would actually say anything if there were, I know,” said Penelope, giving him a sideways look, “But we are keeping you monitored. Doctor Jung informs me that there was a misalignment of the optical display...”
Ottavio hurriedly interjected, “It was only a slight misalignment, that's all. It took a couple of minutes to recalibrate. Plus the Doc uploaded some advanced targeting software module, and activated a Lock Picking module like Cassandra's. She'll begin training me on it tomorrow.”
“So you like being a machine?”
“W-What?” said Ottavio, exasperated, “What does that mean, ma'am?”
“Exactly what I said. With all of your fancy gadgetry and software, are you content to leave your humanity behind and embrace life as a bunch of cogs?”
Ottavio was flabbergasted. What sort of meeting was this? He fought for words, any words, to help him. His mouth flapped around.
“When you signed up for special duties, did you think that Houston would perform such a radical operation on you?” she pressed, looking him square in the eye.
Her voice changed. It sounded distant. It was an angel whispering from heaven, “Have you accepted your lot?”
Ottavio felt strange. He wanted to lie. He wanted to nod his head sharply, agree and move on, but his throat would not let him.
It growled involuntarily, “No.”
“No?”
Ottavio listened as he spoke his mind freely, “I'm pissed. I came here to be an Agent, to aid humanity, to build a career, to help people rebuild their lives after the war. Instead I woke up and got told that my brain had been hijacked, and that I had a bunch of wires and fiber optics inserted into me. If I had half the chance I'd rip this shit out of me and go back to peace keeping duties.”
“Thank you for speaking openly, Agent Ottavio,” she said in her cool, normal voice, “It is refreshing to hear a bit of truth every now and then.”
Ottavio blinked. Had he just said that, or did he think it? Miss Penelope did not look alarmed. She was tapping on her console, making notes about this and that.
She sipped her tea silently.
Eventually she said, “You are to go on another mission shortly. I know very well that you think you are ready for anything. You have amazing capabilities, Ottavio, and I am not merely referring to your altered body.”
“Ma'am?”
“You are not a normal agent. I have seen firsthand that your approach to situations is anything if not... measured.”
“I guess that...”
She tented her fingers, and stopped him, “Do not interrupt. I am not here to blow smoke up your ass, Agent. Now, Simon. Simon goes in with guns blazing, the body count is always high. He has slaughtered innocents and enemies alike. He uses his implants to great effect. I believe you have witness this first hand?”
“Yes ma'am.”
“Your face speaks volumes, Agent. Nevertheless, despite what you think, he has completed many missions successfully, albeit with a mess in his wake.”
She sipped more tea, “Lucas, on the other hand, waits like a stone, hoping to get as much information as possible before making a decision. Even on the assault on Fawkner's stronghold, he fired but two rounds, both perfect hits, mind, but only two solitary rounds. We analyzed the video. He could have eliminated at least ten of Fawkner's men in that time, which would have ended the assault earlier and afforded less risk.”
“Lucas is careful, ma'am.”
“Yes, he is. Very careful. Too careful. Inaction can be just as bad, if not worse, than the wrong action. Which is why he will never be anything more than a sniper. But you have a different attitude altogether, Agent. You are not impetuous like Simon, or careful like Lucas. You have an understanding of balance.”
She sipped her tea again. The scent of Ceylon wafted to Ottavio's nostrils. For a second he found himself wishing that she would offer him a cup. She did not.
“Tell me, Ottavio.”
Chills rippled up his spine as she said his name. What was this power she had over him?
“Tell me, why did you sign up to be an agent for Houston, hmm? Was it for the excitement and adventure? Guns and technology? Tell me.”
Ottavio thought hard, pondering not only her question but her motivations. Such a strange meeting.
He said, “Frankly, ma'am?”
“Yes. By all means. This discussion stays within this room. Be as frank as you will.”
“I signed up because I thought that Houston Corps were making a difference, and I wanted to be part of it,” he said, “There is just so much that needs to be done after the war, so much cleaning up. I don't trust Redden, and Tsang-Tao are all military, I don't care what they say. I just don't trust them. Or the others. Well, I guess Riverstone seems benign. But they don't actually do anything, do they?”
“No, they do not.”
“Which is my point. Houston Corps actually gets things done. I remember they led the geothermal scheme in Uganda. They took a ruined state with desperate people, and turned it into the powerhouse of Africa.”
“Indeed,” Penelope's eyes lit up, “That was one of our finest efforts. The standard of living was dramatically increased, plus the government was stabilized for the first time in decades. We stopped the deaths of thousands, and were able to resettle the refugees back into their own land.”
“And the radiation clean-up efforts with the waterways. That APIS...”
“APSIS,” corrected Penelope.
“Oklahoma practically glowed in the dark before that thing. It was supposed to be a joint effort, but Redden and Riverstone were both dragging their feet on it, but Houston went ahead anyway and developed that, um...”
Miss Penelope was only too happy to oblige, “The Automated Particulate Stabilizing Irrigation System.”
“I joined just after that was built. You know, join the guys who were doing things. I wasn't a humanitarian tree hugger or anything. I guess I just wanted to help America out of the shit hole it was going down.”
Penelope took a biscuit from a tin and munched thoughtfully.
“Yes, I have read through your file. First a role at Philadelphia as a field operative working among the deformed, moved to a post in Wisconsin as a peace-keeper during the riots. Noted achievement of negotiating peace between a couple of the clans. Accepted a role as a field agent in intelligence a few years back, and now here you are. I take it, then, that you are loyal to the Entity?”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Ottavio quickly, happy to have an easy question.
“Or are you loyal to the ideals?” Penelope stared into Ottavio's eyes.
He fought with every neuron not to turn away. It was like she was searching her way through him.
“Ideals?”
“Ideals, man. The whole thing about forwarding humanity.”
Ottavio was stumped. He did not have a quick answer for her.
“Here, let me ask you a question and I order you to answer honestly. Let us say, purely hypothetically, that you go on a mission to Colombia. Do you go?”
“I... of course, ma'am. If that's what my orders are.”
“The territory is hostile, but militarily secure. On this mission you are ordered to capture the water purification plant that services a large village.”
Ottavio looked at her questioningly. “Is the water storage of strategic benefit?”
“You have been given an order. Do you follow it, Agent?”
“Of course, ma'am.”
“Of course. You are a loyal agent, after all. Very well. You infiltrate the plant, suppress the resistance and have secured the water supply. Now let us say that insurgents within the population of the village stir up trouble. You are ordered to infiltrate the village and kill the insurgents. Do you?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“All eight of them? You do not even know who they are. They could be women, they could be merely teenagers. Answer now.”
“Well, I would... killing may not be the best way. If they could be captured, persuaded to see our cause, um,” he avoided her eyes, “If they were openly hostile or were armed, I would not hesitate.”
“You have been ordered to kill them, Agent.”
“Houston wouldn't...” he began, but thought better of it. Norbert had opened his eyes. Of course Houston would.
“Yes, ma'am, I would,” he said, pushing his chin forward.
“Hmm. We shall continue. You assassinate the insurgents by night and return to the water purifier. The next morning, aggrieved by their fallen comrades, more insurgents come. They spend the week rallying the villagers against Houston Corps, supplying them with arms. They take up the weapons, they protest and light fires. They accuse the occupying force of corruption and greed. Neighboring villages follow suit. If the rebellion continues, the area will drown in chaos, Houston will lose its footing in the area. You are ordered to halt the water supply, thus threatening the population into submission.”
“I... yes, ma'am.” Ottavio was concerned now. Where was this all going?
“So you would, and so you did. The water supply has been cut off. The village cries out for help from its neighbors. War is imminent. If the pocket of villages falls, Tsang-Tao, who have been nursing the region for years, will move in and be labeled heroes, gaining valuable resources, public favor and a strategic position in Colombia. You are ordered to let the water flow again as a sign of goodwill.”
“Of course, ma'am...”
“But as a further measure you are ordered to secretly poison the water supply, thus destroying the rebel village as a sign to others not to defy the might of Houston Corps.”
“Poison?”
“Are you going to follow the orders, agent?”
“That... would be, ah, that's mass murder. And murder of innocents, ma'am. Houston would never sanction...”
“I ask again, will you follow the orders? Answer honestly!”
Ottavio frowned as he thought. Orders were orders, but did that extend to blatant destruction of life? He was an Agent, an employee. But he was also human. Hypothetical or not, this was bullshit questioning.
“No,” he said quietly.
Miss Penelope sat back and sipped her tea. She eyed him for a good while.
“On what basis?”
“I just, I mean, I couldn't, ma'am,” said Ottavio, “Houston would never...”
Penelope raised her eyebrows, “Could not, or would not? Ah, I suppose that is a little unfair. Let us move on. Say now that you have refused, and Simon has been ordered to do it. Do you stand by or attempt to dissuade him?”
“Well, um, he would go right ahead anyway,” stumbled Ottavio, “I doubt he'd listen to me in that instance. But I guess, I, ah, would state my case.”
“Yes. Something tells me you would have done so a few cases back. That was just a hypothetical, agent. You have not breached any company policy in answering honestly, so relax and listen. The company can change. People can change. Ideals, however, are timeless,” said Penelope, “Which brings me to my original question. Are you loyal to Houston, or its ideals?”
Ottavio was stumped. Miss Penelope eyeballed him, before tapping on her console.
“Do not bother to answer that question, Agent. You already have,” she said, “Tell me, do you know what caused the Seven Border War?”
Ottavio shrugged, “The invasion of Austria by the Slovenians?”
“Yes, yes, that is the recorded history, the start of it. But, ultimately, what caused the War? No, I will tell you. It was man's basic unwillingness to question what is clearly wrong in the face of well-established facts. It was the population allowing itself to be led by the nose to perform acts of violence for no other reason than because someone in power told them to.”
Ottavio sat silently, listening carefully.
“Throughout history, Agent, people have suffered and died at the hands of others manipulated through politics, religion or, in the case of the Seven Border War, science.”
She sipped her tea again, looking at Ottavio through her thin spectacles, “What was the reason given by the Slovenes for the invasion?”
Ottavio replied, “It was about the genetic mutagens found in the river Mur in Slovenia which were alleged to have come from up in Austria. There were deformed children and animals all across the news. I remember, because it was the first official case of, what was it, synthetic impregnation of DNA outside of a lab.”
“Very good. And what was the reason cited by Austrian officials for the contamination?”
“That the Slovenians had themselves caused the spill and were trying to use it as an excuse to garner sympathy from its neighbors and eventually invade and grab the northern territories.”
Penelope smiled, “Which is what was reported, to the letter, well done. You get a gold star. Now, the big question, who was correct?”
“The Sl... Ma'am?”
“It is a simple question, agent. Who was correct, Austria or Slovenia?”
“It, ah, was never established. The toxin sites that Slovenia suspected were destroyed during the invasion.” said Ottavio, furrowing his eyebrows.
“By whom?”
“Well, ah, Slovenians said that the Austrians sabotaged them to avoid global scrutiny and...”
“And the Austrians said the Slovenes had reduced them to a pile of smoldering ash so that the invasion justification could not be refuted. So from Austria's point of view, Slovenia was aggressively lying to gain international approval for its military campaign. From Slovenia's perspective, Austria was poisoning its river and waterways in an act of open terrorism. Neither side was correct,” said Penelope.
Ottavio's eyebrows furrowed further. “But obviously one was telling the truth, and the other was lying.”
“Obvious? The truth is far from obvious.”
Penelope sighed deeply. For a second Ottavio could see the gentle human living underneath the crisp ironed shirt and pulled back hair.
“Agent, if there is anything you should understand it is that nothing is ever black and white. What if, for instance, I were to say that they were both telling the truth?”
“But, you said neither was correct.”
“So I did, but both sides were telling the truth. Their factual claims were incorrect, but their version of events from their own points of view were not falsehoods.”
“So... there was a third party, then?” asked Ottavio, raising his eyebrows in surprise.
She nodded gently.
“But it was never reported...”
“On the news? In the paper? Pah! Media is just a way to feed the sheep their fodder, Agent. Baa! The true history, the real facts, are far more complicated. But enough of this. I did not bring you in here for a history lesson,” said Penelope, straightening herself up and putting her tea to one side, “They spouted talk of patriotism, loyalty and ideals. Austria held theirs, Slovenia did the same. People on both sides died for them and because of them. For each was justified, each state was wronged. Each was in the right.”
Ottavio acquiesced, “I remember that, after a while, with all the allegations, it got real hard to tell who was right and who was wrong.”
“Right and wrong can be very fuzzy sometimes, and sometimes things can seem very clear cut, even when they are most certainly not. You can take from this what you will.”
Ottavio shuffled in his seat. Already his brain was racing at a million miles per hour.
“You will be tempted, on many occasions, to decide for yourself what is truth, what is fact, what is right,” she said, “All three can be the same or different at once. But as an Agent, under the leadership of an appointed Agent, being Simon, what you deduce is not relevant to mission success.”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Ottavio, his head beginning to ache.
“Houston has invested a lot of time and money on the enhancements that went into your bo