Chapter 2: Under the Radar Pick-Up

"Mary" was Operations Officer Popov. I'm not sure about ranks. Mary Popov wore soft clothes, not a uniform. Her office was less formal than Colonel Ney's. She had a work station in the corner of the room, a couch with a coffee table and a pair of facing arm chairs. There was a fireplace—had to be fake. Fires in a closed environment are a very bad idea. The floor looked like wood covered with several different carpets—and a bear skin rug, too. Native American art decorated the room—from various tribes and nations. I couldn't identify all of the tribes, and I didn't know the exact origins of the Navajo and Inuit art. Different families had their own signature style, much as every karate dojo has its own tweaks on the different katas.

Mary Popov had brown eyes and dark brown hair and a symetrical face that reminded me of someone—but I didn't remember who she reminded me of. I reported in, Army style. I snapped to attention in front of her desk and saluted.

"Ma'am," I announced, "Lieutenant Thomas Edwin Lawrence reports!"

"El Tee Tee El, eh?" Mary mused. "Knock off that saluting stuff. We don't go in for that nonsense here. One more thing—if you call me Mary Poppins, you'll be sorry!"

THAT was who Operations Officer Mary Popov reminded me of--just in contemporary civvies and not Edwardian-era dress. In my defense I am a big Disney fan. I was going to miss Disneyland. Sheepishly I dropped my salute. Mary pointed at the couch and I sat. She primly sat down beside me.

"That was a smooth operation," Mary commented. "You pulled in almost 100 people, though only fourteen were sponsor-grade. Pre-pack, too. Think you can handle keeping a few dozen women pregnant between missions?"

"We've met before, ma'am," I said. "I'm reaching for my electronic pocket book."

"Why tell me that?" Mary asked.

"Many of my friends are viciously violent," I replied. "I take pains to avoid startling them. That way I don't spring leaks and bleed all over the place."

"Okay," she responded, warily. "What are you going to show me?"

I produced a small, Earth-made data pad, an E-book reader. In a moment I called up my Disneyland photos and selected the correct one. It was me and Mary Popov as Mary Poppins. I extended it so that the operations officer could see it.

"I worked my way through college," Mary said. "It paid the rent. That's why I don't like being called Mary Poppins."

"Fair enough," I said. "Let's make a deal. I'm not Lawrence of Arabia, either. That was Thomas Edward Lawrence and he was born 16 August 1888 and he died from injuries suffered in a motorcycle accident on 19 May 1935. I'm not dead yet."

"Spare me the Monty Python," Mary groaned—but she grinned.

"The Confederacy has almost reached the point of diminishing returns with extractions," I commented. "I don't really know what the Confederacy is up to, but they have enough humans—enough of the right kind of humans—to contain the Sa'arm. Enough technology has been transferred so that the remaining humans could put up a very good fight against dozens of hive ships. If left to fend for themselves, the remaining humans are predicted to pull a Beau Gest and die to the last man, woman and child. Or so the Artificial Intelligences that briefed me say."

"You disagree?"

"Hey, Disney fan!" I bragged. "Optimistic futurist! We humans don't know what we're capable of. How could the AI know if we don't? Unless von Daniken was right about Earth being visited by extraterrestrials since prehistoric times, the AI lack a data base—they claim to have us under observation only about a century, since the development of atomic weapons and space flight. I don't think that the Confederacy is the only game in town, but I have nothing other than bare suspicion and superstition. Look at your artwork. See those Zuni symbols? The Navajo ones? Those could possibly be extraterrestrial visitors—or simply hallucinations brought on by eating too many 'shrooms. Anyway, we humans are ignorant—if not stupid, too. What we know about space—have you heard how to determine the reliability of intelligence information?"

"Yes," Mary retorted. "Reliability is graded on what the source has access to and on the track record of the source."

"There are other factors," I countered. "The power the source has over the intelligence system and its customers, the fantasies and desires of the clients—like the news, intelligence is little more than rumor and gossip. We have granted the Confederacy AI a grade 'A' rating for access, though we do so out of ignorance. What of their reliability? Did we rubber-stamp their veracity, too?"

"You talk like Earth First," Mary cautioned.

"Doesn't matter if the Confederacy AI are as ignorant as we are," I pointed out, "and if they lie like a rug, it matters little. Did you look into the Confed medical technology? We humans who have received medical upgrades are loaded with nanites. Those microscopic robots provide a fool-proof leash. When the Confederacy no longer needs us, if it doesn't violate their contracts with us, the nanites in our bodies can shut us down."

"Confederacy law prohibits genocide," Mary said in defense.

"The United Nations has defined genocide," I said. "What is the Confederacy definition? And are we sponsors nothing more than concubines with a slightly higher status? We are totally dependent. Dependents are disposable. On the other hand, containing the Sa'arm will last centuries. In the mean time, we humans are still alive. Ever listen to Poland's national anthem?"

"No,"

"It goes like this: Poland has not yet perished, So long as we still live. What the alien force has taken from us, We shall retrieve with a sabre. Look at what happened to us humans over the last thousand years. A lot can happen in a thousand years. The wise old man can die. The horse could die. The king might die. The horse might even learn to sing."

"What?"

"Sorry, Mary, bad analogy," I apologized. "If you don't know the story, I just wasted your time. We are constantly monitored by the AI. Ask yourself why you haven't heard a peep about my subversive mutterings. I play the cynic often—bad habit of mine. Notice that I haven't been clobbered. You feel threatened, but I suspect your nanite implants are calming you at the moment. You should be shouting 'treason.' You're not."

"I've heard those arguments before."

"But you didn't recognize the story about the singing horse," I smirked. "I know very little. For example, Colonel Ney sent me here to discuss extractions with you. Who do you want to extract?"

"Why should I tell you now?" Mary huffed. "You could be one of them."

Mary's face clouded over and she stared off in the distance, that 'thousand yard stare' common to combat veterans and Confederacy human citizens who are in communications with AI. She glared at me.

"You win."

"Humanity wins," I replied, "and hopefully the Confederacy wins as well. Who knows? If we humans delay the Sa'arm long enough, perhaps the Confederacy will learn to communicate with them. So, who are we rescuing? Why? I'm guessing some of them haven't had a CAP test because of their proximity to Earth First or some other valid reason. There's a mini-CAP test on-line, but it isn't the full scale CAP test."

"How do you know?"

"Mary, I am a lucid dreamer," I replied. "I remember my dreams. Of course I could be full of crap—or I may remember an illusion. I've talked with the resident AI and I've been encouraged to believe that I do remember. One of the features of CAP testing is that out-of-control feeling. Memory is state-dependent and most humans have to be unconscious in order to remember their dreams—that's why therapists recommend keeping a dream diary. Anyway, the on-line CAP accessed through any personal computer hooked to the World Wide Web is limited and not trustworthy. The system can be spoofed so that anybody can appear to be a 9.9—however, SOP is to retest citizens who have only the on-line CAP during their initial medical appointment."

"How do you know that?"

"I was told," I replied. "I asked the correct questions. You do know that all military personnel in the various NATO armies have been secretly CAP tested. They aren't told their scores. Bad for morale to learn that their commanding officer is a right proper piece of work with a CAP score in the toilet. Many privates have scores in the eights. The treaty between the Confederacy and NATO stipulates that the Confederacy may not poach military personnel on active duty. I suspect but cannot verify that other military organizations have similar treaties. Military and police, for all their flaws, make prime Confederacy citizens. I was surprised that the Confederacy wasn't co-opting the big churches. A waste—church officials have many of the same flaws and strengths as military officers. Oh, well..."