The OFFICERs Bureau (Sterling x Jess Incognito)

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The lines of retort cycled through the OFFICER's head. Those responses came as easily as breathing, the product of years of intense training devoted to linguistics, rhetoric, and semiotic manipulation. While a career OFFICER, Frank convinced himself that these skills, undoubtedly misleading and black, were promulgated for the benefit of the society at large. He had convinced himself that the platitudes of distraction and the habitual promotion of approved Free Choice belonged to the realms of the good and noble. Best to uplift as many citizens as possible for a vibrant and healthy society. That was the punchline, inculcated for years to deflect rumbling accusations of the society's more questionable practices. Such as child abduction. The logic was sound, in its perverse and horrid manner - relieve children from the poor and unproductive, thereby providing the child with a better life and the parents less of a burden. Pain and suffering, the kind generated from being overburdened with kids, perpetual labor, and poverty, had the curious effect of making citizen think of the plight of others. The empathetic compassion of a population could only go so far, it was decided. The problem was less due to the concept of goodwill, but the tendency it had in promotion selfless motivations. Such motivations plucked the roots of corporate communication and threatened the most holy of communions - profit. The government included empathetic actions, known as "Selfish Giving", and began to regulate the activity mercilessly.

Frank took the paper Liza gave him and read it. His face, a remnant plate of weary metal, did not flinch at the news that Eliza was the product of society's sin. He had had these types of encounters before, and the responses ranged from promising hope while secretly trying to expire their patience to flat-out rebuttal. He could have questioned the source of the papers, objecting on the grounds that such documents could have been either forged or fabricated. But, he knew they would be lies. He knew Liza wouldn't believe them anyway. Frank looked up at Liza, his head cocked to the side, eyes slightly narrowed. It was the look of studying something unfamiliar for the first time, a mixture of bemusement and intense interest.

Liza wanted the truth in a world founded on untruths. She wanted what Frank was charged to obscure. Frank handed the paper back to Liza, and swallowed hard.

"Ms. Abramson, I'd like to ask you something else ... Is there anything that I can do or say that would convince you to put your armband back on?"
 
He looked at her papers briefly. Undeniable truths in Liza's mind, in a world where truths were difficult to find. What she interpreted in his eyes was nothing short of indifference. As if this sort of thing happened every day - what she'd been afraid was true. He had clearly faced worse things. Liza took the papers from his hand. They made no sound, no gentle rustle. The pages were too crinkled for that and weighed nothing. Their immensity in her mind was as false as the skillet at Holly's.

The OFFICERs words passed through her unnoticed like a gentle breeze. For a few moments, she stood keenly aware of her own breathing. Her chest rose and fell unevenly and in jerking movements, though this was only noticeable to her as she tried to breathe out slowly. She felt a vague lightheadedness. There was danger in this situation. She was being judged by this stranger. This display of hers was part of a test. What she was meant to do was unclear. Perhaps it was a trick, although she thought not. What happened if she failed, she did not know.

He looked at her strangely, the air of relaxation and boredom hanging on his limbs.

"If you ask me again, Mr. Harper, I'll throw it from the window," she said slowly and in a controlled manner, eyes level with his. It was not a threat, only a statement of the truth. After that, there was no plan. She supposed she would run if that's what she had to do. She did not think it was likely she would get away.

The red ring hung from the fingertips of her left hand. A crumpled ball of paper was clenched in the other fist.
 
The threat was an idle one. The nano-fibers of the armband could withstand a free fall drop from orbit, not to mention a paltry toss from a window. But, as with other aspects of the encounter, the symbolism bore far greater impact than the act itself. To Frank, Eliza might as well discard the armband. She had settled upon the path of total divergence and was irredeemable in Frank's assessment. Did Eliza need to be redeemed? The OFFICER pondered that statement in its entirety, finally concluding that it was he himself who sought redemption. The horrid selfishness of his sentiments crashed into him like a tsunami, one made more ridiculous by his position of power. Frank Harper had sent thousands of citizens, awakening to elucidation, back to the mindless realm of perpetual distraction. Worse, he'd sent hundreds to graves no one would ever find. He could blame TELEstream, but Frank did not want to think of himself as a man who hid behind excuses.

The sanity of Frank Harper hung by a thread. He knew he must have appeared unnerved and bothered to the young woman standing before him. Frank felt her watching his every tick and movement, wondering if she realized her life was on the line. She had officially become a ripple in the infinite smoothness, and standard OFFICER protocol demanded the Eliza be detained, quarantined, and eradicated. It was a binary choice that had been easy for Frank to justify in the past. But, sitting in Eliza's metal chair, Frank did the unthinkable.

He relented.

"Would you please have a seat, Ms. Abramson." Frank motioned toward the bed with his hand. A cynical observer might have exposed Frank for setting the woman at ease, only to prey upon her in a new, sinister way. But, Frank was devoid of machinations. The image he presented for Liza was exceedingly rare in its candid and vulnerable nature. Frank would not mislead Liza, and, in fact, wanted a personal honesty from the woman - precisely the condition he toiled so hard to quell.

"Ms. Abramson ... I want to tell you a story." The OFFICER proceeded to recount his recent encounter with Mr. Holofeld. He described his background, his penchant for photographing birds, as well as his final journey to the access shaft and the saintly, beautific serenity he possessed at his ultimate demise. "I've witnessed suicides before, Ms. Abramson. I'm curious if you have any insights into what would compel a man like Mr. Holofeld to end his life in the manner he chose. It haunts me, ... and I don't know why."
 
Liza did not want to be further in the room. The closer to the door, the better. Her feet obeyed anyhow. She was tired and suddenly unsure of his motives. Something in his demeanor had changed. After a moment, she sat slowly, sinking into the bed without taking her eyes off him. She listened closely, not forgetting all the while their situation.

"They must have been very beautiful," she had said automatically when he mentioned the photographs in all their colored vibrancy. Beautiful even more so in existing simply for that purpose. She thought of the sun rising from and sinking into the horizon. This was her only comment.

"You were going to kill him, weren't you?" she asked after a moment, pronouncing the syllables in a detached manner. He implied that in most cases suicides didn't bother him overly much. The job was done either way. She didn't know the answer either and stared in his direction, although not at him. Her gaze floated through him, looking without seeing. A minute or so drifted by in lazy silence.

"I suppose," she started quietly, for a moment not knowing how to put her thoughts to words, "He wanted to see what it was like to fly," Liza hoped Mr. Harper could understand that. The birds went where they wanted and did nothing more than they needed to. Mr. Holofeld must have admired that. He must have loved them for it. They existed without needing to justify that existence.

"You're going to kill me, too," Liza didn't move, but she looked at him again. An innocence swirled in her own dark eyes. There were only so many situations in which it was possible for innocence and understanding to walk together. She didn't believe she had done any wrong and did not want to die, but the systems that decided the fates of the citizens designed their own rules.
 
The OFFICER opened his mouth when Eliza suggested Frank intended on killing Mr. Holofeld. In truth, Frank sought out the elusive Mr. Holofeld simply to talk, and was prepared to offer a number of retirement options based on his degree of dissent.

'Killing' was such a strong word, absolute in its pure vulgarity. 'Murder' was an abomination, implying the state sanctioned act possessed a degree of criminality. 'Execution' was closer, but implied a public awareness as deterrent aspect, which was wholly counter-productive to the tenets of the society. There was another word which most adequately described the process of quietly removing someone from circulation - 'Burking'. It was the concerted practice of ending the life of a non-conformist in such a way to not attract any attention or create any stir. The person in question literally dropped off the face of the planet. Their disappearance was then coordinated with the precision targeting of gifts and sales to those who might mourn their loss. New, state-of-the-art hovercar as 'consolation gifts' usually did the trick. OFFICERs like Frank would perform the execution, and TELEstream would take care of the rest.

Eliza Abramson would be considered a 'malfunctioning citizen' in the lexicon of societal language, in the perpetual euphamism machine that was TELEstream. 'Burking' was the only option offered to Frank Harper, or any OFFICER. That was why Frank's departure was so radical, so individual.

"No, Ms. Abramson ... I'm not going to kill you." His eyes became soft, and his voice almost tender. "I've decided to help you ... help you find your parents. But, first we'll need to find a way to take care of your heart condition ... Do you have any medicine on your person?"
 
Liza should have been skeptical, but the man who sat before her now was not the same shadow as when she entered her apartment. He seemed genuine in his words. She blinked, her eyes narrowing as her brow puckered. It was a look of concentration and of concern.

Her parents. She hadn't quite said it that way when she set out. A visual floated in her mind, something hazy but desired. No words set the goal in stone. To think of them as a them, as people who actually existed, seemed strange to her then, especially coming from this man before her. She let the crumpled paper ball roll out of her hand onto the mattress and leaned forward on the edge.

"Mr. Harper, I don't have a heart condition," she explained, innocently unaware of her own past inattentiveness. She'd been taking the medicine a long time and a new bottle appeared unrequested every month as the other ran out. When she was young, the vitamin explanation was certainly simpler for her mother to deliver than a description of a condition she knew nothing about. "I used to take a daily vitamin, but everyone does these days and I certainly didn't think to bring it with me when I left." There was a change of clothes in a bag shoved under the bed, but she'd even forgotten about that. That had been all. The armband had been everything and would have been enough. She had money to get new things. But even now, wasn't realizing the true limitation not wearing it placed on her. Through all the activity, the hunger and exhaustion hadn't crept up on her in any dire form.

Liza blinked at him, now she was simply confused.
 
Frank's brows lifted like the steeples of an ancient church in pity and concern. He knew she was wrong, but that knowing came without a trace of smugness or conceit. Frank had been in this position more times than he could remember. His cheeks flushed with shame at having employed his extensive knowledge of citizen's medical conditions and ailments in the past to manipulate 'malfunctioning' citizens, on the hopes of steering them back toward the soothing voice of TELEstream. Frank shifted in the metal chair uncomfortably, searching for a position that would never be found.

"Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, Ms. Abramson ." Frank's voice came slow and patient. "Have you ever experienced chest pains when you run a bit too hard or too far? Did your "mother" take extra pains to make your life as stress-free as possible? Have you ever felt faint for reasons no one can explain?" The look on Frank's face belied the deep sympathy he held for the woman upon the bed. The light casted upon her pretty face, the shadow unfair in its starkness. "One of the chambers of your heart is abnormally small, which means your blood pressure is lower than most. All the symptoms you suffer are the effects."

The OFFICER let the questions sink into Eliza's mind. The game of mental conversion came easy to Frank, and his deluded past sense of altruism assuaged any moderation of guilt. Eliza desired the truth and liberated awareness of the world, along with its messy, constituent components. That meant that Eliza would be brought to face the burden of responsibility, and grapple with the emotional leachate from Frank's revelation.

"Cardiac arrest is a daily threat for you, my dear. It's a condition that requires daily medicine ... usually tiny, pink pills?"
 
Liza stared at him blankly. Her eye continued its slow, but incessant twitching. She said nothing for a long time. The silence was her answer. She had chest pains, regular during stress or physical activity. Her mother had always been overprotective and had not been interested in encouraging her with sports or manual labor. The news that her heart sat lopsided in her chest floated around the room. It did not hit her or phase her. It meant nothing, because she couldn't wrap her head around the idea that she had ignored all of this and perceived it as normal.

"Yes," she finally nodded, "Tiny, pink pills." Liza stood up again, not feeling she could stand to sit still much longer. She wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She faced the window, because there was nothing else to look at aside from Frank Harper and she was tired of looking at him. Her chest hurt now, but not from the condition. A tightness curled around her ribs. She was nervous. She didn't know what to do with this revelation.

"I need that thing to get more, don't I?" she asked, turning sideways towards him. She threw her glance at the red ring on the mattress. It looked heavy to her sitting there, though it was not weighty enough to sink into the fabric even a millimeter. She could be stupid and say she hadn't died in the last week she'd not been taking the medicine, but she wasn't stupid and she knew her luck would run out eventually. "So I'm sick, then, and I've always been sick."

Liza exhausted herself on these thoughts. The days she hadn't slept or eaten finally weighed on her, showing through the skin on her face and in the shadows of her eyes. If she laid down right then, however, she wouldn't have been able to fall asleep for hours.

"You're not doing your job," she found herself saying, suddenly off topic, "You're not helping me in the way you've been told." She didn't know why she said this now and it was not a question, but an understanding. Mr. Harper looked tired, too. Why should he want to help someone who can't even take care of herself, she wondered.
 
The OFFICER sat silent as Eliza cycled through her realizations in the guise of rhetorical questions. That was another sign of the highly intelligent ones -- those 'malfunctioning' persons -- who typically initiated elevated degrees of critical thinking and awareness. Eliza was already piecing together the train of effects in turning away from TELEstream, while also digesting the dire reality of self-determination. Eliza's medical condition was regrettable, but its revelation was crucial. It was the honest truth, as opposed to the commercially-motivated moral relativism that was TELEstream's wont.

The faint traces of a cringe circled Frank's face at Eliza's statement. "No, Ms. Abramson I'm not doing my job. I'm choosing to help you ... against my protocols." Frank did not tell Eliza the great expense and risk he was placing himself by helping her. Their movements would eventually be tracked and would be caught. Then, likely subjected to a messy end. They both were creatures in the same boat in that regard. Eliza was threatened by the consequences of non-conformance, while Frank was threatened by not enforcing it. Frank looked at Eliza then, his face banishing the tired quality in an instant. Another side of Frank Harper came to light, one which Eliza would soon become familiar.

"Ms. Abramson, if I'm going to help you, I'll need your complete cooperation." Frank regarded Eliza with sharp, hawk-like eyes. "Do you think you could trust me?"
 
Eliza was tired of asking questions. She had reached such clarity. There was freedom in clarity and responsibility. The more questions she asked, however, whether they were answered or not, the more exhaustion she felt. The more work there was to be done.

She nodded, short and quick bobs with her chin as her eyes swiveled over to meet his. "Yes, I think I could." He wasn't lying. He wasn't. He was doing the same as she. They were both swimming against the grain now. She was choosing to believe this, because she didn't know what else to do. He knew her better than she did, heart conditions and all.

"Mr. Harper," she added, "You can call me Liza." Ms. Abramson was much too stiff for her and his saying it reminded her of their situation. So formal. Rebellion wasn't a formal cause.

"What do you need me to do?" There was a change in the air and her attitude. Her rocky exterior shifted to reveal something pliable and also vulnerable.
 
Liza ... Her name was Liza.

Something deep stirred with the bowels of Frank Harper when his once quarry gently corrected her name. At that moment, she was no longer 'Ms. Abramson' -- the miscreant, the 'malfunctioning asset'. Names have power, or so the ancient heathens of old purported. Accepting a name invested many qualities, like a personality, an identity. It also established something more fundamental to the articulation of dignity. It established the inherent humanity of the person in question.

However spurred and divergent Liza presented herself, Frank felt lead line his gut with a burden of his own. As Liza became aware of the responsibilities that came with freedom, Frank stood tall as the star of protection dawned in that dimly lit room. Liza needed to be taken care of, not in the way TELEstream attended to needs for selfish ends, but in a supportive way, in ways that give life to Liza's nascent dignity and humanity.

"Liza, I need you to tell me if you'd be willing to return home to retrieve your medicine. It would be best to arrive when no one is home ... I understand that might be difficult for you. If not, there are other means, but acquiring the pills you already have would be the easiest."

In truth, Frank had little idea of how to proceed beyond that. The urge to thwart the looming reality of death seemed an easy first step, but after that would take more consideration. A plan was already forming in the OFFICERs mind as he gazed upon Liza, who pondered the question Frank asked.
 
Liza let her eyes wander. Home resided in the last of all her thoughts. Going back had not been a consideration. She hadn't known what she was going to do if she found nothing in Nexopolis. Give up, perhaps, to not find who she never knew, but even in the face of failure, going home had not been an option.

Yes, she nodded silently. If she had to go back, not seeing Mr. or Mrs. Abramson would be best. She could pretend it was someone else's home. Truly, it was.

"I'll go," Liza spoke up. First she would need to eat. A hole finally gnawed in her abdomen, reminding her of its need. She would need to sleep, also, but that could be done on the way. She couldn't remember how many pills were left in the last bottle. How worth going for just one bottle even was, she didn't know, but she supposed she needed it. She did. Sitting in the room, calm and steady, however, it was difficult to remind herself of the danger in reality.

She supposed she would need the armband after all, despite her threats. Walking home was not an option, though she would have taken it if home were closer. For this cause, however, the sacrifice seemed justified. The red plastic still rested on the mattress.

Liza glanced at Mr. Harper, "After I get the medicine, where should I go?" She did not expect him to accompany her home, she didn't know really at all how this Frank Harper operated. They would meet again or he would tell her what to do by some other means. She wanted to ask what happened after that, if he even had a plan, but she felt those steps beyond were still far away. Medicine came first. The rest would follow.
 
LeviHaulers skirted the factory in the distance through the window. Their levitation buzzed sluggishly about the metallic towers and glided easily along the factory's overtly mechanical facade, which spangled with thousands of welding arcs. Each arc glittered brightly, in several brilliance, fusing elements to become singular in purpose along a million linear feet of stress and load.

The OFFICER began to slowly pace about the room. Gone was the languid exhaustion of indecision, Frank was now a man engaged with an unusual energy. His physical prowess remained as unimpressive as when Liza first saw him in the light. Sagged jowls tightened only slightly when Frank clenched his teeth and flexed his jaw muscles in thought. While upright, his frame betrayed a man, though not unfit, lacking in the muscular ruggedness one would assume an agent of the omnipresent TELEstream should possess.

However, what Frank lacked in brawn, he balanced with an engrained mental fortitude. When activated, Frank Harper exuded a keen, strategic ferocity that radiated from his gaze -- a gaze deeply sage with a hawk-like sharpness. The gears of Frank's mind turned in cognition, laying out the landscape of their situation and pertinent goals, surveying the routes and causeways through which the pair could pass undetected, and assembling the control points of their mission. This last branch of planning was the most problematic; tending to Liza's latent infirmary (her Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy) would bring them in contact with TELEstream and her more committed agents in plottable intervals and at known locations.

It was a problem, but it was also just that. Problems are conditions that simply get solved — Frank was a man who firmly believed that a problem's resistance to solution was a more a deficiency in the solver than in the problem itself. Fear, more often than not, was the core reason when excuses began to emerge.

"Ms. Abr ... I mean, Liza?" Frank's eyes softened as he corrected himself and lowered his gaze upon the woman sitting upon the bed. He noticed more of her qualities then ... the color of her hair, her skin complexion, the way her hands were clasped in her lap with fingers sliding amongst themselves in apprehension. There was a difference between reading a person's qualities via datapad, and appreciating the subtle nuances that made a person a person. It was odd for Frank to notice these aspects of Liza. His training, daily tasks, and profession reduced his perceptions of people to entities of potential to be domesticated through the suppression of will. Such prejudice rendered citizens not as people, but subjects without difference, without individual thought and beauty. Frank watched the light fall on Liza's lean, sharp features and thought her beautiful. It was unnatural, he thought, that he hadn't noticed it before.

"Liza ... I will be with you the entire time. Your safety depends upon it. I have a vehicle downstairs we can use to travel about the city. Bring your armband, but do not put it on." Frank's brows furrowed as he regarded the totem of control. "You're free now, I won't let you go back. You deserve better."

Frank quietly clasped his hands behind his back and walked toward the window, gaze hardening. "We'll need to be constantly on the move. We can operate under the auspices of TELEstream for only so long before she ..." Frank stopped speaking. What he uttered sounded so odd, perverse. "It," he corrected. "... before it tracks us and sends other OFFICERs to thwart our search for your parents."

He sighed, turning Liza once more. "We need to also get you food and rest. After that, we can stop by your ... I mean, Mr. & Mrs. Abramson's quarters so we can retrieve your prescription. I can enter with you, or you can enter alone. It will be your choice."

The OFFICER began collecting his belongings. The path has been mapped out in Frank's mind, perhaps not in perfect detail, but enough to begin their journey. Waiting any longer would only delay the inevitable, and possibly cause an alarm with TELEstream.

"Liza, I suggest we leave."
 
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"Alright," she nodded, of course. The relief was plain on her face when he said he would accompany her. The more they talked, the more she believed Frank would be true to his word. Liza felt his sense of urgency, but knew only vaguely that he had a much clearer idea of what could and would happen in the days following. It did not seem so big, the two of them. Anything they might do, what could it matter? Her cause was small and good, yet the ripples left in their wake would widen to encompass much more.

Liza pulled a small pack from under her bed out and stood. She put the armband in it and slung it over her shoulder. All of her belongings were with her now. She looked at Frank hesitantly before moving towards the door. Without looking back again she led them down the hall to the stairwell where they quickly descended. She thought about her heartbeat. It sounded loudly in her head, a heavy, pulsing da-dump da-dump. She wondered if Frank's heart made a different sound, a healthier sound. She had no idea if hers sounded wrong, but it was defective and had supposedly always been. Liza felt fine moving down through the building in the bleak, dark stairwell. She didn't feel sick at all.

A man with oriental features trudged tiredly up the stairs. He did not move over for them and Liza turned sideways as she passed to leave room. He shambled upwards in his slippers and plaid pajamas as if they didn't exist, but his presence seemed to her an obtuse interruption. For hours it seemed Frank and she were the only ones.

When they reached the fourteenth floor, she let Frank take the lead. He knew where he was going and she followed. Once they pulled out of the building, drifting into the hazy midnight lights of the city, Liza found herself fighting sleep. The hovercar wrapped her in warmth when she hadn't realized the chill in her skin and Frank had control.

She told him quietly where the Abramson's lived, doing her best to sit up straight and watch the way ahead. Buildings rose before them and fell after they passed. Some resembled only lifeless husks, dark and plain, while others still chirped with life, lights in the windows glowing in different shades of fluorescence. Liza's dark eyes searched for the lights, as if they would give her the energy to stay awake.
 
The atmosphere in Liza's room took on an empowering quality for the OFFICER. Frank's chest swelled as Liza collected her belongings. Though few as they were, each represented the last, true vestiges of Liza. Frank examined the now empty room one last time, then waved his Prompter once and the pale light faded to blackness.

Frank descended down the stairs with his hands planted firmly in this jacket. He followed in Liza's footsteps as the textured steel treads met their feet, collapsing his shoulder when the mindless citizen passed them walking upward. Frank's eyes continually scanned the corridor and landings below. But, each one they met was blank and devoid of orientation or life. Frank had found places far away where people would occupy stairwells, using the treads as seats and creating their own space. And, when random strangers came up or down, these impromptu, informal convocations would actually reach out and invite the strangers to join them. How odd, Frank mused.

The hovercar lit to life when Frank approached. Light blue running lights flooded the permacrete street beneath the vehicle, and gull-wing doors slowly raised on either side. Frank walked behind Liza, closing the distance and placing his hand upon the small of her back, leading her to the passenger-side seat. "Please, Liza. Make yourself comfortable in the front. Never sit in the backseat of an OFFICER's car." Frank walked around the front of the vehicle and occupied the driver's seat. He felt the curious gaze from his passenger. "It could be the last thing you do." Without going into details, Frank lowered his door and set the hovercar into gear.

Soon, a thin red line formed across modestly sized monitor upon the console. A calm, female voice announced itself. <<Frank? What's going on?>>

Frank flicked a number of switches, adopting the morose, veteran OFFICER that TELEstream expected to return from the mission he was given. "I'm assisting Ms. Abramson ... that was my task, was it not?"

<<Of course, Frank. But ... why is she in the front seat?>>

"Change of plans." Frank felt a subtle thrill from deceiving the unholy mother of his mind. The willful deception could be suspended, and Frank felt a liberation he did not think possible.

<<Con-volo, please.>>

Frank expelled a breath of annoyance and fished into a mid-cabin compartment. He pulled out a small head-set, which fit snuggly his head. The ear-piece glowed bright red and began speaking into Frank's ear with a hurt tone, one brimming with the pain of betrayal. <<Frank ... talk to me. What's really going on?>>

For his part, Frank did not speak, but simply thought his replies as he wove his hovercar through traffic to reach lane designated for use exclusively by OFFICERs. It's as I said. She simply needs special attention. I think she can be returned after some time in our custody.

<<But, why is she not in the backseat? That's a saftey precaution for YOU, Frank. I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you.>>

Frank fought the very real emotional slug to the gut. How was it so easy to be taken in by insubstantial lies and faux concern? Was there a deeper dimension to humanity that thirsts and craves for acceptance, not matter how hollow the source? Frank took a forced breath. Mental illness isn't in play ... at least, not from what you told me. Her only aliment is a heart condition. We're headed to her parent's residence to retrieve her medicine. I feel she might be ready to separate from her parents and begin life on her own ... she's, perhaps, simply having trouble with the transition. Contact with her parents is not recommended.

<<They have been pestering Central about the asset's whereabouts. Their productivity and purchasing has declined sharply. What are you suggesting we do?>>

Frank bristled upon hearing TELEstream label Liza as an 'asset'. Ms. Abramson, you mean ... I'm suggesting that you assuage their concerns and sedate them. Whether through commercial or pharmical means is not my concern. If we continue your way, it is my honest judgement that the only way to deal with the asset is to eliminate her. I think I can persuade her back ... you'd hate to lose another life, wouldn't you? Whether it was true or not, Frank Harper felt as if he commanded the upper hand by twisting the demented, rhetorical bullshit back upon the damned AI. You do trust me, don't you ... Dear?

<<Of course. Frank. I'll see what I can do about removing her parents from the residence. How soon will you be there?>>

I'm headed to somewhere to nourish Ms. Abramson. So, approximately two hours?

<<Very well, Frank. Please keep in touch?>>

Frank tore the headset from his head and threw the device into the compartment with mild disgust. He realized he'd been completely silent for the past five minutes, and Liza must be wondering what was wrong with him. He smiled kindly through his nervousness. "Where would you like to eat?"
 
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Liza said nothing to his advice. No images or answers arose, Mr. Harper did not continue. She recognized that, though it was not a threat at this time, it could have been. If their conversation upstairs had gone any other way.

The woman's voice within the confines of the vehicle startled her. Their time in the apartment stretched on for years, it seemed. Another voice rang foreign and almost unwelcome in her state. She didn't want to process anymore. It seemed concerned. Liza knew it was a correct way to think about the voice. TELEscreen. Frank himself had called her an It, she noted upstairs.She didn't know if she had ever heard someone else's voice, but recognized the relationship and familiarity. TELEscreen could be a person, real as she or him, and it felt that way, too. Accepted as real, in the way that society accepts currency and numbers, then it was real. And yet it was all just a fabrication.

She watched Frank answer, his features plain and unconcerned. He made the conversation private and Liza looked away. His mood had shifted away from what it had been moments before. She felt piercingly that they were not alone.

The silence ate at her surroundings. Hearing and feeling nothing, only her eyes existed to look out upon the city. Not her eyes, though, only the ability to see. Liza's exhaustion pressed on her in thickness. So much walking the day before, so much to think about now. It was all very much and yet could have been a dream. Had she been more aware, her curiosity would have her staring at Frank in his silent conversation, wondering what it was he was thinking about and what he was saying to It.

The sound of his voice peeled back layers of her exhaustion. It returned her mind to her body. She shifted in the seat in attempt to sit up straighter.

"Whatever you see first," she shrugged faintly. Her hunger was beyond feeling or craving. If she held her hands out, fingers spread, they would shake, but this weakness was the only reminder of physical need. "I'm not picky."
 
The young woman beside Frank looked near exhaustion. He did not have to look further than her eyes, weary almonds in desperate need of rest, and her lifeless slouch to recognize that Liza was near collapse.

"I know a place," he said quietly.

Frank grabbed the gear-throttle and thrust the hovercar faster, and the dull-silver vehicle exploded with velocity down the restricted avenue. There were no other vehicles along the corridor, denying a relative gauge of the hovercar's death-defying swiftness. They flew into a lonely tunnel, lit in a cold blue hue. The rhythm of the lights streaked across the hood of the hovercar, blanketing the interior in flashes of pulsing strobe. Frank leaned forward in his seat, his eyes fixed with unwavering purpose.

The hovercar gently swerved into a three-mile long deceleration lane, and Frank piloted the vehicle into a circular elevator. The pair soon entered the mundane, urbanity of Nexopolis from a cleverly hidden doorway, which retracted up and behind them with mechanical precision. The hovercar veered into dense traffic with the ease of a leaf in a stream, traveling on for miles before elevating into an enclosed parking vault. The gull-wings lifted and Frank helped Liza egress from her side. She looked weak and tired. He offered himself as a crutch for the young woman as they entered an upscale mall. The trendy corridor exuded a class that even the affluent, in their ardent, incessant drive for burgeoning mobility, could not access.

Frank led Liza to a immaculately furnished restaurant. The place could have been a showroom for materials, coverings, and furnishings, so elegant was the layout and decor. A hushed quiet pervaded the establishment and a tiny woman dressed in black led the pair to an dining room. The circular table had a wrap-around bench, and the surrounding partitions, etched for extreme privacy, created a miniature, secluded world separate from the one ruled by TELEstream.

"Agri-Platter, please."

The hostess nodded solemnly. She closed the door behind her without a word, leaving Liza and the OFFICER alone.
 
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Liza let him lead her and let herself lean on him. Whatever energy had kept her going all day was gone by now.

The place he chose was too nice for her, at least how she was. She quite expected someplace less comfortable. Quick in and quick out. Liza sat across the way from Frank, leaning forward in her seat with her forearms on the glossy surface of the table. Her hands folded together, one thumb rubbing the palm of the other absently. She didn't argue with his choice of meal.

"Mr. Harper, I don't think I understand all this," she said quietly, matching with her tone the room and its own subdued style. Society in all its functions, what they were doing to it or would be threatening by their actions. What she had already threatened by choosing her small freedoms over comfort. She wasn't asking a question, just talking to stay present.

Liza pulled her arms off of the table and sat back into the bench. She reached up to scratch her neck and returned her gaze to him, lids settled halfway over her eyes.

"I don't know how it works," she started, but paused when a waitress entered with two glasses and a pitcher of water. Liza watched silently as she filled the glasses at the table and then left, leaving the pitcher. "I don't know how it works," repeating her words once they were alone again, "But you do." She stopped, looking up from under heavy eyelids. Her eyes were like dark pools in the low light, almost black. She didn't know Frank well enough to recognize every flick of the muscles in his face. Deciphering them for her meant waiting for mountains to rise out of the earth. Her words didn't follow a straight line of sense and she knew she was having trouble saying what she wanted.

"What are you looking for?" She had told him her own answer and he agreed to help, seemingly to no benefit of his own. "I'm not - I can't do anything," she said with a hint of innocence in her words. She felt there must be something that he wanted and she also felt like a poor candidate to be of use to him.
 
"I don't know how it works ... But you do."

By "it", Frank could only assume Liza meant TELEstream. By default, that would encompass the insidious, pervasive network of collective isolation that was their society. "The voice in your ear, your conscious and constant companion is called TELEstream. It serves the executive powers, and binds society together by weaving personalized narratives to appeal to our greed and desire. It works by omnipresence, by calculation, and psychological sedation. Liza, there is nothing it doesn't know and nowhere it cannot hear." Frank's eyes scanned the fretted glass walls about them. "Except for here. The elite can pay a premium for the luxury of true privacy, and when they do they come to places like this. We call them "black sites", though I'm aware of other colloquial expressions. TELEstream is aware of them, in general, and tolerates their presence like you or I might a cough ... annoying, but ultimately harmless."

"The AI manages the largest, most extensive network in human history for a single purpose—to acquire the willing cooperation of every citizen in frenetic consumption. By cooperation, I mean Free Choice ... the sacred foundation of every motive the powers hold dear. With Free Choice comes the impulse, the energy by which the society marches forward. When that march stumbles, the powers call the Bureau and its OFFICERs to smooth over and disturbance or interruptions in the flow of profit. I am one such OFFICER, and I came to smooth you over when you found me in your apartment."

The server arrived, knocking twice before entering with a circular, metal tray. The tray held real food, roasted chicken, vegetables, green salad, and fruit. Such food stuff was seldom available to those except the privileged wealthy. Raising animals and growing crops took time and land, both of which could be utilized more efficiently and effectively with other means of production. The role of bio-nutritional chemists were famous and renowned for creating "food substitutes" that delivered adequate nutrients at a profitable price. Quality standards were imposed when lower quality foods began to make people sick. Some died ... thus, making the healthy of every citizen a top priority.

The server retreated once more, closing the door behind her. The aroma of the meal filled the enclosed space, and suffused every surface with the essence of its flavor. Frank watched Liza eat, continuing to speak. "You asked me why I'm helping you. The answer is that I'm not entirely certain. If I must venture a guess, it's because you're somebody who sees things the way I wish that I could. I'm hoping that by helping you, I may learn something about myself."

The OFFICER went quiet then, his eyes skirting the rim of the platter as Liza ate.
 
Liza's gaze never left his while he spoke. He told her in such a summarized way, tone objective though clearly not how TELEstream would have described itself.

"I'm glad," she said quietly when he told her TELEstream could see nothing here. Being rid of the voice had meant being free, but then, Frank had known exactly where to find her. She was also pleased to know that he was doing this for himself in a way. That seemed a real and correct answer. Any other would give her the feeling she was being manipulated and used. All the population knew, somewhere in themselves, exactly how that felt. Lies, like black ink, sink through everything and bleed where they were never meant to.

"I think I'm just broken," she said, almost a whisper. He wanted to see things the way she did? Liza didn't want to be 'fixed' to TELEstream's standards, but she couldn't describe how she saw things. It was more that breaking forced her to look elsewhere. Everyone who looked away from TELEstream must have broken at some point. Could you tear away from everything you knew by any other means? She thought not and thought she should ask him if he felt broken, too, but decided not to ask right then.

When the platter arrived, Liza saw nothing but the food. It may as well have floated in of its own accord. There was no waitress and no plate. Her mouth literally watered, something she'd never taken notice of before, and the metallic taste of an empty stomach spread over her tongue. No words stretched between them while food remained on the table. Liza knew this tasted better than most things she'd ever eaten, even though it was simple enough a meal. There were few expensive dinners in her past and still none like this. She stared at it for a moment, as if she'd forgotten what to do next.

"Thank you, Mr. Harper," she said, looking at him before picking up a fork and knife. It seemed right to thank him now. She wasn't sloppy, but didn't cherish every moment of flavor. The girl hungered and the girl consumed. At some point, as the platter was large even for her empty stomach, she turned the plate so that the long end was closer to him. An offer.

Afterwards, Liza felt content and just past full, but she was glad of that. She sat back and pushed a dark strand of hair from her face.

"Did you keep one of his photographs? Mr. Holofeld and his birds," she asked absently, thinking now of her imagined picture of the wall of birds and simply wanting to know. Did Frank value them enough to take and keep one? Being in a supposedly black site, she felt safe in asking him this or in asking anything. Now that the meal was through, she supposed they would be off after her medicine, but she wanted to linger just a bit longer. The short walls rose comforting around them and she knew every part of it, for every element stood in the open and none tried to hide. Maybe the birds had been like that for Mr. Holofeld. She'd have liked to see one.
 
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