Interrogating Ms. Fry

Michael

A little after 2 am, a change in Bernadette's vital signs—eye movement, mostly—seem to indicate that Bernadette is no longer in a deep coma-like state. As Marshall mentioned, of course, she is on heavy painkillers so she is still not quite sensate. But Marshall is pretty sure if he used an opioid antagonist — Naloxone, for preference — she could be brought round and into a state of awareness.

The first aid seems to have stabilized her.

Who knows; she might even be dreaming.

Jeff

Aura sight?

Michael

Yeah, absolutely.

Jeff

>>>> ACTIVATE … SUCCESS by 6

>>>> DETECT … SUCCESS by 9

>>>> ANALYZE … SUCCESS by 5

Michael

Bernadette has -9 HP and 11 FP. She is very badly burned over more than half her body, but the first aid that Marshall has provided — the antibiotics, IV fluids, and bandaging he has done — has stabilized her and put her on the road to recovery. Mitch's Aura Reading tells him that Bernadette will be very badly scarred for the rest of her life. There may be long-term muscle damage; she may find it harder to move and walk. But she will live, barring any unforeseen infections or unexpected turns for the worst. She was, it seems, very healthy prior to this event.

Emotionally Bernadette is opaque. She is unconscious. But a quick look at her brain patterns with Aura Reading does discern that she is in a state stuck between sleeping and waking that resembles but is not particularly REM sleep. (If Mitch in his years in Laurel Canyon ever used Aura Reading on someone on a heroin nod, this is what it reminds him of.) There is a substantial amount of sedative and painkillers in her system along with the IV fluids and antibiotics. There are no long-term health issues in her system other than the shock and scarring of the burns.

Jeff

"Should I try to, uh, heal her? I don't know how well it'll work, but I can try. If that would help getting the intel out of her."

Brant

Marshall shrugs. “Don’t see why not.”

Jeff

>>>> SUCCESS by 3

Michael

That's your Unreliable/Activation-14 roll, so it's gone off successfully. Now to apply modifiers to your skill roll. Your Cure is at 14, minus 3 because you've had a successful use on Bernadette in the past 24 hours, minus another 2 because she's unconscious, which takes you down to a Cure-9. Of course you can use Corruption to goose this. Failure means you lose 1d6 FP, success means you heal her 2 HP for every 1 FP you spend. I would say you've had enough time resting at Livermore and in your car to get yourself back up to 10 FP. Or you can wait 18 hours/until Bernadette is conscious to mitigate those two penalties above.

Jeff

I'll try it now, can always try more later

>>>> FAILURE by 6

Oh well

Michael

Lose 1d6 FP, which will come back at a rate of 1 FP per 10 minutes of rest.

Jeff

>>>> 1d6 … 6

"Ugh... I can keep trying, but I need a minute first. A minute or an hour."

Michael

Not yet in the 1/3 FP "tired" zone, for the record.

Brant

Marshall checks Bernadette's pulse against his Rolex and then nods. "Whatever you need, man. I live here."

Michael

3 am? Another activation/skill pair of rolls, Jeff?

Jeff

Ok

In the meantime Mitch reads I dunno a Philip Jose Farmer novel

Jeff

Activate.

>>>> SUCCESS by 4

Cure.

>>>> FAILURE by 1

Michael

Close!

Jeff

Sorry I'm confused, wasn't Bernie going to wake up sooner than 18 hours out

Michael

Yes! But Marshall has her pumped full of Dilaudid, for the pain. If you want her not on the nod, he'll need to use the Narcan.

Jeff

Ah okay that's fine I was just confused

Brant

(Just let me know, OOC, if you want Marshall to wake her up with Narcan. I hadn't planned on it.)

Jeff

Nah

Michael

Lose 1d6 FP from the failed attempt.

Jeff

>>>> 1d6 … 1

Michael

Oh hey, that one wasn't as exhausting.

3:10 am?

Jeff

Try again then I guess?

Activate.

>>>> SUCCESS by 6

Cure.

>>>> SUCCESS by 3

Michael

You may spend up to 10 Fatigue Points to heal up to 20 HP.

Third time was the charm.

Jeff

I will spend 9 and then have a lie-down with To Your Scattered Bodies Go

Michael

Bernadette is currently at 9 out of 11 HP. Marshall watches as, over the course of a few seconds, Bernadette's tender, suppurating burns turn to tough ropy pink-red scar tissue all over her body.

Her vital signs are strong, but she is still under the influence of the opioids.

Brant

And she's gonna stay that way for now.

Also he's handcuffing her to the bed.

Michael

Will anything happen between 3:10 am and 5 am when Jocasta arrives?

Brant

Other than topping off her meds to keep her asleep, no.

Michael

Enter: Jocasta.

Jeff

Oh, I want to change my answer, Mitch is reading Lathe of Heaven

Brant

"Where did you find that book? I don't remember owning it."

Jeff

"Oh, I must have brought it in with me."

Brant

"... right."

Leonard

At around 5:30AM, Jocasta arrives in the CCRME. She is, to put it kindly, a bit bedraggled. Her eyes still spark with the adrenaline boost of a mod dose, but she's pale (even for her), her hair is a mess, she smells like cigarettes and sweat, and she's weighted down with duffel bags.

"Good morning," she mumbles through the cigarette. "I come bearing gifts." She sets the bags in a corner with a heavy thud. "I cleaned the place out as well as I could. I may have missed something, and I didn't go into their lab building; I wanted to be out before the neighbors started driving past. But I padlocked everything and brought as much as would fit in the van. There's some more stuff out there, and I brought back the one who broke the quickest. Let me know where you want him; he'll be waking up in an hour or two." After she's put everything down, she takes off her watch cap and gloves and gives a long, bone-creaking stretch. She turns to Mitch. "Your look-around was right on, Mitch," she says. "I've got some hot material in there," — she waves a hand at the camera — "and in a safe. We should be very careful opening them both." Looking over at the hospital bed where Bernadette is resting, she asks: "How's she doing?"

Brant

"Mitch healed her. She's, well … she's fine now. Physically. Some scarring. He could probably fix that, too. Anyway, I have her dosed to hell. She hasn't woken up."

Leonard

"Mitch is full of surprises," she says. "Anyway, for your listening pleasure," she continues, handing him the cassette tape of the interrogation. "The one that's left doesn't know about the rest of them and probably won't react well to the news. You want me to bring the rest of the stuff in, or haul it back to Livermore?" she asks, stifling a yawn.

Brant

"No, bring it to Livermore. I don't want it here. I don't want her here, either. So we need to make some decisions ASAP. Who's coming for Charley, by the way? Archie? Has anyone seen her? I sent her upstairs like four hours ago."

Leonard

"I'll drop her off on my way back from Livermore. I'm sure she's asleep somewhere."

"What else needs deciding? Or should I just head straight back? I don't want to leave any of that stuff sitting unsecured for any longer than we have to."

Brant

"We need to get debriefed on what you learned from her accomplices, and to parse through the materials you gathered. That'll take time. And we need to figure out how we want to approach her. And then we need to decide how we resolve this situation. I suggest we get some rest — I'm having David bring me a cot down here — and then reconvene in the afternoon."

Leonard

“Though depending on the quality of your intel, it may be that we don’t need to talk to her before deciding on a course of action. With regards to the company, that is. I mean, whatever else she’s engaged in — and we do need to pump her for what she knows about the Opposition, the whole ontologically unstable … vibe Mitch picked up in Dixon — anyway, whatever she knows about that doesn’t mean we can let Agrigenics go. We gotta shut that operation down. But how? Maybe we ought to decide that first before we take our initial crack at her tonight.”

"I got a lot of financials and the like from the farm. And hopefully the tape will clear some of this up. Honestly, Marshall, I'm fucking exhausted — I feel like I ought to be able to connect the dots more clearly, but my head's just too scattered," Jo admits. "But I think, at least, that in terms of the relationship between Beale Farms and Agrigenics might be … not coincidental, but maybe some kind of mutual exploitation. I think she's not really running the show there, but they're willing to put her plans into action because it aids their overall direction, and she's not on board with everything they're doing, but sees them as having the resources to make her scheme go farther and wider. We should get our hands on Butler — he's the bridge between the two, for sure."

She lets out a long stream of smoke, a sigh from a cigarette. "Listen to the tape as soon as you can. We should figure out a low-risk way to get into that safe and view the photo. That's gonna make a difference. The envelope, too," she says, tossing it on a nearby chair. "After that, we can reconnoiter at Livermore and think about next steps, maybe popping the lid on her or the boy out in the van. Sorry, Doc. I wish I was coming to you with a story that made more sense, but I can tell you, we're about three steps ahead of where we were yesterday, at least."

Brant

“Butler will be hard. I agree we need him but we need to think creatively about it. He’s in the Game, or at least seems to know some tricks and things. He may make some deductions about Bernadette’s disappearance today, and be even more prepared for us than Ms. French Fry here. And if another Agrigenics exec goes missing, one right after the other, someone is going to notice that. Which, maybe that’s good for us … but, well, are we ready to be on war-preparedness footing? With Roger down? I don’t know. I’m rambling. A part of me thinks we need to contact the Peak, bring in outside resources or expertise.”

Leonard

"Yeah, I hear you. Every instinct I have is to just burn both places — Agrigenics and Beale Farms — to ashes, but we just don't have enough to go on if we have to justify it to the brass," Jo says, sitting down and taking off her ballistic vest. "But if we go to Granite Peak for help...well, we still don't know who dangled Dan at us, or why. We might be playing right into their hands, whoever's fucking hands they are."

She reaches behind her head and ties back her hair, staring aimlessly at the ceiling for a moment. "Maybe Butler's the one who put us on to him? Hoping we'd connect her to Bernadette, we shut Beale Farms down and he gets all their black magic without having to deal with her and her people anymore? Christ, I dunno. I'm just guessing now, wondering who's leading me around by the nose. Story of my goddamn life."

"Anyway," she says, stretching again, "I have to sleep. I can do it back at Livermore or I can do it here, one couch is as good as another. Your call. But if we're keeping Charley around, we should let Archie know."

Brant

“Take one of the guest rooms upstairs.” He vaguely gestures at the ceiling. “Call Archie. Get some sleep. Mitch, you staying here with me or going home?”

Jeff

I guess Mitch goes home

Leonard

Jocasta is still alert, of course; she's just emotionally stressed out and physically exhausted from, you know, loading most of a house into the van and disposing of three adult human bodies. She'll definitely call Archie, though, and drive Charley back home; those can be scenes if @Rob MacD and/or @Raven_Hare want them to be, otherwise we can just take them as read. Anyway, that's her plan: she'll call Archie, drive Charley back, then unload the van at Livermore, and then go home, dose, and sleep until everyone's ready to gather again, either at Livermore or the Mission. (I may have a journaling thing for her to do, too, since we're getting into that.) She's more or less neutral on what to do with Bernadette.

As a reminder, here's what she gathered at Beale Farms, if anyone wants to fuck around with anything while she's out, or when she's back up. The bold indicates something that is History-B active or glyphed up; the italics indicate something that might be:

• cassette tape recording of the interrogation

• a soil sample and some vegetables from the Beale Farms orchard

• a piece of leather cut from their beanbag chair

• a small sample each of Beale Farms labels, packaging, and promotional materials

• three packages of granola, with notes on where they were to be shipped

• distribution ledgers and road maps to retailers

• the Rolodex

• an assortment of relevant files from their file cabinet

• small locked safe

• portrait of Beale Downer

• financial statements

• grid maps of the area

• items of clothing from each of the Beale boys

• envelope with wax seal

• some of Bernadette's jewelry

• camera with photo of ceiling glyph

• old oil lamp

• Stephen Chun

Michael

For everyone who's taken modafinil (I think that's only Jo and Mitch), you all are good to stay up without penalty for 24 hours past your usual bedtime. For Mitch, that's until like 10 or 11 pm or so on Wednesday night; for Jo with her Less Sleep advantage, that's closer to midnight, 1 am on Thursday morning. A reminder: it is currently 5:30 am or so on Wednesday morning. If Charley gets to bed by 2 or so am, she should be relatively fresh and ready to go by morning, although she may need to go to bed early on Wednesday night.

Marshall's into the cocaine, I see. That's a much blunter, more recreational drug than the sleek and lab-designed modafinil. That's only going to give him Doesn't Sleep (and, hah, Overconfidence-12) for 2 hours past inhalation. At the point the coke wears off, he will start taking FP loss of 1 every four hours until he makes up for the sleep. Marshall can keep snorting every 2 hours or so, but every time he's going to need to make an HT-1 for each previous dose roll. On a crit fail, we have to roll for a heart attack. At any time Marshall can pop a modafinil to keep him running for 24 hours, of course. Meanwhile, if Archie gets home from the office around midnight and has a nice hot cup of Postum, he'll be ready to go to work for 8 or 9 am Wednesday.

Brant, if you don't mind doing the first Brainwashing-17 roll, we'll see how the first hour in the CCRME while conscious hits Bernadette. And as I said, I'll try to narrate how the CCRME's approach is affecting her, what modules of Bernadette's life and memories get unlocked as we go, etc.

Brant

>>>> SUCCESS by 5

Michael

Marshall wants to know, simply, everything. When this process in the CCRME is over, there should be no important stone left unturned from Bernadette's life and career, every testament of her devotion to Beale Downer or her own esoteric philosophy will be delineated, no secret left from her time in her bower, enslaving those four young men back at the Barn, no nuance of her relationship with Chris Butler that Marshall will not know. He is the Eye. The Eye at the center of all things.

Bernadette's eyes are locked onto the manifold television screens of the CCRME. Occasionally Marshall wets the corneas of her secured-open eyes with artificial tears, but less often than is maybe medically-needed. The pink, mottled flesh of her face is streaked with these tears; one wonders if with her myopia, she can sufficiently see the screen, but her glasses were destroyed in Mitch's fire. No matter. The process can begin.

"Bernadette. You have been very badly hurt. But I have healed you. You owe me answers. In this place, the screen sees all. You will be empty when I am done, and then you will gain release. But not before then. You will speak when I ask a question and you will limit your answers very, very strictly to what I ask. If you do not keep your answers limited, things will go very poorly for you. If you understand, move your right pinky."

Marshall has, of course, gagged her and secured her hands, for now. He doesn't need someone with possible NLP or glyph knowledge with the ability to freely banter or express herself beyond a simple affirmative or negative. She'll answer when Marshall has found the right questions. She wiggles her horribly-scarred pinky.

"Excellent! Then let us begin." Behind Marshall, the screens have been playing loops of fields of wheat, dewy, dripping, luscious orange and apple orchards and vineyards, riches from the sea in the form of glittering nets spilling and overfilling with fat fish. "You want to feed the world. You want to create an elite of super-healthy, long-lived individuals to rule over the planet while the rest of humanity gets scraps, cheap sugar, short, miserable lives." Marshall assumes an incredulous, mocking posture, a cruel laugh. "What on Earth for?"

Marshall releases the gag, carefully, then stands away to watch her. He gives her a little "go on, then" nod.

"It was... I was only following the instructions set down by my master, Beale Downer. I never met him, but upon reading his works, I felt like I knew him. His logic was airtight, his plan for living meaningful and joyous, his nutritional suggestions... hmm, outdated, but he was on the right track. He didn't have the benefit of modern genetics and physiological science. I found him, or maybe more properly, he found me."

"Stop." Marshall says, feeling her voice slip into NLP cadences. "Don't try that on me again, or you will experience pain that makes your encounter after shooting the Black man feel like a sunburn at the beach. I know what you are... Bernie. Did Beale Downer teach you the geometry, then?" Some of the images on the screens turn to the ruins of ziggurats in the Middle East, pillars standing in the deserts of Arabia, ancient friezes of bull-men and sphinxes dispensing wisdom to their worshippers. "What did you use on your little boy-slaves, then? Bliss? A love spell? No, you wouldn't want their love, only their devotion."

Bernadette is taken aback. To go from talking in loving terms about Beale's Plan For Us All to this level of intimacy and knowledge of her actions has tripped her up. Lame denials start bubbling past her scorched lips. "Beale has nothing to do with that. I learned that... on my own. It came to me... in a dream." Bullshit, Marshall thinks to himself. Beale found her? She thinks she's special, but she's also acting out of loyalty to a dead father she wishes to bring back to life. The sky god fertilizing the land. Fathers. Butler. Hmm.

"Tell me about your childhood, Bernie. Did your father … look at you? Maybe after puberty, his loving fatherly caresses went a little too far? Is that why you enslaved your little thralls, gave them all that bliss? Is it all just … cheap, primal payback?" Images of 1950s dads and daughters from magazine ads and billboards flash on some of the screens, with a special focus on areas of the ads where the affection goes from paternal to... something more subliminal and taboo, all while the bull-men and sphinxes and Sumerian priests still cavort on other screens.

A pregnant pause, and then a vitriolic, croaky, "Fuck you, you fucking creep. Why don't you just kill me and end this charade?"

Marshall rolls his eyes very obviously. "Tsk. You were doing so well, Bernie. I'll take all that as a yes. Anger at men, so you wish to turn the tables on them, the power dynamics. That I can understand. But you're not going to bring Daddy back from the sky now, you know. Your plans, they're finished, and I highly doubt Mr. Butler is going to worry about retrocreating Beale Downer when you are dead and your impenetrable, obscure plans to make the world into Beale's Garden of Eden are buried in a hole in the Sierras along with your mortal remains and your little cardboard glyphs. Now. Let's talk about Chris Butler. What does he want?" Images replace the screens with the Sumerians on them, now it's contemporary promotional films featuring businessmen around boardroom tables, firm handshakes, men with briefcases, gladhanding. "What are his desires? Why you and Beale Farms? What does — sorry, 'did' — he get out of you little hippie wannabes?"

"He found us. He met with me and William and said we were vital to his plans. That any successful agribusiness that wanted to stand the test of time over the next 50 years would need to begin diversifying now. That meant not just the production side but marketing, offering more for their customers than just mere food quality. Exercise plans, medical monitoring at home, concierge medical services … I didn't really understand half of what he was talking about most of the time."

Another lie, Marshall thinks, but he lets it go. "Longevity research?"

"Yes. Genetics, of course, it's part of Agrigenics' mission."

"And you and Beale Farms were to be the health food imprint. Authenticity bought at pennies on the dollar. But here's what I don't understand, Bernie. There are dozens of granola-rollers out there in Berkeley and maybe hundreds of young agri-scientists at UC Davis. Why you? Did you somehow arrange the meeting with your little glyphs? Is Butler another true believer in Beale's mission?"

At this, Bernadette clams up. But after ten or so seconds pass by, images of verdant fertile fields returning to the CCRME screens, she merely says, "I guess you'd call it fate." With a resigned, quizzical smile.

(Brant, another Brainwashing-17 roll if you will, and feel free to retcon the details of any of what I've said in-character as Marshall when this goes up on the wiki, of course. I just wanted to make sure I hit the important interrogation notes/elements in the breaking down of Bernadette's will. Marshall can tell she's relenting in giving you info but resisting the important, personality-disassembly stuff. I may do the next bit later today/tomorrow. And remember you can use Corruption on Brainwashing if you want.)

Brant

>>>> SUCCESS by 7

Michael

"Hold that thought," Marshall says almost absent-mindedly, as he goes back into the control room of the CCRME. On the fly, he checks the CCRME U-Matic tape index for the really heavy stuff. Bombardments of abstract patterns and intense sounds, mixed in with a single tape loop with more Anunnaki imagery. She's being far too coy for her own good. The breaking down of her ego needs to begin.

Marshall comes back out of the booth. "Fate's a funny thing. The concept of things that are 'meant to be.' In the east, philosophies return again and again to the concept of karma. You take an action, it has ripple effects on the world, and on your fellow human beings. As a consequence, these actions either reduce or increase the quantum of righteousness in the world. Eventually, those ripples make their way back to the original actor. In this, cause and effect endlessly cycle, dooming those who commit evil acts to endless cycling in the mire of samsara."

"I see your karma, Bernadette Andrea Fry. I see it from the moment you left the womb to the decisions that landed you here, a cripple, trapped by the enemies of your Masters." The Anunnaki imagery and abstract patterns and sounds begin to surface on many of the CCRME screens. "You're not going to obfuscate any further. Lay bare your karma to me. Butler found you. Butler found you," he repeats, putting emphasis on the object of the sentence. "You know the secrets of the Anunnaki. Did They put you in his path? Did he find you because he also worships Them? Lying is useless. Distractions will only make this last longer," Marshall states clearly over the assault of imagery and sound. "So speak of Them. They can't help you here. They don't exist and will never exist again. Surrender Their secrets, surrender your secrets, surrender Butler's powers and agenda. Speak of your karma. Now."

Bernadette's eyes roll back up into her head, and Marshall steps forward and hits her in the face hard. "No. Don't go away. Look." He gestures at the maddening visions on the CCRME screens. "Speak."

"Chris … Chris said that he used predictive mathematics to find us. Of all the health food labels in Berkeley. We were the ones meant to be part of Agrigenics, to be the standard-bearer. I went back to the HQ after he met me and William. The Cube had just been built. We talked more deeply. About politics. About the future. About … about Beale. After a while, I told him everything. About how Beale had reached across the ages to me. Chris called Beale 'a man ahead of his time. Maybe in his visions of the apocalypse leading to a New Eden,' Chris said, 'Beale was seeing what I see.' Then we went into the basement."

"There were all these … hibernation coffins. I asked Chris what they were for. 'The rich,' he said with a smile. 'They'll pay us millions to freeze them and thaw them out when medical science can cure their terminal illnesses. And the next generation will get less cancer, because they'll be eating right. And soon they'll live to 120, 150, as long as Methuselah, in young genetically-modified bodies.' I didn't have much of a care about the rich, and so I asked him what all this had to do with Beale's vision. He said, 'You know the world's going to end, right? Maybe not now, maybe not a decade from now, maybe not even within our natural lifetimes, but someday. It's 100 percent certain. Civilization will collapse. The wealthy will need us. To keep them fed, to keep them healthy, to ensure they can live long happy lives in the middle of Armageddon. We ensure their survival, and they will ensure ours.'"

"He said we could make the masses fat, old before their time, and sick. In his ideal future, there'd be no need for the 90 percent of humanity under the water line. In this, I finally saw the direct relationship to Beale's plans. Fate works in mysterious ways. Perhaps Beale led me to Butler and Agrigenics, I figured." Bernadette stares at the images of Father Oannes on the screens.

"The key was making sure that the wealthy could raise food post-apocalypse. I told him of the special work Beale did on his ranch. The fertility rituals. He called those 'superstitious pagan horseshit.' But he was curious as to the qualities of the soil on the ranch. So he outfitted a lab for us to do research on the soil, gave me the budget to find lab workers to look for the special qualities he was looking for. Could the soil give life to crops after a nuclear war? A worldwide blight? Plagues? Dust bowls?"

Marshall waves his hand; these specifics don't interest him. "Who bankrolls Agrigenics? Who gives Butler the money to give to you."

"That's the thing," Bernadette easily volunteers. "The Agrigenics founders were getting money from government sources way back when they were doing work in India and Indochina in the '60s. Defense Department, Department of Agriculture, CIA, UNICEF … but all that was drying up now that they went private. So he needed to find new sources of support. Not for Agrigenics itself, but for the black budget. The longevity experiments, the hibernation pods, our post-apocalypse agriculture survival work. He did more of his … predictive mathematics. He did reading in futurist journals, colloquia of people interested in long-term survival of humanity, the Club of Rome. He said that we needed to find these people, that they were at the highest levels of international technocracy, and that we could be the ones who get chosen to supply them with agricultural and longevity technology."

Could that be all that this is, Marshall wonders. An unwitting History B cultist meets an esmologist/memeticist who wants to reach out to OZYMANDIAS and we end up picking up the trail through Dan, instead of OZYMANDIAS? There's still something missing here. And it has to do with Bernadette's psyche, her motivations. Marshall quickly flips the CCRME back to the fathers-and-daughters loop, and returns to get up very close to Bernadette.

"Bernadette, I believe you. I think you're telling me the truth but I also think you're telling me the truth I want to hear. The fact is, your agenda and Butler's agenda are still too disparate for me to believe you're truly working together. Now either you're using him to bring back Beale, or he's using you and your Boys as drudge labor, ready to cut you loose at a moment's notice, as soon as the … er, 'highest levels of international technocracy' take the bait. So who's in charge, Bernadette? Who's really in charge? You … or Daddy?"

She wails. "Daddy," she cries. "Daddy, why did you go awaaaaaaay?" Tears streaming from her eyes; she is regressing to childhood. "Why did you have to diiiiiieeee?" Marshall's provocation earlier seems to have elicited not memories of abuse, but memories of Bernadette's father dying when she was very, very young. That abandonment led to her finding Beale's teachings, which led her to Butler, which led to a plot to help speed up things to the Tipping Point. Marshall wouldn't be surprised if this, like the retrocreative elements of Mansa and the St. Francis, were arranged by agents of the Enemy going back to Beale's commune but also to Bernadette's childhood. He'd bet there were some Weird circumstances to Mr. Fry's death.

"You enslaved the Boys to stay in control, to keep them close to you, because you'd been abandoned. You fell for Butler's line... well, partially out of ego but partially because he was the key to bringing back Beale, who is the most powerful father of all, isn't he? So you didn't notice Chris was playing you. That's why we have you right now and why your Boys are smoldering in a shallow grave and he's sitting pretty in his corner office, safe and sound. You don't matter, and you've failed, and Beale won't return from the dead to give you a New Eden. The problem for him is of course, we took the bait. Not the technocrats."

Bernadette finally looks at Marshall with actual horror. "Who … who are you?"

Marshall leaves her there, her sanity shattered, with loops of the Anunnaki and '50s fathers staring her in the face and goes to the phone to report to Livermore.

Michael

(This Brainwashing all took about two hours; Bernadette is a blank slate right now and her psyche is open to you, so if you have any further IC/OOC questions of her, we can fold them into this scene. Figure Marshall will call Livermore around noon, 1 in the afternoon.)

Brant

Marshall’s fit.

He snaps his fingers twice before Bernadette’s face. Behind him the CCRME’s wall of televisions play footage of Buddhist monks immolating themselves in protest of the War, reruns of Marshall on Late Night, commercials for breakfast cereal. “Pretty elaborate little stage play you just put on there for me. Had to have been hard — how do you confess when you want to confess but something in you can’t handle the shame of that? Well, anyway, Ms. Fry: I thank you for the story but I have some different questions for you.” He smiles and injects the ketamine into her IV.

Michael

As the ketamine rushes into Bernadette's system, before the rush of this new, unknown drug hits her cerebral cortex, she thinks about how she'd just been blathering in a one-way monologue about everything, mumbling confessions to an imaginary interrogator, visualizing herself laying down her burdens of secrets after the past few years, discovering Beale, doing his bidding, tying herself to Agrigenics and Butler. Tears flow again, this time knowing that she hadn't confessed and imagined all this under the influence of sodium pentothal or even all the morphine she'd been given for those—burns? They don't even hurt anymore—but under clear, pure, unfiltered guilt. She'd been wanting to talk about and unload her burdens for so long, she gave away the store to the first mysterious abductor who grabbed her. Pathetic, she says to herself, as the K hits.

Brant

Marshall tilts his head, reading her expression. “I wouldn’t beat myself up too much. It was always going to happen this way — everyone cracks and when they do, they always blather on and on about their motives and their secrets and their story. But the thing of it is, Ms. Fry,” Marshall sits down next to her, “we don’t care about why you did it. Everyone’s motives with these things, they’re always the same. And they’re always — almost always — irrelevant. So: first question. Were you the woman who walked into Butler’s office while he was programming Dan Miller? Who said the thing about not wanting to create a whistleblower?”

Michael

"Yes," Bernadette says tentatively. "It was me. I was shocked that Chris wanted to recruit and use Miller in such a way. Especially to make Miller look horrified and desperate and crazy. But Chris had a plan. There was always a plan. He was sure that someone was out there, waiting to swallow up Agrigenics and use his programs and pet projects. He'd … 'run the numbers' and was sure it would mean we'd be part of the big future plans for Western civilization's survival being plotted out behind the scenes. And our … " Bernadette pauses, as the ketamine lets her get in touch with the truth she's only now realizing, that she too was rooked by Butler, " … his bait needed to dangle enough tantalizing details to alert … 'them'."

Brant

The TV screens switch to archival footage of archaeological digs in the Near East, some from the '40s, during the War, some more recent. This song suddenly comes on over the loud speaker:

"Ah, so he does not necessarily know who They are. He has just done some elaborate calculations and determined that an undefined They exist out there, somewhere. And he wants in. Is that also why you put the symbols on the cereal boxes? And arranged for the commercials with that cartoon outfit in LA? To reach out to Them?"

Michael

"No, those were for me. To fatten up the pigs. To beget a generation — multiple generations — of selfish, gluttonous-yet-poorly-fed monsters who would die off en masse in the aftermath of Beale's coming, leaving the Garden for us. The Healthy Ones. Chris said that such a plan didn't interfere with his plans or calculations and in fact could help us many years down the line. If his predictions about how things would collapse were correct, and if I could get the Downer Ranch soil to work, we wouldn't need serfs to work on the plantations. He only handled the drop in Tarzana because of his role as marketing and promotions in the company."

"I also wanted to see … I wanted to see if the Eating glyph would work. Let the kids see it. With the red glasses. Practically no adults would be convinced to put them on, but the kids … the kids love a gimmick. And the fact they're just like the red goggles that farmed chickens wear … " A smile … a devious smile, which almost immediately collapses. "Oh God. Oh God why was I so calculating, so cruel." The ketamine is latching onto Bernadette's regret and guilt and shame … she is seeing herself as a child, Marshall can tell, after her hallucinatory yearning for her departed father, and in the process realizing who and what she truly is now. A 'monster,' to use her own words, herself.

Brant

"Yes. Idealism often devolves into cruelty. We see it all the time in this line of work: ideologues becoming the monsters they purport to hate. You're not that special, Ms. Fry. Earlier this summer we had two boys try to destroy the world because they weren't getting laid, if you can believe that!" He chuckles. "But let's talk about Beale for a moment. And the land. What is your connection to Beale Downer? Are you from Dixon? Are your parents from Dixon? Do you know, are you a descendent of one of his group's golden children? I just find it strange, you see, that you — you specifically — would receive these visitations from him. I mean, there's random chance but my friend, the one who incinerated you, I've learned from him that most chances aren't random." The TV screens flip to a series of blurry surveillance photos of Mitch when he was younger, in LA, from when the LA Team was still watching him.

Michael

After Marshall asks, "Are you a descendent of one of his group's golden children?" Bernadette's eyes unfocus for a moment, and it's more than just the effects of the ketamine. When Marshall finishes his questioning, Bernadette's face falls, her scarred lips quivering. "I... one of Beale's golden children?" She says it as if the idea had never crossed her mind, that it would be almost presumptuous to even think such a thing. But now the idea is in her head.

Marshall's question seems to confirm something he'd been suspecting about Bernadette. Given the spontaneous psychotic-break-triggered confession Bernadette just role-played out loud, and the directions that this actual interrogation and brainwashing has gone so far, it's clear Bernadette's credulity index is quite high. There's no positive correlation between being more intelligent and less likely to believe outrageous things; in fact, if anything, recent research seems to indicate it's often the more educated, professional, credentialed young people who get sucked into cults. Marshall's mention of Carl and Rich, yet another example. Bernadette is desperate to believe. Psychologically susceptible to well-placed, well-crafted memes. Marshall would bet that — if his profile of Chris Butler is right, and Butler is an NLP/memetics/esmology practitioner, either untrained or source-code-savvy — Butler has laid quite a few of his own memes on Ms. Fry here.

"No, I never thought to trace my own ancestry back to Beale. He just... spoke to me across the ages. I was doing research on communal agricultural history in Northern California as an undergraduate, and I found Albert's The Story of Beale Downer in the library. And after learning about him, I needed to find out more. His precepts, dietetics, and philosophy all seemed so relevant for us today, the problems so similar to those in his time: unhealthy, overcrowded cities, people sucking down pollutants, eating preserved foods. Beale felt like … a message in a bottle, meant just for me."

"I used some of his discoveries in my senior thesis—nothing flashy or obvious, just the advantages of his modified sattvic/ayurvedic diet — so I wanted to go out and see the legendary Downer Ranch. So, as I was finishing my thesis, I came out to Dixon."

"There's something in the soil there. I ate of a wild blackberry bush on the property. It had probably been growing wild there the past half-a-century—growing and evolving on that soil. I ate of it and … " Bernadette breathes deeply, seemingly lost in a reverie. "I saw what Downer Ranch was supposed to be. If it had remained a going concern since Beale's day. It was... like a vision. I don't remember all the details of the buildings and the orchards but... oh, the people. They were so happy and healthy and vital. They looked like … higher beings, colloquing in paradise. The vision faded quickly, but a physical feeling of health and vitality … it remained with me. Persistently."

"I'd return every few weeks... it wasn't always a berry. Sometimes it was drinking from the old well. Sometimes it was merely from breathing in the clouds of dust kicked up by the topsoil. The land was speaking to me. The minute I'd leave the property I lost the sensation. I knew I had to possess it. I used my inheritance to buy the land and I used Beale as the inspiration for the food cooperative. And I tried to divine what the secret of the soil was, where the effects lay. I didn't move in for fear that modern technology or a persistent human presence would ruin the effect. But once I found where the epicenter of the effect was … I'd be able to bring the ranch back. Bring him back. My expertise, Agrigenics' support, the confluence of our interests in surviving the coming collapse. All of it."

"It wasn't random. At all. I was always meant to be his."

Brant

“And was it Beale who showed you the glyphs? How to draw them and what they meant?” The TV screens flash a myriad of cuneiform characters interspersed with footage of hippie protests in D.C., Chicago in ‘68, etc.

Michael

"In the visions … in my visions I saw the symbols amongst the congregation. BLISS, mounted upon a huge pillar and revealed by the Masters of the farm on occasions of communal celebration. The first few times it struck me like everyone else. Then, I learned to withstand the bliss, to negate it, to memorize the symbol's shape. TRUTH, posted as small signs in the center of ritual mutual criticism groups. EAT, used … used on the outsiders. Those outside the gates. The dwellers east of Eden. The swine. The unclean."

"They showed me their perfect lives, precisely where and how I'd always wanted to live. And the best part was, I'd help make them real. When the day arrived. I'd have a young body still, from Agrigenics's work. And I'd join them in the play, the harvesting, the communal calisthenics, the rutting in the fields, the mutual criticism sessions, the joy of community, I'd become one of them. Or... I would have been one of them all along, if I understood them correctly. All I needed to do was... was to spread Beale's beliefs of health and youth to... the very best people. All while I made sure the unworthy died. In vast numbers. 'Slow or fast,' I remember them saying, 'billions in a single day or from heart disease over fifty years, it doesn't matter to us.' As long as it was my action that did it, by my hand. The very first stroke in that... hyperglyph would be the breakfast cereal."

One of the first things Bernadette said in her little play-acted confession was that she's never met Beale Downer. It's clear something and/or someone on the other side, able to subtly influence History A because of the effects of the subduction zone at Downer Ranch, a zone that was likely originally established by Beale's cult itself and the combined deaths and worship there, was nudging Bernadette towards a series of acts meant to retrocreate the inhabitants of the History B version of the ranch. Bernadette believes doing this would bring Beale back to life along with this "congregation" of "higher beings."

Archie wondered out loud a couple of weeks ago, before the LA trip, if Beale himself was like Emperor Norton. A singular figure, mysteriously uncreated, who left a subduction residue in certain important minds and places: in the hearts of the Klampers, on the wall of the Cliff House that bore the Norton's Bridge plaque and news story. "Remembered" by certain people and places with a sympathetic resonance. Could Bernadette be that for Beale? Could the Albert biography of Beale — maybe even Beale himself! — be an artifact like the plaque at Cliff House (or indeed like the one only Mitch saw at the Transamerica Pyramid), a hyperobject, pushed up by a subduction but not a full-fledged reality shard — a spore, let's say — meant to memetically ensnare the particularly susceptible and help retrocreate someone or something?

Brant

“Now, Ms. Fry,” Marshall rises and looks down at her. The screens roll grainy footage of Viet Cong executions. “Why were you armed? How did you know to play dead? Why were you expecting us?”

Michael

"I knew … I knew Chris and I might attract the wrong attention, so of course I wanted to defend myself. That and... that and the odd experience I had in the Agrigenics meditation chamber a couple of weeks ago. A hallucination caused by entering a theta state, maybe. Or maybe not. I was sure there was a presence in the chamber with me. It … it scared me. I thought that perhaps someone from the ranch was reaching out to me at first, but it was too too far away and besides it didn't feel like that welcoming sort of presence. It felt like … a threat."

"The fact is, I wasn't sure who I could trust: the people Chris was trying to attract and entice, mysterious bodiless peeping-toms, even..." Bernadette winces, "even Chris himself. So when I saw two men trying to abduct me after I heard a directed high-pitched sound that nearly knocked me unconscious and made me run off the road, I knew this was it. I defended myself from what I thought was," she laughs hollowly, "an abduction."

Brant

“Well, it definitely was an abduction. So we’ll give you points for that. Almost killed a friend of mine, though. Last question for now, Ms. Fry: what were you and those boys concocting in your home laboratory?”

Michael

"The future." A still-plaintive tone in Bernadette's voice, crushed by circumstances, yet still holding out hope she might see what she's long desired come to fruition. "The proper sector of the ranch's soil, the epicenter of the effect I'd sensed, we'd identify it from its fruits. Find out what made the terroir unique. Then, grow a private stock for just us, which, when eaten in communion, would become a feast … a last supper that would bring forth Eden."

Brant

“Interesting. You know, you remind me of someone … no, rather, you remind me of all the converts and cultists our organization runs into. Broken idealists who cannot accept the world for what it is because they cannot accept some part of themself — cannot do the hard work of self-examination. Easier to condemn Reality than your own Ego, isn’t it? A shame. You would’ve been useful to us. In another time.” The TV screens turn off and the room is plunged in darkness. Marshall queues up a modest sedative in her IV drip — just enough to put her to sleep — and goes into the booth to call Livermore. It doesn’t matter who picks up; whoever it is, the first words out of his mouth are: “There’s something to the land out in Dixon. It’s in the land.”

Jeff

"Well, maybe we should give it a second look. I agree it was weird the way they were taking soil samples, like they were testing for History-B with a gas chromatograph. GC/FID, it wouldn't show anything unless History-B is something physical that'll burn if you get it hot enough. MS-MS, that's a wider net but it's harder to set up, especially here and now. Not impossible, especially for Charley, but before we start testing for it we need to know what kind of test will detect it. You think we should hike around, see if we can pick up any vibes, maybe take a nap under some gnarly old apple tree and see what falls on our heads?"

Michael

(Reminder to all that Jo left the lab outbuilding untouched and locked after she'd left/ransacked the main house and padlocked all its doors.)

Brant

"I don't know ... once again we find ourselves at a crossroads. Not to get all dramatic. But we need to pin down this Butler character -- Jocasta's been urging that, and I think she's right -- and follow up on the Farm. Butler we have multiple avenues of approach, not all of them hostile. It doesn't sound like he knows who, exactly, he's looking for ... so maybe he is looking for 'us' and will be happy when we knock on his door. But the land, I don't know. If what happened to Ms. Fry can happen to others who might stumble upon the farmstead and pop a berry in their mouth, we can't leave that dangling out there, you know? But this whole thing with the land being contaminated, that's an angle I don't understand."

"Once again -- and I know you hate to hear this, MJ -- but once again, all signs point to a staff meeting."

Jeff

"I trust Jo to handle that, the hume-int stuff." Mitch slurs a little, trying to say HUMINT, like it's syllables his mouth isn't used to putting together. "I'm curious about this in-the-dirt thing, even if it is a blind alley. What time is it? There's probably time for me to head up to the old farm and do some more walking around and meditating. Bernie's forbidden barn of mystery, probably that's a separate trip."

Brant

Marshall looks at his Rolex. What time is it? What day is it, even? He feels like he's been down here, in the CCRME, forever.

Michael

It's currently Wednesday morning, August 22, 1973, around 9:30 am. Jocasta and Charley headed for Livermore at around 6:30 am (originally Jo was going to bring Charley home but Charley said she had "work to do" at Livermore. So Mitch, Archie, Jo, and Charley are all at the office by 9:30, I'd say (Mitch and Jo running high on mods still). Marshall only had to work Bernadette for just a couple of hours, thanks to the drugs and the CCRME, from 7 to 9:30 or so.

Jeff

"I trust Jo to handle that, the hume-int stuff." Mitch slurs a little, trying to say HUMINT, like it's syllables his mouth isn't used to putting together. "I'm curious about this in-the-dirt thing, even if it is a blind alley. What time is it? There's probably time for me to head up to the old farm and do some more walking around and meditating. Bernie's forbidden barn of mystery, probably that's a separate trip."

Brant

"9:32. We're long past you needing authorization from me to do anything, MJ, so I won't say you're authorized to head up to Dixon and see what you see, but I will say: be careful."

Jeff

"Okay, If it's only nine-thirty and everybody else is here I guess we should have a meeting, when you get here. Everybody except Roger, I mean."

Brant

"Right. Right. Give me a few minutes, I need to change and find David and … anyway, I'll be in by 10:45, 11:00 at the latest. Peace, Mitch." He hangs up.