Marshall’s Debriefings
Index
⌽ Menos, J. (73-01-07)
⌽ Martin, R. (73-01-07)
⌽ Helix, C. (73-02-07)
⌽ Hort, M. J. (73-02-07)
⌽ Ransom, A. (73-03-07)
⌽ Menos, J.
Brant
A day or so after the events on the roof of the St. Francis, Marshall calls Jocasta at home. Cheerily, chummily, he asks how she's doing and if she has some time, "an hour or so," to meet and debrief. He asks where she'd like to do that -- the office, her place, the Mission, "whatever works for you."
Leonard
"Of course. I can come out to the Mission, I'm curious — never seen the place."
Brant
The Mission is an elysian paradise; Sonoma at its most iconic. Rolling hills, stands of trees, a view that goes on forever. It reminds Jocasta of Tuscany, or the south of France. Sunshine, Marshall's perky blonde secretary and assistant, greets Jocasta at the main building's porte-cochère; a young Black valet offers to take her car. Sunshine then escorts Jocasta out to a grove, half-encircled by white Greco-Roman columns, where there are several chairs, divans, floor-pillows, and chez lounges strewn about. Marshall is there, wearing a robe and Buddhist prayer beads. He smiles and extends a hand.
"So glad to have you, Jo. Thanks for making the time. Do you want coffee or a drink, water?"
Leonard
"Water's good, thanks."
Brant
After Sunshine fetches Jocasta an iced water with lemon, Marshall takes a seat in a chair and gestures for Jocasta to make herself comfortable. "So — how are you doing after all that, with Andy and Viv, and the convention, and the St. Francis?"
Leonard
"Physically, I'm all right. I got a little beat up by that girtablilu, but the venom was my biggest worry, and I pushed it out all right and haven't experienced any after-effects. I've been thinking a lot about the nature of the reality temblor, but I wouldn't say I'm worried about it; more fascinated by it. It was similar to what I felt when I went deep into Keiner's Beth-El, but not as menacing." She'll briefly describe what she saw when she touched the throne: the visualization of the back-and-forth flow of History A and History B information, like differently-colored electronic pulses, and the emergence of the third flow when Mitch placed the coin on it. She pauses for a moment, then speaks again.
"I'm not sure what to think of Genevieve. She has an amazing mind, and she's insightful like nothing I've ever seen. I wonder what she thinks of ..." she waves a hand dismissively at the universe, generally. 'All this, what we do. But she was there when we needed her. Andy seems bright and talented, but, well, frankly, he seems weak. Maybe not weak as in a security risk, but we should keep an eye on him. So ... I suppose I'm doing well. What I'm worried about, mostly, is Mitch."
Brant
Marshall nods. “Yes, Viv and Andy — that is a bigger discussion. For all of us.” He folds his legs under him. “And Mitch ... I assume your concern is related to the thing with the coin? Andy described what he saw to me. It sounded like ... quite an event.”
Leonard
"Yeah. I mean, when it came down to cases, he did the right thing. He took the coin out, and he melted down the mattock. We wouldn't have been able to do this without him. I don't want this to seem like I'm questioning his dedication or his loyalty at all. But ... you know how Mitch is, how he works. Spontaneity and curiosity are part of his process — they're literally built into him. But he was so ... I don't want to say tempted, Marshall. I don't want this to be read as a vulnerability to the enemy. But he was so eager to just take these reality shards and combine them in a way that definitely would have been unpredictable and very possibly could have been dangerous. Like ... a kid with a new toy."
Brant
"Would you say what he did was different than what you did, touching the throne?" Marshall's tone is utterly non-accusatory; his question sounds like that of a true friend asking a question out of genuine interest.
Leonard
"Hmmm." She rolls it over in her mind, for what seems like not the first time. "I suppose it was pretty similar. We both wanted information. We both were using our talents to find out what we could about the reality shards. But I felt I was trying to find something that would help us pull the curtain closed on the temblor. And I felt he was trying to find something that would ... open a third act." She lights a cigarette and looks out ad the beauty of the grove. "Now, of course, I thought I was right. And he thought he was right. I begged him to stop; I threatened him to get him to stop. But Archie backed his play, and I think Roger did too, to an extent. He didn't listen to me, but he listened to Genevieve. It all worked out, so maybe I was wrong. But that's the game, isn't it? This game, our game. Making sure you're sure, when nothing is sure."
Brant
"There's a couple things I'd like to unpack there, if you're willing. First — why do you think he listened to Genevieve? What did she say to him, and do you think it, well, registered?" Marshall leans forward a bit. "Or do you think he felt like he'd made his point, and didn't need to press the issue any further?"
Leonard
“She talked to him about ontologies and worldlines and choices. Maybe it registered because that was on his mind. I don’t know,” she says, her eyes darkening slightly. “I get all that. Maybe that was the time for it. Maybe I overemphasized trust and mission because that’s the training that saved me.”
“But with this enemy, with these stakes ... what would you have done, Marshall? Would you have given him time to make a point or press an issue? Or would you have reminded him of how the enemy uses doubt and curiosity and wonderment, and told him to focus with one mind on the task? Of course, I’m not you, or Archie, or Genevieve. So maybe it’s the messenger and not the message. Or maybe I underestimated him.” She laughs sharply, with a noticeable edge of bitterness. “Let’s start over. I’m not feeling confident in myself, Marshall.”
Brant
"I can't say what I'd have done — I wasn't there, and any answer I'd give would have the benefit of hindsight, which you didn't have. But let's talk about this lack of confidence. You mentioned before, that Archie backed Mitch's play, and that you thought Roger did too. And just now, you seemed to suggest that the problem was the messenger — you — and not the message." Marshall runs a hand through his shaggy hair, pushing it back. "You're quite close with Roger. I'd say closer than anyone else on the team. He thinks highly of you — has said so to me, and Archie, in the past. And you've acquitted yourself admirably in your short time with us. Keiner, for instance. The kusarikku at the St. Francis. So where does this lack of confidence come from?"
As Marshall finishes, a young man — Jo recognizes him as one of the Special Ones — walks in and hands Marshall a plain folder containing some pages. The man leaves and Marshall flips it open. Jo catches a glimpse of the Army Intelligence insignia at the top of one page, and the words TOP SECRET stamped in several places.
Leonard
“That’s the big question, isn’t it? I know I’m not unique in this; it may be why I ended up here. But I live in two worlds. I can see things and sense things outside this world, but I’ve trained myself to be very present in reality. Dosing gives me insight and lets me see things more clearly, but it also makes me alienated from people. Men have abandoned me but I still want their trust and approval. Letting myself drift was what let me access my talents but i needed discipline and focus not to disappear.” She sighs. “It’s all so boring. But ... I crave certainty because if I’m not sure I’ve made the right choice, people could die. And yet I know certainty is a ghost I’m chasing.”
She sees the file and winces a bit, like she’s about to have a conversation she’s had before but never gotten quite right.
Brant
Marshall flips through the file, then says softly, in a dreamy sort of voice, like he’s reciting lines from a poem he’s memorized: “Yes. These feelings — inadequacy despite evidence of high achievement, a desire to be expressive but afraid of losing the safety of certitude — are common in those who have lost parents while still young. ‘If only I were better, Mom would still ... etc.’” He closes the file. “And this sense of incompetence, the fear that comes with trying to always reconcile the irreconcilable — you lose it with the acid, right? And now,” Marshall leans forward again, conspiratorially, and grins as he says, “you’re afraid you no longer have the power in your relationship with acid. And that scares you. The lack of control.”
Leonard
She takes a long drag on her cigarette and, eventually, nods. “Yeah. Yeah, the lack of control scares me. But it’s also that I’m worried that the acid is showing me things, and that the more I learn about History B and all the other things we do, that I won’t be able to tell anyone, that I won’t be able to show them. That they won’t believe. Mitch believes. He’s so certain. Roger believes. Genevieve and Charley. You and Archie...I don’t think you believe the same way they do, but you understand. Those are the places I can’t see, those determined places. That’s where the fear comes from.”
“I was trained by SANDMAN the same as everyone. I learned about what we’re doing and how to deal with it. But I don’t know what would have happened if a third front opened in this war. Or if it would have been a third front, or if it would have still been a war. My training told me to do whatever I had to do to stop that dam from breaking. Maybe there’s no answer to whether or not that was wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter, since here we sit in good old familiar California. But that’s what happened, and it’s got me shook.”
Brant
Marshall sort of comes to, and says, convivial and alert. “Let me see if I understand. You are afraid that people will not ... believe you? When you try to show them what your ... natural talents have shown you because of the acid? Or is it that the acid is showing you things that no one will believe, because they are already so certain in their beliefs?”
Leonard
“Mostly the latter, but partly both.” She sighs. “Christ, what I must sound like.” Crushing out her cigarette, she relaxes a bit in the chair. “I just feel like everyone else is on a trip where they already know the way and the destination. And I don’t.”
Brant
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that. Mitch — he has no idea where he is going.” He says this with the air of someone commenting on how cute their dog is. “Roger, Charley, even Arch. Ha, Arch more than most. They all have these same doubts. They just process them differently because they identify the problem differently. Of course,” he leans back, “the problem is always the same for everyone — samsara, the worldly cycle — it just looks different at different angles.”
“What do you make of Archie, and his handling of this affair?”
Leonard
“The memes were good,” she says with a wry smile. “Archie was great, and he and Genevieve were outstanding in implementing the game and leading the players, even when things got hairy. You wouldn’t think for a minute he’s not usually in the field. I have a minor concern about his boundaries when it comes to Charley, but I trust him to know what’s best for him and his family.”
Brant
“An interesting tension, there. You hold yourself so strictly to protocol and pride yourself on your training, but forgive others when they fail to live up to the same expectations.” He smiles. “And what about Charley? Do you think she has integrated well into the unit?”
Leonard
"Whew. Well, I should preface this by saying I have no idea what Charley does. Technology is not my strong suit," Jocasta smiles back. "I think she's done extremely well, and she's more than proved her worth to URIEL. It can be hard to judge her moods, but she seems happy with us. But, God. She's just a kid. She's so goddamn talented it's easy to forget, but then something happens, and you can't forget." She takes another moment. "I worry about her doing field work. It's so dangerous. But maybe that's taking something away from her that we shouldn't. Anyway, I think she's done incredibly well under the circumstances."
Brant
Marshall pauses for a moment. Jocasta senses he may be trying to discern how honest she is being. Then: “I gather that something happened with Roger at the hotel, is that right? We — Archie and I — spoke briefly with him ... well, with some version of him, on the phone. I’ve known Roger for several years. He operates well under duress. But from what I’ve gleaned, this situation may have taxed him in new ways. You’re close with him. Any thoughts you’d like to share?”
Leonard
"I can tell you what happened from my perspective, of course, although again, the functioning and nature of Roger's powers are still murky to me," she replies. "From what I was able to gather, Roger — under a great deal of stress already, as we all were — manifested a loa that was new, both to him and to us. A sort of urbane, cinematic super-spy. I'm not privy to how his other loas originated, so I can't say if it was taxing in a new way, but I don't think it had any negative effect overall; in fact, I would say it was positively a boon and should be cultivated further if Roger is amenable. It helped him sell the 'game', it gave him access to confidence and skills that were useful on the mission, and I think it helped keep him focused and effective after all the stress and demands of the situation. He did become exhausted at one point, but he had already done excellent work and been injured by an irruptor, as well as coping with the stress of the appearance of the new loa, which I imagine was considerable. I don't think his reaction was out of true at all, and I think this new manifestation should be encouraged and developed."
Brant
"Between you and me," Marshall stands up and gestures for Jo to follow him, "the emergence of a third automated personae is something to watch. The boys who study these things, they report that chevaux can unravel — too many subroutines, too much compartmentalization, it can subsume their ego, lead to all sorts of problems. Anyway." Marshall starts to walk up a path toward the top of a hill.
Leonard
Jocasta follows, reveling in the natural beauty and tranquility of the place.
Brant
When they reach the crest of the hill, Marshall puts his hands behind his back. Below them are people: some meditating in groups, some playing what looks like touch football, some just walking in pairs. Jocasta thinks — but can't be sure — that she sees ... Diane Keaton? walking a horse back to a stable.
"Jocasta, you seem reluctant to criticize your colleagues, despite the fact that this last operation wasn't, well ... it wasn't perfect, I guess I should say. On the other hand, you judge yourself fairly harshly. More than fairly, I'd suggest — despite the fact that I can't identify anything you did wrong. Why do you think that is?"
A beat. "Do you feel like you need to protect them from me? From the Project? Or is it something else?"
Leonard
"I don't feel I need to protect them from you, or from SANDMAN. I have a sense of loyalty and duty, of course, both from a moral framework and from my military training; I'm sure you can appreciate that. I want to know trust, and be trusted. That's important. But I'm willing to voice concerns when I feel it's warranted. Hell, I almost shot Mitch," she says. "I know what the stakes are. You've seen my file. There's a lot of people who aren't around anymore to ask what I'm willing to do to err on the side of supporting our fight. Maybe it's just that I want to keep the misery to a minimum? I don't know, honestly. I think I still retain a lot of humanist ideals, even though I know that humans aren't as high in the pecking order as I once thought."
She looks down at the people playing ball, and turns back to Marshall. "Can I ask you a question, Marshall?"
Brant
Marshall turns his face to look at her; he seems surprised. "Shoot. Proverbially speaking, of course." He grins.
Leonard
"You know about that video machine they had playing up in the lounge, the one that had a distorted image of you speaking Sumerian? The one Mitch pushed out the window? And the statue of you in the suite?" she asks. "That means they know about you, right? They know about us. They're watching us, like we're watching them. Am I being paranoid about that? Or not paranoid enough?"
Brant
"Yes. Merrick mentioned the statue ... though this news with the tape is, uh, new ... to me." He tilts his head and then looks away again. "It is hard to say. Some of the radical historians at the Peak posit that everything in History A is reflected in History B — not 'through a glass darkly' but just as a matter of deterministic chronology. All things being otherwise equal, maybe there's a Marshall-B. And a Jocasta-B. And a URIEL-B, agents of the Red Kings." He grins to himself. "Or maybe not. Maybe they just have a mole in our ranks."
"Thank you for your time today, Jo. I mean it. I have some other things to go attend to — feel free to make yourself comfortable here if you'd like to hang around. I'll see you back at the office tomorrow."
Leonard
"Thank you, Marshall. Let's talk more soon."
⌽ Martin, R.
Brant
Marshall calls Roger at home a day or so after the events at the Hotel. He is casual and inviting, and asks if Roger has time to meet him for dinner at John’s Grill — on Ellis — that night. He knows someone, he can get a res.
Bill
Roger’s eye roll is audible over the phone. He’ll RSVP, but it’s clear he’ll be treating this as other than a friendly dinner between colleagues.
Brant
Marshall is waiting for Roger outside when he arrives that evening. He is dressed like a fairly normal, if fashionable, professional white man. As Roger approaches, he smiles and says: “Still alive, Roger. Still un-killable. Let’s take a walk! John’s is passé and it’s a nice night.”
Bill
Roger is dressed in his grey three piece suit, also very professional, maybe a bit too much flare in the legs. “Glad to say I am, so far. Tell me we’re walking towards a steak eventually, though. I was looking forward to eating with — and so like — a celebrity.”
Brant
“Of course, of course! Let’s just make a loop around the block. They’ll take us when we get back.” Once they’re a little ways from the restaurant, weaving in and out of the wandering crowd, Marshall asks: “Well, you know how this goes, soldier. Report: what’re your thoughts on how that all ... went.”
Bill
"So this is a report, not a headshrink? Or a bit of both? Sorry, forget I asked. I know the drill. Sir." The spark that had flashed in his eye at the word "steak" goes a little duller. Roger stiffens, military-rigid. But, then, he just lets out a big sigh, and smooths out again.
"Hell, Marshall, I know there's things you won't report. So fuck SOP and formal report language. We're out here — probably some headshrinking technique for sure — but it's working. Straight dope."
"That was a shit show. You know more than most I'm used to SNAFU being the order of our lives, but not that level of fucked-up. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." He seems to realize what he's saying, and crosses himself. "I shit you not, it feels to me like there was divine intervention there, because we only got the right elements together by luck."
"I went way off the reservation, but it was fucking necessary. The kind of necessary you and me both know of from 'Nam. You ought to light a couple candles to our Lady."
Roger unwinds, like a tight spring turning free, unstoppable angular momentum, spinning out. "And squirrely. That shit was so slippery, like a crepe straight out of the pan. One second you'd have something tied down, and then another would come from some crazy angle. Like your own team."
Roger stops, fumbles for a smoke.
Brant
Marshall holds out a pack of Marlboros. “Thinking back to the start of it all — the posters — at what point do you think it started to go south?”
Bill
"RFK. Shit, that was a blow. I mean, yeah, he was hip deep in COINTELPRO. Those FBI fuckers I got implanted in used to brag about their 'clearance from a Kennedy' or say 'AG OK'd it' and laugh. But he'd turned, and a Catholic repenting — man, there's no stopping it — except with a bullet. Those posters. Yeah, it'd already gone south, but that's retro-creation for you: fucked before you begin."
"Sorry, lost my train of thought. It went south when fucking Carl and Richie slipped past our radar, and sprayed a whole fucking convention of people with ikoter fire all at once. I'd ID'd them, and Mitch and I were moving into place, but there were just the two of us, and who knew they had the tech?"
Brant
Marshall nods. “Earlier, probably. Should’ve caught them out when we spotted them on the approach with Krane. But you can’t just go around tossing everyone in the trunk of a car over here.” Marshall turns a corner and walks with his hands in his pockets. “That thing with Hort on the roof. Thoughts? Observations? You know him well. As well as any of us, anyway.”
Bill
Roger half realizes he's babbling like a guy into his 8th hour of torture, but then, he is that guy. "Mitch? Well, Jo, too. Mitch will do what he's gonna do, force majeure, ne c'est pas? It's like turning a hurricane sometimes. Earlier, he found Richie out of nowhere, and almost buttoned it all up: outclasses us all in being the agent needed. But then, he's on the roof, and he's improvising world-changing dangerous shit for a half a second. We utterly need him, but sometimes, we're just utterly at his mercy, you know? I know in my gut he's a good guy; the best. He will do the best thing. Maybe not the 'right' thing, but the best. Just hold your breath and have an option ready, you know?"
Brant
“Hm.” He walks in silence for a moment. “So by saying you ‘went off reservation’ are we talking about this new loa? I believe he was a super spy?”
Bill
Roger laughs, smiles. "Shit — no. I mean Maître Carrefour. I don't know I'll ever make it up to Archie showing his face."
"No, Agent 00, that stuff I still don't know what happened. I never knew such a loa; two great Voudon lineages, and none of my ancestors ever saw a saint like that. Ol' Papa musta been hard pressed to find a spirit who could save his favorite ride. Me, I was out of it; that venom had me cold. No, I don't know who that loa was, and, frankly, without further vouching from a trustworthy guide, I won't be calling him in again."
"Look, I know you think this loa stuff is all in my head." Roger looks right into Marshall's eyes: "Someday, Marshall, you'll talk to the Master of the Crossroads, but he'll be talking out of someone else's face than mine, and you'll know. They are bigger than just me. I've been Papa Legba talking to Papa Legba in another houngan. They are old, and they remember. They are bigger than the enemy's ekimmu. But do not fear: they are on our side, even El Diablo. SANDMAN needs them as allies; don't let your scientific study shit blow the... diplomatic stuff here. We need allies."
Brant
“Oh, I’ve already spoken to Maitre — surely you remember? Unless he didn’t tell you. He and I, we go way back to the jungle.” He winks at Roger and looks away. Marshall turns another corner — they are almost back at John’s.
“Archie,” this is the first time he’s used anyone’s first name, “how did he handle the field? Not his usual area ... and I know he had his son there.”
Bill
"You have to know he didn't want his son there, didn't play that as some kind of ruse. C'mon, Marshall, he's not that devious with his family. If he was, Eddie would never have wanted to go near the hotel; he'd have seen to it. Eddie going there, pulling Archie in-- that was luck. Or Notre dame."
"Archie, in the field. He took up the burden of running that chaos where I was flailing. I had to pull in the Devil to help; Archie, he took command and made those memes work. I don't remember everything well while the Agent was riding, but later... it was kinda like Archie had a saint riding him. He just shone with command. We still needed Genevieve; another candle for our Lady for that one. But between her and Archie, they made it happen. He's not your smoothest commander in the field; he still needs a good sergeant or two, like those lieutenants that'd get a little too optimistic in 'Nam, blow up their company. But he's got it. Don't know where he's pulling it from, but he's got it."
Brant
Marshall steps aside to let a woman pushing a carriage pass. “Oh, no, I don’t think he deliberately put his son at risk. Arch? No. I’m talking about the lack of judgment, tactical judgment. Not in, you know, any sort of troops-in-the-jungle-sense — judgment in the tactics of managing individuals. He’s thought about ‘people’ writ large for so long, I think it makes him, I dunno, blind to the finer points of the socio-dynamic matrix.”
“Anyway. You heard enough of this bullshit from me back in field. So hey, before we get back to John’s, how’d you rate unit cohesion at this point in time?”
Bill
“Well, man, that depends. What’s up with you and the Librarian? Seems like that’s the big source of tension these days. And you and Archie: lotta judgment going down. You bucking to be El Jefe?”
Brant
“She’s ... under review. It’s hard to notice, sometimes. Sometimes. But there is something about her that is off.” Marshall steers them down another street, away from John’s, toward the bright neon lights of Tad’s Steak House. “Here’s an example for you — she never used to go out in the field, right? Always locked away at Livermore. Then Menos shows up. Day one, she volunteers to go with you and her to the DiGiuseppe place. Have to ask yourself why? After that, it’s all routine work for a couple weeks, bang, a letter from a boyfriend in England who just happens to be experimenting with ... infected computers, or whatever? Whole team gets wiped out. A whole team!”
He goes on after a beat. "She's a brilliant researcher. Valuable. Well-trained. But it is not adding up with her. Keep an eye out. You'll see what I mean."
"Archie ... I thought about it. But no, I don't think so. We're on different tracks. Different aims. I couldn't do what he does; I don't think he even knows what I do. But his handling of the St. Francis — you're a loyal soldier, Roger, but you have to admit, that was fucked up."
Bill
"Yeah, man, it was unprofessional, and a little loose, but I'd say the situation was more fucked up than Archie's approach to it. Look, you want unit cohesion? Stop playing your cards so close to your chest all the time. This was a good start. Say shit when the shit is going down — learned that from gangs in East L.A., pretty sure it works here too."
Brant
Marshall smiles at that. "I'll keep that in mind. But Roger — you may be a servant to the gods, but you're not above the petty politicking of this world." He puts up his hands. "I'm not trying to sound ominous; it's just a piece of friendly advice."
As they approach Tad's, Marshall suddenly waves ahead at a woman. Roger spots her: she looks famous, familiar ... he thinks, isn't that the girlfriend from The Godfather? Yes. It is. She is dressed casually but fashionably, and is standing outside Tad's. She waves back at Marshall. "There she is. I invited her to join us for dinner; she's up at the Mission this week. Hope that's alright."
Bill
"Damn, man. You living the life. Nice to trail in your wake. I'll put the shop talk on the QT. Now, what do you think about amateur racing? You heard a little bit about what we're doing at Altamont, but I never gave you the full skinny." Roger will happily tell street racing stories to the "mixed" company as the evening's bit of socializing.
⌽ Helix, C.
Brant
The next morning, Marshall is waiting outside Charley’s lab when she arrives at Livermore. He gives her a mischievous smile. “Morning kid — we’re taking a skip day. Car’s out front. Grab your stuff.”
Mel
Can Charley get a detect lies? It’s odd Marshall is down here. Usually Archie would come collect her.
Michael
It is unusual for Marshall to be here at Livermore, never mind taking Charley somewhere, but the operation at the St. Francis has been over for a few days now, and with a bit of distance from the op, Charley is guessing that Marshall wants to chat about how things went, given that Marshall (well, and Sophie) were the only people never to get inside the hotel. Marshall might want to consult with Charley on aspects of the mission that Charley may have noticed while in the temblor zone. While this is unusual in the terms of Charley's ordinary "work" routine, given what just happened it's not out of the ordinary for SANDMAN (or indeed URIEL) procedure.
Mel
Charley looks at Marshall with surprise. “Really?! I’m ready. I’ve got my backpack. … Funny Dad didn’t mention a skip day. Will you be taking me home after? And where are we going?? Did you see the new ice cream parlor that opened up down the road?”
Brant
Marshall leads Charley outside. “Yeah, I left a note for Arch—Dad. He doesn’t know about this, though. That what makes it a skip day.” When they reach the glass double-doors of the main lobby, Charley can see Marshall’s Cadillac with Dave waiting outside, smoking a cigarette. A van idles behind him: Charley can make out Ethan, Jane, and a couple of the younger Special Ones behind the windows.
“Ever been to Disneyland, Charley?”
Mel
“DISNEYLAND?!! We are going to DISNEYLAND?!” Charley does a little dance. “No, I’ve never been but I’ve always wanted to! Oh! Marshall do you think we can meet Walt Disney?”
Brant
Marshall laughs as he helps Charley into the car. Dave gets in and they drive off. “Yeah. I have the jet waiting, we’ll fly down to Anaheim, spend the day, come back tonight. Doubt we’ll meet Walt, though. Maybe next time we can bring your dad with us — he could probably swing that. He knows Walt, I’m sure.” Unless Charley has specific things to discuss we can fast forward montage to later in the day — the charter jet to Anaheim with the Special Ones, who are lively and funny and playful with Charley, another car to Disneyland, rides, food, Marshall buying Charley a Mickey Mouse ears hat with her name on it.
Later that afternoon, once they’ve done the major things one does on their first visit to Disneyland in 1973, Marshall sends the Special Ones off on their own and grabs a seat on a bench on Main Street. Dave stands off a ways — within sight but out of hearing. “The general consensus is that this is one of ours. I don’t know if that’s true. It’s what I heard back in training — Disney, this whole thing, just a way of safely channeling the nightmares and compulsions left over from Their programming. But I just see a theme park.” He sighs. “But do you, Charley? You have the benefit of a fresh pair of eyes. What do you see?” He gestures around at ... everything.
Mel
Charley starts to take a closer look at Main Street. As she does, the song 'There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow' from the Carousel of Progress they rode earlier echoes in her mind. Everything here is so idyllic. It's easy to forget your troubles in this dream of a perfect place. It seems harmless enough. Then she notices one of the Three Little Pigs with the Big Bad Wolf staring in their direction. "It's hard not to love it here! But it's a theme park of dreams and wishes. And those things can be dangerous."
Brant
Marshall nods and smiles a little. "Yes. That's right. You're so ... perceptive, Charley. It must be part of the training, I imagine? Your perception. Mitch can sense things, Jo can too, in her own strange way. But you can really see things, can't you? You can see behind things. Like a bodhisattva."
He pauses, watches people walk back and forth for a moment. Then: "So, what do you make of Mitch's whole thing on the roof at the St. Francis? You two seemed to have had a dialogue of some kind."
Mel
Charley often thinks about Trouble. About getting into it, avoiding it, being in it, and getting others into it. To Charley, Trouble is a rough sea that she tries to navigate through without being sunk. In any case, Charley is not a snitch. "Oh? What do you mean? Did Mitch say something about me saying something? Because a lot happened, I'm not sure I remember."
"Oh! There's Micky!"
"Hi Micky!"
Brant
Marshall will beckon the Mouse over so Charley can meet him. He’ll have David snap a photograph, let Charley get an autograph if she wants.
Mel
"Over here Micky!"
Brant
Once the Mouse heads on his way to greet another family, Marshall pats the seat next to him for Charley to sit.
“Clever. That will serve you well as you get older — distraction, that is.” Marshall looks at Charley, and adopts a tone of overwhelming sincerity. “Charley, your loyalty to the URIEL team members is admirable. Loyalty is to be prized. But to be clear, you’re not going to get anyone in trouble. It’s my job to ... sort these things out, take people’s temperatures, evaluate how everyone is, hm ... doing. There are things I need to know so that we can all do our jobs going forward. And things I need to know for Granite Peak.”
“Besides — you only have to worry about someone getting in trouble if you think they did something wrong. Do you think Mitch did something wrong?”
Mel
Charley is looking a little too intently at the Polaroid as Marshall is speaking. When he finishes, she looks directly at him shaking her head. "Wrong?! I don't think so?"
Brant
"Well, then what do you think he did? He did something, right?"
Mel
"It was groovy the way he melted the Mattock of Enlil. WITH HIS MIND. I wish I could do that."
Brant
Marshall nods. His eyes darken. "What about your dad, Archie? Do you think he handled himself well at the hotel? Worried about him at all?"
Mel
Charley is visibly stunned. "Dad?! Nooo. He was super as always! Can we go home soon?"
Brant
"We can leave whenever you want! Do you really want to leave, though, or do you just not want me to keep asking these difficult questions?" Marshall adjusts himself in his seat, and faces Charley a little. He rests an arm across the back of the bench. "Charley, you are smarter than me, and probably smarter than anyone on the team. Your upbringing affords you insights into the human condition that none of us can fathom. I know you can answer my questions honestly, with the perspective of a true Sandman. I know it."
"The thing is, Charley," he turns away and looks at the crowd again, "I know what happened on the roof. In broad strokes. I don't know the details. But I know generally what happened. With Mitch. With your dad. Jocasta and the throne. And I know you know what happened on the roof. So when you say everything was fine, everyone was good — I know you're lying."
Mel
"Well did you speak to Mitch or to Dad about it? Because that would be the place to start."
Brant
Marshall smirks, and thinks. He stands up. "Alright. I guess I will. Want to hit up the Pirates of the Caribbean next?" He extends a hand for Charley to take.
Mel
"Sure!!" Charley takes Marshall's hand with a smile. Behind them on the bench is the photo of Charley and Mickey, but if you look closely, you can see the Big Bad Wolf in the background.
⌽ Hort, M. J.
Brant
At around 11 pm on the same night as Marshall and Charley’s trip to Disneyland, Mitch hears a car horn honking outside his home window. Marshall's down there, leaning against a Cadillac. His driver his honking the horn. He waves at Mitch.
Jeff
Mitch hustles out, because he doesn't want the neighbors to investigate. He hops in the back without pausing. When Marshall gets in, he asks "are we picking anybody else up? What's happened?" He thinks, but does not say, that he shouldn't have given SANDMAN his actual home address.
Brant
Marshall gets in. “Nope, just you and me. Interested in getting a drink? I’ve had a long day.”
Jeff
"Sure, man. Where you been?"
Brant
Marshall tells Dave to find a bar somewhere. “Anaheim. Took Charley to Disneyland. Didn’t work — the trauma of the Program, she’s too, I dunno, attached. Anyway! How was your day?” Marshall will light up a joint and offer it to Mitch, then make general conversation till they reach a bar.
Jeff
"Charley can be a lot. It's tough; you look at her and you think, oh, seven year old girl, what the fuck, why is she here, she should be in school learning about fractions, friends and slumber parties, right? What monsters are putting her in this environment, that kind of thing. But that's not really how it is. She's different."
Brant
“Yeah. Maybe. She’s different, yeah. But it’s hard to parse her — the kid from the Child. They were supposed to be these, I dunno, living arhats, the perfect weapon against them. Whatever. I’ve lost that one, I think. She doesn’t trust me and likely never will.” The car stops after a time and Marshall gets out to head into the bar. “Been here before?”
Jeff
Mitch shakes his head. "She doesn't trust you? What, she thought you would abandon her in the Jungle Cruise? Or does she think you're going to send her back to Granite Peak?"
Brant
Marshall holds the door open for Mitch. Dave follows and gets a seat at the bar, near the corner. Marshall says, “I think she thinks I will break up the family unit — us, URIEL. I doubt she any fear of the Peak. But she’s never had a family and she is displacing those feelings onto us.” Once they’re seated at a table in the corner, Marshall asks what Mitch is drinking.
Jeff
"Top shelf scotch, if you're buying. They got blue label? Charley's never had a family, yeah, I guess that's true. Kind of. But also, no. You know? I admit I don't know what her deal is, exactly. I mean, I have an idea. I don't know how it jibes with the chip in her head."
Brant
Marshall orders the drinks: Blue Label for Mitch, a beer for himself. After taking a couple swigs he says: “Well, anyway. You know what this is about, I’m sure — the whole thing with the hotel. Everyone’s been hyper assiduous about saying how great the whole thing went, nothing to see here, folks, Mitch did great, etc etc. Thoughts?”
Jeff
"Great? Somebody said great?
"All's well that ends well, sure. But it was a mess. Touch and go a bunch of times. I don't think anybody would say great."
Brant
“Oh, no, they acknowledge the situation was fucked. They just aren’t terribly introspective about it — what went wrong, what went right, who did what and why. The distinct sense I got,” he finishes the beer, “is that no one wants to be perceived as criticizing anyone else.”
“I guess I misjudged. From my vantage point — with that fucking writer screaming in my ear — it sounded like you almost created a new universe. Or turned ours into another one? But I guess that doesn’t ... trouble any of our colleagues.”
Jeff
Mitch has to mull that over for a minute. “Thanks for the scotch, by the way. Y’all don’t pay me enough...I should precede everything by saying that as near as I can tell Jo and Roger did great. I’m not overlooking any kind of screwups saying that, they did as good as anybody could have under the circumstances and Roger in particular deserves a ribbon for holding the whole thing together by himself for a hot minute there. Before the cavalry came.
"But, you want my after-action on the roof? I tried to do the exact thing Archie told me not to. Mostly because it hadn’t occurred to me to try to do it until Archie said not to try. I don’t think I came remotely close to creating a new universe. I don’t know where that description comes from, but you know how it is with some of this stuff, you all of a sudden have an elaborate backstory for a thing that just winked into existence five seconds prior.
"I didn’t think what I was trying was dangerous. Jo and Charley thought it was. Archie seemed to be fine with me giving it a shot. Roger was distracted, he was trying something else, it might have made the difference frankly, how do you judge that kind of thing? Anyway, I didn’t think what I was trying was dangerous.
Have we talked about History-C? I forget sometimes. Like how it’s easy to forget Jo hasn’t been with us as long as Roger and I have.”
Brant
Marshall stares at Mitch for a solid five seconds. Then he stands up and gives Mitch a hug, and says: “Thank you.” He takes his seat and flags down the bartender for a second beer. “MJ, do you know what it’s like to always be able to tell when people are lying? Like it sounds cool, right — but it is not. People lie all the time, just an endless fucking stream of bullshit about everything, Christ, it will drive you insane. And I come here, don’t know what to expect, gotta sort out what happened, dude almost created a universe, and you just like ... tell me the truth.”
“So what do you think you were doing, if you don’t think you were creating a universe? Like, can you explain it in terms I’d understand?”
Jeff
“I dunno, Maybe.
“I know things I can’t exactly explain how I know them. There’s different flavors of this, uh, secret knowledge. The one that I understand the least tells me I can’t create a universe. So, that’s that part of it.
“What I thought I was doing? There was this coin, that wasn’t a History-B artifact but acted like one. And there was this artifact on the roof, that was channeling History-B energy. I stuck the coin in the path of that energy, like putting a lens in the path of a laser beam. The pickaxe stopped doing what the Red Kings wanted it to.
“One reason I didn’t think I was doing anything dangerous was that the pickaxe had been spewing out History-B energy for a while, and it had, you know, done stuff. But it was slow. I had the coin up in there for a few seconds, not enough to shift the vector of how things were going all that much. I didn’t think. Still don’t.
“If you had the right kind of eyes I guess it looked really impressive.”
Brant
“That’s ... that’s fascinating, MJ.” Marshall marvels after a second. “If that’s true — if that’s how it works — it would make a lot of sense ... that it’s all about perception. Like you put on sunglasses and the world looks more yellow. Or when you put a prism in front of a beam of sunlight. The implications are ... “ he trails off. “Anyway. Since you’re being so forthright, where do you think things went south? With this last event, that is? Where did we lose the thread?”
Jeff
"We didn't go after Carl and Richie when I eyeballed them. Should have. I didn't think they were the thing, I was like, what can they do? That's my fault if it's anybody's but you do the best you can with intel you have.
"Then when I try to fix it by... when I get another bite at the apple, I don't get to them in time and they set off their weird ikoter thing and trigger the temblor. Roger and me, we just didn't quite have the manpower. If Jo had been with us at the start, then maybe.
"After that it was all firefighting. You heard about the tape of you and the statue, right? And the fucker Carl managed to do even more damage. I've been thinking about that one, trying to come up with some lesson to learn that isn't 'just execute prisoners immediately' because...well, you know.
"Once we were all on site and coordinating I thought we did a pretty good job, though. All things considered. Cleaning up the mess we — I — made."
"But don't let's forget to circle back to History-C and whether human nature bends intrinsically towards fascism, okay?"
Brant
“Human nature bends ... what?”
Jeff
"Put a pin in that until we're done talking about the con."
"I wanna know what you think about the Carl thing."
Brant
Marshall sits up a bit, then takes a drink. “Meaning, what? How we handled him? What we did to him yesterday? Or do you mean, my thoughts on how he went so, uh, astray in the first place?” (The “yesterday” allusion, as Mitch would likely be aware, was having Carl toss himself off the Golden Gate Bridge.)
Jeff
“We had him. He was dehydrated and weak. We left him alone because we didn’t have the manpower to keep somebody on him. He got out and he made the situation notably worse. Got that kid killed, maybe got the rooftop pickaxe thing going.”
Brant
“And do you feel that was your fault, somehow?”
Jeff
“When I say we I mean you and me specifically. I suppose it’s a question of manpower again. Might have been good to get some of those guys you had inside sooner. But that’s hindsight, right?”
Brant
“Well, we could have killed him, in the room. Thrown him out the window — an old standby. But he sounded shattered. Of course neither of us,” here Marshall sounds like he’s pushing back on any blame Mitch may be ascribing to him, “could’ve anticipated that the, ah, energy of the temblor zone would’ve ... invigorated him sufficiently to break out and do what he did. But your concern is noted.” Marshall says this with an air of, “next time, no survivors.”
“Those guys I had,” he continues, “only arrived late — after I’d learned that Arch had entered the zone, unauthorized, and things sounded like they had gone completely off the rails. I know procedure is a fungible concept in our line of work but he really ought not to have done that. It required me to call the boss, and get those guys ... which should never be a first option.”
Jeff
“Hey, man!” Mitch tosses his hands up. “I’m not advocating for a take-no-prisoners, shoot-to-kill, assume any hostile with a pulse is capable of bringing down... whatever, on us. It sounds like you agree, we made what seemed like the best choice at the time. It was one of a lot of choices we, and this time by we I mean all of URIEL, made during the mission that the mission might’ve gone smoother if we’d made other choices.
“Like, I don’t know about what Archie should or shouldn’t have done. The situation was well fucked by the time he got there, and it was good to have more boots on the ground. Monday-morning quarterbacking, maybe there was a better way to go. There almost always is.
“Lately we’ve been dealing with a lot of stuff that’s had a time crunch, resource crunch, everybody pitching in, all hands, right? Maybe we need some more guys like those guys...maybe not. That reminds me, what’s the plan with Viv?”
Brant
"The thing with choices is that ... well, that's why we're doing this, you see? Every decision made in the instant, unconsciously or perhaps half-consciously, is a choice — one must always be aware of the choices they are making, even in the heat of the moment. This is a learning experience: we know what choices led to what results. We have more information, now, about how to make different choices." Marshall finishes the second beer and lights a cigarette.
"Monday morning quarterbacking ... I've always found that term needlessly disparaging. There is no reason to think that one's ability to make decisions in the moment is any better just because of the circumstances in which it was made. Don't fall into that trap, MJ. We can always make better decisions."
"Viv, I don't know. No, sorry, I do know. We obviously have to tell her what her options are — I haven't talked to Archie about this yet, but I'm sure he'll agree, knowing him. She knows too much to simply cut her loose. So, recruit or clean up, I guess. What do you make of her? What do you think we should do?"
Jeff
Mitch looks uncomfortable for a second, like Marshall asked about his prostate.
“There’s a thing that we all in URIEL have in common. You, me, Roger, Jocasta, Archie. I thought that was everybody who had it, but Charley has it too. And now Viv. Viv has it. I don’t know what it is, I don’t know what that means, but, yeah.”
He shrugs.
Brant
Marshall smiles and half-chuckles, "Oh, so what, we're all one of the Special Ones?"
Jeff
“I didn’t say that. Maybe we’re all destined to die in the same holocaust. I don’t know.”
Brant
That shuts Marshall up for a moment.
"Nice, uh, shirt, by the way. I meant to comment on it when we picked you up." Marshall flags down another beer from the bartender. "So I gotta ask, Mitch ... what's your fucking deal, man? Do you work with us just because you feel like we all have 'something in common' -- this ineffable quality you can't describe? Or is it something else? Because you, someone with your perspective on things, I feel you don't need to be doing this."
Jeff
Mitch shrugs again. “I dunno. I mean, for a long time I was just sort of drifting, you know. Surfing, kind of. Letting the current take me wherever, and it took me here. It took me to the Oldtimer and to Houdini’s ghost, and I decided you know what? Fuck letting it take me places, it’s time for me to push back a little. Which I started doing in the hotel.
“I have an evil twin, supposedly, and they keep ruining crap and bothering me, and I just have too much skin in the game to drift along like somebody’s court jester.”
Without rolling Psychology or anything, it’s apparent Mitch is holding something back here.
Brant
"'With our thoughts, we make the world,' Marshall says, kind of to himself. "This 'evil twin' — you're not talking about a biological brother here, are you? You're talking about someone ... someone on the other side." He says this in a tone that suggests, "tell me more."
Jeff
"How much of the Oldtimer's story did you get?"
Brant
"All of it. Necessary for his deprogramming."
Jeff
"Then you know he remembered a handler, and he mistook me for that handler when we met.
"He's not the only one who recalled an agent of the other side with my face, back in... the 20s, I guess. Fifty years ago?
"You saw him on the potion bottle."
Brant
Marshall taps his cigarette ash into a tray and searches Mitch’s face for a moment. “That’s troubling. It lends itself to many theories ... is it a parallel you? A future you? Is it a feature of your, ah, special qualities — like, is there an evil twin Krane? Perhaps the thing the makes you special places you everywhere, at all times ... some version of you, anyway. It ties into this idea out of the Vedas — like if you forced a three dimensional object through a series of two dimensional planes, it is still the object, but divided across all the planes, and the third dimension is not visible to us.”
"Maybe that's what makes you and people like, ah, Krane ... special. Maybe you exist in three dimensions. And we," he gestures at himself and the people sitting around in the bar, talking to themselves, shouting at the TV, arguing, sulking, drinking quietly, "don't."
Jeff
“I dunno, man. It feels to me like we exist, or don’t exist, the same amount.”
Brant
"Right, exactly — that's what I'm saying." He pauses to let Mitch finish.
Jeff
Mitch hesitates before speaking again.
“When I went up to Mount Shasta weekend before last … it was a letdown. A bad trip, in the literal sense. Because I met a guy who claimed to be, I don’t even know for sure. A contemporary of my evil twin. He claimed that my whole, like, deal was orchestrated by his bosses, the Red Kings, because my evil twin went rogue and they designed me in all my 4D-vision, firestarting glory as a weapon specifically to hunt and kill him. Christ, it makes me mad just thinking about it. I wanted to talk to y’all about it but then the RFK posters showed up and it was just one thing after another.”
Brant
Marshall leans forward and rests his elbows on the table. He is plainly fascinated by this news.
Jeff
“It’s all smoke and mirrors and stupid games with casuality and retrocreation. That’s all History-B has, really, is dumb bullshit and brain-whammies.”
Brant
"Well, fortunately for you, MJ — smoke and mirrors and stupid games are the thing I'm best at." He smiles. "Keep me informed about this situation with the twin. I can help, or at least provide insight and advice. What you're describing, it's not so different from what I'm trained to deal with." He puts out his cigarette.
"I've kept you here late enough. I assume you'll take a ride home with us?"
Jeff
Mitch stares off into space for a moment. “Yeah, I guess,” he says. “You never answered my question, though. What do you know about History-C? Does human nature bend inevitably towards fascism?”
Mitch says this like it is one question phrased two ways.
Brant
Marshall looks up at the ceiling and places his hands in his lap. When he starts speaking again, he has a hazy sort of quality to his voice, like he's reciting poetry.
"Official policy is that there is no History C. No valid, demonstrable proof of any history besides ours and Theirs. But of course everyone has their theories. The Upanishads teach that the only real thing is our awareness, and that reality is just a matter of perception — a matter of psychology, really. You stack an infinite number of two-dimensional planes on top of one another. Are they different planes, if they have no 'depth', no third dimension, nothing to separate them? They're just there, layered on one another. Maybe it's like that, history piled on history, infinitely, forever, and we — you — can only access the ones nearest to us ... "
"As for human nature bending inevitably toward fascism," he pauses, thinking, "yes, I think it does. Because that's how they programmed us, you know? There is something in people that struggles with the directionless of our existence, the constant change, the apparent meaninglessness of it all — that anxiety manifests in a yearning to be controlled, guided, protected. Fascism."
"But I also believe human nature is malleable. That we do not have to be the way we are. The Gautama Buddha ascended, after all.”
Marshall shrugs. "I hope that answered your question."
Later, as Mitch is exiting the Cadillac at his house in his quiet suburban neighborhood, crickets chirping, a single streetlight illuminating the car, Marshall says: "Hey, thanks for the company and ... uh, weird question but, what's with this, ah, place? Kind of an odd neighborhood for, y'know. You."
Jeff
"Protective mimicry," Mitch says, and closes the car door behind him.
⌽ Ransom, A.
Brant
That Tuesday evening, Archie returns home from dropping the kids off at the movies. Jane is in charge; babysitting is part of her allowance. As he comes through the front door, he hears laughter and conversation in the formal sitting room. Stepping around the corner, he sees Melanie in an armchair with a cup of lemonade in her lap, chatting with Marshall, seated opposite on the couch. Dave sits in a desk chair near Marshall, also drinking lemonade and smiling politely.
Michael
Melanie takes a sip of lemonade after that raucous laughter. She even wipes a tear away with a handkerchief. "Oh, darling, I'm so charmed by Doctor Redgrave telling me all about that trip to Hollywood a few months ago. Why didn't you tell me that that darling man Jonathan Winters cried talking about Ransom Roundup? How touching!"
Brant
Marshall laughs and smiles, looking at Archie.
Rob
Archie constructs a big smile, like that Emma Watson GIF. "Hey now! ... What's ... all ... this?" He comes in to the sitting room, puts together whatever crumbs of explanation anyone chooses to throw him, holds out a handshake to Marshall. "Marshall ... Redgrave! Golly! And ... you've all ... met? What a treat!"
Brant
Marshall will defer to Melanie to explain, it is, after all, her house. He also shakes Archie’s hand. A firm, “long time no see, buddy!” handshake.
Michael
"Well, then, I will let you two have some time in the office and chat finally ... Mr. Rocco, would you like to watch anything on the television while you wait? Or a snack?" Melanie offers. "The lemonade is fine, ma'am, and sure thing, maybe we could switch on Hawaii Five-O?" (airs on Tuesday nights in '72-'73).
Brant
“Thank you so much Mrs. Ransom. I won’t keep him long — I know time alone together must be important as a parent.” Marshall waits for Archie to lead him somewhere.
Michael
So the choices for nominally private areas of the Ransom house are Archie's already-secure office, the garage, or the backyard.
Rob
Archie leads Marshall to his office/den. All smiles. (How does Kolob (the beagle) react to Marshall? I assume the cats are hiding or hostile, but does Marshall's charm work on dogs?)
Brant
Marshall likes animals, but they just react to him normally. Nothing special there. He’ll pet the beagle friendlily.
Michael
Kolob is an old beagle, and he assents to some jowl-flopping pets.
Brant
Marshall follows Archie. Once they are alone in the den, door closed, Marshall will find a chair and take a seat. “Sorry about that. But I figured as a fan of super agent spies you’d appreciate a bit of the theatrics, Agent Stone.”
Rob
"Agent Stone, yes of course, ha ha" Archie laughs, a little embarrassed. "No, it's quite alright, you just caught me off guard. I've actually been wishing I could have everyone over to the house, the whole team I mean, but of course ... it's complicated." A bit of a pregnant silence.
"So ... to what do I owe the pleasure?"
Brant
“Well, I just wanted to check in with you after that last operation. Get a sense of how you think it went, how the unit performed, you know. The usual.”
Rob
"Sure. Of course. Sophie told me you were making the rounds. Say, did you take Roger out for dinner with Dyan Cannon?"
Brant
“Keaton. But yes.” Marshall looks around the room, the framed blow-ups of old ad campaigns, the stacks of books and trade magazines. “My father had a room like this. Not the ads, of course, he was more into Impressionism. Anyway. So, yeah — thoughts on how all that went?”
Rob
Archie raises his eyebrows and exhales, a bit of a 'hoo-boy!' expression. "Well! This one hit close to home, didn't it? In more ways than one." He gestures towards an east-facing window, stares in that direction for a moment. (I'm sure we can't see the St. Francis from here, but it's only like 12 blocks away.)
"I haven't written up my report yet, but I spoke to Frank Stanton over the weekend. What I told him is just how proud I am of my team. I mean, you should have seen them in there, Marshall. Every one of them was aces. Facing down, what, three irruptors? Plus that lunatic Fletcher, and all the hallucinations, and keeping the civilians safe and sane? And Roger and Jocasta, all banged up but gritting their teeth and soldiering on. It was something to see. And you! Manning the store on your own, cordoning off the hotel, taking care of things in Berkeley! I really am humbled by the caliber of the people I get to work with."
Brant
“Yes. It is quite a team; I’d say unit cohesion is extremely high. As these things go, the operation seems to have solidified their social matrix. But Arch ... why did you go in? To the hotel? You know the protocol in these situations. What if you were compromised? What if you were captured?”
Rob
"Oh, that. Yes. I know that wasn't the plan, and I'm sorry I couldn't call in to you first. I really am. But... I didn't have any choice. My boy was in there." He says this like it's not a big deal, but also not debatable, just a simple fact.
Brant
Marshall nods. There is a long pause. The sound of a car driving by. Marshall crosses his legs.
“And how are you doing with the puppets, Arch?”
Rob
So that provokes a reaction that Marshall would definitely pick up on. More than just Archie's usual shyness re the puppets, he looks momentarily guilty, like he's been caught at something. Or rattled. "How am I ... why would you ... the puppets weren't part of this, Marshall."
Archie wants to change the subject, enough that he's willing to backtrack to the last sticky subject. "I know it wasn't protocol for me to go into the St. Francis. I take full responsibility for that. But, it was out of my hands. When you have kids of your own, you'll understand.
Brant
“I didn’t ask if the puppets were part of this. I asked how are you doing with the puppets.” Marshall sighs and stands up. He walks over to one of the framed ads and looks at it. “But I guess I have my answer.”
“When I started out doing these debriefings, I thought the thing I would most need to focus on — the person I’d be most concerned with — would be Mitch. What with that whole coin thing. But after talking with everyone, I think he’s the one I least need to worry about. At least from a unit cohesion perspective. I think the person I need to worry most about, Arch, is you.”
Rob
"The business with the coin … it was a tense moment. There was a lot of shouting, the hallucinations appeared very real."
"Now, I made a point of telling Mitchell he was not authorized to ... alter things. This was down in the ballroom, the whole team heard me. If anyone was going to write any of this up for Granite Peak, that's all they could possibly prove."
"But up on the roof, I realized Mitch had told me what he was going to do. In his Mitch way, I mean. And I saw that he was acting in good faith. So I kept faith with him. And it all worked out, didn't it? You don't need to worry about Mitch."
Brant
“I know that, Arch. I just said that. Everyone always thinks what I’m saying is some double entendres, an implication or whatever. I’m not worried about Mitch. It’s you I’m worried about.”
“Arch, this thing with your family — I know you come from a civilian background so you don’t have the, ah, grounding for this. But family and the work, they can’t overlap like they have been with you. Taking them to fucking England? Chasing your son into a temblor zone? At the company they’d retire you for that shit. Christ, when I called your wife to find out where you were ... she’s a damn mess, man. You’re not doing right by her, the way you’re handling all this.”
“And don’t even get me started on the bizarre Agent Stone thing. I could hear you on the radio before the roof. I could hear that wasn’t you, Arch.”
After a pause, he says: “Like, look at this, Arch. I’m here. Just walked in. What do you think that means about your operational security? What if I was I was one of Them?”
Rob
(That might trigger a Guilt Complex roll)
Michael
Yeah, I was just thinking that.
Michael
Here’s how we're going to do this. Marshall and Archie, Quick Contest. Marshall rolls Psychology, Archie rolls Will minus 3 (12). If Marshall wins, Archie gets the grand prize of Chronic Depression for FIVE days. Can't do anything without making the aforementioned Self-Control roll (or someone comes along in that 5 days with Fast-Talk or Psychology to buck Archie up).
First die roll other than Charley's Detect Lies in all these debriefs!
Brant
(To be clear Marshall isn’t trying to trigger a depressive episode or anything!)
WINNER? … Marshall.
Michael
Yeah, I am afraid to say that unless something comes along to change it, Archie's going to be Depressed for five days. Now I think this also warrants our first Corruption roll post-Mission 4, if you're okay with that, Rob.
Archie's got 56 Corruption. That means he's going to roll Will minus 5 (-1 per every 10 points of Corruption), which is 10. If he fails, he gets 2 points worth of Anunnaki/Corruption-related Disadvantages. Which I think we've already sort of tacitly agreed will likely be related to the Sebastian Stone puppet, if we're in agreement?
It will also bring his Corruption down from 56 to just 6.
Rob
Archie visibly crumples. "I know. I know. It's all getting sloppy. But … what's the alternative, Marshall? Live under an assumed name? Put Melanie and the kids into some kind of, witness protection? And Charley. My God. What kind of future can I possibly promise her?"
He looks hopeless. "I didn't know it would be like this. Nobody told me about bull-men and monsters when I signed on! Frank Stanton said I'd be doing the same work I was doing at the ad agency, but with a client I could really believe in."
"I just have to do a better job of keeping things in their boxes. That's all there is to it. Render unto Caesar, and render unto God."
Brant
Marshall turns around and looks at Archie with what seems to be obvious concern. He walks over and puts a hand on Archie’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Arch, look, I — the alternative is to be more careful, to plan better. We have resources, Arch. This isn’t something you need to solve, least of all by yourself.”
He gestures for Archie to take a seat somewhere. Then he takes one himself. “When I was growing up, my parents — I had no idea what they did. I thought my father taught Classics at Berkeley, for Christ sakes. Turns out they were both in the game, in their own ways, the whole time. Their whole lives. But I never knew. I never even suspected. Me, of all people.”
“What I’m saying is that there are ways of managing this, ways it can be done to protect your ... your family, at least. Second homes to send the family to. Maids and tutors to handle the kids. Interests you could encourage Melanie to pursue so she’s not always just waiting around for the phone to ring, getting suspicious that you’re having an affair or assassinating Soviet agents.” He smiles, hoping to elicit one from Archie.
Rob
"Mel has interests," Archie says automatically, then tries to think of what they are.
Brant
After a beat, he resumes, somewhat quickly. “One thing we can do that will probably make your life easier, logistically, would be to tell Melanie what you do. I mean, not really — but tell her that you work for the government in a clandestine capacity, you absolutely cannot discuss it further, but that is why you sometimes keep weird hours, and travel, and have such ... strange friends. It’s how we handle the spouses of high ranking people at the Company.”
Rob
"Maybe ... that makes sense," Archie says without much conviction. "I think she has her suspicions already." But he's touched by Marshall opening up, if that's what that was. "Thank you."
"But, what about Charley? Okay, maybe I should have read the fine print more closely, but she didn't choose this life at all. You know how SANDMAN operates as well as anyone. Can you see any way to get her out, I mean all the way out, of all this?"
Brant
Marshall blinks — perhaps the first time Archie's noticed him blinking since he got home.
"Arch ... Arch you can't — you can't say things like that. I mean, I guess you can to me, I just didn't hear it. But Charley — man, there are people so far above us who are invested in the Indigo Children Program, you have no idea. Millions and millions of dollars spent. Charley alone probably costs as much as a goddamn stealth bomber. They are not going to let her go. And if they hear you talk like that …
Besides, look, you have it totally backwards. You can't 'save' Charley any more than you can 'save' a bodhisattva. She doesn't need saving. She's better than us, don't you see? She's the next step. We can foster her development and make sure the enemy doesn't fucking blow her up, but at the end of the day, the only one who can save Charley is Charley."
Marshall goes to the door and opens it a crack, "Hey, Dave — could you run out to my car and bring my bag in? Thanks." He closes the door.
Michael
Dave hops to.
Rob
"But that's just … for gosh sakes, she's a child, not a weapon."
Archie pinches the bridge of his nose, sighs. "Can I tell you a story from my ad agency days?
Brant
Marshall nods “yes.”
Rob
"One of the first big accounts I pitched at Taggart & Young, my first shot at a national brand, was Minute Maid concentrated orange juice. And that's a swell account, Marshall. I mean, orange juice from a can, good as fresh, year-round, anywhere in the country? It's a miracle of science." A bit of Archie's normal animation comes into his voice when he's rhapsodizing about frozen orange juice, but it's fleeting.
"So Jack Ogilvie and I flew out to Houston, and pitched them something simple, wholesome and sincere. And it was a good pitch — I really do know when the memes are good — but they weren't going for it. And the client says to Jack, 'I thought this was the guy with all the crazy puppets.' Turns out he'd seen these old spots I did for Shasta Cola, thought they were clever, asked for me by name. And the Shasta spots were clever. They were wild, Enki and this goony puppet called the Count, lived on the Mountain of Many Flavors."
"I told the client, 'Well, sure! You have to pull out all the stops when you're making ten-second spots for a downmarket regional soda that, forgive me, tastes like Listerine. 'We're number two, we try harder,' right? To be honest, Shasta wishes they were number two. But you, you're Minute Maid! You don't need to try so hard. You know why? Because everybody likes orange juice. The product sells itself.'"
"Talked myself right out of a sale. Minute Maid said thanks but no thanks, went with McCann Erickson, got bought out by Coca-Cola eight months later."
"I've been saying since I got to Livermore, half of SANDMAN's troubles — I mean on the memetic side of things, what do I know about tactics or tradecraft, obviously — half of our troubles come from trying too hard. All this mad science and skullduggery. Millions of dollars? On poor kids like Charley? We're History A, Marshall. We're orange juice. The product sells itself."
He falls silent.
Brant
A polite knock midway through the story. Marshall goes to the door and takes a black leather bag from David. He turns to Archie. “Can we step out into the yard?” He places the bag on Archie’s desk.
Rob
Archie's not sure where this is going, not sure what he thinks of Dave, but: of course. Gestures the way to the yard (back yard, I assume - the front yard is kind of a postage stamp).
Brant
Marshall follows Archie out into the back yard. He looks around appreciatively. “Nice — you’ve done a nice job.” He walks toward the middle of the yard and gestures for Archie to follow. Once there, he says. “So, look, piece of advice: never say anything you don’t want ... people to hear inside. Yards are good. Parks. Parking garages, sometimes.”
“Arch, you can think whatever you want about SANDMAN’s methods but your story doesn’t hold up. You lost the account — the orange juice didn’t sell itself. If we could sell History A without the ‘skullduggery’ or whatever you call it, we wouldn’t wind up with situations like the St. Francis. This isn’t a scenario where we win through deescalation.”
“Look, here’s the reason I brought you out here. There are people at the Peak with an eye on you. You. To maybe ... replace Stanton.” He pauses to let that sink in.
“What that means is that you have to be careful with what you think, and what you say, and to whom. OK? And this kind of talk ... it’s not good, Arch. If we could keep History B at bay just by subtly reminding people that History A is the orange juice, we would. But people, as individuals, are broken. They ask questions. They feel things we can’t control. They want things that the Kings programmed them to want. A lot of people hate orange juice.”
“Do you understand?”
Rob
"I understand what you're saying about security and surveillance and all that. I think you're wrong about individuals. It's mass culture that's sick, not single souls. But that might be a conversation for another day. I know my campaign would have moved more orange juice. Just like I knew all along the memes were going to work at the St. Francis! We only had to give them hosts, and time."
Archie looks around the yard. The grill's already out, there's a red-white-and-blue plastic tablecloth on the picnic table, the house is half decorated in patriotic bunting. "Look. In light of everything you're saying. Is it crazy to have everyone over here tomorrow? To use the barbecue to put the question to Krane and … Abeille? I thought it might put them on the back foot a bit, but now … Maybe I should just cancel."
Brant
Marshall shakes his head. "Archie ... the other thing I came out here to tell you, I wanted you to hear in the open air. Under this beautiful sky."
"Look, when I started out this week's debriefings, I didn't know where they would lead. I knew the Mitch thing was important, and that I needed to talk to you about ... all this. But do you know what I found after talking to everyone?"
"They love you, man."
"All of them — they are so loyal to you. It's like nothing you see in our — my — line of work. Real unit cohesion. They respect you, and they respect that you went into that temblor zone to save your son. They're proud to work under you. Do you realize that?"
"No one else could lead URIEL. I couldn't."
Marshall's tone has a softness to it. Almost hypnotic, but just shy — a nudge of neurolinguistic programming, but not a push. "We can't cancel tomorrow. It's too important for the work, and it's too important for the unit. Everyone is going to show up here tomorrow and you know what they are going to see? A brave, intelligent, savvy man with a beautiful house and a beautiful life — a life that you created."
Rob
Again, even if he is being manipulated, Archie is touched. "Well, shucks, Marshall. I'm not sure it's really about me. I think they all know how important the work is. But... that's all awfully kind of you to say. Thank you. Truly."
Depression alleviated for now, Archie starts thinking about the barbecue, strategizing. "OK, so we'll put the question to Abeille — Viv — and to Krane, tomorrow night. Genevieve is going to accept, Andrew will beg off for some reason."
Archie looks Marshall in the eye, his equilibrium returning to him, gives him a sincere smile. "And don't forget, Marshall: You're orange juice, too. Disneyland, on a private jet? You don't need to try so hard."