Viv Visits the Mission
Brant
“Lows around 65 tonight. Clear skies. Tomorrow, more of the same, looking at a high around 77, clear skies. Alright folks, up next we've got something a little new for you from the UK — keep that dial on 98.5, K-O-M-E.” A woman chirps in a sing-song voice, “kay oh em meeee.” Then, “Life on Mars” comes on the radio. The Abeille family pulls off a one-lane asphalt road onto an unmarked gravel driveway. The driveway is deliberately winding and surrounded by wild growth; visitors cannot see far ahead, or really anything, until the last turn, when an ostentatious Gilded Age mansion emerges into view. The immediate grounds are well kept; the family passes a group of 10 or 12 people sitting on the front lawn, in a circle, seemingly meditating. An elderly Black man prunes a large floral shrubbery with gardening sheers. There are several vehicles parked under the elaborate portes-cochères; Friday afternoons are a popular check-in time, and there is much hustle and bustle as attendants -- most of them kids, seemingly in their early 20s, a bit hippie-ish, a bit counterculture -- retrieve luggage, valet cars, and guide people through check-in. A beautiful, bleached-blond woman steps out of a chauffeured town car and is quickly whisked away inside just as people start to notice her. It is Lynda Day George.
As the Abeilles park their car in the line of vehicles, an attendant runs out and opens the passenger-side doors. Behind him, walking without any hurry, a warm smile on his face, is Marshall.
He is dressed like this.
Mandy
This is Viv's fit.
But the top is a dusty rose and the accessories are lilac.
Charles is out here.
Doing his best.
Tommy
Portrait of a young stud.
Carolyn
A promising young lady.
Mandy
Viv is noticably starry eyed at the facility (she doesn't have any cynicism, lol) which is sort of funny because you've seen her file and she has traveled pretty extensively, but Viv seems to have, well, a near infinite innocent joie de vivre. As she gets gracefully out of the car she gives Marshall a winning smile and a warm hug. "Marshall! Thank you so much for having us. What an absolute paradise you've created here" she motions to the family who are taking the place in, her young adult children both look with a centered presence beyond their years (looking a good deal less starry-eyed than their mother), while her husband a bit … Well, he doesn't seem awkward or unhappy... just like he's not in any rush to perform social niceties. Charles comes around the car and introduces himself with firm handshake before stepping back, Viv motions the kids over. “Carolyn, Tom; this is my friend Marshall Redgrave, Dr. Red, our gracious host for this wonderful weekend.” They both give strong pro-social greetings.
Brant
Marshall hugs Viv, warmly. His handshake with Charles is equally firm, perhaps surprisingly so given his appearance and demeanor. "People always say this but truly, a pleasure to have you and your family here. David," Marshall gestures vaguely and Dave, his body-man, steps forward, "can gather your luggage. And this is Sunshine," he gestures to a perky young blonde carrying a clipboard, "my right hand woman. If you need anything this weekend just pick up any phone and ask for her. Let me give you all the tour!" He makes an "after you" gesture with his hands and then leads them down the driveway.
Michael
Charles gives Marshall a firm Silicon Valley business handshake, saying back, “A pleasure, good to meet you, Doctor.” He follows Marshall, walking side-by-side/arm-in-arm with Genevieve. (I’ll wait for a moment to bring the kids in where they’d feel likely to engage; they’re probably treating this as a weird combination family vacation/luxury getaway and have their own interests to pursue once they've seen the Mission facilities, so I figure they’ll be introduced to Marshall and keep themselves in silent spectator mode until something grabs them.)
Brant
“Please, please, call me Marshall.”
Michael
"Marshall. Absolutely."
Mandy
"A tour? Delightful!" Viv just flows with what's happening right now, taking it all in, happy to get the tour. She'll make a little small talk on her way into formation as they make their way down the drive. "Sunshine, wonderful, you must be quite skillful to facilitate a place like this."
"David, thank you so much! Would you pass me the small attache there? I'll carry that one." It's genuine and there's also a sense that this is how she gets a feeling for people/the world around her.
Brant
Viv — if I may be so bold — gets the impression that Marshall’s staff are treating her with a degree of deference she wouldn’t normally expect in the circumstances — like they have been told she is a VIP, perhaps, or someone to whom they may need to defer. Marshall politely points things out as they head down the drive and into the grounds. He leads them up to the elderly Black man the family spotted on their way in. He is still sheering. Marshall claps him on the back gently and introduces him to the family in a grand tone, like he is the man they have all, naturally, come to see. “And this … is Zeb! Zeb, you know, fought at Belleau with the Marines. Plays a bit of guitar! Isn’t that right, Zeb?” Marshall smiles a wide smile.
Michael
"Doc," Zeb smiles widely at Marshall, and then at the Ballard-Abeilles, "Welcome, folks. Just about the most beautiful place on this Earth, the Mission. I do hope you enjoy your stay here and if you'd like a tour of the gardens, well, I ain't been here long but I know just about every inch."
Mandy
Viv smiles. "I would love to tour the gardens once we're settled; doesn't that sound nice Charles?" I can't recall if Viv has heard of Zeb from any of the URIEL people. Also … are there any other Black people here? Are there, like, Get Out vibes around Zeb?
Brant
(I leave the answer to that to Mike! The part about Get Out vibes — there are, indeed, other Black people working at the Mission, though only a handful.)
Michael
(I don't know if Zeb's name has been spoken around Genevieve at this point, I'm guessing not but Mission 4 was so long and had so much discussion! Also I would imagine that the clientele of the Mission is vastly majority white; I don't know if there are more Black workers than just Zeb, that's Brant's call. In any event, the old gardener seems a bit dotty, but generally amiable. Also Brant, I didn't think that Marshall added memories of Zeb working at the Mission longer than having been here since the end of March, but honestly the work of wiping History B from his memory was probably so intensive that the path of least resistance would be to make him think he was un-homed right up until Mitch brought him to Marshall's attention. I don't see a lot of reason for Viv to be suspicious of the Oldtimer. But Marshall mentioning he was a veteran... there's that military-intelligence complex rearing its head again. )
Brant
Marshall smiles. "We'll let you get back to it, Zeb. Take it easy." He squeezes Zeb's shoulder and leads the family onward. They tour the central campus, Marshall pointing out facilities and introducing them to guests and staff. Eventually, they arrive back at the main building. Ethan — one of the Special Ones — is waiting for them there. "Ethan, I think you know Viv, is that right? If you don't mind," he turns to Charles, Tommy, and Carolyn, "I'll have Ethan show you to your rooms while I steal Viv away for a moment. Would that be alright?"
Michael
"Sure thing, Marshall. I'll get us all settled in, honey," Charles says, kissing Genevieve on the cheek and taking any of the remaining bags and going off with Ethan and the kids. Charles has been sort of vaguely aware that New Things are brewing for Genevieve after last weekend at the convention; first the barbecue at the Ransoms', then her taking the day off from work at MRI for a day out at Livermore, now this... Charles probably feels that either some kind of collaboration between Dr. Redgrave and Genevieve is in the offing or maybe even a new job offer... so he's aware that some of what's going to happen this weekend is going to be one-on-one conferences.
Mandy
Viv waves Charles and the Kids off. "Nice to see you Ethan! I hope you're doing well! Of course Marshall, of course." He has her full attention.
Brant
Marshall leads Viv down a path through the woods, limping as he goes. In time they reach a small pond. He takes a seat in the grass, cross-legged. “Thought we ought to get the business out of the way so you can enjoy the weekend.” A pause. “When we first learned about you, I thought you would be trouble. Natural — we call them innate — neurolinguistic practitioners are rare, and a lot of them are insane or corrupt. They don’t know what they’re doing but they can do it intuitively, which — if they don’t escape the opposition’s notice — can really, well, fuck you up. Plus there’s the fact that you and Andy’s whole conception was orchestrated. Maybe even retro-created.”
Another pause.
“To be quite frank, I still don’t know what to make of you. You could still be an enemy asset, witting or not. You could still be a part of the Old Man’s plan. But I’ve given it a good deal of thought, and even if you are — even if you’re recording all this for the Kings, or the Soviets — I don’t have a lot of options.”
“Teams like ours get assigned people like me to monitor for internal threats and to maintain unit cohesion. But I’ve bungled something along the way here; the rest of URIEL doesn’t trust me, especially the girl. The techniques and processes I learned at Granite Peak don’t work on them — I think it’s the conditioning we go through, I think it inures them to the Voice. And I lack the natural … I don’t know, empathy you do. The deeper understanding of what makes them tick. It’s a difficult situation.”
“So I have two propositions for you. The first is that you help me with the team, and with the girl especially. They are all so obsessed with helping her, fixing it, liberating her, I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I guess I just don’t get it. I don’t think she needs saving, but the rest of them, they see a child — hell, Archie sees his dead son … and she might be his dead son, or some part of him. And I am not equipped to help them through that. I think with your natural abilities and training you might be.”
“The second is I’d like you to come work here. You could be like a,” he waves a hand absently, “guest lecturer or something. Whatever you want to call yourself. It’d be helpful to have you around — as you saw, we are quite busy — and it would also give you cover with your family for having to spend so much time with us, with the team. Which you will be. Obviously we’d pay you more than whatever you’re making at MRI, if that’s a concern. MRI isn’t what it used to be, anyway. And you’d have the freedom to pursue your interests here knowing that the CIA is watching you, rather than having John just secretly send your findings off to Langley every quarter.” He smiles. It is hard, even for Viv, to parse whether he is kidding or not. She suspects not. “But of course the choice is yours, and you don’t need to make it now. If you want.”
Mandy
Viv pauses for a time. A long, long time, looking out over the lake, and at Marshall in his surprising vulnerability.
"It's a drastic change of pace from the basement, I will say that." Viv is wistful. "I do think I can help you with the team Marshall. If you're open to what it would take to build real cohesion, trust and safety. I see this as entirely achievable from a psychodramatic perspective, the energetic and organizational polarities need to be balanced out, the care for Charley and the fact that this work is literally not child's play need to be brought to the surface and integrated. We'll have to work closely together, you and I, if you want me to be able to bridge the issues with the team and build their trust for you... if they're going to believe me, I have to believe in you." She looks off into the distance like she's letting what she's feeling arise naturally as a suggestion between them.
"If I work here we could do regular sessions together, if you're amenable. You can't keep them together without something to hold you together … I think it would help you immeasurably to thrive in your already tremendous capacity for actualization" She pauses "say, Marshall, could I get a sports car? It's a heck of a commute."
Brant
“The guru’s therapist. Clever.” A grin. “Well, we will see — there is going to have to be a fair amount of feeling each other out here, if it is to work.” A pause. He is revealing something. “I had an instructor, when the Project tapped me, he always said that the weakness in the NLP program was that we too finely tune the phenotypes. You make someone a synthesist and they lose the ability to relate to others. You make someone a projectile empath and they stop trusting their own feelings. Maybe the way out of this is to combine our strengths. Which will require trust. Easier for you, perhaps, than me.”
“Anyway,” he stands up and leans on his walking stick, brushing his pants with his spare hand, “for the car you should talk to David. He’s a car guy, he’ll handle it for you. Walk you back?”
Michael
As Marshall heads back to the central cluster of Mission buildings, Sunshine flags him down outside of the administrative building. Sitting in Marshall’s office is one of URIEL/Livermore’s regular secure couriers (I'm figuring URIEL piggybacks off the same ultra-secure Atomic Energy Commission security resources as Livermore Labs). The courier has an attaché case handcuffed to him, and of course Marshall has the key. Marshall opens the case, and sees inside an inter-office envelope and memo from Jocasta.
Brant
Marshall dismisses the courier with a wave as he reads the memo.
Marshall –
I’m sending this report via courier because I have concerns about the security of the telecoms at Livermore. Please burn upon reading.
The situation with the implant in Charley’s brain has become critical. It has become clear to us now that it is acting, at the very least, as an observation and recording device, with the ability to store input from her own sense organs. This is obviously a very large security risk until, and possibly after, we discover who put it there, and makes confidential conversation around her very risky. Additionally, it is causing her significant stress. She has approached both Roger and me about what to do about it; Roger summoned one of his loas, who gave her some advice that I found a bit cryptic but when she seemed urgently to need, and she asked me to read the chip psychometrically, by which I obtained a vision of the chip’s initial implantation that gave me significant cause for concern (see attached sketch). There is also the matter of the recording of Houdini’s brain pattern and personality on the chip, which I do not fully understand but which cannot be helping.
Research into the specifics of the chip, both historical and technical, continues, with both Archie and I investigating and Roger assisting Charley, who has taken temporary counter-measures against the chip, in the creation of a safe room/Faraday cage. However, this represents not only the obvious security risk and psychological and physical stress on Charley, but an unwanted disruption, I feel, in Archie’s leadership abilities due to the personal nature of his relationship with her. Confidentially, I believe he is in denial about the scope of this threat.
I do not believe this situation is sustainable in its present form, and that the chip must be dealt with before we continue with any further projects. My suggestion is that we continue our work here at Livermore; that you inform Genevieve of the situation in hopes that she can help Charley cope with the stress and uncertainty, especially in light of Sophie’s departure; and that the entire URIEL team convenes as soon as possible in a secure location to discuss our strategy moving forward. It is my sincere belief that this is a serious threat to our operations and must be addressed sooner than later.
Please contact me securely or via private courier if you need to discuss further. Thank you for your time.
Respectfully,
Jocasta Menos, Spec/6
Operation URIEL, Livermore
Brant
Marshall takes a lighter from among the weed paraphernalia and burns the memo over a trashcan. When it is ash, he sits down on a pillow, cross-legged, and stares off into space. Later that weekend, he conveys the memo’s contents to Viv near perfectly from memory.
Mandy
“Jesus. Okay."
More playfully: “it never stops with you guys, huh?”
Brant
“Preserving a coherent, human-friendly world-line is kind of a full-time thing, yes.” He smiles and then veers off to glad-hand a wealthy, bohemian looking NoCal tech-lord.