19 – Alignment

Well over an hour passed, along with the arrival of half a dozen more agents, before they deemed that they’d done enough initial testing, scanning, and note-taking to feel safe enough to move to the next step.

Ryan was called back, and everyone stood at the rope line – though, amusing, someone had bumped into the Agent Bob doll. Now the blank-faced sim was facing the wrong way, staring at a flower bed rather than the statue.

Curt chose his spot carefully. Not too close to Carmichel, as to not seem overly friendly in the presence of Ryan. Close enough to the agents to not look like he was separating himself but far away enough so that he didn’t appear standoffish and rude.

Such a simple thing that required so many little thoughts.

If he lived to forty, he would be grey from worry.

Jones – who had piled her hair up into a messy bun – did the report for the assembled think tank. She stated that they had full scans but couldn’t positively identify it as anything other than “weird”.

The next step was to see how it responded to blue.

Cygnus, now sans his silver tie, pressed a button on a machine and a mechanical arm slowly slid forward, an open plastic tray of blue sloshing gently as it moved.

It wasn’t until the tray was just under two metres from the statue that the blue started to react, the sloshing becoming more intense like it was being pulled by a tractor beam.

The arm stopped extending, but the blue kept moving, building up a rhythm, each wave intensifying, until one broke above the lip of the container, splashing into the air.

Instead of crashing back down, it rose, twisting and spiralling, drawing more of the blue from the container as it did. Then, catching the sunlight, a thin thread extended from the spiralling, suspended blue.

The thread then attached itself to what had probably been the wrist of the statue before millennia of decay had worn away the detail.

The thin strand slowly wove itself into a bracelet around the wrist. The blue lit up as it took shape, becoming bright and neon, standing out, even against the overhead sun.

Cygnus grabbed Jones and shook her arm, bouncing up and down with very, very childlike glee, a complete one-eighty from the sober Central agent Curt had first observed.

Without moving his head too much, he slid his eyes to look at Carmichel and saw his friend grinning at Cygnus’ reaction.

Even if it had been pure coincidence, they had the right man present.

A few think tank members conferred, then slid a second plastic container down the mechanical arm, where it docked with the first, and began to transfer its payload of blue into the first container, feeding the suspended spiral.

As he watched, several lines of bright blue pulsed in the wrist of the statue, extending up from the bracelet. Some seemed to line up with where veins would be. Others ran along the cracks and planes of the carved stone.

Something had changed.

He blinked a few times to be sure, but the murmuring of the agents seemed to agree – the statue was healing itself. Worn and cracked stone began smooth and detailed again. Broken pieces slowly filled out. Wind-blown surfaces started to reflect the sun.

The face became far more human but still minimal. It wasn’t Michelangelo’s David. There was no delicate curl of hair, no detail in the eyes. More like a mask than a real face, but still far more than what had been just minutes before.

Even that was interesting, if what he remembered from Carmichel’s stories of the Lighthouse Theory. The fact that it looked identifiably human, rather than like some blank, Stonehenge-like slab, meant that it wasn’t the earliest sentry that had been created. Rather, it was a few steps down the line towards creating the first fully ambulatory agents.

The shape and form of the statue was easier to make out now, just a person standing with their hands crossed at their waist. Neutral. No hint of clothes. This was from a time well before the Agency had uniforms.

Cygnus had tears quietly streaming down his face.

Jones looked like she’d won the lottery.

Ryan looked like he was wondering how much paperwork the day would entail.

The spiral stopped spinning, allowing some blue to fall gracefully back into the container. The rest stayed as a thin, glowing band around the statue’s wrist, slowly turning like a thin hologram from a cyberpunk game.

Blue light flared in its eyes for a moment, then died, and all was silent and still.

‘As much as I want to be the first across the line, I’ve seen too many movies of scientists rushing and getting killed for their impatience. Bob, Bob, sweetie, come here.’

Agent Bob turned from staring towards the flower bed and stepped up to Cygnus, who gave a quiet command to the doll. Bob stepped over the rope and went to stand beside the statue, his blank face not reacting at all.

That was a good sign, Bobs could feel discomfort if the option was switched on. And, as he had described the initial symptoms as a headache and vertigo, it would have been stupid for the think tank not to turn on visual indicators.

‘No loss,’ Cygnus said, ‘no reaction.’

‘Is this where I come in?’ Curt asked. It had failed to kill him twice, so a third time didn’t feel like much of a risk. There was no harm in pushing it a little, though. He looked at Ryan. ‘Make it a four-day pass, sir?’

‘We can get someone else if you don’t feel comfortable-’ Ryan began.

Curt stepped over the rope.

It wasn’t an active wish to die, but sometimes he just wished things could be over.

The statue remained inert, his head didn’t throb, and the world didn’t spin under his feet. ‘Nothing,’ he said as he turned to look back at the agents. ‘I feel fine.’

As soon as the word “fine” was out of his mouth, Cygnus crossed the line and rushed to touch the statue.

Curt backed up and away, knowing he’d served his purpose, and made room for the techs and experts as they all stepped over the rope one by one.

Ryan walked over to him, his usual perfunctory smile on his face. ‘I’m sure they appreciate that,’ he said. ‘It keeps the circle of people who know about this small. I’m not sure if Carmichel has explained the significance of this, but it would be appreciated if you could-’

‘I can keep my mouth shut, sir. I get that it’s an important archaeological find. I’m not even sure who I’d tell.’

‘That’s appreciated, Recruit. Your work retrieving Callington was also appreciated. Magnolia had nothing but praise for you. In her own way, of course. You’ve come a long way. I don’t regret your transfer here.’

He felt his expression go as blank as Bob’s as he tried to process Ryan’s words. ‘Th-thank you, sir,’ he said, not sensing an ulterior motive to them. A genuine compliment. An atta-boy from the man it was necessary to keep happy.

One tiny positive bit of progression in his recruit career.

‘The aide position isn’t one I’m looking to fill. But there are pieces of administration you could learn if you want to take on duties above and beyond what are currently expected of you.’

‘Anything,’ he said, too quickly, too eagerly. ‘Yes, of course. I’m happy to help.’

‘I’ll send you through something by close of business.’ Ryan nodded and went to talk to Jones, who was excitedly calling him over.

His Genie phone buzzed.

{That looked good,} Carmichel had sent.

{Yeah,} he sent back, {I think it was.}

On the day he’d transferred to Brisbane, the medical agent in Adelaide had told him to work hard, find ways to atone, and find the reason he was still breathing.

This wasn’t that. Not yet.

But maybe it was a reason to breathe a little easier.

And that was enough for now.