Vita Per Nex, pgs 1-4

At 12-point font, these are pages 1-4. I'm trying to cut it up into readable bits. I wasn't sure how to start, so I jumped right into it.

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“--- that case, increased Family involvement with all civilians, at all levels is ---”

“--- not the case, and you know it. While we all recognize the importa ---”

“--- doesn't have to be ---”

“You don't have to look so bored.”

Her grip on her hips tightened just a little bit more. “I have better things to do that listen to the Elders bicker.”

“You generally do. You're not even in uniform.”

She turned to him. “It's not required.”

“It's a matter of respect.”

“When are we going to the Centre?”

He sighed. “As soon as your attitude improves.”

“We'll be waiting a while. Besides, they employ non – citizens now.”

“You are such an elitist bitch.”

He got a soft snort as she brushed past him, and watched her hips sway as she walked out of the Counselling Chamber.

*

The Medical Centre. Earth's largest, most state – of – the – art medical facility. The most brilliant medical minds were gathered there and trained, their natural skills honed to be the best humanity could offer its sick and wounded. Doctors, surgeons, geneticists --- every medical skill was there, housed in one huge complex.

“. . . easy target . . .”

“Stop muttering to yourself.”

“It's a freaking easy target,” she said loudly, pulling her hood down, pushing the nowee door open and throwing her long legs out, taking a moment to stretch before standing up. The Director was already on her way to them, a professional smile on her face that was tinged with relief and hope.

“Would you shut up?”

“Then stop making me repeat myself.”

“General Mischa, Admiral Leland. I'm so glad you were able to make it today.”

“Director Chopra.” Mischa stepped past her counterpart and offered her hand to the other woman, a warm smile on her lips as Leland not – so – subtly rolled his eyes. Tradition dictated that the first person addressed led the conversation. That person was generally Mischa. “It's our pleasure.” She squeezed Chopra's shoulder in a gesture of familiarity that made the older woman flush. “Please tell me some good news. Your daughter?”

“My grandson was born healthy, thank you.” The trio made their way up the cobblestone path, the Director looking up occasionally as lightning flashed through murky orange clouds. “Progress has been slow; mostly eliminating what doesn't work. Our guests ---”

A split second of increased air pressure, then two sets of arms pulled her off the path and into the mutated rose bushes lining it. The tops of the bushes were sheared off by the blast, and everything was still for a few seconds. There was a secondary round, and all three slowly counted down. After two minutes of stillness, Mischa popped her head up and surveyed the damage. A six foot wide circle had been blasted out of the pathway, measuring probably a metre deep at the centre A smaller hole was a few yards away from it.

She looked over at Leland and arched an eyebrow. “I got there first.” Leland's arms lay over hers as they both held Chopra to the ground. The woman was staring up at them with wide eyes and a pale face.

“Shut up. Are you all right, Director?”

“Ah . . .”

“She'll be fine.” Mischa stood up as security officers started to rush over. She pulled Chopra up by the arm, brushed her off, then left the woman to Leland's care as she climbed into the first hole.

“Oh, for the --- get out of there, Mischa!”

“What? It's a hole.”

Leland was glaring at her as he passed the Director to the officers. “You do not need to play in every hole you find.”

“I'm not playing.”

“Then why are you making a pyramid?”

Mischa looked up from where she squatted. She was perfectly still as she considered the question and her available responses. Finally, she settled on “I like pyramids.”

“We have work to do. Play in radioactive holes later.”

“It's not radioactive.” Mischa climbed out before Leland could reply, then grinned at him. “But your face is.”

He wasn't amused. “May we go inside, now?”

“Have it your way.” She gave a dismissive wave as she walked off.

*

Word had spread. The lobby was filled with not-quite-gawking patients and doctors as the two Family Members walked inside with Director Chopra between them. After the containment doors slid shut they reached up and removed their helmets. Mischa shook her hair out as she unzipped her containment suit and ran her fingers through the silky black strands. Leland put his hands on her shoulders and helped her slide it off of them, the top of his own suit already around his waist. Their fingers entwined slightly, then Mischa stepped forward and completely out of the suit. Leland started folding it as she reached back and held his own suit while he stepped out of it.

Micah watched the pair as they folded their suits and handed them to an aide.

“Family Members certainly know how to make an entrance,” he muttered to himself. He could have sworn the short scene had unfolded in slow motion, choreographed to the beat – driven music that was playing softly. The complete silence in the room made the music sound louder, and the two Officers demonstrated their genetically enhanced hearing as they both looked at him. The lights on his board flashed in greeting as his brain sent signals down the neuron links that connected him to his station.

Mischa stalked toward him with an easy smile on her lips, and he sighed. “How much community service did that earn me?”

Her eyebrows went up in polite incomprehension. “Guilty conscience, Micah?”

Synapses fired and a delicate hand reached out to scratch his eyebrow for him. “Never, General. I would never insinuate that the Families are all a bunch of show – off's. Hello, Admiral.” He nodded to the man with laughing eyes, who coughed gently.

“Nice hand.”

A brief light show indicated a shrug. “Can't get an intern to scratch me when I itch. Had to go with the next best thing.”

Leland watched Mischa get bored and turn to survey the crowd, a knowing smile on her lips as they backed up, flushed, looked away, or did a combination of the three. “Director Chopra's recovering. Is the Board ready for us?”

“I watched the show. Nice reflexes; the General won this time?”

Leland scowled as his partner approached a young woman in purple and struck up a one – sided conversation. “I don't want to talk about it.”

Micah's lights laughed for him as he nodded. “Someday, Admiral. Yes, the Board's on its way.” He added it in a hurry at the look Leland gave him, but couldn't resist the fire. “That was her best pyramid yet, I think.”

“Micah, five hours,” Leland snapped.

Mischa didn't even look over. “Rescinded.” The fan girls had grouped around her --- why was it always the women? --- and only the exceptional height afforded to Family Members let Leland see her.

“Three.”

“Rescinded.”

“Ten.”

“Rescinded.”

“You're going to overload the CSS again,” Micah pointed out.

Mischa and Leland both paused, then each subsided as the Board of Directors entered the lobby. Connected to the Family Members, military officers, and the police force, the Community Service System was designed to immediately log service hours handed out by the authorities. Micah was on a first – name basis with it, and it had been overloaded more than once by Mischa and Leland going back and forth, giving him community service hours and taking them away.

“General Mischa, Admiral Leland. Thank you for taking time out of your schedules today.” Director Haugen offered his hand and Mischa pushed away from the wall and through her fan girls. More than one of them meeped, jumped, and blushed as she passed them.

She shook it firmly. “Our pleasure, certainly. Is Director Chopra recovered?”

“She's just a little shook up,” Haugen confirmed, “but she's not injured. Thank you.”

“The containment suits aren't designed to withstand a direct hit,” Mischa shrugged. “Otherwise I would have shoved Leland in the bolt's path. They took the shock wave incredibly well, however. Your designers have done a good job.”

The man was flushing with pride. “Thank you, General. The praise will be relayed. Now, shall we start the tour? Our guests have been a wonderful asset.”

“They gave us the initial formula,” Mischa remarked. “I should hope they would be an asset.” She glanced at him and smiled soothingly. “I know what you meant, Director. They have an easier time on Earth than we would have on Venus, until the Underground is up and running.”

“And the progress on that . . . ?”

“Confidential,” Leland replied, and his hopeful look faded. “The personnel transfers will continue as planned,” he continued, and Mischa fell back behind him. He spared her a glance before concentrating on Haugen and the other Directors. “Only the Elders know who's getting transferred to Venus, and when. Are the guests here at the moment?”

Haugen nodded. “They're experimenting outside right now. The, ah . . . special guests . . . are working with the plant life.”

He didn't look comfortable, and it was no surprise. The elite caste from Venus put even Family Members on edge. Their abilities cut a bit too close to home, and trust came hard these days.

“We don't have a choice,” Leland reminded him gently. “Have there been any more outbursts from the staff?”

Haugen shook his head. “No. We keep them away when the special guests are . . . doing what they do.” He looked behind them. “General Mischa . . . ?”

“She'll find us,” Leland assured him. “Now, about the initial tests . . .”

*
*
*

Medical anecdotes dating from the late 22nd century indicate a radical shift in disease treatment, resulting in innovative treatment and preventative procedures. The long – term effects of these new breakthroughs, though mostly helpful, sometimes only served to worsen the illnesses they were intended to cure. Madison's Syndrome was the result of an attempt to cure ---

Lori sat back and rubbed her eyes as gently as she could before glancing at the next screen. The formulas were still being calculated, and she reached over to correct an error in one before clenching her trembling hands tightly. She could feel the headache beginning behind her eyes. Her glasses were no longer adjusting their brightness, so it was just a tension headache; a simple dose would help to ease it. A snack might help even more. Lori pushed her chair back and stood with a yawn and a stretch. After all, it wasn't slacking to eat on her lunch break. The law required her to take a longer one than other people, anyway. She wasn't mooching or abusing the system. It was simply bad for her health to exert as much energy as someone without Madison's.

She didn't have to like it. Which was exactly why, Lori mused as she stepped out of the lab and into the rest area, she worked on her own projects through most of her breaks. She wasn't allowed to know anything but the basics of the tests being run by the other geneticists and the guests, but she could make conjectures of her own and run her own hypothetical experiments. It also gave her time to run through everything ever done to cure Madison's Syndrome.

The young doctor sighed as she filled a small plate with finger food. A glass of juice was next, and then she made her way back to the lab. She stepped around an upright body scanner, looked up, and screamed softly as she jumped back and almost lost her grip on her food.

There was someone standing between some equipment. The lights were too dim to make out anything other than their general shape, and there was no way anyone could have gotten in without the door chiming and alerting Lori. Her computer beeped softly; the formulas were done running, but Lori was more concerned with the person in front of her.

“I'm sorry,” she started, but her soft voice broke and she coughed. “This is a restricted area,” she began again. “You need special clearance to be in here.” How fast could she get to the alarm? Surely the Benders hadn't gotten to Earth itself?

There was a soft, amused snort. “I know,” a low alto replied. It sent not – unpleasant shivers up Lori's back, relaxing her racing heartbeat. There was a calm, reassuring authority to the woman's voice, no hint of violence to her pose, and then she inclined her head. “My compliments, Dr. Tencha.”

The door slid open and Lori flinched as the sudden light hit her sensitive eyes, too quickly for her glasses to compensate. When she could see again she sat at her computer and reached her hand up, hesitating a moment as she tried to decide what to do. What were the procedures when an unknown person entered a special clearance area without tripping any alarms or alerting the occupants?

She brought up the room's security menu and scanned through it; the only logged authorized entry had been her own. Logged? Lori frowned and leaned forward, her nose almost touching the screen's field. So . . . were there unlogged authorized entries? And who could do that? She passed her hand through the screen's magnetic field and watched as it responded to her presence.

Security clearance insufficient for this operation.

Lori leaned back and rubbed her eyes gently before she reached for her food and started to nibble. Insufficient clearance meant that there were unlogged entries. She tapped her fingers on the desk. Who would have the clearance for an unlogged entry? If it was the Director, maybe ---
--- or something to do with the guests and their experiments. Had someone found out what Lori was doing? Was she not supposed to? She only had access to the original formulas and no one had questioned her when she asked for them. Micah even asked her how the progress was coming along once in a while. Had she unknowingly violated a rule or agreement she hadn't known about?

Of course, not knowing about the rule or agreement would make her violating it an unknowing action, so that entire last train of thought was redundant.

Lori shook her head and rubbed her temples. She had ten minutes left on her lunch. She could either go bother people about this mystery, or eat. If she bothered people about what had happened, the most probable outcome was that she would be told she didn't have a high enough security clearance to be told what was going on. She also wouldn't get to eat, which meant that when she did go back to work, empty – handed, she was going to pass out.

Lori hated how weak her body was. She sighed, resigned, and tucked into her food.

----

To be amended when I amend it.