The Zero Day Proposal [04of10]
What will be Daniqua's answer to The Zero Day Proposal?
#2.2//TWENTY_THIRTY_SATURDAY
Daniqua integrated new information.
Lau's summary corresponded with the details in the dossier.
Mostly rich whites. 6 out of 9 in IT. Counting Brickner family unit as one, 6 out of 7.
LaMango stood out as an anomaly in that regard.
Both he and #Rando had dumb-ass names.
Probably not relevant.
Harry Brickner's connection to his family might be significant and his prior connection to Earl Kine was unlikely to be random. Brickner and Kine were computer programmers. No records of direct communication in the last 5 years, but had been friends for over a decade. Being the only two in the room who had met previously, they were the most likely to have some identifiable lead.
Perhaps there was a past project or a common enemy that would link them to the others.
Markov had identified her occupation and lack of wealth as anomalies. It was a possible sign he knew she wasn't on the list, but his assumption didn't come out of nowhere. Choice of career had been volunteered by her, and financial status could have been logically inferred. She made a mental note to probe deeper with them and be less unguarded with her own info.
When Perspecting, Daniqua often found utility in actively paying attention to things that did not stand out to her. Forcing her focus in vectors opposite the directions to which her mind was naturally drawn. The more unassuming facets in her primary lens were Brickner's wife and child.
Daniqua sat in a chair in the lounge beside the Brickner family. “Hi,” she said to Wesley. “-I'm Daniqua. What's your name?” She heard her own voice and realized she was addressing a 10 year old in a verbal tone suited to a toddler.
The kid was Ideo-Emotively non-plussed; facial musculature remaining inanimate.
She avoided kids for most of her adult life out of fear of triggering a biological awakening that could make her want one. She had almost no experience engaging children.
Mrs. Brickner nudged her son. “Wesley,” he said begrudgingly.
“Sorry, please excuse my son. He's a Sagittarius like his father. Forgets his manners and is irritable without access to the net.”
Daniqua replied, “Ain't no thang. I imagine we're all a bit grumped by now.” She meant it. 100ft underground. No tech. No connections to the outside world. Without a job to focus on, she too would be bored stiff.
She had been habitually reaching for her cell every 5 minutes since it was taken away.
The causal factors of her headache were 50/50, bike accident and the beginning of withdrawal from the dopamine the device had trained her to regularly secrete.
She empathized with the kid.
“I'm Linda Brickner. This is my husband Harry.”
Harry pleasantly grinned through his orange beard. “Hi.”
“How long have y'all been down here?” asked Daniqua.
“Here, together, only a couple hours,” answered Linda. “But prior to this, all of us have been interrogated multiple times since Thursday evening,” she looked at the Washington clock, “-almost two full days now.”
Daniqua noted the clock read 8:25. She was officially late for her previously scheduled Match-Meet with Nebunezzar1995. Important to her not long ago; comically so, compared to her new priorities.
Mr. #Rando joined the group in the lounge. LaMango took his seat opposite Mr. Forbin in the dining quad. The rest of the group exchanged theories about their incarceration. The idea they were unwilling participants in a hidden camera stream came up a couple times.
“Paranoid one already look for camera. He find no camera.” assured Mrs. Lau.
It was true. There were no recording devices in this vault. Wasn't time to set any up. Too deep for wireless. Air-Gapped. A single retrofitted comline panel existed in the ceiling above the lounge. The room was a time capsule from a simpler past.
A variant of the livestream theory, was they were subjects in an illegal government psychological experiment. Unlikely as it was, Daniqua acknowledged the details she possessed could still conceivably fit that narrative.
She recalled one of her father's more frequent aphorisms: 'All of us are spectators.'
Daniqua felt as though she were being watched. She took a controlled breath and expertly excised the paranoia contagion attempting to colonize her. She updated her perspects. Everyone was growing tired. None of them betrayed any knowledge that they shouldn't already have. She was not yet converging upon a cohegent standpoint.
#2.3//TWENTY-ONE_TWELVE_SATURDAY
Conversation had begun to lull in the lounge when all attention in the room was pulled toward a commotion emanating from the dining quad.
“-AND FUCK YOU!” LaMango shouted, responding to something that went unheard to those in the lounge. Forbin sat unphased by LaMango's aggressive stance over him. He nonchalantly took a long haul from a hand-held vaporizer, looked LaMango in the eyes, then blew an opaque plume directly up into his face.
“You bloody TWAT!” LaMango slapped the vape out of Forbin's hand sending it tumbling to the floor.
The Russian expat bounded to his feet and the two men began to grapple.
Professor Markov chastised from the comfort of his chair “Gen-tle-men!”
Forbin and LaMango tangoed for a bit. Forbin took the lead with an uppercut. Their dance steps ungracefully turned horizontal and they proceeded to roll around on the linoleum spewing rhythmless obscenities like a sad rap-battle between a couple of middle-aged white men with zero flow.
Mr. Kine and #Rando rushed over to break up the fight. Kine pulled LaMango away, and #Rando restrained Forbin. LaMango continued to wildly struggle, blindly elbowing Kine in the face, sending him falling backward. Daniqua hurried from the lounge, positioning herself herself between LaMango and Forbin.
LaMango lunged toward Forbin, fist raised. Daniqua grokked him; clenched jaw, forward tilted head; glassy, crazed eyes. All signs conveying his intent to strike at or through her.
She sidestepped his wild swing, grabbed his thumb, and twisted it inward. Controlling the leverage line of his body's momentum to effortlessly flip him on to his back, slamming him into the ground.
Winded, he gulped emptily. His thumb and possibly wrist, broken.
Still controlling the thumb, Daniqua planted a knee on his chest, pinning him to the ground. “Just chill,” she said.
LaMango stopped struggling. His rage replaced by confusion and pain. Remaining flat on his back, he caught his breath and began to sob. Daniqua released the pressure on his chest and let him go.
Forbin displayed his open palms and raised his eyebrows in surrender. He assured his calm to #Rando, then scooped up his vape from the ground and joined the rest of the group in the lounge.
LaMango got up, and made an attempt to smooth his suit jacket. He stopped when he realized his thumb was broken. “Oooch!” he said. His good hand swept back his yellow hair, then clasped his injured wrist. Head sinking, he exiled himself to the sleeping area and laid on a cott.
Peace returned to the room.
“What the fuck was that about?” Asked Harry Brickner to Forbin. “Yeah. What the FUCK was that about?” echoed Wesley.
Linda's freckled face frowned, directed first to her husband, then to her son. “Shut up Wesley!” The Brickners said in unison.
“I really don't like that guy,” answered Forbin. Brief explanation, but enough to satisfy everyone's curiosity.
LaMango remained verbally silent but could be heard exaggeratedly huffing from the other side of the room.
Kine remained sitting on the floor of the dining area, gently rubbing the cheek that connected with LaMango's elbow.
Daniqua helped him to his feet. Even with him standing, she could almost see her reflection on the top of his bald head. He was five-foot-four at most.
“Thanks for taking care of that. Strength is not one of my strengths,” said Kine.
“No worries.” replied Daniqua.
They sat across from one another at a table in the dining quad. Kine smiled, but did not look Daniqua in the eyes. Not embarrassment; no flush reaction. He was just pathologically shy. His avoidance of eye contact afforded her the opportunity to deeply perspect him. Left ear noticeably larger than right, which protruded at a greater angle.
Not just bald and short, but also excruciatingly unsymmetrical.
Clean shaven, but would probably benefit from a beard to hide his chin deficit and the cluster of lumpy moles on his neck, half-way between his bulbous Adam’s Apple and large left ear.
Kine compulsively fidgeted with his hands, rubbing his thumbs delicately along the tips of his fingers. Somewhere slightly to Daniqua's right he asked “Where'd you learn to fight like that?”
Daniqua's dad had insisted she learn self defense. She smiled at Kine, then answered, “Weekly Judo classes from age 5 to 15,” glancing over her shoulder toward LaMango, she added, “-thumb locks were my favorite, actually.”
“I wanted to do Ka-ra-te. Mom wouldn't let me.” A childhood grievance emerged. Reflecting from the present, he sided against his previous self. “Was probably for the best.”
Incorrectly interpreting Daniqua's look in his direction, LaMango got up and approached the table like a wounded dog. His calm was noticeably enhanced. “I apologize for my behavior. I feel awful.”
“It's A-OK,” said Kine.
“No. It's not OK. I am deeply ashamed, and I sincerely ask the both of you for forgiveness.”
“I forgive you,” absolved Kine without hesitation.
“…just don't be trippin' again,” said Daniqua.
LaMango lightly curtsied and skulked back to his cott cradling his injured hand. He made no attempt to apologize to Forbin.
Once LaMango was out of earshot, Kine whispered, “Cocaine.”
Matching Kine's gossip volume Daniqua asked, “…what?”
Kine hunched inward. “When I arrived here he was ranting a bit about Mr. Forbin having a vaporizer, and yet he, Mayor LaMango, was not given his medicine. Clarified shortly after that he meant cocaine when he asked if anyone 'might maybe perhaps be holding'. He's been without it for over two days now.”
“That makes sense. Probably buggin' cause of withdrawal. But-”
“But?” Kine asked.
“-but, still an asshole.”
“I don't think he'd disagree with that assessment. You don't have any addictions, do you?” he asked.
Platinum Space Cookies, her favorite Sativa Dominant Hybrid came to mind, triggering her reminder to avoid further personal questions. “Aside from dairy products, of which I'm 18 years clean… no addictions,” she answered. To keep him talking about himself she asked, “What about you?”
“I enjoy grilled-cheese sandwiches and a chocolate milkshake every now and then. No addictions though, unless you count Sci-Fi TV shows.” He nerdily snorted. Laughter serving to express delight at his own joke and signify that he had made an attempt at one. Daniqua smiled, finding his idiosyncrasies more entertaining than his humor. “So, you're a philanthropist?” she asked.
“Yes, I suppose I am. Really though, I just signed some papers. More knowledgeable people decide how to best make use of the money. I hate the idea of lawyers and government fighting over it after I'm dead. Better to transform my luck into measurable good while I'm still alive.”
Daniqua identified with that. His attitude toward wealth was admirable. “I feel the same way,” she said, clarifying, “I mean, might not have the cash to help directly, but that's essentially why I became a teacher; to do good by helping people learn how to best help themselves.”
“Help is good,” he affirmed.
Psychometrically, Kine was a high functioning NeruoAtypical. And, by most physical metrics, an objectively unattractive man. These factors were likely what led him to develop as quirky and timid. Still compulsively fidgeting with his hands, he grinned and only briefly made eye contact. His bright green eyes accentuated his shy demeanor. Daniqua continued to probe and flesh out his perspect profile.
“How do you know the Brickners?”
“Harry and I went to school together. After that, we worked programming projects. A few different tech companies. Before today, hadn't seen one another for a few years. Harry moved to Houston to start his family about 10 years ago. I settled in Tallahassee.”
Daniqua again found herself leaking information, “Oh cool, I am from Dothan.”
“Dothan, Alabama,” recited Kine encyclopaedically. “Two hours North-West of Tallahassee by automobile. Peanut capital of the world.”
“Ha ha. You know it?”
“Yeah, never been though, nice place?”
“I wouldn't say it is nice.”
Kine continued to fidget, alliterating to himself, “Daniqua from Dothan. Daniqua from Dothan.”
He looked toward the lounge. His facial features contracted and ears went back giving the impression his face had become slightly more symmetrical; a puzzling thought had overcome him. “Dani… from… Dothan.” He said.
Ceasing to fidget, he reached out and gently touched Daniqua's hand resting atop the table. He again lowered his voice and said, “Something very strange is going on here.”
Daniqua was intrigued. “Whatcha talkin 'bout?”
“It struck me as strange, that Harry and I are the only ones here who know one another. But I just realized something even more odd,” he looked toward the lounge again, then back toward Daniqua's hand, “-we know each other as well.”
Daniqua would have remembered meeting him. Where was he going with this? She studied him for tells. Scrutinizing him, she asked, “I don't remember meeting you. Why do you think you know me?”
He used his index finger to repeatedly trace an invisible line between them, “We know each other.” His expression grokked as equal parts sincerity and surprise.
“How?” asked Daniqua.
“Online. We used to talk on relay chat. You were DANIKUN85, alternating caps, I was ULTRA underscore 34RL.”
Her internal monologue was disrupted; replaced with a void of shock; frighteningly filled with a feeling of familiarity. He did know her. And more distressingly —she knew him. “O-M-G,” she spelled.
While growing up, Daniqua moved frequently due to the nature of her father's work. She got to know the world broadly, but not deeply; found it hard to maintain friendships. The early internet enabled ULTRA_34RL to be a consistent part of her formative years. They were online friends, but lost contact when she went away to military college. Their pseudonymous chat server closed down while she was away. They did not reestablish contact.
Daniqua hadn't forgot him.
Decades old memories of text-only exchanges bubbled to the surface of her consciousness. Shooting the shit about everything and nothing at all. Hours upon hours of idle conversation; mind-melds over 56k modem.
She reeled trying to sort out the salience of this development.
Surely this couldn't be mere coincidence? Ajaarg said this operation was part of a sealed contingency scenario designed years ago. Only those with Top Secret Pentagon clearances could access them. If not a coincidence, then she didn't know what. Too many subsequent questions arose simultaneously.
“I'm having trouble… wrappin' my head around this,” she said, restraining the full extent of her surprise. She struggled to integrate the mental image of her estranged chat partner with the man who now sat before her. His odd sense of humor, his tangential engagement, unresolved issues with this mother; it had seemed familiar because she already knew him.
The information was reluctant to reconcile even though she was sure of its truth. “Ultra Earl. What the shit is going on?”
“I wish that I could tell you. My connections to Harry are well known publicly, but you're someone I only knew in relay chat, over twenty years ago. We never even knew each other's last names. It is a total puzzle. Boggles the mind.”
Quite a boggle indeed. Her mission was thrown into question. If her assignment was not confidential, or not random, then what else had Ajaarg lied about? Was a satellite even missing? Might this actually be part of some test?
Daniqua plunged into deep thought.
She reminded herself that not every coincidence was significant. She would have never known had he not volunteered this information. There was no reason to suspect him. Yet. She wanted to explain how complicated he had just made things for her; that the inexplicable coincidence as he saw it, was even more perplexing from her standpoint.
“I think we should keep this to ourselves, at least until we know more about why we're here,” she said.
“Not even Harry?”
“Just between you and me,” she answered. Earl remained silent. His face flashed concern as though such a secret might be a burden.
“…Earl?” she prompted.
“I'll keep our past a secret for now, Dani.”
Still not meeting eyes, he held out his hand and shyly smiled sideways. “…weird situation aside, I'm happy to meet you, Dani from Dothan.”
Shaking his hand she said, “Ditto.”
Their reintroduction ritual completed, his nervous mannerisms reasserted themselves. He began absentmindedly rubbing his thumbnails with his middle fingers in tiny circular motions.
Daniqua's temples throbbed.
Head injury, dopamine withdrawal, or uncertainty?
If their connection to each other was pertinent to the list and the satellite, then the whole operation was blown from the beginning and Colonel Ajaarg could not be trusted. If just happenstance, then sharing that detail might derail the investigation.
Or maybe something more complicated.
Her mental labor was interrupted; the steel door at the other end of the room clicky-clanked then creaked open.
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