Personal note
After thinking it over these last few days, I've reminded myself that they can't be everywhere, obviously. If they were really omniscient, they'd never have let me find out. Likewise if they were omnipotent.
What I'm trying to tell myself here is, they can kill me (and they will if I'm not careful); they can destroy not only all the evidence I've collected of what they did, but all the evidence that I ever even existed; but they can't make me never have existed. They can't even make everyone forget that I existed.
But just in case they can, and this journal somehow survives the purge: my name is Jennifer Landers. I was, until a few days ago - I still am, as far as most people know - a loyal member of Team Tomorrow. (If you, whoever you are that finds this, don't remember T2M, then they must have wiped out all traces of our existence once they'd gotten whatever they needed out of novakind and killed us all off.)
Then I took a job inspecting Novelty Consulting's Calcutta office for traces of Teragen infiltration. I wound up tracing one of the Novelty middlemen back through about six miles of false trails. He had "orders to cooperate" with at least three elites, including Pursuer (the ex-US Army guy who's trying to be Pax's arch-enemy in the face of Divis Mal's continued refusal to rise to Shelby's bait). So I started hopping along his contact trails to find out who was paying those three, and why.
It turned out Utopia was paying them. I recognized some of the names at the end of the paper trail, and they're names on office doors in the Addis Arcology, right down the hall from T2M Central.
Those names were also on papers that authorized lacing adrenocilin with chemicals that I know are sterility-inducing, in doses that (like the adrenocilin itself) could only be necessary for us novas. Those names were on a coded message about the Rashoud facility in Bahrain: something about "detention and treatment" and "Mazarin-Rashoud disorder". Those names were on the funding going to the groups they send us T2Mers to Kashmir to fight.
It was like watching X-Files with no lights on, except the Cigarette-Smoking Man looks like your boss. And it looks like he wants you dead, at least once he stops having things he needs you alive to do.
If I sound incoherent, it's because it doesn't make sense that they're trying to kill off novas. But if there's any other explanation, I won't be able to see it until I know more. If I ever do. (Oh, and André? Fuck you again, and not in a way you'd like, for that smartass remark about orbital mind-control lasers.)
What I'm trying to tell myself here is, they can kill me (and they will if I'm not careful); they can destroy not only all the evidence I've collected of what they did, but all the evidence that I ever even existed; but they can't make me never have existed. They can't even make everyone forget that I existed.
But just in case they can, and this journal somehow survives the purge: my name is Jennifer Landers. I was, until a few days ago - I still am, as far as most people know - a loyal member of Team Tomorrow. (If you, whoever you are that finds this, don't remember T2M, then they must have wiped out all traces of our existence once they'd gotten whatever they needed out of novakind and killed us all off.)
Then I took a job inspecting Novelty Consulting's Calcutta office for traces of Teragen infiltration. I wound up tracing one of the Novelty middlemen back through about six miles of false trails. He had "orders to cooperate" with at least three elites, including Pursuer (the ex-US Army guy who's trying to be Pax's arch-enemy in the face of Divis Mal's continued refusal to rise to Shelby's bait). So I started hopping along his contact trails to find out who was paying those three, and why.
It turned out Utopia was paying them. I recognized some of the names at the end of the paper trail, and they're names on office doors in the Addis Arcology, right down the hall from T2M Central.
Those names were also on papers that authorized lacing adrenocilin with chemicals that I know are sterility-inducing, in doses that (like the adrenocilin itself) could only be necessary for us novas. Those names were on a coded message about the Rashoud facility in Bahrain: something about "detention and treatment" and "Mazarin-Rashoud disorder". Those names were on the funding going to the groups they send us T2Mers to Kashmir to fight.
It was like watching X-Files with no lights on, except the Cigarette-Smoking Man looks like your boss. And it looks like he wants you dead, at least once he stops having things he needs you alive to do.
If I sound incoherent, it's because it doesn't make sense that they're trying to kill off novas. But if there's any other explanation, I won't be able to see it until I know more. If I ever do. (Oh, and André? Fuck you again, and not in a way you'd like, for that smartass remark about orbital mind-control lasers.)