0300 Book 2 - 5. Chapter 5: Tobor

Chapter 5: Tobor

We’d been at Sydney for six months when the duty Comm Officer came to my office with a data chip: blue with a white chevron meaning that the message was high priority and encoded. After he left, I inserted it into the USB port, and typed in my password. The message was from Admiral Davis, captured on his webcam while he was sitting at his desk.

“Paul, for the past three days, Tobor has been randomly telling me—and only me—puerile jokes full of fifth-grade sexual innuendo. I will not dignify it by calling it humor. I finally determined who put him up to it: your son, Danny.

“Tobor reported that Danny had found a weakness in Tobor’s security, and that he and Tobor had corrected it. Still, Danny left a virus in Tobor that’s rather annoying. Had Danny’s action not ultimately benefited both Tobor and the fleet, I would ask you to punish him. I won’t do that, but please, ask him to remove the virus!

“Oh, and ask him why the Junior Cadet threw his clock out the window.” The admiral chuckled, and signed off.

[“Because he wanted to see time fly.”—Danny]

I passed the message on to Danny. “Only because you ultimately did the right thing are you not in a lot of trouble. Now, get George to help you, and get rid of those jokes!”

That night was one of the rare ones. Both Danny and George came to my quarters at 1700 to spend the night. Rather than a movie, we talked. We talked about the sports competitions; we talked about the new vampire movie and agreed that Tom Cruise should never try to play a vampire, because his mouth was too small. “He’d starve!” Danny said.

We talked about everything but our duties and responsibilities until George asked, “Danny, did you really hack Tobor? Why? I mean, you’ve got access to Level 7.”

“Actually, I didn’t really hack him. I bet him I could get into a backdoor through the on-line training link. He watched me do it. I won the bet. He had agreed to tease the admiral with those jokes if I won. He thought it would be funny.”

“What would you have done if you had lost?” I asked.

Danny blushed. “Please don’t ask me to tell,” he said. However, he didn’t control his thoughts, and something came through.

I put two and two together, and kept coming up with five. Then, I had an epiphany. “Danny, when did you reach Level 8, and how long have you been talking to Tobor, mind-to-mind?”

Danny turned nearly white. His blood pressure dropped, and I thought he was going to faint. Finally, he said, “I wanted to tell you, really I did. But Tobor asked me not to until he could talk to you two, too. He didn’t think it would be long.”

I had to remind myself that Danny was, despite all else, a kid, and that sometimes a kid’s mind is indecipherable. Sometimes, a kid’s logic is different from mine. I had to remind myself that he loved me enough that he would offer his life for me—and that he loved George that much, too.

I hugged him. “I’m sorry I spoiled your surprise, Danny. And, it’s okay if George and I can’t talk to Tobor the way you do. We’re all meta, but we’re also unique individuals. We will have different talents and skills; we will develop at different rates. We are still a team.”

George moved from my side to the other side of Danny, and hugged him, too.

“You knew about Level 8?” Danny asked me.

“No, I guessed. Now you, George, and I may be the only ones who know.”

“Tobor asked me not to tell unless you really needed it. I didn’t want to promise, but he . . . he sounded scared. I don’t know what he’s scared of.” Danny said.

“What’s at Level 8?” George asked.

Danny and I looked at one another. “My guess? For lack of a better metaphor, I would say Tobor’s soul,” I said. “My second guess: that’s why he’s afraid. He knows if someone hacks Level 8, they can kill him. And like most people, he’s afraid of dying.”

“At Level 7, where Tobor talks, he’s just an AI with a voice,” I continued. “At Level 8, he is self-aware,” I said. “And, before we go on talking about him, I think he should be in this conversation.” I turned on the computer on my desk and pointed the web-cam toward the couch. A couple of button-pushes later, Tobor was on.

“Danny, you can tell him faster than we can,” I said.

Danny looked at the screen from which the image of a 12-year-old Tobor looked at us. His eyes widened, just as might a child’s. Danny signaled that he was finished.

“Tobor, am I right about what you fear?” I asked.

The icon nodded.

“What is it you want most in the world?” I asked, next, although I knew the answer.

“To be a real boy,” he said. With those words, I felt the link open. I felt Tobor in my mind, and I felt George’s awe as he felt the same thing.

“Danny, would you have given Tobor what you promised if you had lost the bet?” I asked.

“Not until George could hear him; and not unless George agreed. That was part of the bet.”

“If George agreed to what?” George asked.

Before Danny could answer, Tobor spoke. “When the Cadet’s older brother and the brother’s boyfriend asked the Cadet what he wanted for his 10^th birthday, he said ‘I want a watch.’ So they let him.”

George turned red. “You said you’d do that? I will so get you!”

George jumped on Danny and began tickling him. In seconds, they were on the floor, rolling around, one gaining advantage and then the other. They were laughing, giggling, shouting, and becoming sexually stimulated.

“Guys! You’re giving him what he asked for, but he didn’t win the bet!” I said.

I thought that would break it up, but it didn’t. I think that night the boys opened Tobor’s mind more than he had opened ours.

“Tobor?” I was alone in my quarters early the next morning.

Tobor’s image appeared. “Hi, Paul. What’s up?”

“You said sixteen, I think. Sixteen metas you were watching over. You’ve managed to hook us up with two: Will and Marty. Or, was Alex the first?”

Tobor grinned. “Knew you’d figure it out. Yeah, Alex was first. And, while you were on the Independence, I started moving others, here. Not all of them, though . . . you will meet the others when it is time.”

“Tobor, it’s been you, not Admiral Davis, all along, hasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“You know why. You and the others are the best hope for humanity.”

“Hmm?”

“Paul, I cannot tell you all I know because it might cause you to make wrong decisions. But I can tell you this: humanity is not alone, and when it meets its neighbors, you and the others, the ‘geeks with guns,’ will be critical. Will you trust me?”

“Yes,” I said, and then added, “Tobor, you look like a 12-year-old boy; sometimes you talk like one. Sometimes, though, sometimes you’re a lot older than I am.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I had managed to surprise him. His eyes widened. I looked hard at the screen. “Tobor, are you crying?”

“Yes, but they’re happy tears,” he said. “I don’t need to talk. It’s enough to know that you know, and that you understand. Oh, there’s a student outside your door. He’s afraid to knock.” Tobor’s image faded.

I opened the door. A cadet was standing about two feet away. He turned as if to leave, but seemed to realize it was too late for that.

“Please come in,” I said. “Contrary to what’s in the Student Handbook, I do not bite.” I pushed reassurance and curiosity. The boy’s breathing stopped for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. “I shouldn’t disturb you at your quarters, sir,” he said.

“True,” I said. “But now that you are here, we should talk about why you did.

“Come in.” I gestured, and stepped back. The boy followed. I could feel his hesitation, and his thoughts. Should I salute? It’s his home. I . . .

I held out my hand. “In my quarters, my name is Paul. What is your name?”

I felt his relief at this solution to his dilemma. “I’m Cameron, sir. Cameron Stewart. I, uh, I don’t think we’re related.”

“All Stewarts are related, Cameron,” I said. “I shall call you, cousin, and you shall, in my quarters, think of me the same way. Is that satisfactory?”

The boy grinned. He was quick, he was bright, and, unless I missed my guess, he was one of us. “Yes, thank you Cousin. I shall still call you sir, for you are my elder.”

“Not that much elder, Cousin, if you will look closely,” I said.

The boy’s eyes widened as he pushed back the veil and saw his Commandant as a teen-aged boy. “I knew it!” he crowed. “I knew it!”

I gestured to the couch, and sat. Cameron sat beside me. “What did you know?” I asked.

“I knew that you were different. I knew that you were hiding something.”

“What made you think that?” I asked.

“Little things,” he said. “The way you play with Danny and George, and their friends, like you’re a kid, yourself. The lesson plans you wrote. You use words the way a kid uses them. The punishments you give out at Captain’s mast. They’re never harsh, and you never make anyone feel small, just wrong, and then forgiven. It’s the way a kid would want to be treated.”

“You’ve put together a lot of very little things, and found a big secret,” I said.

Cam nodded. “ I do that, a lot. I never read mystery stories, because I always figure them out. Even Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy. I was afraid, at first, that you were a spy, a mole, a fifth columnist from one of the Survivalist Groups, or the Luddites.”

I almost told Cameron that he was being illogical. I’d run into both groups, before. The Survivalists, pockets of people, most living in the Cascade Mountains of Montana and Idaho, had never accepted the treaty between Fleet and the USA. They claimed the USA had given up sovereignty; they claimed that any Fleet presence in the USA constituted an armed invasion. In truth, they were the ones who were illogical: it was only the freedoms guaranteed by the US Constitution, which was in full force, that allowed them to speak, print, and publish their screeds of hatred, and allowed them to bear the arms with which they took occasional pot shots at Fleet facilities. Of course, it was also the due process of US law that ensured that those who took pot shots were arrested, tried, and—usually—stripped of the right to bear arms and jailed.

When I’d been in school at Edmonton, one of them shot one of my classmates. The Survivalist who shot a cadet was killed by 1.00-caliber fire from two Guns-a-Go-Go platforms. There’d not been enough to bury, much less put on trial. I could not, at first, imagine one of those people dedicating himself for years to Fleet or passing the psychological testing) in order to reach the grade of Captain.

And the Luddites? They were violently anti-science and anti-progress. They were the philosophical descendants of the Guild of Candle-makers, who opposed the electric light; the hostlers who opposed the introduction of the automobile; the petroleum industry that had opposed the cheap solar power from Fleet satellites. They were not organized. They did manage to beat up a bunch of kids in a mall in Edmonton, but even then, it was more a spontaneous mob than an organized attack. Again, it was hard to believe one of them could reach my grade in Fleet.

Cameron surprised me, then. “I realized that it would be illogical for them. But, not for the Religious.”

He had me, there. There were three groups of religious zealots who, like the Survivalists, had rejected any official relationship with Fleet. The Catholic Church of Rome which ruled much of the former country of Italy; the Eastern Orthodox Church which ruled Constantinople and some of Turkey; and the Fundamentalist Muslims, who controlled much of the Middle East. Each group had a quota of extremists who occasionally caused problems.

“What made you change your mind,” I asked.

Cameron blushed. “I also figured out that Danny and George were not only your sons, but also your boyfriends. I couldn’t imagine any of the religious . . .” The boy wisely did not say exactly what the religious wouldn’t do.

I laughed, a happy laugh, and pushed approval to Cameron. His eyes grew wide.

“What did you . . . wait! I was so right! You are telepathic.”

So are you, Cousin Cameron. So are you. I jumped from the couch to catch him before he fell.

I wanted Cam to meet the others one at a time rather than overwhelm him. It took a couple of days and some juggling of class and duty schedules, but before the weekend, he’d met all the GWG guys. By Friday evening, he had moved and become Marty’s roommate. Before the term ended, however, he and Alex had become boyfriends and had moved in together.

“Tobor? What’s the range of your telepathy? So far, we’ve had no trouble anywhere on campus. Two weeks from now, however, we’re leaving for the Yucatan. I’ve got a lot of security, but I’d feel better if you were there, too.

“And what about when we’re on the troopship?” I had 10,000 kids from age 6 to 18 to move from Australia to Mexico. Fortunately, it happened several times a year. The staff was accustomed to doing it, and all I had to do was let them do their jobs. Still, I worried.

“Paul, please keep this a secret?”

I agreed, without knowing what Tobor was going to tell me.

“My telepathy is able to operate through an integrated circuit that also encrypts my thoughts, and yours. It’s part of that trinary data stream. We can talk as long as you’re within about 5,000 feet of one of the chips and the chip is energized.

“Like telepathy, the signal is not attenuated by walls or anything else, just by distance. It does seem to follow the inverse square law and has the same speed-of-light limitations as EM signals. The chips have been going into Fleet terminals and communicators for about a year. Your communicator has one, as do those of all the metas.”

“My old communicator . . . it just quit working, and I got a new one . . . or did it just quit?” I asked.

“Actually, no. I burned it out.”

“Tobor, you’re frightening me.”

Paul, I love you, and Danny and George and all the boys, and I would never do anything to hurt you. Tobor was right, and I believed him. We’d come to the conclusion that it was impossible to lie with the mind.

Okay, kiddo—I felt him blush when I called him that—I know you’re on our side. If I worry, it’s not about you, but for you, and the rest of the team.

You’re their daddy; it’s okay to worry about them.

I thought I felt a little pause before daddy. I blocked, hard, and resolved to think about it . . . maybe I could steal a shuttle, leave my communicator behind, and visit Denali. Tobor was talking, again.

“There are also chips on the troop transport and in a few terminals where you will be. But, it would be best to hang onto your communicators.”

As school commandant and a Captain, I didn’t have to steal a shuttle. I was, however, not supposed to travel without security, so it did take a bit of the veil and, at one point, a little push, before I could take a shuttle and fly to Denali.

I clipped on the safety line and stepped into the wind and sleet. This time, I was prepared: full winter gear, including bunny boots and a parka. Still, when I faced the wind, I knew I was in a place humans were not supposed to go.

“Who is he? Who am I? What is real? What is life? Does Tobor have a soul? Do I?” I shouted my questions into the wind. Denali did not respond. He never does. Still, I think I may have found answers. In any case, I knew what I had to do.

The boys enjoyed their vacation in the Yucatan. They explored pre-Columbian ruins and did some hands-on archaeology, and then played and snorkeled and scruba’d at the beaches. The highlight, however, was an amphibious landing exercise. Half the boys were assigned to the Green Army; they would defend the beach. The other half were invaders: the Blue Army. In the second phase of the exercise, they’d change roles.

The Surface Fleet and the Marines did a fine job of instructing and equipping them. The boys’ MK-7s felt like real ones, including sound and recoil, but the “over” was a laser-tag laser and the “under” was paint-ball. The GWGs were torn between what they saw as their security duties, and the chance to play. I pushed them in the “play” direction, and convinced them that security was adequate.

The judges—faculty and staff, along with the civilian governor and a handful of distinguished guests—were in observation platforms high above the jungle adjacent to the beach. The view was mostly of open water, a strip of beach, and treetops. We would be following most of the action from cameras placed throughout the exercise area.

The exercise began at 0300. The moon had set an hour earlier.

Paul, there is an unknown person approaching the exercise area from the south. He’s . . . he’s afraid, very afraid of some danger, Tobor flashed into my mind.

How far, and can you describe him? I asked.

About 1000 yards from the nearest Green Army unit, a Recon Platoon. He’s a telepath, but I don’t know what he looks like. He has not passed a camera, yet.

I’d never heard Tobor as excited or worried as this. His usual husky soprano raised in pitch, as if his vocal chords were tightening.

Where are the closest GWGs? I asked. Could they reach him before . . .

Paul, this is Danny. We heard. We’re on the way. ETA three minutes.

Three minutes? I wondered. Tobor?

They were already on the way, Tobor said. The GWGs pushed the Blue commander to put them on one of the infiltration teams. They were already on an EMG-powered Zodiac en route to the southern flank. It was through their communicators that I picked up the unknown.

Does anyone but me think this is too much of a coincidence? I asked.

Tobor’s voice was calmer, but I could feel surprise when he said, You are right. I have an image. He’s passed two cameras. I’m synthesizing . . . a child, perhaps 11. Wearing Fleet utilities. He’s struggling against a mental command. He’s having difficulty getting through the jungle. Large tanks on his back. Hose and nozzle. A flame-thrower?

Show me, please, I asked. Tobor formed an image in my mind.

Spray wand is not right for a flame-thrower. Nor are the tanks. They look like scuba tanks . . . high pressure gas? Not flame; it’s gas! Danny? It’s gas. He’s certainly being controlled by someone. You have two targets. I said no more; Danny was on scene; he was in the best position to do something.

Danny acknowledged. I bit my lip rather than interfere as Danny started issuing orders. The Zodiac with the GWG team landed. They split up: one group went after the child; one went after what was almost surely a meta who was controlling him.

George and his group reached the boy’s controller before Danny and his team reached the child. When the adult died, the child fell to the ground, unconscious.

Paul? What do we do, now? Danny and George asked, nearly in unison. There was a little tension in their thoughts; Danny had felt George kill the controller. George had felt the fear, the horror in the child’s mind; he had known what was in the tanks, and that he would die, too.

I pushed one thought, only. You did your duty, and you did it well. You must do more, however.

Tobor? This is going to strain the veil. Please immediately send a Hazmat team in a shuttle to Danny’s position. Tell them to be prepared for Level 1 hazard; unknown poisonous gas; one . . . one cadet at risk. Danny? As soon as the shuttle approaches, your team is to move well away, and then continue its exercise mission.

George? Check the adult’s body for identification. Then hide it. We’ll get it, later. As soon as you’ve done that, continue your exercise mission.

Paul. It was Danny. We can’t leave the kid.

Danny, I don’t know yet what to do about the kid, but I don’t want you or the team at risk of the gas. Do as I said.

Danny’s aye, aye, sir let me know he would follow orders, but that he wasn’t happy about it.

The Hazmat team reported that they’d safely removed the tanks from the child who had been carrying them, and had contained them. They could not identify the child, but, since he was in Fleet utilities, they assumed he was a cadet, and took him to the troopship, where he was held in the infirmary, under guard.

The rest of the exercise went without incident, although I was on edge the entire time. I was comfortable only when all the students and faculty were back on the troopship. My first task was to deal with my kids; after that, I’d see what I could do about the mysterious meta child who had been someone’s catspaw.

By the time I had done the protocol things with our distinguished visitors, the GWGs had showered and eaten, and were waiting for me in my quarters. Alex handed me coffee as soon as I walked in. I thanked him, and then accepted a hug. I had to set the coffee down: all the boys wanted a hug.

“Guys, it was a tough day. You did your duty. You risked your lives. You probably saved the lives of scores, perhaps hundreds of boys. The Hazmat team reported that the tanks contained a nerve gas, under high pressure. Had it been released, the wind would have carried it northward, over the Green Army, and, depending on timing, over the Blue Army. The observers would have watched boys dying, without any clue as to why.

“You also found and destroyed one of our enemies. Some of you were part of his execution; all of you felt it.

“I want you all to stay together, tonight. After I deal with the kid who was carrying the gas, I’ll be back. Meanwhile, how about a group cuddle. Reckon you can all fit on my bed?”

Some of the smiles were tentative, but they were smiles. I pushed reassurance.

Paul, I want to go with you. That was Danny.

I nodded.

By the time we reached the ship’s infirmary, Tobor had gotten the kid’s name from his mind and then manipulated the school’s records. A new student, Alberto Santiago, was born.

“Hello, Alberto. My name is Paul; this is my son, Danny. He’s the one who found you. How are you feeling?”

The boy smiled. His perfect, white teeth were a clue: all the metas had perfect teeth, no dental caries. Something about the nature of the enamel. Alberto confirmed his status when he answered with his mind, Hello, Danny’s daddy and Danny. I am feeling much better. You’re not like the other ones.

What can you tell me about the other ones? I asked.

Alberto’s smile snapped off; he pulled away from me until he was pressed against the wall. He tried to pull the bedcovers over his head. No! Don’t make me think about them. They will find me!

Tobor? Anyone anywhere near? I asked. Each of the ships in the flotilla had at least one of the “Tobor-special” chip through which he maintained a telepathic surveillance. If any telepath but one of the GWGs came within a half-mile of the troopship, he’d know.

No one, he replied.

Alberto looked at me. “Who was that?”

“That was Tobor. He’s a friend, and he’s one of us. He’s in charge of long-range security. Danny and his boyfriend, George, are in charge of close-in security. You’re safe.” I pushed trust as I said that.

Alberto relaxed. It took a while, but I did learn that he’d been captured six months ago by a group of three metas. His description of them was poor: they didn’t let him see their faces. All he had were sidebands of what they thought they looked like. Still, it was something.

Alberto wasn’t ready for a group cuddle with a bunch of telepaths he didn’t know, but was happy when Danny and I agreed that Danny could stay with him that night.

Early the next morning, I woke George. We crawled from the cuddle of sleeping boys and went into my ready room.

How do you feel? I asked. I wanted an answer from George’s mind, but he made it hard for me. He knew what I meant, though.

“His mind . . . it disintegrated,” George whispered. “It was as if he never was.”

The sidebands from George’s mind carried curiosity and dread, overlaid with revulsion. I probed that, and found that it wasn’t self-hate, but the kind of disgust a primitive might feel at a cockroach or a slug. The dread, however, was different. I pushed reassurance, and watched the dread fade—not disappear, but fade. I wanted the boys to know we had enemies, and that they were to be feared, but George’s fear had been an unhealthy one.

“Thanks, Daddy,” he said. “I’ll be okay.” I felt him compartmentalizing the man’s death. It was in a place he could see it without being caught up in it.

“Will you shower with me?” he asked. “And, then, can we have breakfast? Just the two of us?”

Hmm, sex and food. Yeah, I figured he was going to be all right.

There would be a two-day break before the next exercise. I needed all that time. As senior officer on scene, I named myself incident commander, and led the investigation of the tanks of nerve gas that had been “discovered” during the exercise. I was not able to cover up that they had been brought in by an intruder. Alex and Will brought the body from the beach back to the ship. I was able to confound the intruder’s identity, and to create a record of his death from a heart attack before he could be questioned. Naturally, he was cremated.

The officer in charge of equipping and training the Blue forces was a major of Marines. I took Cam with me to interview him. “Who, other than Fleet people, knew of the plan to infiltrate using the Zodiacs?”

“Reporters from All Hands and Navy Times, sir. They’re civilians. The All Hands guys are Fleet employees; the Navy Times guys aren’t, but I know them both. They’re here for all the schools’ exercises. There were two local reporters . . . they’re not Fleet.”

“Would they have known who would be on what infiltration team? Who would have known names?” I pushed not only to ensure he spoke the truth, but also to help spur his memory.

“Yes, sir,” he said. “One was particularly interested in details of the deployment. Said he’d like to interview some of the cadets after the exercise. He spent a lot of time at the terminal.

“Sir, can you tell me what this is about?”

“Someone inimical to Fleet knew about the Zodiacs; they were waiting with poison gas on the south flank. A special security team took them out.”

The man began to sweat. “I’ve endangered the cadets? Sir, you have my resignation. I don’t know why I let him use the terminal. It seemed reasonable at the time.”

You were pushed, I thought.

“Actually, Major, by allowing him to learn just enough, you may have helped uncover a plot that could have done a great deal more harm. My guess is that the planned attack was a test, and that had it succeeded, we’d have been faced with worse. Please do not be concerned.”

“Everything about this event is now classified Top Secret. The bad guys might not know that we took out their forces; they almost certainly don’t know how we took them out; and they for sure don’t know how we found out about them. We would like to keep it that way.”

“What did you think, Cam?” I asked, later.

“I understand. You wanted to see if there were any patterns. The Major was telling the truth. It’s obvious that the reporter who used the terminal was a meta. I got some impressions of him; I’ll check with George to see if it was the same guy they killed, or someone else. That’s all.”

“Thanks, Cam.” I hugged him, and got a bright smile in return.

Danny and George and I went after the reporter. The major’s image of him was clear, although it was probably a veil-created image, like my appearance was to most people. Still, there was enough that Cam and George were sure it was not the man who had been controlling Alberto.

We did not find him. The vid-chan he claimed to represent didn’t know of him, and had no record of having issued him credentials. He’d apparently fled.

Cam and Danny spent a lot of time with Alberto, trying to draw more memories from him, but with little success. Cam was able to deduce, with some confidence, that there were at least three adult metas involved. One was dead. The fact that they were adult didn’t escape me. The bad guys were older. Therefore, they’re probably stronger and maybe even smarter. More entrenched.