CALLED, Chapter 5

Uncertainty, Resilience, and Discovery

Don’t miss a bit of the story:

Table of Contents 🧬 Start Here

What if the hidden truths you pursue cost you more than you’re prepared to pay? When does silence serve as protection, and when does it become a tool of control?

Share your thoughts and insights; the search for truth is universal.

---

Ward 7

My chemically induced peace was short-lived. This time, the news alert informed me that the farmhouse had burned to the ground, and Guardians found remains inside.

The anger was gone in a second, replaced by a vacuous emptiness.

First Jeb, then Marya, and now our home, all gone in a matter of a few sols and for something no one has been able to explain to me.

How can I stay safe if there is some danger out there waiting for me, but I have no idea what it is?

I didn't bother trying to occupy my mind with chores this time. I only wanted to solve one puzzle: what is so important about this little bit of metal?

Jeb risked his life to get it to me. It's my only lead, but they don't make tech with port structures anymore. I couldn’t imagine building one without acquiring some rather obvious components. Even if I managed to put together one that worked, I would still have to hop over the protocols that disabled port connections and successfully install it into my digital link.

I wish I knew if Pauly was still at the library. With his help, maybe I could—

Wait a millichron!

Pauly already gave me a URL bar port! When I was working on the networking project, he scrounged up an old digital link. It has a bar port; I remember using it for offline access on the farm. My excitement was dimmed instantly when I remembered that the last time I saw it was when I left it in the bolt hole out by the well…something like nine solarii ago.

Though Guardians would have searched the farm fairly well, they wouldn't have considered looking for Jeb's hiding spots. The bolt hole by the old well was always snug. I honestly don't understand how Jeb managed to dig it out. As a child, I couldn't even really sit down, only crouch against the low rungs of the ladder. Since neither of them could fit inside comfortably, it seemed the safest place to hide contraband tech.

I felt the familiar prickling feeling of risking Marya’s ire and then a stab of pain realizing she would never be angry with me again.

Frustrating as the old goat could be, I still couldn't believe I would never see her again. I should probably feel worse about betraying her so soon, but it isn't like she will find out.

Still, if something dangerous lurks around the corner, I need to think about how to avoid notice. Thankfully, with the septad of leave already redeemed, I had a few sols before anyone would be too interested in where River Mason was, but that wasn’t enough. I needed a way to prove where River Mason was not. She needed to remain in my residential unit while Clementine slipped out to 32. If I didn’t bring the ID chip, there would be no signals to indicate River Mason had traveled.

Is there a way I can make it look like—

Oculars!

I remembered from my previous mod that the system should allow me to set a template file to be regenerated on successive sols. If I recorded myself going about an average sol in my residential, I could reuse that footage. A new modification could create a digital record of my location from the wearable tech…just while I wasn't wearing it.

I put the URL bar above the workbench so I would see it if I got distracted while I worked on my new mod. Thankfully, I don't have to work on the lenses themselves. I only need to work on their storage housing. When you place the lenses inside, the operating system automatically upgrades. If I release my invisible mod, wear the oculars for a full sol, and then store them again, the software will update, and I'll have my perfectly recorded sol.

Famous last words.

---

Working the mod out took me the better part of two sols. I experimented several times before I was able to trigger an active session while the oculars remained in the case. Once I had that working consistently, dropping the same video in as the content of the faked session was easy.

Pretending I am not doing anything out of the ordinary while remaining active throughout a full sol without letting on that I know I am recording every movement feels daunting. I could kick myself for having already done all that deep cleaning. At least not tidying up while working on the mod gives me something to do. To justify any footage of me leaving my building, I will take my constitutional as usual.

---

The oculars are ready, and the footage is set. This time, I’ve deliberately repacked my satchel. In addition to the usual toilet kit, I added my essential tools, some first aid supplies, and a halogen torch. I have dressed in the same apparel I wore on my sample sol. I have another half a chron before I can walk out the door, down the stairwell, exit through the alley door, and head souf.

Unlike in the recording, I cut through an intersecting alley to avoid the cameras until I was closer to Ward 7 Station. With a hood and mask, I should be harder to identify conclusively.

I had to stop and study the ticket machine since most of the time I only needed to touch my ID chip to the sensor to pass through. Erring on the side of caution, I bought a one-way pass to dispose of it on the other end. Climbing the stairs to the platform, I was glad to see a train waiting to depart. I slipped inside, keeping my hood low. I chose a far corner seat and tried to angle myself away from the surveillance.

Stepping out of 31-2, the air in the Junction was hazy—almost as though smoke from the farm’s fire lingered. I saw no one, only a few shapes obscured by mist. The riverbed was below the fog line, and as I walked up the familiar path, I watched the swirls above my head. My mind was also churning, remembering how recently I’d sworn not to return to this exact place.

The fire had really been something.

The house was a pile of charred bits. As I expected, Guardians had picked over the site. The cellar was exposed and empty; debris had already started to be cleared away.

My heart skipped a beat: I was trespassing!

Deep breath.

I’ve come from the river…and it’s too late now.

Nearing the farmyard, I saw that the fire hadn't touched the barn. There was a bolt hole in the floor there, too.

Why not?

Thankful for the torch, I felt like a stranger in the once-familiar place. It was a mess, as though someone had ransacked it. Jars we used to preserve food were smashed, and an acrid odor hung in the air. The trap door behind Jeb's workbench was disguised under a pile of scrap lumber. I found nothing in the narrow hiding space, so I tried the cellar.

The bolt hole wasn't always a separate room. When Jeb made it, he built a false wall to divide the cellar in two. My torchlight bounced off a few lingering jars of preserved food, the flickering drawing my eye to a pair of thin notebooks wedged among the beams supporting the floor above. I didn't want to look at them now but was glad to store them in my satchel.

Satisfied there was no more I could learn in the barn, I stopped at the door and looked out towards the rest of the Exurb. Without the farmhouse and its lights, there was nothing but an empty black sea between me and the residentials.

Moving quickly, I slipped over the small rise at the edge of the farmyard toward the well. Disguised among the well's brick façade, the handle opened upward, exposing a narrow, deep room with a telescoping ladder. As I'd done a thousand times before, I put my foot on the bottom rung and reached above my head to grab the handle to pull it shut behind me. A halogen should have illuminated when I reached the bottom, but Jeb's wiring hadn't survived the solarii.

I wedged my torch into a gap in the ladder so I could see. What I saw wasn’t heartening: now that I was fully grown, there was much less room for my wider hips to turn from side to side. Using the ladder to force myself down, I reached my fingers into the little shelf I'd dug. It took a few tries, but soon I had the familiar device in my hand.

To my surprise, it flickered to life when I powered it on. After a few moments, the digital link chimed with a connection. Feeling rather proud that my tech outlasted Jeb's wiring, I squirmed around and dug the URL bar out of my satchel. I plugged it into the port and pressed my fingers to the sensors.

The bar glowed green, and then the screen blinked to life.

---

Thank you for reading! Indie creatives like me rely on your likes, comments, and shares to reach new readers who love expat memoirs, serialized mysteries, and thought-provoking fiction. Your engagement makes all the difference!