Uprising

  Chapter 17: Revelations

  Michaels again found himself sitting at his desk. His new promotion entailed new responsibilities, but most of them seemed to regard a large amount of paperwork. He wasn't sure if they were expecting him to continue working with prisoner subjects and conditioning, but with the large impending raid, patrols were still not occurring.

  In the late afternoon, he had finally gotten back to his office. He realized that the day before, instead of properly closing out and shutting things down, he had simply closed the terminal lid when Dunlevy contacted him. When he reopened it, he noticed that the end of the video file had provided a string of random text. He wrote it down right away, in case it was a clue to something important.

  For a couple of hours, he had the computer running searches again, this time looking for specific file dates one at a time to narrow the field of search. It had appeared to have become more cooperative since his initial success, returning plenty of files as opposed to nothing at all.

  Michaels clapped his hands together in an uncharacteristic victory gesture as he spotted another video file in and among several text and various program and system documents. The date was two weeks after the initial discovery. He moved the cursor over it, and the file vanished.

  He raised an eyebrow before attempting the unfocused stare pattern again, to see if the file would make itself reappear. When this failed to work, he searched for the file name itself, frowning when the search result turned up nothing on "mlc-spcmn." Damn, he thought.

  Trying something different, he took a look at the small scrap of paper, which contained the random series of letters, separated at various intervals with backslashes.

  /hfref/Pbyrzna/svyrf/ubzr/v/i/vk

  He cocked his head, thinking that it looked like a directory path filled with nonsense words. Maybe… he thought. He started scratching letters on the bit of paper, trying to catch patterns. He smiled as his hunch proved correct. It was a fairly easy substitution cipher. Almost too simple, he thought. A few minutes later, he came up with what actually was indeed a clear directory path.

  /users/Coleman/files/home/i/v/ix

  He progressed through computer, arriving in the 'home' folder. This folder held at least a dozen other ones with Roman numeral designations. He opened 'i,' which brought up another identical screen. Interesting, Michaels thought, a "combination lock" made of folders. Each one for three levels contained the same dozen numbers. I have to follow the right path to find the files, he thought.

  He clicked on 'v' and 'ix' in succession, smiling as "mlc-spcmn" came up on the screen.

  Opening the file, he saw Coleman's frozen face once more. He clicked play, and the image began speaking, barely contained excitement radiating from his predecessor.

  "The containment material, by itself a technological marvel, had proven entirely impervious. I couldn't penetrate the substance. No matter how strong the drill, extremes of heat and cold applied: nothing. Entirely indestructible. Although," a wide smile split his face, "after a great deal of effort attempting to crack it, I discovered how the mechanism works by sheer accident." He cupped his empty hands forward. "I held it in my hands." He chuckled. "I do admit that it was a foolish thing to do, what with the possibility of residue radiation or toxicity, but I simply cradled it gently. As I did, it responded to my touch." Coleman shook his head and laughed. "I of course dropped it in my surprise, which caused it to reseal. With a little further experimentation, I discovered that the key was contact with, specifically, organic tissue warmth; it creates a seam in the material, which then easily twists apart." He broke into another wide, excited grin. "I have already confirmed that the material itself inside is a patch of skin. From a non-terrestrial creature." He emphasized the last statement, letting the monumental nature of the discovery permeate Michaels' mind.

  There was a knock on the door. Irritated, he looked up and yelled, "What?"

  At the same time, he heard Coleman say, "Yes?" Michaels rolled his eyes as he realized that the knock was on the recording.

  Coleman stood up and pushed his chair away. His face appeared again briefly, saying, "More on this very soon." The video file ended, Coleman's hand still stretched across the screen as he ceased recording. Michaels scanned the entire screen. No extra information, nothing to indicate if there was another file or any clues regarding it. He closed out the video, noticing that a text file had appeared in the folder along with it.

  He opened it, and inside lay:

  Only one in color, but not one in size,

  Stuck firm to the ground, yet easily flies,

  Present in sun, but seldom in rain,

  Doing no harm, and feeling no pain.

  Oh hell, Michaels cursed. A riddle. He hated riddles. His mind didn't function very well thinking with abstract concepts. He preferred a more rational, logical approach: not tricks of language.

  On a scrap of paper, he scrawled down the riddle. Checking the clock on the wall, he was startled to realize that it was getting quite late. I suppose that's enough for today, he thought to himself. He stuffed the piece of paper into the pocket of his lab coat, donning it as he pushed the lid of the terminal closed.

  As he walked out of the door of his office, he smiled as he realized it now truly belonged to him. Traveling over to his dwelling, he held a passing curiosity in his mind; he wondered when the assault down below would begin.