Chapter 11: A Different Vibe

When Casey woke up the next morning, she felt different. Nothing around her had changed, but with the new information from the journals in Percy’s Vietnam Veterans file and her new official status as an Alliance member, she felt tethered to something larger—something she couldn't ignore. It was as if she had crossed a line, and now the stakes were higher.

She still didn’t understand all the intricacies of what was happening, but one thing was clear: she had to help her community by supporting the Alliance.

Outwardly, the day began like any other, but as she walked through Calberra's gates toward the lab, everything seemed subtly altered. The walls were a dull grey on the outside but a shimmering bronze on the inside; she wondered if she'd ever noticed that before. The doors of the large houses now felt like watching eyes, their silent surveillance pressing on her. She imagined people lurking behind each window, observing her every move.

Of course, nothing had changed outside of her own mind, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone knew. They knew she was no longer just Casey, but someone different—someone poised to uncover their secrets and upend their world.

She expected her hands to tremble when she took out her pass, but they remained steady. As she passed the mirrored wall on her way to the lab, she half-hoped to see some trace of the transformation in her reflection—but there was nothing.

What did make today different was that she actually knocked on the door of her father’s lab—something she had never had the courage to do before. It took a moment for the door to open, and when it did, it wasn’t her father who appeared but Harold Olderstone. For a fleeting second, Casey wondered if he lived there. The thought struck her as absurd, and she stifled a small, nervous laugh. Harold didn’t seem amused.

"What do you want?" he asked, his tone sharp.

Casey met his gaze with an outward calm that didn’t quite match the fluttering in her chest. "I’d like to see if my father wants to have lunch with me."

For a moment, she thought he might turn her away, but after a brief pause, he muttered, "Wait here," and then closed the door in her face. A few minutes later, Harold reappeared, his expression unchanged. "Your father will meet you in the cafeteria at 12:30," he said curtly before shutting the door again.

Casey wasn't quite sure what she would say to her father, but at least she had a few hours to figure it out. Keeping herself busy before lunch, she began exploring colloidal silver and reflecting on the more personal memories she'd absorbed from Percy's journals. She'd gone over them several times during the past few days and would pick up details she'd missed: how Percy phrased his words, the tenderness with which he spoke of his mother, his compassion for the returning veterans, and the deep frustration he felt when the wellness program failed one of them. It seemed he cared deeply about people, making Casey more determined to uncover the truth.

Sitting at the table waiting for her father, Casey thought he might not show. It was unusual for them to see each other during the day, let alone at work. Then she saw his slumped figure approaching. She had only ever known him as the quiet, frail man he was now, but she'd heard stories—how he used to be strong, charismatic, with a great sense of humour. That man had long since disappeared.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They simply opened their lunchboxes and began eating. Finally, Jonathon broke the silence.

"This is nice," he said, his voice soft. "Maybe we can make this a regular thing."

Casey met his gaze, but her expression was serious. "I’d like that, but I do have a few questions."

Before she could ask anything, Jonathon raised a hand, his tone gentle but firm. "I don’t think this is the right time or place for questions. Let’s just have a pleasant lunch."

Casey hesitated, then decided to approach another issue—one she thought he might be able to help with. "Okay," she said slowly, "but I do have a problem that maybe only you can help me with."

Jonathon raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"

"It seems that the required amount of lysoid for the seawater membrane isn’t being met while manufacturing the pouches," she said, watching him closely. "Do you know anything about that?"

His response was brief, almost dismissive. "There are problems with obtaining lysoid," he said, offering no further explanation.

"Does this mean you’re diverting what would have been allocated to the chemical pouches for purifying water to your program?" she pressed.

"Yeees," he replied, the word drawn out.

Casey felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "You can’t just take it and leave the chemical pouches short," she said, frustration creeping into her voice.

Jonathon shrugged. "It’s not my decision."

"Well, whose is it?" she asked, a rising sense of unease prickling at her.

"It comes directly from the President," he said, as if that explained everything.

"But surely he knows the impact this will have on the community if lysoid is diverted," Casey said, her voice urgent.

Jonathon’s expression didn’t change. "Casey, now that you've found a problem with the chemical pouches, your job is to find an alternative. The lysoid will continue to be in short supply, and it’s up to you to figure it out."

"But we need the lysoid to ensure freshwater for our people," she argued, feeling a rising sense of panic.

"Please," he said, his tone colder now, "just do your job. Find an alternative and leave it at that."

A pang of sadness struck Casey. She couldn’t believe her father thought so little of her that he’d expect her to ignore the greater issue—the fact that lysoid was being redirected for something as trivial as an anti-aging drug instead of being used to sustain their community. She could see him glancing around the cafeteria, checking to make sure no one was overhearing their conversation.

She took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Can I at least have a tour of your lab?" she asked, hoping to shift the conversation.

"No," he replied without hesitation. "You don’t have the security clearance. You’ll need to speak to Harold about that."

And with that, he finished the last bite of his sandwich, closed his lunchbox, and stood up. "Take care, Casey," he said, his tone flat. Then he turned and left without another word.