Chapter 20: Building Credibility

Casey was chuffed—a surge of pride rippled through her as she realised the impact of what she had just done by providing Tristan with the intelligence he needed to demonstrate progress. What she had provided to Tristan was more than just data or answers—it was a statement to the Taskforce that she was not only capable but reliable. She had proven her worth, and hoped Ruth would be proud. More than anything, she wanted the Alliance to see her as an invaluable asset. She was ready to rise to the occasion.

How her dad would feel, well, she didn’t want to dwell on that. He had told her to do her job, and that’s what she was doing.

So much had happened in the last few days—everything felt like a whirlwind. The most surprising of all? How quickly she had been brought into the inner circle of the Taskforce. In just a matter of hours, they’d shared their trust with her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

It only became clear why once she started working with the Lysoid Stool community. The Taskforce—distant, detached, clinical in their approach—saw these people as little more than tools. In their eyes, the Lysoid Stool residents were no different from the human-like robots like Closy. They only interacted when they had to make decisions, and from what Casey could tell, Closy was the sole interface between Tristan and the people. There was no real dialogue, no opportunity for the members to be seen as equals. To him, the community was a distant other, and she thought the Taskforce probably saw her in a similar light, she was a Closy to them.

As Closy drove her back to the shed, Casey saw the familiar figures from yesterday outside, as if they knew she was coming.

As they neared the shed, Casey couldn’t help but ask, “Are they waiting for us?”

Closy’s mechanical voice answered, “Yes, they told me to let them know when someone from the big house was on their way. I didn’t get the chance yesterday—it was last minute.”

“Can they give you orders?” Casey asked, a note of curiosity in her voice.

“They can request something. If it fits within my parameters, I can grant it,” Closy explained.

Casey hesitated, then took a calculated risk. “What are your parameters, exactly?”

Closy’s response was succinct. “No harm to the Calberras. No risk to production.”

Casey raised an eyebrow. “That’s pretty broad. Do you find it easy to distinguish what fits?”

“If I’m unsure, I ask Tristan,” Closy replied.

Casey didn’t push further—she didn’t want to risk asking something that might require confirmation from Tristan. She tucked that thought away for later.

Sophie, the girl from yesterday, greeted Casey. Before Casey could speak Sophie handed her a piece of paper. The word SCRATCHEY was written in bold, capital letters.

Casey tried to keep her composure. She thought the word was a joke, a private code between her and Ruth, a way to signal when one of them needed to say something without it getting out. But now, it wasn’t a joke anymore. It was real, she knew this was from Ruth saying trust Sophie.

Sophie quickly took the note back. "This is our team. Now that you've seen the streams we can brief you in more detail so you can help."

Casey understood the unspoken message: We're with the Alliance, we'll work with you but do not let on. As casually as she could, Casey responded, “Great. I've done some testing and spoken to Tristan. I think I know what happened.”

Sophie’s eyes met hers, a subtle glint of urgency behind them. “Yes, let’s discuss it. We know the problem—it’s the filters. Let’s talk about next steps.”

The door to the shed opened, and they moved inside.

For the rest of the afternoon, Casey was immersed in the technical details—examining the filters, probing into the water source, and walking through the entire end-to-end process. She asked questions that fit within the confines of solving the immediate problem but refrained from probing too deeply into anything that might raise suspicion. She longed to ask about the community’s inner workings, the tunnels, their lives outside of the Lysoid Stool, but she knew better than to raise such topics. Every word could be scrutinised by the War Room, and she wasn’t ready to give anything away.

Sophie and the team were experts when it came to the Lysoid crop, but it was clear their world was confined to the Stool. When Casey carefully broached the subject of visiting other communities, Sophie’s eyes flashed a silent warning. One of the team members responded quickly as if the question itself was an offence. “Why would we leave Lysoid Stool? We have everything we need right here.”

Casey let it go, though the question lingered in her mind.

As the afternoon wore on, she pieced together the details about the filtration system. It turned out that when the crop size had to be increased, the requirements were relayed to Tristan through Closy. The response came back that the filters were delayed, and the decision was made to proceed without them—despite the team’s concerns.

Closy stayed nearby the entire time, and Casey couldn’t help but be intrigued by the way Closy interacted with the team. It almost seemed human-like—Closy appeared to enjoy the banter with each member, and they, in turn, seemed happy to engage. At one point, Casey managed to pull Sophie aside and asked her about it.

Sophie’s response was measured. “It might sound like friendly banter,” she said, “but if you listen closely, you’ll realise every comment from the team is deliberate. And while Closy’s responses may seem casual or lighthearted, he could very well be divulging useful information.”

After hearing this, Casey paid closer attention. She started to notice that Closy was casually describing events in the War Room—details that seemed trivial at first but, in hindsight, were far more significant than she’d realised. They were subtle, low-key comments, the kind that wouldn’t raise alarms, nor would they trigger Closy to escalate anything to Tristan.

“Very clever,” Casey thought to herself, admiring the sophistication of it all.

When the afternoon wrapped up, Casey felt the weight of the intel she had collected. It was immense. Every piece of information she had collected—each insight into the filters, the water systems, the spray processes—was like a thread in the tapestry she was weaving. She had a clear understanding of the problem at hand, but there was so much more beneath the surface.

As she prepared to head to Ruth’s for dinner, she found herself sitting in the quiet of her basement, mentally organising everything. She needed to be ready to share it all with Ruth and the Alliance, to lay it all out clearly and logically.