Project Shepard

CHAPTER 3

Marcus's office smells faintly of old paper, machine oil, and the bitter coffee he insists tastes better than anything S.A.M. can synthesize.

Rogue stands just inside the doorway, taking in the familiar surroundings with a strange sense of unease.

She has been here before, technically. Once when she was eight and hiding after accidentally breaking one of S.A.M.'s maintenance drones, and a few other times when Marcus invited her in himself.

But she has never been here alone.

Without her grandfather, the room feels different. Not exactly forbidden, but private, as though she has wandered into a part of his life she isn't meant to see.

One wall is lined with actual books, most of them worn and considerably older than Rogue herself. Marcus distrusts anything that can have its words changed while he isn't looking, a position he defends with remarkable stubbornness whenever S.A.M. suggests digitizing his collection.

Military commendations occupy considerably less space than Rogue expects. Most have been shoved into a corner alongside old photographs, obsolete data cartridges, and a cracked helmet she has never managed to convince him to throw away.

His desk dominates the center of the room, its dark surface polished smooth by years of use.

And sitting beside the terminal is exactly what she has come looking for.

“There you are,” Rogue murmurs.

A slim black communicator rests near a stack of documents.

She crosses the room and picks it up just as S.A.M.'s projection appears near the doorway.

“You have located the device,” he observes.

“I told you I was just getting the communicator.”

“You did.”

Rogue turns the device over in her hands. Its display awakens with a soft chime, presenting a simple message.

IDENTITY REQUIRED

“Okay…”

She examines the casing, searching for some sort of manual control or alternate interface. Finding nothing useful, she glances toward the hologram.

“S.A.M.?”

“Yes?”

“How do I call Grandpa?”

“You do not.”

Rogue looks over her shoulder.

“That was not the answer I wanted.”

“The device is linked to Marcus's Alliance credentials,” S.A.M. explains. “It will not function without proper authentication.”

“Can I send him a message?”

“Not through that device.”

“Can I make it think I'm him?”

“No.”

“Can you make it think I'm him?”

“No.”

“Could I try…”

“No.”

“I hadn't finished!”

“I am anticipating the general direction of your questioning.”

Rogue glares at him.

“Very helpful.”

“I strive for consistency.”

With a frustrated sigh, Rogue drops into Marcus's chair and sets the communicator on the desk.

The terminal in front of her is dark. She taps its surface, but nothing happens. She tries again, this time a little harder.

Still nothing.

“S.A.M.”

“You are attempting to solve a technological problem through escalating physical irritation.”

“It usually works.”

“Not this time.”

Rogue leans forward and inspects the desk more closely. After a moment, she discovers a recessed control beneath its edge.

She presses it.

Light spreads across the terminal's black surface, and a holographic interface rises into the air with a soft electronic tone.

USER RECOGNIZED: ROGUE

She blinks.

“Huh.”

“Marcus permits you access to household and personal functions,” S.A.M. explains.

Rogue leans back in the chair.

“So I'm allowed to use it.”

“Parts of it.”

“Important distinction.”

“I thought so.”

Rogue begins exploring the interface.

Household accounts, training records, personal messages, and maintenance reports float past as she flicks through the available directories.

Then one particular folder catches her attention.

RECIPES S.A.M. KEEPS RUINING

Rogue pauses.

Slowly, she turns toward the hologram.

S.A.M. stares back at her, his expression as composed as ever.

She makes a mental note to investigate that folder later.

For now, she has more important things to do.

Rogue opens the communications interface and leans forward.

“Call Marcus Bennett.”

The terminal responds immediately.

STANDARD CONTACT UNAVAILABLE

“Alliance channel,” she instructs.

Another message appears.

RESTRICTED FUNCTION: AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED

Rogue sighs.

“Of course.”

She tries selecting the channel anyway.

ACCESS DENIED

“Again,” S.A.M. says, “I recommend waiting.”

Rogue ignores him and continues searching.

She tries alternate channels, emergency relays, secure messaging, and even transit communications. Every promising option ends with some variation of the same infuriating response.

Restricted. Unavailable. Unauthorized.

Eventually, she sinks back into the chair.

“There has to be something.”

“There is,” S.A.M. replies.

Her head snaps toward him.

“What?”

“Waiting.”

Rogue grabs a stylus from the desk and throws it at his projection.

It passes straight through his forehead and clatters against the wall.

“That was childish,” S.A.M. remarks.

“It made me feel better.”

“I am pleased to have been of service.”

Rogue lets out an exasperated groan and returns her attention to the terminal.

Maybe Marcus has left a schedule somewhere. Some indication of when the hearing will end, or at least when he might be available.

Anything is better than sitting around doing nothing.

She opens the search interface.

“Marcus Bennett. Ark. Threshold Oversight Committee. Today.”

Results immediately fill the air above the desk.

Docking clearances, transit authorizations, an itinerary, and several committee documents appear before her.

Rogue selects the schedule and scans its contents.

The final entry reads:

THRESHOLD OVERSIGHT COMMITTEE: CLOSED SESSION

There is no listed end time.

Rogue groans.

“I told you,” S.A.M. remarks.

“I know.”

She flicks through the attached metadata, hoping to find something useful buried among the technical information.

Most of it means nothing to her. Clearance codes, authentication records, and file paths flash past as she scrolls.

Then something catches her eye.

Rogue stops.

Buried beneath the committee documentation is a reference to another file, one stored locally on Marcus's terminal.

It isn't part of the Alliance database, nor does it appear to belong to the household system.

It is connected to his private archive.

The name makes her pause.

PROJECT SHEPHERD

Rogue stares at the words.

“S.A.M.?”

The hologram says nothing.

She slowly turns toward him.

“What's Project Shepherd?”

His projection remains perfectly still.

“That information is restricted.”

The irritation drains from Rogue's face.

“From me?”

“Yes.”

She looks back at the terminal.

For a moment, she simply studies the unfamiliar name. It isn't unusual for Marcus to have old military records lying around, but something about S.A.M.'s response bothers her.

She selects the reference.

A directory opens.

SHEPHERD: PRIVATE ARCHIVE

ENCRYPTED BY M. BENNETT

Rogue feels a strange tightness in her stomach.

“Grandpa made this?”

“I cannot discuss the contents of the archive.”

“That wasn't what I asked.”

S.A.M. hesitates.

“Yes.”

Rogue looks at the small lock icon beside the directory.

Private.

Not Alliance property.

His.

She taps it.

AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED

A second prompt appears, followed by long strings of encryption symbols that cascade through the display.

Rogue stares at them for several seconds before leaning back.

“Nope.”

S.A.M. tilts his head.

“You have abandoned your attempt unusually quickly.”

“I know what I'm good at.”

“Do you?”

Rogue gives him an irritated look.

“I know what I'm bad at.”

“That is marginally more plausible.”

She points toward the terminal.

“I am not hacking that.”

“A wise decision.”

Rogue glances at S.A.M. suspiciously.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I assure you, I am experiencing profound relief.”

Rogue drums her fingers against the desk, studying the locked directory.

There has to be another way.

She tries opening it through Marcus's personal account, only to receive another denial. Requesting read-only access proves equally unsuccessful, as does her attempt to copy the directory into her own files.

Every approach leads back to the same security warning.

“Stupid machine,” she mutters.

“The machine is functioning correctly,” S.A.M. replies.

“That's the problem.”

Rogue leans forward in frustration and plants both palms against the desk.

Then she freezes.

Something changes.

Not in the office. The lights are steady, the terminal is functioning normally, and S.A.M. remains beside the doorway.

The change is inside her.

An unfamiliar sensation creeps up through her fingertips, almost like a faint electric current. It isn't painful, exactly, but there is something deeply unsettling about it.

Rogue pulls one hand away.

“What was that?”

S.A.M. turns his head.

“What was what?”

She stares at the desk.

For an instant, she could swear she feels something on the other side of its surface.

No. That's ridiculous.

Slowly, she reaches out again.

Her fingertips touch the desk.

And the office disappears.

For one impossible instant, Rogue is somewhere else.

Marcus stands at the desk, his hand resting in precisely the same place as hers. He isn't there now. Somehow, she knows that. This is another moment, another time.

She can't see his face.

Instead, she feels him.

Fear.

Not her own, but his.

A crushing, suffocating terror so powerful that Rogue's breath catches in her throat.

Then the scene changes.

A baby is crying.

There is red hair, blood staining white cloth, and Marcus kneeling beside someone she can't see.

A voice shouts somewhere nearby.

We don't know what they did to her!

The image shatters.

Rogue jerks backward, nearly tipping Marcus's chair onto the floor.

“S.A.M.!”

The hologram immediately turns toward her.

“Rogue?”

“What the hell was that?”

“Your heart rate has increased significantly.”

“I noticed!”

Rogue stares at her hand.

There is no injury, no crimson glow, and no visible indication that anything has happened.

Just trembling fingers.

She looks at the desk again.

Did she imagine it?

The memory is so vivid. She can still hear the baby crying, can still feel the terror that flooded through her.

And beneath it all is Marcus.

She knows that much.

Against her better judgment, Rogue slowly reaches toward the desk again.

The moment her fingers touch its surface, the sensation returns.

This time, it strikes harder.

Marcus is sitting alone in his office.

Older now.

A holographic file hovers above the desk, its title unmistakable.

PROJECT SHEPHERD.

His hand tightens into a fist.

Rogue feels anger and fear surge through her, neither emotion belonging to her.

Someone is speaking.

You said…

The memory skips.

Marcus slams his fist against the desk.

She is a child!

Another voice answers him, cold and distant, but the words blur before Rogue can understand them.

Then you understand why…

The memory fractures, only for another to take its place.

Marcus sits alone with his head buried in his hands.

Guilt.

So much guilt.

Another image follows.

Rogue is six years old, fast asleep against his chest while Marcus gently smooths her hair.

Love.

Fear.

Then a document appears.

A signature.

MARCUS BENNETT.

The images begin coming faster.

Keep her out of this.

Marcus's hand trembles above the terminal.

If she finds out…

“Stop!”

Rogue tears her hands away from the desk.

Crimson light explodes across her fingers, and the terminal flickers violently.

“S.A.M.!”

“Rogue, move away from the desk.”

“I'm trying!”

Her heart pounds so fiercely that she can hear it inside her skull.

She can still feel Marcus.

His fear, his anger, his guilt, and the overwhelming love he feels for her.

Those emotions tangle with her own confusion until she can barely tell where one ends and the other begins.

The lights overhead flicker.

A stylus rises slowly from the floor. Another follows it, suspended in the air by an invisible force.

Loose papers begin trembling across the desk, and the communicator rattles against its polished surface.

“Rogue,” S.A.M. says firmly.

“I said I'm trying!”

Crimson static lashes across her hands.

The terminal spasms.

Every holographic window vanishes, then reappears in a chaotic burst of light.

Lines of security code flood the air, accompanied by a series of electronic warnings.

PSIONIC INTERFERENCE DETECTED

IDENTITY CONFLICT

Rogue stares at the messages.

“S.A.M.?”

His projection flickers.

“That is not possible.”

Another warning appears.

BENNETT AUTHENTICATION TOKEN ACTIVE

SECONDARY USER PRESENT

IDENTITY DESYNCHRONIZATION DETECTED

Rogue looks from the terminal to S.A.M.

“What did I do?”

“I do not know.”

The system flickers again.

LOCAL AUTHENTICATION FAILURE

SECURITY SESSION INTERRUPTED

Then, as abruptly as it begins, the disturbance ends.

The floating objects drop to the floor. The lights steady, and the terminal returns to its normal glow.

Rogue stands motionless, trying to catch her breath.

Something is different.

The lock icon beside Project Shepherd has vanished.

She stares.

“Did I do that?”

S.A.M. remains silent for half a second too long.

“You should not have been able to.”

Before either of them can say anything else, the archive opens.

Hundreds of files populate the air above Marcus's desk.

Committee transcripts, medical reports, behavioral records, psychic evaluations, and surveillance summaries fill the holographic interface.

Some of the files date back farther than Rogue can remember.

Her excitement over bypassing the security system fades almost immediately.

She begins scrolling.

Slowly, this time.

ROGUE: BEHAVIORAL OBSERVATION

Her fingers stop.

She moves to the next document.

ROGUE: PSYCHIC DEVELOPMENT

Then another.

THRESHOLD ENVIRONMENTAL CONTROL SUMMARY

Rogue goes still.

“What is this?”

S.A.M. says nothing.

She selects the first file, only to discover it is encrypted separately. The second produces the same result.

The environmental summary, however, opens without resistance.

A document unfolds above the desk, its official header glowing against the dark surface.

PROJECT SHEPHERD

PROTECTED SUBJECT: ROGUE

CURRENT LOCATION: THRESHOLD

STATUS: CONTINUED CONTAINMENT

Rogue reads the final word twice.

“Containment?”

Behind her, S.A.M.'s projection flickers faintly.

She scrolls farther.

The document contains a series of observations about Threshold's environmental controls, the restrictions surrounding its protected subject, and the procedures designed to maintain them.

One passage makes her stop reading entirely.

Environmental controls remain within established parameters.

Protected subject continues to demonstrate no confirmed awareness of imposed off-world restrictions or controlled information access.

Rogue's hand slowly falls away from the controls.

The office suddenly seems much smaller.

“What…?”

She reads the passage again, hoping she has misunderstood something.

Imposed off-world restrictions.

Controlled information access.

There is no mistaking the words.

Her eyes move farther down the document until she reaches a custodial authorization.

She recognizes the name before she understands anything else.

MARCUS BENNETT

Rogue leans closer.

The document states that the custodial authority acknowledges the risks associated with disclosing the protected subject's classification, Project Shepherd authorization, imposed travel restrictions, or information concerning events before custody was established.

At the bottom is a familiar name.

AUTHORIZED: MARCUS BENNETT

Rogue doesn't move.

Behind her, S.A.M. speaks quietly.

“Rogue.”

She barely hears him.

Her fingers move across the interface, opening another authorization.

Marcus Bennett.

Then another.

The same name.

She selects a newer document.

THRESHOLD INFORMATION RESTRICTIONS

It outlines information the protected subject is not permitted to receive, including her official classification, the restrictions on off-world travel, Project Shepherd's authorization, and details concerning events before she entered Marcus's custody.

At the bottom sits Marcus's authorization.

Again.

Rogue stares at it.

Her mind drifts backward through the years.

Every time she has asked about leaving Threshold.

Every conversation about visiting another planet.

Every excuse.

When you're older.

When things settle down.

Someday.

Her voice sounds smaller than she expects.

“How long?”

S.A.M. remains silent.

Rogue slowly turns toward him.

“How long has he known?”

“Please wait for Marcus.”

Something in her expression changes.

It isn't anger.

Not yet.

“You keep telling me to wait.”

“Rogue, what you have found is incomplete.”

“But it's real.”

S.A.M. hesitates.

“Yes.”

Her eyes return to Marcus's name.

“He agreed to this.”

“I am not permitted to discuss…”

“His name is on it.”

S.A.M. falls silent.

Rogue lets out a small laugh, though there is no humor in it.

“Protected subject,” she whispers.

She looks back at the document.

“Containment.”

The words sound strange coming from her mouth.

She has spent her whole life believing Threshold is her home. It is where she grew up, where she learned to control her abilities, and where Marcus raised her.

It is where she has been told she is safe.

Now, staring at the documents floating above the desk, she understands why the cameras follow her.

Why people always seem to know where she is.

Why nobody ever gives her a straight answer about leaving.

Her gaze wanders around the office.

The books, the photographs, the cracked helmet, and the old chair she is sitting in.

Everything is exactly as it was when she entered.

Only now it all feels different.

Her eyes settle on S.A.M.

“You knew too.”

The hologram does not answer immediately.

“I was prohibited from discussing Project Shepherd with you.”

“That isn't what I asked.”

“Rogue…”

“Did you know I wasn't allowed to leave?”

A pause follows.

“Yes.”

The answer lands differently than Rogue expects.

Quieter.

Worse.

She looks back at the files.

“Did Grandpa know?”

“I am not permitted to answer that question.”

Rogue stares at his signature.

“You don't have to.”

S.A.M. moves a small step toward her, though his projection has no physical body.

“Please allow Marcus to explain.”

“Explain what?”

“Context exists which you do not possess.”

Rogue turns toward him.

“What context makes this okay?”

“I did not say it was okay.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“That what you have found is incomplete.”

She looks back toward the authorization.

Marcus Bennett.

Again and again.

“But it's true.”

S.A.M.'s expression remains unchanged.

“Yes.”

That is enough.

Rogue closes the document.

For a while, she simply sits there, staring at the dark surface of Marcus's desk.

Her hands are still shaking.

Not entirely because of the files.

She looks down at her fingers.

For a brief moment, she can almost feel him again.

Fear.

Love.

Anger.

Guilt.

Pieces of Marcus's life bleeding through memories she was never meant to touch.

She doesn't understand what happened when she touched the desk. She doesn't know why she saw those things, or how her abilities somehow interfered with the terminal's security.

She doesn't even know exactly what those memories mean.

And right now, she doesn't care.

Because whatever Marcus felt, whatever he argued, and whatever frightened him, his signature is still there.

He knew.

Rogue slowly slips one hand into her pocket.

Her fingers brush against the note Marcus gave her that morning.

Proud of you.

She closes her eyes.

She thinks about breakfast. About his laughter, their training sessions, and all the little moments that fill the years they have spent together.

She remembers being small enough for him to carry her back to bed whenever she fell asleep somewhere she wasn't supposed to. She remembers the way he would always listen to her stories, even when she could tell he was exhausted.

Marcus has always been the one certainty in a world that never quite feels right.

Whenever something frightens her, whenever she doesn't understand something, or whenever the strange dreams return, he is always there.

He is Grandpa.

He is the person she trusts more than anyone in the universe.

And beneath all those memories is this.

Rogue opens her eyes.

For several seconds, she remains motionless.

Then she stands.

The black communicator is still resting on the desk.

She reaches for it and turns it over in her hand.

This is why she came into the office.

To call him.

To tell him about Pex.

To tell him there is a ship leaving Threshold tomorrow evening and that she might finally have a chance to see another world.

She has imagined how he might react. Maybe he would laugh and call her crazy. Maybe he would warn her about how dangerous space travel can be.

Maybe he would even surprise her by agreeing.

Looking back, she realizes how badly she wants him to say yes.

Not because she needs his permission.

Because she wants him beside her.

Rogue stares at the communicator a moment longer before carefully setting it back on the desk.

Exactly where she found it.

She doesn't need permission anymore.

Somewhere beyond the walls of the compound, beyond Threshold's atmosphere and the Ark that watches over it, that strange direction still exists.

Faint.

Distant.

She can almost feel it, even now.

A pull she has never understood.

A road she has only ever seen in dreams.

There.

For years, she has wondered what waits at the end of it.

For years, there has always been a reason she can't find out.

Marcus.

Threshold.

Someday.

Later.

Wait.

She has spent her entire life listening to those words.

And for the first time, Rogue stops looking for reasons not to follow that distant call.

She turns away from the desk and heads for the door.

S.A.M. watches her cross the room.

“What are you going to do?” he asks.

Rogue doesn't answer.

“Rogue.”

She stops in the doorway but doesn't turn around.

For a moment, neither speaks.

Then S.A.M.'s voice softens.

“Please wait for Marcus.”

Rogue's hand slowly curls into a fist.

She thinks of the years she has spent staring at the Ark. The ships passing overhead. The countless worlds she has only ever experienced through books and recordings.

She thinks of every time Marcus promised that someday things would be different.

And she thinks of his name at the bottom of those documents.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet.

“I've been waiting my whole life.”

Then she walks out.

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