The Cost of Apathy

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The day was nothing less than a humid mess, where the very act of breathing made people feel like they were inhaling thick soup, or gravy. For Abigail, though, the sweat pooling on her brow was cold, and clammy. The scratchy, itchy threads of Navy dress-whites made everyone else feel stuffy, and hemmed in—particularly on humid days. Admiral Daltona only felt naked, and cold, while wearing them—totally exposed, and vulnerable to any scrutinisation.

The walls of the conference room were uniform, each made up of white panels, while the floor took on a silver sheen. An ONI insignia shone in the center of the room, right in front of a stainless steel desk. Sitting behind it, staring at the Admiral and her two companions as they approached, were three men in crisp, pressed uniforms and neat, shorn hair.

They all stood out of respect, and the Admiral took up position in the center of the ONI insignia, flanked on either side by Major Briggenshaw and Doctor Monroe.

“Admiral Daltona,” one of them nodded to her.

Abigail nodded back. “Admiral Archer, sir.” She looked at the other two and gave them nods, too. “Admiral Sandez, Admiral Yuong.”

The other Admirals regarded her with stoic looks, before sitting down on either end of the long desk. Admiral Archer took his seat at the center, idly thumbing over the lip of his metal coffee cup, and offering Abigail a smile.

“I hope you’re not here to waste our time, again,” he said, bringing the mug to his lips and sipping.

Tilting her head to the side, Daltona offered a half-cocked smile. “That entirely depends on this assembly’s ruling, sir.”

Admiral Yuong folded his hands over the table, leaning forward. “If this is about your little guinea-pig project, the answer will always be no.”

“Sir, please—” Major Briggenshaw went to step forward, before all three sets of eyes snapped to him.

“The Admiral has been permitted a meeting,” Admiral Archer said with an agitated shuffle of his legs. “You two, however,” he pointed between the Major and the Doctor, “have not, and you would do well to remember you are here in provisional capacity, only.”

Admiral Daltona raised a hand in front of the Major and nudged him back into place.

Turning to the rest of the board, she kept her expression blank. “With respect, these two have been instrumental in information gathering, regarding this project. I hope that with this new intel we can convince you to reconsider.”

“Won’t happen,” Admiral Sandez trilled, remnants of his accent slipping through. “Your project is inhumane, and above all, cruel.”

Folding his arms, Major Briggenshaw raised an eyebrow at the man. “Sticking biochemical augmentations in children isn’t?”

“Watch your mouth,” Archer jabbed a finger at him. “You would do well not to discuss the finer details of Orion-Two, with anyone.”

“Admirals, please,” Daltona said, getting the attention of all three of them once more. “This project represents something that we are in dire need of; we need information,” she said. “We need to experiment before we act, otherwise the Orion-Two project will only fail, like its predecessors before it.”

“The Orion Projects were highly effective,” Admiral Sandez said, holding onto his coffee cup and scoffing. “It was costs that eventually spiralled out of control.”

“And what would the cost be this time?” Monroe fixed him with a level glare, and stuffed his hands in his pockets, adopting an informal stance. “If we allow Doctor Halsey to stick whatever chemicals she sees fit into children, with no forethought, or trial-runs beforehand, what will the cost be? Not in Credits, but in lives.”

Admiral Archer gave him a level, steely-eyed glare. For sixty full seconds, the Admiral did not blink, nor move in any way save for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Abigail felt the tension in the air as though it were a real weight pressing down on her shoulders. It made the already-humid atmosphere of the room all the thicker.

Admiral Archer drew back in his seat with the creaking of metal, and folded his hands atop the polished chrome. “When I look at them,” he flicked his head towards Abigail and the Major, “I see a military rank—service personnel. She is a high-ranking member of ONI’s Admiralty,” he pointed at her, then at the Major, “he is a well-renowned field agent with multiple connections, you are neither one!” he barked. “You are a civilian liaison only.”

“We have enough dealings with civilian Doctors, these days,” Admiral Young stated.

“Quite,” Archer echoed.

“My colleague makes a good point, sir,” Daltona said, looking at Admiral Archer with a pointed look from beneath her beret. “What would the cost of doing nothing be?”

“Irrelevant,” Archer waved her question away with a hand movement. “What you’re proposing would only create more civilian casualties.”

“Yes, and if we did nothing at all—if Orion-Two wasn’t authorised—what would happen then?” she countered. “That would create even greater civilian casualties, would it not?” She regarded the three Admirals and shook her head, sighing, and stepping out from the middle of the ONI insignia, and towards the table.

“We are at a tipping point, and all of us here,” she made a circular gesture with her hand, “have decided that the cost of doing nothing has become too great. We decided, all of us, that we would do something. Halsey is a visionary, and by all accounts the most brilliant young mind in human space, but even she cannot see all outcomes, and she would rather hide in her lab with her chemicals, injecting apes, as if that would do anything.”

Daltona stopped talking, and snapped her fingers. Monroe came forward, and reached into a satchel for three datapads. Daltona took them, and handed them out to the Admirals with a grim expression, switching them on before she let them clatter to the desk.

Archer looked down at the tablet while it booted up. “What’s this?” he asked.

“This is a hypothetical worst-case scenario,” Abigail explained. “Calculated to a margin of error of point-three percent. If the human body rejects all augmentations, simultaneously, as they very well could, this would happen.”

The screen gave way to a simulated figure thrashing on a surgery table. Blood pooled from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears. His skin pockmarked with weeping boils, bones snapping and contorting into twisted forms of themselves—a scene straight from a horror vid.

“A cascade failure,” Monroe said. “Resulting in the painful deaths of every subject. You can’t even see the internal damage.”

“This is a very real possibility,” Daltona said. “If we had even half of Halsey’s candidate number, we could cut the chances of this happening by thirty percent.”

Daltona stepped up to the desk, leaning over it, and placing her hands on the smooth, cool surface. Admiral Archer looked up, meeting her gaze with a strained pursing of lips.

“You asked me what the cost would be, and I ask you what is the cost of doing nothing?” She looked to her sides, at the other Admirals.

Sandez was looking at her, while Yuong was looking away, somewhere off to the side.

Daltona looked back at Archer. “If Halsey loses her subjects, if we end up with nothing, what would that cost us?” she asked.

“You two.” Archer levelled his gaze at the Major, and flicked his head. “Get out.”

The two exchanged unsure looks, before Daltona looked over her shoulder, nodding. They made for the door, sliding it open with a hiss, and stepping outside.

Archer waited for the door to shut before speaking again, running a hand through the remnants of his hair. “Admiral…” he trailed off, and deflated with a sigh. He stared up at her, and dropped his voice from serious, to solemn. “Abigail. What’s stopping this from happening to each and every one of Epimetheus’s subjects?”

“Doctor Monroe,” Abigail said with a smile. “He only agreed to co-opt this project on the condition that he be allowed to do everything he possibly could to save the lives of the subjects.” She drew back, lifting her hands up off of the desk. “But, if they die, their deaths won’t be for nothing. They’ll further human understanding of biological augmentations by decades.

“Each one of them will die for something greater than themselves,“ she continued. “They’ll give us a chance to save the lives of Halsey’s candidates, when their time comes.” Leaning forward, Daltona put her weight on the desk just to get closer to Admiral Archer, making her voice serious, and grave. “If you tell me that this isn’t necessary, and the rewards aren’t enough, then I won’t believe you.”

Silence passed between the group, the three men behind the desk exchanged looks, and some silent understanding passed between them when they did. Archer met Daltona’s eyes and sighed.

“The Assembly approves funding for Project: Epimetheus,” he said. “May god forgive us all.”