Page 385 of Light Leech

“What now?” I asked her.

She shrugged and pulled me along to look around. No one was there. No sound beside the faint static that felt like nothing more than the wind blowing.

“Do we just leave now?” I asked. “Can we leave?”

“If we need to.”

“Then how long should we wait?”

“Well, I don’t want to waste all of that effort.”

“I’m not saying we should, but–” I stopped speaking as a message appeared in the middle of the cube. It floated and pivoted to face us wherever we stood.”

Ralia pulled me forward to read it.

Our footsteps made no sound, but I felt like they echoed as we ran to the sign, disturbing the silent zen of the room.

“Congratulations competitors PetNeb and RalEsp! You have passed The Standardized Test!

You have been found worthy and invited to join the Correction. Agreeing to join is a bounding vow of secrecy and respect for Pure Knowledge. You will be granted full access to Pure Knowledge upon induction to the Correction. Please read through the following terms and conditions of membership. The document will not close until you have read and acknowledged every line. Failure to comply with the document will result in immediate termination.”

A document appeared before the message. As it stated, the document would not allow me to read further without actually reading it. Having my mind in the system, I understood that it could track my motions and the neurocore’s equivalent of “sight,” but I still didn’t enjoy the surveillance. I couldn’t blame it. Had it not been for that tech, I would have scrolled to the bottom and checked “agree” just as I did with any other terms and conditions. I knew I should have been more cautious with such agreements, but I figured any form of technology today would exploit me in one way or another. At least this one forced honesty.

Amid dense legal jargon, the document went over the vow of secrecy that required any mention of the Correction never be uttered to those not among the group’s membership. All knowledge was reserved for “scholars only” and any attempt to divulge said knowledge resulted in termination before one could divulge sensitive information. It did not specify whether that termination would be an immediate collapse of the neurospace or if the termination would be carried out by an assassin, but I hoped never to reach that point. That didn’t mean I had no plans to share the secrets, only that we would do away with the system before we could face its consequences.

I had no idea how we would do that, but hoped Ralia did.

I agreed to the document, trying to ignore the threats even though I had just sworn my life to an organization I meant to betray.

“Are you sure?” It asked. I selected “agree“ another time.

Rather than elaborate on what the Correction was, it went straight into the directions on how to find them. I wondered how much we had missed in the proper application we had stolen from our failed assassin, but figured none of it mattered at this point. We did not need to join them, only to link them to the Luxists in order to extract–and therefore spread–the truth of the second Earth.

The weight of it all hit me. Changing the world’s view and toppling the only organization that knew the world’s truth carried more weight than I could handle. I avoided facing it until now, making the confrontation’s intimidation increase tenfold.

I read on, having no other choice. Succeed or fail, remaining idle wasn’t an option.

“Please proceed to your nearest lunar excursion port. Your tickets have already been purchased for an express ship to one of the moon’s finest resorts. Further instructions will be provided upon arrival. Your travel will be tracked in order to ensure the easiest trip for you. Well done, scholars. See you on the moon.”

It was all too easy. Far too simple. Even without an explicit explanation, I knew the Correction had sought us out and pulled us in. Maybe Ralia would have succeeded, but I shouldn’t have. They knew we were coming and did not hide, but pulled us in.

A scholarly success should have made Ralia ecstatic. Instead, her smile was gone and her eyes anything but thrilled. They called us scholars, but in this we were fools. We knew nothing, but continued because there was no other option.

“Have you ever been to the moon?” I asked.

“Me? Nah. It’s a waste of lumens. I’ve seen the three resorts they offer and whatever one this claims is the ‘best’ doesn’t make it much better than the others.”

“Why?”

“You might as well book a vacation anywhere else. All you really have access to outside of the hotel is a field to jump around on, and even that is limited. Sure, the hotels are probably pulse, but they are built upon the view and little else. It’s like having a hotel with a nice view of a waterfall while you’re not allowed to explore the nearby forest. The moon fields they give you access to are small, walled off, and not much better than the simulations you can visit here on Earth…I mean Earth two.”

“So you’re saying it would be easy to hide something up there?”

“Oh for sure. As far as we’ve been told, only a quarter of the moon has been explored. We know what guk that is.”

“You really think no one else has suspected or seen anything?”

“I bet the Correction owns the entire moon industry. If they can mask the history of the world, owning a resort conglomerate doesn’t seem too difficult. I would bet the execs know that something is up, but keep themselves and anyone under them quiet for fair pay. It would be far from the only business to work that way. Nichley was proof enough. Anyone who sees what they shouldn’t dies an accidental death. They’re not unheard of on the moon. Get one of those conspiracy theorists who thinks oxygen is a government lie, he takes his helmet off on the moonfield, and there you go. Another accidental victim with a promising cover story.”