0:00

This episode of The Wrong Station is brought

0:02

to you in partnership with Woebegone. Woebegone

0:04

is the story of Mike Walters, who

0:06

discovers a mysterious and violent online game.

0:09

What begins as an exploration of an

0:11

alternate reality game with real-life consequences quickly

0:13

becomes a search for the technology that

0:15

makes the game possible, and an exploration

0:17

of what it means to seek, to

0:20

maintain, and to use power.

0:23

For fans of eccentric, single-person narrated

0:25

audio dramas like the Magnus Archives,

0:27

with a queer perspective and lens,

0:29

new episodes can be listened to

0:32

every Wednesday, each with a brand

0:34

new, all-original soundtrack. You can find

0:37

Woebegone, spelled Woe.begone, wherever you listen

0:39

to your podcasts, or check out

0:41

woebegonepod.com for episodes and transcripts. And

0:44

thank you for supporting both shows. Are

0:58

not the results of massive stereotypes. You

1:06

may wish to adjust the dial. You're

1:09

currently too empty. The

1:12

Wrong Station Our

1:58

children were young when we moved. The

2:01

plan was to take them somewhere with opportunity,

2:04

away from systems where consortiums dominated

2:06

the landscape, an outer world

2:08

planet where my ecosystem management training could pay

2:10

the bills. Unfortunately,

2:14

newly terraformed planets don't have much

2:16

in the way of ecosystems or people willing to

2:18

pay someone to manage them. We

2:21

quickly became poor. Perhaps

2:24

yet, outer world communities are automatically

2:26

in debt to whoever terraformed their

2:28

planet. In

2:30

our case, the terraformer was a historian.

2:34

Now, terraformers don't just want money,

2:36

per se. Colorful,

2:38

historian brochures lay out generous, alternative payments

2:40

that can be made to cut the

2:42

principle. This quid-quo

2:44

pro comes in many forms. For

2:47

example, there's always a market for healthy

2:50

organs or people willing to

2:52

do near-light-speed travel or work in

2:54

the mineral-rich asteroid belts. But

2:58

the most lucrative option is to become an M1

3:01

domestic, which even comes with

3:03

a large cash bonus. Not

3:06

everyone fits the profile. I

3:10

did. So

3:12

after five years of working the meager farmland

3:14

around our home, I say goodbye

3:16

to my family and travel to Titan. I

3:20

don't regret leaving. I

3:23

regret how I returned. You

3:26

can lose yourself in it. It's

3:29

better if you do. That's

3:31

what the attending psychologist told me the first

3:33

time I saw Dr. Paris,

3:37

the man who would become my son. He

3:40

was sitting behind his lilac wood

3:42

desk, watching the two dozen large

3:44

view screens that populated the far

3:46

wall and squealing with impish glee.

3:49

I remember my arm twisted and wrenched back,

3:52

my head clamped and my eyes forced open,

3:54

a thick ivy needle in my neck

3:56

as I was forced to stare, stare.

4:00

stare into his face. He

4:03

didn't look back at me. His

4:05

eyes were glued to a tablet sitting open on his

4:08

desk. It was playing

4:10

a compilation of extremely violent pornography.

4:13

Videos of this nature were tradition in the

4:15

Paris branch of the Hostorium family, taken

4:18

every morning from early childhood just like

4:20

vitamin D supplements to ensure

4:22

a strong stomach and an

4:24

iron will. Dr.

4:27

Paris was now seventy-three years old, gray

4:30

around the temples. The

4:32

M1 drug swam through my blood

4:34

with the biological purpose of a

4:36

salmon going upstream. Within seconds

4:39

the imprinting was

4:41

complete. He was my beautiful

4:43

child, and

4:46

I, his mother. And

4:50

that would never change. You

4:52

can lose yourself in it. It's

4:55

better if you do. M1

4:58

was originally harvested to help sufferers

5:01

of postpartum depression form deeper bonds

5:03

with their biological children, and as

5:05

a clinical treatment for narcissism. Hostorium

5:08

also saw market as a black market

5:10

rave drug on the outer worlds. The

5:13

problem is that M1 is

5:16

finicky. A low dose

5:18

is pleasurable, but a high dose is

5:20

permanent. A sticky resin

5:22

harvested from protolycan on a moon a thousand

5:24

light years away. A

5:27

miracle mistake of nature, that protein.

5:30

Its shape a perfect fit for certain

5:32

human cell receptors. It

5:34

holds them like a mother cradles a child.

5:37

Like a chamber cradles a bullet. I

5:41

mentioned earlier that Hostorium pays a

5:43

substantial bonus to their M1 domestics. It's

5:46

their main recruitment strategy. However,

5:49

upon receiving the M1 dose, I

5:51

was offered a chance to renounce my bonus. Returning

5:54

it to Dr. Paris. Some

5:58

vague part of me remembered the that I took this

6:00

job to support my family, my

6:02

real family, all those many light-years away. But

6:06

I simply could not find that part of myself anymore.

6:10

Besides, Dr. Paris, my child,

6:13

was right in front of me at that moment. Burbling

6:15

with happiness is another scream echoed from

6:17

the tablet. How

6:19

could I take so much money from my baby? I

6:22

renounced the bonus. I

6:24

wasn't alone. I discovered later that

6:27

almost no M1 domestics of the stomach to

6:29

accept the bonus. You

6:32

can lose yourself in it. It's

6:35

better if you do. There's

6:38

no functional difference between an empath and

6:40

a telepath. We convince

6:42

ourselves that deep within the foaming sea of

6:44

emotion there is a hard pearl of thought,

6:47

of logic that guides our actions. Perhaps

6:51

another species, one not raised in the

6:53

captivity of community, can isolate their minds

6:56

from their hearts. Not

6:59

us. It

7:01

took me time to learn Dr. Paris's behaviors,

7:03

of course. No two people,

7:06

even mother and child, can be perfectly aligned

7:08

on first meeting. Which

7:10

is why, on my first day of work, Dr. Paris

7:14

had to break my wrist. That

7:16

morning, the morning after the M1

7:18

had been first administered, I wheeled

7:20

the coffee cart into Dr. Paris's office. Then

7:23

I hadn't been able to appreciate the sheer weight

7:26

of the space. It

7:28

was cavernous, with marble floors and

7:30

high bookshelves that seemed to hold

7:32

up the mock plaster ceiling, which

7:34

was adorned with painted scenes of

7:36

triumph from Paris family and historian

7:38

history. The only pieces

7:40

of furniture were a massive desk of

7:42

plutonium redwood and an antelope leather chair.

7:45

The desk faced a massive viewscreen, and

7:48

the chair sat Dr. Paris. He

7:51

was watching a snuff film, something he did

7:53

when he was stressed and his pornography wasn't

7:55

enough. I parked the

7:57

cart next to Dr. Paris's cane. He'd

8:00

carried one since he was a young boy. A

8:03

transport bomb planted by the Nicholson branch of

8:05

the Hostorium family tree had left his leg

8:07

shattered. The Nicholson patriarch was

8:09

in the midst of an attempted coup, wiping

8:11

out the scions of the other families on

8:13

the board in order to consolidate his power.

8:16

In this instance they failed. Young

8:19

Dr. Pear survived and then, one

8:22

by one, the Nicholson fell prey to

8:24

tragic accidents until the patriarch was found

8:26

dead of a parent suicide in his

8:28

off-world cottage. Dr.

8:30

Pear's kept the cane he'd been given during his

8:32

recovery from the blast as a reminder of what

8:35

he'd overcome. With just

8:37

one alteration, it now

8:40

had a weighted tip made from ironwood, which

8:42

he used specifically for correcting the

8:44

behavior of servants. Such

8:47

as myself. I

8:50

understand why he did it. I

8:52

had brought him his coffee but made the critical mistake

8:54

of obstructing his eyeline while the snuff film was playing.

8:58

Without a word, the cane came down to my

9:00

arm, spilling the coffee across the table. As

9:03

I instinctively reached for the spilled mug, the

9:05

cane came down again. I

9:08

heard a sharp crack, followed by an anoid. I

9:13

clutched my wrist and slid down the front of the desk.

9:16

The snuff film continued to play in front of me. I

9:20

never had the stomach for them. I

9:22

clenched my eyelids shut and tried to ignore the

9:25

horrible mixture of sounds emanating from the screen. I

9:28

was grateful Dr. Pear's had hurt me so

9:30

badly. It gave me

9:32

something to focus on. When

9:35

the film was over, he leaned over the desk

9:38

to see me clutching my wrist, tears pouring down

9:40

my face. Clean

9:43

this up, mother, he said, and then

9:46

go to the infirmary. The

9:49

doctor injected me with stem cells and told me

9:51

to get some exercise to keep the blood flowing.

9:55

I started walking, more determined than

9:57

ever to understand Dr. Pear's perfectly. I

10:00

refuse to ever fail him again. The

10:03

Paris estate stretched across an unknown number

10:05

of acres above ground and

10:07

an even more unknown number of acres below ground.

10:10

As early investors in Hostorium, the Paris

10:12

family had managed to secure a large

10:14

plot as Titan was being terraformed. Have

10:18

you ever been to Titan? It's

10:20

a marvel of terraforming. Incredible

10:22

weather, diverse wildlife, fertile

10:24

soil. Everything grows

10:27

on Titan. Even things you never heard

10:29

of. At first walk

10:31

I took across the grounds I saw

10:33

pineapples, kiwis, scarlet runner

10:35

beans, lilac, birds of paradise,

10:38

date palm, sugar maple. Every

10:41

plant I'd ever seen in books about Earth, all

10:43

the things we couldn't grow on the outer worlds.

10:46

A shame, since Dr. Paris didn't even eat

10:48

fruits and vegetables. Dozens

10:51

of pollinating insects buzzed and flapped around my

10:53

head. Hundreds of fungi

10:55

sprouted from dead logs. Short-haired

10:58

squirrels and reptiles frolicked together in the

11:00

underbrush. I didn't have

11:02

any qualms about calling it a paradise. That's

11:06

what it was. I crawled

11:08

away from the gardens and re-entered the main house.

11:11

For the first time I took in the grandeur of

11:13

the place. Dr.

11:15

Paris wasn't really interested in art, but he

11:17

hadn't taken down any of the antique sculptures

11:20

or paintings placed by his ancestors. I

11:23

stared slack-jawed at marble giants that loomed

11:25

over me and stared back with blank

11:27

eyes. My

11:29

footsteps echoed down the halls. These

11:32

chambers were strangely empty. I

11:35

found out later that the other servants avoided me. M1

11:38

domestics can't be trusted because they can't say

11:40

no to their employers, or

11:43

spies on a biological level. Or

11:47

maybe they were just jealous of what Dr. Paris and I

11:49

had. Either

11:52

way I didn't mind. Silence

11:54

was welcome. I took the grand

11:56

central stairs three at a time, working out

11:58

some of my frustration. On

12:01

the third floor I came to a wide

12:03

terrace paved with granite stones that sparkled in

12:05

the augmented sunlight. An ancient

12:07

rock-cut temple had been imported from an

12:09

archaeological site on Earth and now

12:11

squatted near the railing. From

12:14

there you could see the entire estate all

12:16

the way to the psyop facilities where Dr. Paris

12:18

conducted his work. A

12:21

light breeze wafted over me and I felt a

12:24

clammy wetness on my chest. I

12:28

looked down. Two

12:30

dark spots haloed my nipples. A

12:33

mild, creamy sweetness reached my nose.

12:38

I was lactating. They

12:41

told me it would happen. I just didn't

12:43

expect it so soon. I

12:46

can't tell you how happy I was. M1

12:49

was telling me not to worry, not to

12:51

doubt myself, that I would be

12:53

a great mother for Dr. Paris. I

12:56

worked harder than I ever had during the next few weeks.

12:58

I became an expert in Dr. Paris. I

13:01

don't just mean on his routines or his likes

13:03

and dislikes. I studied the

13:05

meaning of each wrinkle on his forehead. I

13:08

learned the difference between an eyebrow raised three-quarters of

13:10

an inch and one raised two-thirds of an inch.

13:13

I knew when a meeting had gone poorly based on

13:15

the thickness of the air outside his door. And

13:18

the more I understood Dr. Paris, the

13:22

more I lactated. I even began to

13:24

use a breast pump. But still,

13:26

I felt a distance between

13:28

myself and my child. A

13:30

gap that needed to be bridged. Then,

13:34

one week, Dr. Paris required

13:36

my assistance for thirty-six hours straight. He

13:39

was preparing for a highly valuable and

13:41

stressful scion procedure and could focus on

13:43

nothing but work. He

13:45

bisected the massive view screen and played two

13:48

snuff films at once, just as background noise.

13:51

But even that couldn't lift his spirits. My

13:54

heart ached for the poor boy. At

13:58

dawn I was serving him a cup of coffee. when

14:00

I felt the now familiar wetness on

14:02

the front of my shirt. In

14:05

the rush I had forgotten to use my pump. I

14:07

was about to apologize to Dr. Paris, but

14:10

he put up a hand. He

14:13

stared at my chest. After

14:16

a moment he gestured me close and raised

14:20

my shirt. My

14:22

chest had once been flat and muscular

14:24

from years of physical labor. M1

14:28

had changed that. A

14:31

few minutes later he pulled away and lowered

14:33

my shirt. A final

14:36

drop of milk dribbled down his chin. He

14:39

caught it on his finger and looked it off. That

14:43

will be all, Mother, he said, turning back

14:45

to his work. Now

14:48

get out. This

14:52

was the missing piece. The

14:54

final bridge I needed to cross. From

14:58

then on I nursed my

15:00

child whenever he instructed, and each

15:02

time was more fulfilling than the last. Now

15:05

I didn't just know Dr. Paris. I

15:08

understood him. I was

15:10

his perfect mother. I knew

15:12

when to bring him whiskey, when to play his snuffs,

15:14

when to nurse him, when he was about to have a

15:16

temper tantrum. I knew all

15:19

these things before he did. On

15:21

days Dr. Paris had no need for me. He

15:23

insisted that every drop of milk must be collected

15:25

by his chefs. Dr.

15:27

Paris mainly consumed red ground meat and ingested

15:30

the rest of his nutrients from pills and

15:32

powders. He hated vegetables with a

15:34

passion and had since he'd been a child. Therefore

15:37

there were no vegetables allowed on his plate or

15:39

in any of the compound's kitchens. The

15:41

fruits growing on the estate were only eaten by

15:44

staff or else rotted on the

15:46

ground. Where the special

15:48

chefs truly showed their skill was in the

15:50

creation of his desserts. Milk

15:52

products played a major role in the Paris menu.

15:55

As much as he wanted his main courses to be the same

15:58

each day, he also demanded a different dessert

16:00

each night. And

16:02

I, now filling my breast pump

16:04

three times a day, supplied

16:07

the milk for these desserts.

16:09

I was the base for

16:11

ice cream, gelato, cottage cheese,

16:13

chocolate truffles, cookie dough, cake

16:15

batters, ras malai,

16:17

croissants, pastiges denada, custards,

16:22

puddings, and more. Tyus,

16:26

it's good to see you. How

16:28

was your son? I

16:31

didn't like to leave Dr. Paris aside, but

16:33

at his insistence I had monthly checkups with

16:35

the PSYOP psychic breeding team to ensure my

16:37

mental state was stable. The

16:39

team was housed deep within the PSYOP buildings on

16:41

the edge of the estate. I

16:44

caught snippets of conversation each time I visited.

16:47

Sometimes a tech or assistant would show me a

16:49

file they were working on. Final

16:52

attachment wounding for accompanying assassins, triggered

16:54

substance psychosis for middle management control,

16:57

implantation of child abuse memories to

17:00

disorganize union efforts. I

17:02

think they wanted me to be proud of them. In

17:06

a way, I was. They

17:08

spoke so freely around me because they knew

17:10

that I mothered Dr. Paris himself, and

17:13

therefore I would never harm

17:15

the PSYOP department. They

17:18

were correct. Could

17:21

you repeat the question? I asked. My

17:24

mind had wandered. The therapist

17:26

sighed. I hope you

17:28

do not ask Dr. Paris to repeat himself. Never?

17:32

I was nauseous at the very idea. Well,

17:36

continued the therapist, recall that

17:38

I am in Dr. Paris's employ. I am

17:41

an extension of him. Think of

17:43

me as a limb. I

17:45

nodded. Would you ever ignore

17:47

a limb of Dr. Paris? Or even

17:49

a single digit? A single molecule? I

17:53

shook my head vigorously. Tears

17:55

were burning down my face. How could anyone

17:57

ever think that? mother.

18:01

I would do anything for Dr. Paris." The

18:04

therapist sat back and began flipping through my

18:06

charts. Then the grim

18:08

look on their face passed. They

18:11

smiled. "'I see

18:13

your osteoporosis is getting worse,' they

18:15

said. "'How is your lactation?'

18:19

"'About four cups every day.' "'Well,

18:21

that's very impressive. Very impressive, indeed.

18:24

A cis male producing four cups.' The

18:27

therapist handed me a tissue as they continued.

18:31

"'Of course, all our best M1 domestics

18:33

lactate continuously, but rarely to this

18:35

extent.' I

18:37

blew my leaking nose and smiled proudly.

18:40

"'Dr. Paris himself uses it in his morning

18:42

coffee,' I said. "'An

18:45

honor, I'm sure.' "'Well,

18:47

everything else seems in order,' said the

18:49

therapist. "'We'll double your calcium

18:52

supplements until the osteoporosis is under control.'

18:55

The therapist then looked me in the eyes for the first

18:57

time since I walked in. Their gaze

19:00

was professionally accusatory. "'It's

19:03

necessary when your job

19:05

is correcting psychological errors.'

19:07

"'Remember, he is entirely

19:10

your responsibility. Anything he does

19:12

is a reflection on you as a mother,' they

19:14

said. "'Guilt is

19:17

natural. It is your body telling you

19:19

that you aren't doing your job as a parent. You

19:22

can always be doing better for him. You

19:24

can always be doing more for him.' I

19:28

nodded. The therapist always ended

19:30

our session with these words. "'Yes,'

19:33

I said. "'Yes, of course. I would

19:36

do anything.' "'Has Dr. Paris

19:38

complained? Is there something more I can

19:40

do?' The

19:43

therapist opened their mouth to say no. They

19:47

then paused. They brought

19:49

something up on their tablet and scrolled through it,

19:52

comparing it to the notes they'd taken during the

19:54

session. Their face

19:56

was unreadable. Eventually,

19:58

they looked up, surprised. to see me still

20:00

sitting there. You

20:03

may go," they said. I

20:07

thanked them and left. When

20:10

I arrived, Dr. Paris was enjoying a large

20:12

creme brulee, perfectly caramelized,

20:15

as he completed his evening tasks. Stacks

20:17

of reports and tactical maps sat on

20:20

his desk like watchtowers. His

20:22

piece of the Hostorium Empire was physically

20:24

small. Enough research

20:26

and testing doesn't require planet-sized mining

20:28

equipment or acres of modified foods

20:31

or warehouses filled with munitions. His

20:34

work moved mines, not mountains, and

20:36

all Dr. Paris needed was his desk, his

20:39

files, and endless hours of

20:41

planning. I took

20:43

my customary seat in the corner, awaiting

20:45

instructions. From

20:47

where I sat I could see a small sliver of what

20:49

he was working on. Hostorium

20:51

had tasked him with eliminating certain

20:53

key players and rival business concerns.

20:56

For Sciops this rarely meant violence.

20:59

Violence risked involving governments, militaries,

21:01

and even other consortiums. Hostorium

21:05

had subtler techniques, developed and

21:07

honed over hundreds of years, then

21:10

perfected by Dr. Paris. Sciop

21:13

contractors would get close to targets, find

21:16

jobs that put them in contact with the families.

21:19

Once there they would begin a slow process

21:21

of trauma induction, manipulating individual

21:24

members of the family with horrifying

21:26

sights, sounds, and experiences

21:28

that could never be traced back to

21:30

Hostorium. When this worked,

21:33

say, by causing a near-fatal car

21:35

accident, a panic response could

21:37

be triggered whenever Hostorium required. But

21:40

it was a process that worked best on children.

21:44

Hostorium preferred to conduct their grand operations

21:46

on generational time spans. Comparing

21:48

a child didn't just give Hostorium control of

21:50

a child, it gave them a

21:53

chance to bury something so deep it might never

21:55

leave. Impacting the lives of

21:57

any children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren that

21:59

child might have. Remember

22:02

that bastard prime minister of that bastard

22:04

planetoid near Neptune, the one

22:06

who didn't want to allow uranium mining? This

22:08

was Dr. Perry speaking on a call the week prior.

22:12

Turns out, seventy years ago, we'd given

22:14

his bastard father a PTSD module with

22:16

a ninety percent chance of alcoholism, sixty-five

22:19

percent chance of corporal punishment.

22:22

Astorium got everything they wanted. All

22:24

they had to do was wait until tempers flared and

22:27

twist the lid off the bottle. My

22:31

son was a brilliant man. I just

22:33

wish he'd chosen to kind your path. But

22:36

I suppose boys will be boys. All

22:39

he can do is offer unconditional support, even

22:42

when their actions concern you. Which,

22:45

I suppose, is why I agreed to his plan. After

22:50

a few minutes of work, Dr. Perry seemed to notice

22:52

my presence. Then he called me

22:54

over and gestured me to a chair in front of his

22:56

desk. I nearly ran to his side,

22:58

thrilled to get some one-on-one time with my son. Dr.

23:02

Perry took a long, slow taste of his

23:04

creme brulee, eyes fluttering

23:06

with pleasure. Mother,

23:09

is this made from your milk? he

23:11

asked. I nodded. I

23:14

love it. That

23:17

simple three-word sentence. The

23:21

care and love for a child is one of life's great

23:23

joys. To have them recognize

23:25

it is another. You've

23:28

been with us how long? he

23:30

asked, and felt like

23:32

an entire lifetime. Three

23:34

months, Dr. Perrys, I said. Three

23:37

months. He repeated, tapping his

23:39

spoon against his chin. When

23:42

I broke your wrist, did you feel any

23:45

anger towards me? Any violent impulses?

23:48

I was shocked. No, of course

23:51

not. Dr. Perrys

23:53

wrote something on a piece of paper. He

23:55

spoke without looking up. What

23:58

did you feel? I

24:00

thought back, trying to remember.

24:02

It had been such a minor event, really. Sadness!

24:07

I wished I could have done something more for you. An embarrassment

24:10

as well, because, really,

24:12

it was my fault. Dr.

24:15

Paris handed me the sheet of paper. It

24:18

had a name, location, time, and

24:20

date. He

24:22

also handed me a photo of an

24:24

eight-year-old child, sitting astride a Talumnian horse.

24:27

Memorize this, he said. I

24:31

did. Dr. Paris took the

24:33

paper and the photo back from me. That

24:36

is Maximilian von Escher. He

24:39

is the second son to an obscure branch of

24:41

my family. Cy-op agents have

24:43

identified him as a potential usurper to my

24:45

position. My

24:47

heart skipped a beat. I felt like

24:49

I had been dropped into ice water. Then,

24:52

pure boiling rage welled up inside

24:54

me. Nobody would

24:56

harm my son. Nobody. Nobody,

24:59

not ever. I blinked back

25:01

furious tears. Then,

25:03

as the rage swirled, Dr.

25:06

Paris did something he'd never done before.

25:10

He made direct eye contact with me. Mother,

25:15

could you please kill him for me? On

25:20

the appointed date, I made my way to a horseback riding camp

25:22

on the sun side of Io. It

25:25

was shockingly easy to get into the

25:27

resort. In servants' clothes, you can go almost anywhere. In

25:31

minutes, I was standing before the long, white door of

25:33

room 208. I

25:36

scanned the biometrics Dr. Paris had given me before

25:38

I left. The door opened with a

25:40

pleasing, pneumatic hiss. And

25:45

there, sitting on the floor

25:47

and reading a book, was

25:50

Maximilian von Escher. The

25:53

rage frothed inside my head.

25:57

Cy-ops had armed me for this mission. I

25:59

pulled the large blood-red pistol from my

26:01

breast pocket and aimed it carefully. Just

26:05

before my finger pulled the trigger, Maximilian

26:09

looked up at me. His eyes

26:11

widened. He pushed himself back against the

26:14

wall. He wet himself,

26:17

and still I did not fire. As

26:20

much as I hated this child for what he would one

26:22

day do to my son, I could not pull the trigger.

26:26

Furious at myself, I stepped into the room, brandishing

26:29

the weapon, swinging it wildly back and

26:31

forth, making Max scream as I

26:33

did, trying to force my finger to move.

26:36

Move, damn it. I

26:40

was failing, Dr. Paris, flesh

26:42

of my flesh, blood of my blood.

26:45

A stampede of footsteps in the hallway, Max's

26:47

screams must have alerted someone. Now

26:50

was the time, my last chance.

26:54

I raised the gun level with Max's forehead, but

26:58

it wasn't Max's face that I

27:00

saw. It was

27:03

Dr. Paris, as a brave little boy,

27:06

weeping and screaming after the explosion that

27:08

shattered his leg, but not his resolve.

27:12

The gun fell from my hand, the

27:14

same moment the first guard's bullet entered

27:16

my back. I

27:19

took Dr. Paris three weeks to bribe enough hostarium

27:22

employees to get me out of the interrogation chamber.

27:24

He told them I was a psychotic,

27:27

a stalker who had accessed M1 illegally

27:30

and become obsessed with the Von Escher

27:32

family. He said Sciops needed to study

27:34

my twisted mind, figure out how

27:36

I'd accessed the M1 drug in the first place. Once

27:40

I was out of the institution, Sciops

27:42

backtraced my biometrics and suddenly my life

27:44

had been wiped from existence. Nobody

27:48

knew who I was, since

27:51

Dr. Paris and his closest advisors. They

27:55

left me in the infirmary to recuperate, three

27:58

weeks since my assassination attempt. and each

28:00

breath still uncorked gouts of agony. Getting

28:03

out of bed was an impossibility. Worse

28:07

than that was the shame,

28:09

and the shame of being back in

28:11

that gorgeous estate after failing my son so

28:13

utterly. No

28:16

torture could be worse. I

28:19

wept ceaselessly. My weakened

28:21

bones had been shattered in the scuffle,

28:23

but I refused my calcium supplements. I

28:27

did not deserve them. Both

28:29

my eye sockets had been cracked, leaving me

28:31

with black eyes so swollen and purple I

28:33

could barely open them for weeks. The

28:36

bullet had shredded my long intestines, so I had

28:38

been equipped with a colostomy bag. There

28:41

was a strong chance it would be permanent. One

28:45

day I awoke to find Dr.

28:47

Paris sitting at my

28:49

bedside. The apologies and tears

28:52

came rushing out. He

28:55

allowed me a few seconds of blubbering before

28:57

the cane came down on my broken thigh.

29:01

I quieted. "'You didn't

29:03

fail me, mother,' he

29:05

said, chuckling. I knew

29:07

you'd never be able to kill the boy. It

29:10

was clear I didn't understand. Dr.

29:13

Paris sighed and pulled a tablet from his

29:15

jacket. He turned it to face

29:17

me. It was filled

29:19

with acronyms, equations, and diagrams that

29:22

made no sense to me. Maximilian

29:24

is indeed a possible threat to my

29:26

position. Dr. Paris pointed

29:28

to a data visualization that looked like

29:31

a tangled spiderweb. A

29:33

full understanding of his psychological make-up shows

29:35

that this could in fact make him

29:37

invaluable to the psyop department, if

29:40

and only if he can

29:42

be controlled. Your

29:44

attempt on his life, when taken

29:46

as gestalt, was a perfect series

29:48

of psychological triggers. Your

29:50

clothes, the color of the gun, the loca-

29:54

Your clothes, the color of the gun,

29:56

the location of the attack, even the

29:58

time of day. All

30:00

of this can be leveraged to control young

30:02

Max once he's joined the Cy-op family." I

30:06

nodded slowly. Dr. Paris

30:08

was busying himself in one of the

30:10

cupboards, searching for something. Dr.

30:14

Paris, how did you know I wouldn't kill him? Oh,

30:17

Mother, of course you couldn't kill him.

30:20

You thought of me when you leveled the gun to his

30:22

face, didn't you? I nodded

30:25

again. I hadn't

30:28

told anyone that. Yes,

30:31

I thought if he was a child, after that

30:33

explosion that damaged your leg so badly, I

30:36

couldn't do it after that. Dr.

30:39

Paris chuckled as he retook his seat, now

30:41

holding something I couldn't quite make out in

30:43

his hands. I

30:46

know, Mother, I know. Of

30:49

course, the explosion, my leg injury,

30:52

none of that ever happened. It's

30:55

a story, just a useful bit

30:57

of leverage for moments like these. Now

31:01

then, Dr. Paris

31:03

shook an empty breast pump in front of my

31:05

face. I need

31:07

my milk. I

31:12

never meant to hurt my boy. I

31:15

need you to understand that. It

31:17

was another month before I was on my feet again, and I

31:20

walked with a slight limp, a

31:22

condition that Dr. Paris chose to leave me so I

31:25

would be reminded of my duties to him if every

31:27

step I took. It

31:29

was another two months before I began to wonder if

31:31

Dr. Paris had possibly made a mistake. Two

31:34

months of morning snuff films, morning

31:36

coffees, and occasional morning beatings. My

31:39

body told me that this was normal and

31:41

correct. The therapist at SIOP told

31:44

me it was normal and correct. And

31:47

still, I couldn't shake the

31:49

idea that something was not quite right.

31:52

It was then that I remembered what Dr. Paris had said

31:55

while I was in the hospital bed all those weeks ago.

31:58

A useful bit of leverage. Why

32:02

would he need leverage with me? Didn't

32:05

Dr. Parris understand that he was my everything? If

32:08

he'd wanted me to merely scare that child, I would have done

32:10

it. He didn't need to

32:12

manipulate me or push me. I

32:14

was happy to do anything to support him. Push

32:18

me away like that. It was

32:20

a sign of deep sadness. I was sure of it. A

32:23

giant empty office in that giant empty

32:26

house on that giant empty estate. No

32:28

children or grandchildren or visitors. I

32:32

suddenly realized that I'd never known a man

32:34

more alone than Dr. Parris. Which

32:37

was heartbreaking, and not because it was true,

32:40

but because it wasn't. Didn't

32:43

he understand that I was his mother? I wanted

32:46

him to know that he could trust me, rely

32:49

on me. It was so

32:51

clear, so obvious that all he needed was some true

32:53

perspective. The opportunity to step

32:55

outside his busy mind so full of

32:58

brilliant plans and manipulations and

33:00

see clearly that he didn't need to waste time

33:02

worrying about my loyalties. I

33:04

wanted him to understand the love and dedication of a

33:07

mother from the inside. I

33:12

was a fool. M1

33:15

is fat soluble. When

33:17

taken, excess amounts of the drug will be expressed

33:20

in the breast milk. As

33:22

an M1 domestic, my first dose had been permanent,

33:25

which meant that all additional M1 would be

33:27

expressed. The

33:29

math was simple. I

33:31

just needed the M1. During

33:33

my next visit to Cy-op headquarters, I was able

33:35

to slip a vial off a lab bench. I

33:38

hated to steal from Dr. Parris, but if

33:41

you only saw how many vials they had, all

33:43

destined to be shipped across the galaxy. I

33:46

was certain a historian would never notice. That

33:49

night, I used a syringe from the infirmary to

33:51

inject the M1 into my arm, trusting

33:54

my long sleeves to cover the evidence. It

33:57

was strange to feel the M1 enter my bloodstream with

34:00

no effect, besides the discomfort of a

34:02

needle in my arm. The

34:04

brain receptors it usually sought out were already full.

34:07

It had nowhere to go. The

34:10

next morning I carefully pumped two cups of

34:12

my breast milk into a silver creamer and

34:15

added three tablespoons to Dr. Paris's

34:17

morning coffee, bringing it to

34:19

a caramel brown. Not

34:22

enough M1 to be permanent, not

34:24

nearly. Just a

34:26

one-tenth dose, enough to

34:28

provide a twenty-minute experience. Here you

34:32

are, son," I said, placing the

34:34

cup in front of Dr. Paris. He

34:37

didn't reply. He was focused

34:39

on a particularly complex psychological

34:41

manipulation for a historian. An interplanetary

34:44

labor alliance was brewing in one of the

34:46

systems they controlled. Multiple

34:48

tablets were scattered across his desk. He

34:50

had been working on the problem for weeks, yet

34:53

no resolution was on the horizon. His

34:56

enemies and the historian were starting to whisper that

34:58

Dr. Paris wasn't the man for the job. Each

35:01

morning since this project began, Dr. Paris

35:03

had forgone his usual pornography and moved

35:05

straight to his sniff film. Each

35:08

morning he added another film to the screen,

35:11

trying to settle his increasingly broken nerves.

35:14

Slowly, like a motion-picture mosaic, the

35:17

large viewscreen on his wall was

35:19

being populated with death. That

35:22

day, when I looked across the room, I saw

35:25

twenty-five snuff films playing simultaneously.

35:29

Nearly all of them featured Dr.

35:31

Paris as executioner. I

35:34

looked away. I know

35:37

my son was a good boy. Sometimes

35:40

he did bad things. I

35:43

stood next to the desk, waiting for him to take the

35:45

first sip. He needed to see

35:47

me right after taking the drug where the imprinting wouldn't

35:49

take effect. Dr.

35:52

Paris threw a tablet across the room, shattering it

35:54

on the marble floor. I

35:56

flinched. I'd been so focused on my plan,

35:58

I hadn't noticed how first I could get it. straight he'd become.

36:02

He wheeled on me. What the

36:04

fuck are you still doing here? I

36:07

tried to smile. I brought

36:09

your coffee. Dr. Paris picked

36:11

up the cup and hurled it at my head. I didn't

36:14

duck, knowing it was my fault this was happening. I'd

36:17

fallen asleep at the wheel. I should have prevented this.

36:20

Dr. Paris walked up close to me and jabbed

36:22

my right breast. His eyes

36:24

were on fire. Get

36:27

out, you disgusting cow. He

36:29

spat. Get out, or I swear

36:31

I'll kill you. The

36:34

coffee was sprayed across the floor. My

36:37

plan had failed, so I

36:39

left. Dr. Paris locked

36:42

the door behind me. Twenty

36:45

minutes later, I

36:48

heard a terrible howling through the door. By

36:51

the time I'd broken through, Dr.

36:53

Paris was already dead. The

36:56

twenty-five snuff film still played on

36:58

repeat. Dr.

37:01

Paris was unrecognizable.

37:08

The floor by his desk. I

37:11

found the creamer empty.

37:14

A single

37:16

drop of my milk still in Dr.

37:18

Paris's beard. I

37:20

could only imagine what my son experienced. Even

37:24

a lifetime of conditioning could not stand up to

37:26

a full dose of M1. You

37:29

could lose yourself in it. It's

37:33

better if you do. I've

37:36

relived this moment for him a thousand times.

37:39

It's the most terrible punishment I can inflict on

37:41

myself, and so I

37:43

have to do it again and again, even

37:47

though it will never make up for what I did. In

37:51

the moment that the M1 hits, I

37:53

am Dr. Paris, and I'm standing

37:55

in my office. I

37:58

am frustrated with my work, and so I follow focus

38:00

on the soothing snuff films on the view screen.

38:03

My eyes are drawn to one of the ones I made

38:05

myself. I see a man

38:07

hooded and strapped to a chair. I

38:10

see myself reaching for my tools. I

38:13

see the first blade cut flesh. But

38:17

instead of serenity, something else

38:19

boils up inside of me. The

38:22

desire to protect. Because,

38:26

you see, that hooded

38:28

man being cut and stabbed with surgical

38:30

precision, precision meant to keep him

38:32

alive as long as possible. That

38:36

man is my son.

38:39

And I try to avert my eyes, but

38:42

only find another screen with another one of my

38:44

beautiful children in agony, an agony that I know

38:46

will end in death. So I

38:48

look away to another screen where another son has already

38:50

been decapitated. And I'm grateful when

38:53

my eyes blur from tears, but I can't

38:55

stop looking. I can't.

38:57

They meet me. My

38:59

children, my beautiful, dying children,

39:02

all of them being killed by

39:04

me. And now I'm screaming with rage

39:06

and trying to smash through the screen

39:08

with my cane to stop myself from

39:10

doing these things to my own flesh

39:12

and blood. And when my cane breaks

39:14

through, I throw it away. And now

39:16

needle-like shards of luma glass are lodging

39:18

themselves point first in my skull. And

39:21

I'm still smashing my head into the

39:23

towering screen again and again, weeping

39:26

and roaring as the shards drive deeper.

39:28

And I'm trying, trying, good God, and

39:30

trying to get through the glass and

39:32

stop myself, destroy myself before

39:34

I do any more damage to my

39:36

perfect sons and daughters. Then

39:39

somehow I'm through the three-inch thick

39:41

screen and it breaks at last and goes dead

39:44

and confused, horrified, and looking around for some

39:47

other way through. And then

39:49

in the black glass of the dead view screen, I

39:51

spot him. It's

39:53

the killer reflected in it, his

39:56

face transformed by blood, but it's him

39:58

all right. I recognize him. I know

40:01

him, and a mother's instinct

40:04

just takes over, a mother's

40:06

rage, and suddenly I have one of

40:08

the long shards gripped so tightly in my hand that

40:10

it is down to the bone, and I'm

40:13

stabbing and ripping with it. And

40:16

in the glass the last thing I

40:18

see with a fierce sense of righteousness

40:20

is him, the killer of my children,

40:22

with his throat ripped open to the

40:25

spine. But

40:27

in that last moment the killer is my son as

40:29

well, and in

40:31

that heartbeat of unbelievable pain and

40:34

loss it

40:36

all goes black forever. When

40:41

the family doctor arrived he found me

40:43

collapsed on the floor next to Dr.

40:45

Paris's mangled body. It

40:48

was days before I was sensible, at

40:50

which point I was immediately removed from

40:52

the premises and put on a transport.

40:56

My contract with Astorium had ended when

40:58

Dr. Paris died. Either

41:01

I was never a suspect or perhaps

41:04

Dr. Paris's enemies who still want me alive.

41:08

And regardless, I was allowed

41:10

to leave Titan and return to my homeworld. My

41:15

old family. When

41:17

I first arrived back on my home planet,

41:20

where the sky is as blue as Dr.

41:22

Paris's eyes and the clouds as white

41:24

as Dr. Paris's hair, I

41:27

wept every night for the loss of my child.

41:32

My family were frightened of me, of

41:35

how my mind had changed. They

41:38

don't recognize me. I

41:41

did not eat and rarely slept. My

41:44

calcium supplements lay unused in the bedside

41:46

drawer. The osteoporosis

41:48

left me brittle and weak. They

41:53

pushed me to see a local healer. We

41:56

have minor irrigation machines, some

41:58

small agricultural tools, a

42:01

basic collection of medical supplies and

42:03

staff. We

42:05

don't have PSYOP employees to take

42:07

care of our psychological well-being. We

42:11

make do. The

42:14

healer always meets me on the banks of a

42:16

small pond outside the settlement. She

42:19

is a small woman with closely cropped hair.

42:22

She laughs easily the few times I've made

42:25

jokes. When

42:27

I tell her about my experiences with Dr.

42:29

Paris, she is very quiet.

42:33

She is listening and thinking. We

42:36

spend our time together walking around the pond.

42:40

I can't remember the last time I've been outside

42:42

in nature. One

42:45

day, after a few meetings, she

42:48

asked me if I felt guilty. I

42:51

told her I did. She

42:55

asked me if I could change what had happened.

42:59

I told her I could not. We

43:04

were quiet for a long time after that. Just

43:09

walking around the pond. Thank

43:25

you to Braden Gordon, Cadence Anne, Milena, Skull Ape,

43:27

Shane Edwards, Bailey Sargent,

43:47

Simon Dainty, Cohen Perry, Kwame

43:50

Essia, Stephane Yamano, and Void Oculus

43:52

for helping us keep the lights...

43:55

well... off. by

44:00

Alexander Saxton, Anthony Botello, and Jacob Duarte

44:02

Spiel, with music composed and performed by

44:04

Alon Citrin, and arranged for the viola

44:06

and performed by Viola Schmidt. You can

44:08

follow The Wrong Station on social media,

44:11

at thewrongstation, and email us at thewrongstation

44:13

at gmail dot com. And

44:16

until next time, thank you

44:18

for listening.