"Yes, that sounds great. Yes. Plane's on the way, | can't talk for 
long. I'll call you once I'm there." Light smiled. "You too." 


She hung up. 
"It's a nice day," said Vaux. 


It was, as far as days go in Svalbard. Chilly, but sun bright on the 
tundra meadows and rolling rock hills. She supposed she'd add the 


cold and quiet site to the list of places to miss. 
Vaux was still watching her. 
"What?" she asked. 


"Why did you take it? The position. It's, um. It's strange that they 
offered it to you." 


“They say that in the entire universe, not one unusual thing has ever 
happened.” 


“Liliight. That's bullshit.” 


Light cracked a grin. "Arguably. In this instance, | know that High 
Command has had some kind of interest in me since very early in 
my career. Used to think | only got promotions because people 
thought | was either with the Olympia Project or related to Bright. But 
that's not true. There's something else.” 


“Is this why you're not worried that they're going to shoot us if this 
plan fails?” 


“They'd only shoot me.” She sighed. “Vaux — When she offered it, | 
wasn't sure. Imagine you believe in nuclear power. You can't 
support it outright, because it's politically taboo. For... inane 
bureaucratic reasons. But you've seen that it can supply humanity 
with cheap energy, pure water, food, health, opportunity." 


"But it's dangerous," ventured Vaux. 
"Of course it's dangerous. But you strongly suspect it's less 
dangerous than the alternative- not using it. You just can't convince 


anyone to try it." 


"Then," she continued, "Imagine the government puts you in charge 
of its nuclear weapons program." 


Toe 


"What else could | do?" She leaned back, staring out at the tundra. 


Vaux nodded. "You sure nobody's going to try to kill you?" 


"Someone will, almost assuredly, but not Command. Like | said, 
they like me, although | have no idea why." 


"Ah." Above them, a whining engine indicated that their ride was 
inbound. Vaux whistled Mango back to him, clipped on her leash. 


"But," said Light, "I intend to find out. And then | intend to make use 
of it.” 


Just A Formality 


Dr. Daniel Aeslinger envied his peers outside of the Foundation. 
They only had to deal with life in the twenty-first century eroding 
mankind's sanity, and he supposed that was enough to deal with as 
it was. Even without anomalies running amok in the world, human 
beings were quite capable of messing up their minds without any 
outside help. Mix in the trauma inherent in realizing reality was a 
sham, and what did you get? One hell of a challenge for people like 
Aeslinger. 


He put down his briefcase in the spare office they'd assigned him at 
Site-103, and rubbed his eyes. He'd been awake for the entire flight 
over here, his body once again refusing to catch the sleep he so 
desperately needed. It always did that on long flights, stubbornly 
refusing to give in to exhaustion. And when he did doze off, he'd be 
woken by a cough, or someone talking. It was infuriating, but he 
refused to medicate himself for something like this. He saved 
pharmaceuticals for when it really mattered. 


"Coffee," he muttered and went back out to get some from one of 
the machines in the hall. 


When he came back, someone was sitting in the office chair 
opposite the desk. He was in his mid-forties, impeccably dressed in 
what looked like an expensive dark suit. He looked like he meant 
business, and not the "Do you sometimes find yourself in a bind 
because you don't have enough containers for your leftovers, 
ma'am?" kind of business. 


"Dr. Aeslinger, welcome." 


Aeslinger hurriedly put the paper cup down on a nearby filing 
cabinet and shook hands. 


“Thank you. And you are?" 


"My name is Dr. Manwell Cutler and I'm a member of the 
Foundation's Ethics Committee. Perhaps you've heard of us?" 


Aeslinger held a straight face and then curtly nodded. "Who hasn't, 
Dr. Cutler? The shadowy puppet masters of the Foundation; those 
who ultimately control all things in this organization, from the 
procedures and guidelines we use to the quality and strength of the 
coffee-flavored water that | just got for myself. So to speak." 


Cutler raised an eyebrow, but Aeslinger couldn't determine whether 
it was because he was puzzled or amused. Perhaps both. 


"Well, that is certainly one way of looking at it. But no, they don't 
control everything. In fact, we prefer that the Foundation regulate 
itself as much as possible. However, there are some times when we 
need to assert some control. This is one of them." 


Now it was Daniel's turn to raise his eyebrow ever so slightly. 


"Oh? And is this then where you fill me in on the real reason I'm 
here?" 


He walked over to the chair behind the desk and sat down. 
Motioning at the other office chair, he said: "Please, sit down." 


Cutler took his seat again and smiled. "Thank you. And yes, that is 
exactly what I'm going to do. See, while you are here to doa 
psychological evaluation of certain members of staff here at 
Site-103, I'm afraid the plural has become singular." 


"Singular?" Aeslinger said and took a sip of his coffee. "Ow!" he 
exclaimed and hurriedly put the cup down again. "| keep forgetting 
these machines serve this stuff piping hot at one Site and lukewarm 
at others. Dammit." 


Cutler waited patiently until Aeslinger had finished fussing with his 
coffee cup. 


"Yes. We're flying in Tennison tomorrow. He'll be taking the 
personnel you were scheduled to see. You, on the other hand, will 
get to concentrate on one individual." 


"Oh?" Aeslinger perked up. This reeked of a challenge. "Who is it? 
He must be either a wreck, or very important to you." 


Cutler folded his hands on his knees and smiled. It was not unlike 
seeing a shark bare its teeth. 


"What apt characterizations, Dr. Aeslinger. Perhaps he's both. 
Regardless, you'll be meeting him in..." Cutler said and looked at his 
watch, "...approximately 44 minutes." 


Daniel sighed. A challenge it might be, but it was also once again a 
change of plans. He wasn't good with changing plans; it meant 
actively working at staying alert, keeping his mind focused to deal 
with it. Even now he could feel his brain racing to recalculate how 
the day would go, like a car's navigation system frantically trying to 
get him back on the highway after he'd taken a detour through 
Weirdsville USA, famous for its three-headed cows and 
spontaneously combusting chick ... He shook his head to clear it. 
Cutler was watching him with a faint air of amusement that instantly 
and firmly assigned him a bunk bed in Aeslinger's Camp Do Not 
Like. 


"So, might | be allowed to know who I'm going to be evaluating 
then?" he ventured, trying to inject some sense of antagonism into 
his voice. 


"But of course, Dr. Aeslinger. I'm sure that would be the very 
minimum courtesy you deserve." 


There was an uncomfortable silence. 

"And the winner is?" Daniel ventured, now actually annoyed. 
"We'll call him Bill." 

"So that's not his real name." 

"Does it matter?" 


"It does to me, Dr. Cutler. Someone's name does have some power, 
you know." 


Cutler laughed. "| suppose it would to a psychologist. Bill will do for 
now, Dr. Aeslinger. Remember what happened to the cat." 


"The cat? What cat? Am | missing something?" 
"It would seem so. Curiosity killed the cat?" 


"Oh. A proverb. Sorry. Sometimes these things go right over my 
head." 


"Yes. Apparently." Cutler shook his head. "Well, | won't keep you 
any longer. | suppose you'll want to do some prep. You will find most 
of what you need to know in the e-mail you've just received." 


"| don't have any new..." 
A ping sounded from Aeslinger's mobile, indicating a new message. 


"Break a leg, Daniel," Cutler said smugly and walked to the door. He 
stopped when Aeslinger called after him. 


"You know, 'Dr. Cutler’, if you're going to pretend you're on the 
Ethics Committee, please try to keep your pronouns straight." 


Cutler turned back to Aeslinger. 
"Sorry?" 


"You said 'they' don't rule everything. | can't say | met a member of 
the O5 Council before, but | can say | don't really like the way you 
people do things." 


"And what makes you assume | have anything to do with the Council 
and didn't just innocently use the wrong pronoun?" the parry came. 


"No one on the Foundation's payroll could afford a Brioni suit unless 
they owned said payroll. Try blending in a little more next time. But 
then, with your latent narcissism, that's going to be hard, isn't it?" 


“Touché, Dr. Aeslinger. You are as observant as they assured me 
you would be. Try to put that to good use, will you? You'd be doing 
us a favor." 


He reached behind him for the door and nodded. Then he was gone. 


Daniel Horatio Aeslinger desperately longed for a clean shirt. He 
also considered a dose of amnestics and a job as a small-town 
psychologist in Alaska. The bears were undoubtedly better company 
than his colleagues. 


Integrity Project 


The director of Site-81 was far away from the confines of the 
Foundation, in a cottage nestled in the Rockies. He sat on the back 
porch, enjoying the brisk morning air. He took a deep breath, and 
then another, and smiled as he considered how much more pleasant 
breathing was here than in the long corridors and dark rooms below 
the lake. He loved Site-81; there was no doubt there. But Site-81 
was old, built seemingly eons ago. It was an incredible place to do 
research, and to contain anomalous entities, but it gave no 
consideration to comfort. 


All of that, though, was in the distance of his mind. The doctor 
sipped from a cup of coffee and idly played with the IV in his arm. 
Karlyle was reading a book gifted to him by an old friend, one now 
long retired from the Foundation. They had met when they were 
young men, come together when they were forced to dissolve their 
connections with the outside world. Once, they might have said they 
loved each other, in their own way. 


When the time came for the other man to leave the Foundation, he 
had given Karlyle the book and a promise— for them to meet up 
after Aktus finally retired and move to Italy together. They had 
always loved Italy. Karlyle had smiled, taken the book, and made the 
promise. 


"But who knows, Karlyle," Oliver had said, "maybe you'll be here 
forever, grinding away in that lab until the sun goes out. Lord know 
you haven't aged in nearly thirty years." 


Karlyle had laughed, and told his friend to wait for him. After Oliver 
Rights had left the Foundation he moved to Minneapolis, where he 
was born. He died one night, twenty three years later, when a power 
outage from a snowstorm darkened his home and he froze next to 
an empty wood stove. He was 87 years old. 


That same night, Karlyle approved an order to upgrade a dangerous 


SCP-702-1: Your kind again! | do so love new pieces for 
my collection! 


Subject D-1010: Oh God, collection? | don't want to die! 


SCP-702-1: | have only a short time, slow one, and you 
waste it. Do you desire trade, or no? 


Subject D-1010: Tra- you want this fucked up statue? 


Dr. : SCP-702-1 appears to be considering the 
statue and is emitting a humming sound. 


[Note: Harmonics testing later indicated a frequency 
associated with deep thought. ] 


SCP-702-1: How very... interesting. Here is my 
response. 


[an intake of air is heard] 


Subject D-1010: A... wow, that's heavy. 


Dr. : Proceed to debriefing, 1010. 

[long period of silence, recording clicks off and clicks on 
again] 

Dr. : SCP-702-1 issued a two point eight kilogram 


jar of an unidentified liquid. The jar appears to be made 
of glass. The liquid is clear, but | am not removing the lid 
to identify odors. The jar will be sent to the labs for 
chemical analysis. 


Transcript Log of Experiment 702-004: 


Subject D-8133 was issued a vial containing a sample 
from SCP-158. 


Subject D-8133: So | touch the vase with this in my 
hand and give it away if | can? 


SCP to the Keter-class, with restrictions. He did not hear about 
Oliver's passing until later. He had not thought of it since until he 
grabbed this book on the way out of town. 


His eyes had hung on the handwritten inscription just inside the 
cover. To my dearest friend, with love. He read the book. 


He continued reading well into the late morning, when he began 
considering lunch. He stood up, walking slowly and carefully towards 
the doorway, and entered. He left the book on the table next to his 
chair outside. 


The old doctor stretched briefly and then began to make a sandwich. 
Turkey on rye, standard fare back at work. Old habits die hard, but 
at least here he could offer himself a slice of cheddar to go with it. 


His hand reached for the refrigerator, and stopped when he noticed 
the man standing in the corner of the room. 


"Ah," Karlyle said slowly as he pulled the refrigerator open. "So good 
of you to join me. Early though, for me to be going back? It has only 
been two days, | feel." 


The man stood quietly, unmoving. Karlyle glanced around as he 
closed the door, realizing then that there were many other men and 
women in his cottage, pressed up against the walls. Some wore 
suits, other plainclothes. Some carried weapons. They all stood 
silent, staring straight ahead. The old man shook his head and 
laughed. "The formalities are unnecessary, | think. There are none 
here but me and you." 


They all left the room then, save for one. 


"Ah, there we go.” Karlyle moved into the living room and sat down 
on a plush sofa. His IV was still in his arm, connected to a bag that 
hung on a metal rack and followed him wherever he wert. It rolled 
across the hardwood and sat next to him when he did, quietly 
watching the whole scene. "Come and have a seat, Joshua. | am 
sure this is not going to be quick." 


The man slid effortlessly across the floor, silently. He moved 


towards a chair and then was seated in it, his eyes pressed on 
Karlyle from across the room. The old doctor continued to eat his 
sandwich. 


"So," he said, in between bites, "what is somebody like you doing all 
the way out here with somebody like me? And with an entourage, no 
less." He licked his lips carefully. "They cannot send somebody who 
is less of a big fish, for an old man like Aktus?" He laughed. 


The other man did not move. ""| am not here for who you are. | am 
here for who you were."" 


Karlyle paused long enough to swallow, and then continued into his 
meal. "All that is, Joshua, is another way of saying that | am not the 
man | used to be. You know it, and these old bones know it." He 
took another bite. "I think you will have better luck elsewhere, 
friend." 


The uncomfortable silence was broken by the sound of a bird 
chirping outside. Karlyle thought to look towards the sound, but 
knew better than to take the man out of his sight. 


"It is not the youth of that man | am looking for, Jean,” the man said, 
"nor his aptitude with a weapon." 


Karlyle shrugged, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. "Then why 
are you here?" 


"You know." 
"Humor me. | am very old." 


The other man stood. "Twenty-five entities contained within two 
years. Extensive knowledge of behaviours and anomalous traits of 
many more. Ability to manipulate situations concerning anomalous 
entities in order to facilitate containment. Understanding of the—" he 
paused, "potential, of entities. The reason you joined the 
Classification Committee. The reason they made you its head. The 
reason Site 81 has gone without breach in your tenure there." 


Karlyle nodded and snapped up the final piece of his sandwich. 
"These things you say, they are true. | will not deny facts. And yet, | 


am an old man, Joshua. Certainly my edges have worn dull. 
Certainly they are looking for one other than myself." 


"They are not."