Well. Weren't even trying to convince the patients, that was. An outsider might not have seen anything wrong with that little introduction, but a brief check of his database revealed that it had been spoken word-for-word by Landel precisely a week before: they'd simply replayed it and cut the outdated references to the weather.
Side-by-side with his escort, Lunge walked to the Sun Room. Even with his new-old nurse's uniform, it was easy to recognise the tall, broad-shouldered soldier hidden behind them, faintly ill at ease out of uniform so far as the trained eye could measure. Just as they had been in the town, the military were undercover.
It had made sense, there, trading the military uniforms for clean white medical gear; overt military presence was likely to alarm the townspeople and raise suspicion. Perhaps the same was true of today, and the aim was not to surprise any of the usual Sunday visitors. But that didn't make sense. Surely the visitors were brainwashed to some extent anyway, or simply empty ciphers made to look like friends and relatives? In that case, why was the military making such a careful effort to conceal their activity from them? Surely their opinion was either a moot point or nonexistent? In fact, if Doyleton was the illusion Landel claimed it was, why had they bothered at all yesterday, too? Was there some sort of double bluff going on here simply to throw the patients off, or had he overlooked something critical?
The lack of a conclusion frustrated him. Lunge surveyed the Sun Room briefly for anyone he could air the thought to, but it was still too early for there to be many people around or new bulletins put up. The young woman sitting by herself and writing looked promising enough, at least; it implied a certain level of organisation, and that she actually had something interesting to write about. Very few patients here seemed to actually use their journals at all.
How tenuous- but then, he hardly had a fistful of options.
His approach was casual, and he settled into an armchair opposite with a thoughtful sigh. "Hardly convincing, is it?" he commented, eyes swivelling briefly to the intercom before he gave a faint smile. "Would you mind if I sat here?"
no subject
Well. Weren't even trying to convince the patients, that was. An outsider might not have seen anything wrong with that little introduction, but a brief check of his database revealed that it had been spoken word-for-word by Landel precisely a week before: they'd simply replayed it and cut the outdated references to the weather.
Side-by-side with his escort, Lunge walked to the Sun Room. Even with his new-old nurse's uniform, it was easy to recognise the tall, broad-shouldered soldier hidden behind them, faintly ill at ease out of uniform so far as the trained eye could measure. Just as they had been in the town, the military were undercover.
It had made sense, there, trading the military uniforms for clean white medical gear; overt military presence was likely to alarm the townspeople and raise suspicion. Perhaps the same was true of today, and the aim was not to surprise any of the usual Sunday visitors. But that didn't make sense. Surely the visitors were brainwashed to some extent anyway, or simply empty ciphers made to look like friends and relatives? In that case, why was the military making such a careful effort to conceal their activity from them? Surely their opinion was either a moot point or nonexistent? In fact, if Doyleton was the illusion Landel claimed it was, why had they bothered at all yesterday, too? Was there some sort of double bluff going on here simply to throw the patients off, or had he overlooked something critical?
The lack of a conclusion frustrated him. Lunge surveyed the Sun Room briefly for anyone he could air the thought to, but it was still too early for there to be many people around or new bulletins put up. The young woman sitting by herself and writing looked promising enough, at least; it implied a certain level of organisation, and that she actually had something interesting to write about. Very few patients here seemed to actually use their journals at all.
How tenuous- but then, he hardly had a fistful of options.
His approach was casual, and he settled into an armchair opposite with a thoughtful sigh. "Hardly convincing, is it?" he commented, eyes swivelling briefly to the intercom before he gave a faint smile. "Would you mind if I sat here?"