xp_logs | Log (Forge, solo)

Set god-awful-early Tuesday morning, Forge works on a research project that has nothing to do with science or engineering.

"Cross-reference from index mark two forty, search parameters one, three, four. Search," Forge spoke into the voice recorder, watching the microfiche reader speed forward through years of periodicals and newspapers. It had taken him a while to track down all the paperwork he figured he would need to solve this particular puzzle.

With his right hand, he worked the speed control of the microfiche reader, glancing across the attached LCD monitor for the requested search terms. With his left, he was fluttering his fingers madly, as if typing on an invisible keyboard. The cable that extended from his prosthetic's forearm was attached to one of the off-network mainframe computers that the school used for intense data-crunching. Forge was using it to get all the computing power he could get. Splitting his attention like this gave him the slightest of migraines, but all he needed was the right piece - the right bit of information that would fall into place and make the entire sequence seem logical, like a perfect machine.

With his feet kicked up on the cardboard box that had been delivered during his roadtrip, he rocked back in the chair, allowing himself a few blinks before turning his attention back to the dual-monitor setup before him. New York State census reports, telephone records, property records, medical records, birth certificates, change of address forms, DMV records, all insane picayunes of recordkeeping. Taking a quick sip of water, Forge leaned forward, opening his mind to the flow of information, ever analytical and swift.

One phone number was all that he had started with, and about a fifteen-year span to try and pin it down to. He'd traced it through public record, cross-referencing with property tax receipts and postal forms. It hadn't been until the road trip, however, that he got the idea to factor in sites along trucking routes, which gave him a more specific corridor to look. The data was out there, it fit, he knew it did...

Connection.

The pattern of data began to fall together as Forge closed his eyes, imagining every piece of the mystery as a cog in a machine. A phone number was only the beginning. "Establish movement pattern, verify double-sure," he mumbled, typing in the commands to the mainframe to authenticate his discovery. A phone number led to an address, but didn't match the expected occupants. Scanning back further through the records, the number led to the right occupants, but the trail ended there. Bouncing forward, using a database of names and addresses, eliminating duplicates and unlikely combinations of data, one positive match was found.

Connection.

Tracking back again, past the initial data. Census reports, phone records, school enrollment documents. "Two where there should be three, four where there should be five..." Forge kept repeating to himself, scanning back and forth through the microfiche as the mainframe churned through the algorithms he'd designed. On the monitor, areas on the state map were blinking and fading to black, eliminating areas from his search. A graph of progress-over-time constantly updated, moving ever closer to a single flat line of certainty.

Medical records. Forge opened his eyes wide, speeding through the microfiche, not bothering to use the voice recorder as he hammered in new search terms. "Where is the connection?" he whispered, watching the area on the map dwindle. Red dots representing hospitals popped up and were just as quickly extinguished as the computer ruled them out. Finally, Forge typed in a simple search string of dates and places.

Connection.

A Sunday paper from a small town, not an hour's drive away. Fourteen years ago, give or take a few months. A small box at the bottom of the Religion section, where the local churches advertised revivals, potlucks, baptisms, and the like. Slowly and carefully, Forge read the words to himself.

"...welcomes back... after loss of their... last winter." Last winter

Connection.

"Copy timeframe, subtract nine to twelve months. Search hospital list, county sublist. Eliminate birth records. Highlight death notices."

The seconds that the mainframe took to search seemed to stretch on for hours as Forge's brain sped through the possibilities. This was the moment of connection, the turn of the key, the same feeling he got when one of his inventions would spring to life for the first time.

[RESULTS ACQUIRED: 1 (one)]

"Connection," he breathed, looking at the document on the screen. Social security number, date of birth... NAME.

"Cross-reference name to birth notices, date specific." He pressed the Enter key, and almost immediately an image came up of a notarized birth certificate from a New York State hospital. The name matched. The parents' names matched. The date was right. Forge noted the odd additions to the birth notice. Birth complications. Caudal appendage.

Mutation. The unprinted word screamed out to his mind.

Connection.

Burning the search data to a DVD, Forge stood up, cramped muscles complaining as he wandered over to the printer, watching it slowly churn out a birth certificate. The results of his search were complete.

Now, how to break the news to someone that they happened to be legally dead.