Remember (14 page)

"Welcome to Chez Claire!" She has an interesting lippy French accent that wasn’t there a minute ago.

The obvious thought hits me.
"Oh, this must be the example."

"Qui.” She swivels her right arm out from behind her back with a tray holding six stacked mini gateaux. “Which baked treats are you going try? We have chocolate and vanilla cake. The fillings are orange, pineapple, strawberry. Which tasty combination would you like to sample?"

"I'll have vanilla cake with pineapple."

"Coming right up." She turns the platter to my choice and holds it out to me.

I get it and hazard a bite of the two-bite cake. The cake tastes so good. The moist, velvety cake falls apart at just the right time. The filling offers the perfect sweetness. Everything feels almost too idealistic, as if I’ll wake up eating an eraser. Everything just disappears when Claire leaves the room. Good example.

"How was that?" Claire holds me by both shoulders from the front.

"It is just
okay
." I grin with the impossibility of what just happened, the dreamt nature.

"Come on!" Her shrill, unusually high-pitched exclamation from 20 odd inches away sets my face on fire.

"Just kidding."
The recent experience makes me feel better about her. She finally starts acting like her 25 age (Institute directory) or like a high schooler.

She shoves me into the chair a little too hard. "Do you have any questions?"

The idea to get more info about Mountain Overlook comes from nowhere. "Just one, what is with those food protesters?"

"Yes, they are just protesting synthetic food. The food you get from the nourishers. Each one plumbs into a citywide network that routes protein, carbohydrate, fat, fiber, and various flavor slurries. "Claire leans along the counter to my left.

I turn to face her. "I don't see a difference, do you?"

"No. They think food is best from the Earth. I don't know much about it. I'm sure they must have some good reasons."

Her understanding of other people’s ideas doesn’t match her condescension from a few days ago.
So I say, "The food we get from the nourishers is from the Earth at some point."

"The food goes through so many processes in the ground and after harvesting."

She is defending their position?
"I sure those processes are safe."

"After you see it happening, think about it."

So she agrees at some level.
"Where can I do that?"

"You can figure it out, if you want to know." She turns her head towards the empty sitting area, exposing her neck to me. Her pristine neck joins a marble clavicle.

Anyway, my chance to find her real position arrives. My words should turn her head.
"Are you sure you aren't one of them?"

Claire talks for the benefit of the empty space. "You just have to figure it out."

"Come on, give me a clue."

Claire meets my eyes and speaks with a frigid voice. "No, you can just think about it." She clams up the warmth that connected us and betrayed her.

"Why don't you join us for lunch, some time?"
Just a suggestion.

"It is not that easy to uncover my mysteries, Mr. Abby." She smiles again, finding a new approach.

That strange convo arose without either of us even associated to the groups, a pseudo-argument. She likes arguing and wants to appear mysterious. It didn’t work with me. I can handle her.

Anyway, time to resume the actual work. I can help Gary, now. Gary entered the door at the end of the hallway. The room has two beds with people on them. Gary stays situated at one computer with the other one free.

"Need any help?"

Gary looks much more relaxed with a dry, smooth forehead. "Good you're here. You can help with the other person."

"Got it." I get to work like Claire showed me. Apply the node (tech shows a subcutaneous vein map and highlights best placement on the shoulder section of the cephalic vein if exposed, upper arm, or forearm), go to the computer, and upload the program. I wait for the upload while Gary gets the next test subject. Unhook the person, fetch next subject, and repeat.

(—)

"All done?" I just looked out the medical lab to an empty hallway.

"Almost." Gary replies.

What he could possibly think of escapes me.
"This has been a long day."
The repetition of endless programming tired me out.
I lie down in the bed before Gary’s computer.

"Okay. Now we wait, again."

I hear what he said for the third time, replaying the conversation for proof. The need just possesses me.
"What are we waiting for now?"

"You know. The dreams have to come in."

The whole idea of the study almost overwhelms my fatigue-addled mind. A question comes forth anyway.
"What about the classifying part?"

"We have to get some AI’s to help us. We'll be lucky to get even three."

What a strange thing? Doesn’t my apartment have one? Even my tech has one.
"Why?"

"We can't compel them to help us. They're almost above the law. They can't have physical bodies and can't move across networks. That’s about it. They can do everything else."

"I haven't heard about it before."
No, really.

"It’s new."

"Okay."
The new info just imbibes slowly into my head. The apartment and computers must just hold nearly sentient programs.

"That also means we have to help sift through the dreams. We want at least five analysts looking at each dream."

"Sounds good." A yawn escapes me.

"See you tomorrow." Gary leaves right away.

"See you then." My voice lands on an empty room.

Wed 5/3/17 11:12 p.m.

R:

How is your mission agent 7429?

A:

Good

R:

Have you completed stage one?

A:

Yes, the target has been identified as Conor Abby.

R:

Have you accomplished stage 2?

A:

Yes. I've gotten an intro.

R:

Continue to next stage.

A:

Confirmed. Get closer to target.

R:

Current state?

A:

Have had some contact with target. We have agreed to a routine meeting, almost. I can't seem too eager.

R:

Good work, continue. Any progress on stage 4?

A:

Haven't had a good opportunity, yet.

R:

Good work agent.

A:

Meet at next scheduled contact.

R:

End update.

A:

Why are they so interested in him? They had me dump every bit of data from the last assignment in 2 hours, usually something that takes a week or more. He doesn't have genetic mods or anything they would find useful, if not interesting. It just makes no sense.

Mon 11/20/17 9:55 a.m.

I
wake up with Sarah still holding my hand. Not much happened during the remembered time. The dream hyper-intensified the memory into a house of horrors. Why does Karina keep visiting me every week, anyway? Sarah takes away her hand. The handholding didn’t help the Process.

Sarah leans back in the chair. “How did the memory session work?”

This truth quickly replies to her question.
“Good. I just don’t know what it all means.”

“Why don’t you tell me about the memory?”

I shift over to the back of the sofa and push myself into sitting. “I don’t want to do that.”

“For your question, I can try out an answer. What you’re experiencing is our natural ability to recognize patterns. Sometimes the stuff that happens has no meaning besides the fact that it happens to you.”

There must be something more to it.
I promulgate more info. “Karina visits me every week, and a connection seems to be there. I don’t remember us doing anything but arguing. She helps me with stuff she knows. Whenever we are equally qualified on a topic, it turns into a drawn out argument.”

“That is normally the case until either party decides what the relationship is. The only thing to do is ask her about it.” She averts her eyes knowing what comes next, a reiteration of the Center’s rules.

“She won’t answer.”

Her insistence rings as patronizing the amnesiac.
“You could try it. The Center doesn’t allow it, but you can still do it.”

“Thanks for this, Sarah.”
My hidden ability to tell a lie without doubt and with conviction pulls off this reply.

“It’s just my job. Do you want me to walk you back?” She shook off my thanks and got right back to business.

“No, I know the way.”

“See you tomorrow, Conor.”

Mon 11/20/17 3:20 p.m.

I
wait in the visiting room for someone. The glassy surface of the table supports my hand and lean. I proclaim myself as looking relaxed on one leg, far from the truth. The anticipation of telling Karina I know who she is, burns through every part of me. It still makes no sense. We know each other in passing, but I feel closer in some way. She must care about me. She offered a secret way to talk with her, but she doesn’t tell me anything. She wants me to get better and keeps visiting me. What does this mean? I’m no closer to finding…

Karina comes in, her usual happy self. I recognize her from the memory. She has on a black jacket and pants. The jacket harbors a mesh center over a maroon shirt. Her folded pants cuff is a matching shade. I come around the table, shake her hand, and take a breath before saying anything.

Louder than I should:
“I know who you are,
Claire
.”

She still keeps her hand in my warm grasp. “It’s great that you’re remembering something about me.”

The thoughts in my head just flow out into the room unchanged.
“That has given me more questions than answers.”

She nods a few times. “Conor you are making progress. You are bound to come out with some questions.”

“I’ll remember that.”
A flat voice came out with that answer.

She leans in as if sharing a secret to whisper something in my ear. “So what do you know about me?”

I just freeze and answer. “I got the first week at the Institute back.”
The thought of being close to her feels right, but the experience leaves me stuck with no memories of time together.

“Do you remember the sim cake I made you?”

I smile, a shared memory.
“Yes, how could I forget your chef’s hat and that pineapple cake?”

“What else happened? Did we argue?” Claire reluctantly releases my hand, seeming to just notice the awkward handshake grip. Her face becomes concerned that this action could cause me to forget everything. She wipes her drenched hand on her pants. I do the same with mine. Claire sits down.

I pull my chair up next to her and take a seat. “
Yes.
I just couldn’t let it go. I was ready to do anything to convince you.”

Claire looks at an empty patch of table between us. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage. What was the argument about?”

I brush against her hand “accidentally” to bring her eyes back to me. “It’s still fresh in my memory. We had a discussion about the natural food movement.”

“Oh, that one.”

“We argue a lot, right?”

Claire looks at me but not really. Probably, equating this me to the old me. “You could say that, but it always ends well.”

Sarah’s advice enters my mind and leaves in my words. “What is our relationship?”

Claire thinks for a second. “That is for you to find out.”

“I can’t get a straight answer out of you.”

“Just give it time, you’ll figure it out.” Claire’s sly smile resembles a soft smirk.

“Okay.”

Claire slides the chair out and turns to face me, which I follow. “How are you doing, other than that?”

“I’m doing good. It’s just the dreams are a little too much to deal with.”

Claire turns worried with my admission. “Why don’t you tell me more about it?”

“They have me on a therapy that uses weak electrical stimuli or something to spur my unconscious mind to uncover lost memories. The biggest way for me to access those findings is through remembering my entire dream.”

A clinical understanding overtakes the escape of real emotion, so rare with her. “What is too much?”

“The dreams are freaky and intense. When they are going on, I completely believe everything. This ends only after waking up. I just want something to change.”
I clench my hand into a tight fist, trying however successfully to hide my dread, weakness really.

Claire suggests, “Have you talked to anyone about it?”

“Yes, they say it's a required part of the therapy. If they cripple the impact of the dream, the memory will be in bits and pieces.”
My reliance on facts extends to medical opinions.
After the first dream, I recited a list of facts about my therapy to calm myself.