Remember (48 page)

I fight it without going down, but I'm against the wall. She tries head-butting me reversed. I see it coming and move out of the way. This hurts her more than me. She starts attacking with her chin, tech weapons imbed there below the skin, spikes in the mandible. She prods me in the triceps, having never used this weapon of last resort, not knowing it's too soon. She lacks the will to carry through,
yet
. As consciousness starts to slip, the survival instinct kicks in. She can do just about anything
then
. That means sacrificing the tissue under her mandible in order to escape my hold. I can’t allow this. Evidence of my action be the result. Find something else.

The NLIT. I don't have a choice, if I want that data. I absolutely can’t let her escape. She could identify me or take me down. Her with implanted weapons. My age of 5 years junior helps nothing. I’m using the NLIT.

My hostile handling training kicks in once I settle on it. I use my mass and grip advantage to turn the tables. Irena is pinned against the wall with me at her back. With my left hand, I push her head into the wall. In the moment of her confusion, I push my left knee into the lumbar region of her back. My right arm still under her chin still.

A good hold for now. My knee stops her from moving back without some pain. The lumbar bridge offers a good resting place for my knee, between the tendons. My arm around her neck keeps her back in tension. It also prevents forward and left movement. The leaning back spine gives her less mechanical advantage. She can easily get the upper hand, if she finds the weakness to the right. I have to use the NLIT. Everything else isn’t going to work. I get it from my pocket. Once I’ve palmed it, the NLIT just sticks there.

With an assault suit, the standard next move is to launch both of us onto my back. The NLIT easily used in this laying down position. Without the assault suit the options reduce. Then, guide Irena right and NLIT her. She knows the counter-measure (push through my right hand and escape). I try something Jenna showed me.

I position my right arm on the wall next to her. I remove my knee. Irena moves back, the only possible move. She starts kicking my legs in an attempt to make a path. My right arm comes around the front of her — the NLIT on her. The slight pressure tells me the NLIT deployed. Irena freezes there. I leave the NLIT on. My right arm moves under her back, while the left moves under her knees. I put pressure there until they buckle. She falls into my arms.

I carry her to the isle, where I want her visible so people can find her. I need to think of a convincing reason for her injuries. I think falling into a desk could cause the head bump she has from a not-so-gentle tap into the rock-hard wall. Seeing a desk with a row of colored bottles (where I am) I swing Irena’s feet to knock two or three down. They shatter on impact with the ground. I kneel down near the desk, putting her down, so she lies on her side with her bent in a natural slipping pose. She barely touches the yellow liquid from the bottles. I think her right arm should be out more. To land like this, she would have to spin on the way down. The left arm is too close to the desk to swing out. I take out the NLIT. It doesn’t come out straight. I press the edges of the NLIT so it retracts and cleans off the blood.

I look through the openings between the buttons of her shirt. The original wound stitches itself up, and the jagged removal wound slowly oozes blood. She can’t bleed out from this in 15 minutes. Everything is done.

I look at her just lying there. She seems peaceful in some way. Her body sticks out all over the place, definitely uncomfortable. She seems at peace in her champagne shirt and black pants (probably the first set of pants I've seen her in). Her white jacket overlays everything. The shirt is going to be blood stained soon. I get up and put the NLIT back into my right pocket with everything else, except the crack drive, waiting in my left. I step over her, brushing another bottle which cracks it.

I go over to my duplicate sitting at the conference table, sit in the same place, revert to the principle role, turn off the tech id, pocket it, and stop the V-tech. The display disappears. I pat my right pocket until the contents disintegrate and absorbs in (a measure designed for secrecy that holds as long as needed). Ready for the real mission? I get up and head for the stairs to Dr. Mekova’s office.

Mon 1/29/18 8:01 p.m.

I
hike up a ridgeline to the peak. The cool air in the early morning twilight bites into me. The beginnings of the sun paint the black and grayish rocks a pale blue-violet. Each step sends a small stone or amount of dirt careening down the mountain causing a miniature rubble avalanche. The long-toothed remnants of snow hang where the slope and wind allow. My goal looms ahead, a towering spire of stone. The heights and extreme environment mean little beyond beauty.

Everything goes black. What’s going on? Sights or sounds refuse my senses. Something is wrong with the sim. It stopped working just now. I need the sim to release me. I don't even try remembering this happening before. I can’t remember much these days, so that means nothing. I move down to something. The blackness starts fading to the room I’m in. The wall waits just off my nose. How I made it there remains a mystery. The room looks darker and more dungeon-like than I know it to be. The lights stay off, leaving just the natural light from the large window wall. Everything grows gloomy and damp outside. The clouded day turns rainy, black clouds approach from the distance, and the wind transforms the invisible cloud movements to something that can’t be missed with a wandering gaze. The clouds color into a shade of deep midnight blue. The blackness of night is upon us. This wholly unnatural event must mean something. I can barely see anything except a few feet in front of me.

I grope from somewhere to wait this out, stumble, fall into my bed, and slide over to lie down. This unsettling blackness offers no explanation that I know of. It grants one good opportunity to take a nap, if my wandering brain gives it a rest. Sleep escapes me in the dark.

A message comes over the messaging system, “All residents and staff, please remain in your rooms until this situation is over. An intruder is within the grounds of the Memory Recovery Center. Thank you all for your cooperation.”

I just lay there looking up at the ceiling, but I can’t actually see anything in this all-consuming darkness, so I just stay quiet. Heavy boots walk by my room three times. A loud clank echoes around the room as a heavy gauntlet lands on the glass of the door. White light comes through any gaps in the armor and into the immense blackness. The glass cracks sending splinters flying across the room and imbedding into the opposite wall. The door heaves under the continuous bombardment. Then, a slight movement starts the door creaking and groaning in protest. The snapping of the locking blots. The door swings off its hinges and lands on the floor with a loud smack. The hand extends into a full armor plated person.

She steps over the door, walks toward me, and grabs my wrist. I let her do it, like I have a choice. The suit lights the room with a scorching white radiance. She seems perfectly comfortable in this dark world. Why me out of everyone here?

It talks!

“After all this time, I’ve come to rescue you, Conor.”

“Who are you? Why should I listen to a thing you say?”

“You called me Kristen the first time we met.”

That thing wants me to think I know who is inside. I can’t give away who. The fishing replies don’t work if I stay general. Anyone with access to the visitation records could know that. I need more proof. Just because I want something to be true, it doesn’t mean it is.
“Almost anyone could know that.”

“You need more? I can give you something that only the two of us know. Let’s start with tech invasion.”

That sends a jolt through me. I remember her showing me the history behind those detailed heels of hers. The old image of her at 15 or 16 and a group of students finishing with the rest of her class. She motivated me to come up with my first solo study. Tech invaded the bodies of everyone in the room. Highly evolving tech strains competed to survive in the target environment, their bodies. The containment vessel breeched, basically public knowledge. Anyone can find it. “It isn’t enough.”

“How about tech test tank?”

Familiar. I somehow managed to convince her into an experiment. She wanted to look up the answer or something. We stood near my desk looking at the tech. The micro tech was getting assembled by others. She got the container from her apartment. I found everything else in the lab. We met up and did it. I can remember like it was yesterday.

That is everything she’s giving me. I still want more, something more to believe this is her. I go along with what she wants (for now), so I get off the bed and stand next to her. I follow her out of the room with haste. She does exactly what I want her to by reaching up to her helmet and pressing something. Cams probably stop recording in the hallways. The top of the faceplate moves over her head. The bottom half moves onto her chest-plate. That is Claire. The sight of her face makes it a little better. The white light of the suit shows her already happy face. Luckily, my shoes are on.

We walk down the hallway. I need to know why. What is she protecting me from? There isn’t anything dangerous here. I don’t know why she is trying to save me or whatever this is. We aren’t that close, just friends. Do we spend too much time together? We work in the same office and live on the same floor, neighbors. What about the job and drinks with Ian and Corrine? Friends fit into that. She must be doing whatever this is for some reason. I need to know. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Isn’t that obvious by now?”

I have no idea what to expect. I just know that everything stands still. We stop walking. Claire comes close to me. Actually she pulls my arm towards her along with me. We get closer and closer. I can only see the lights from her helmet, nothing but blinding light. Nothing. My eyes instinctively close. I don’t do anything for a split second. Claire kisses me on the lips.
What?
It turns more into a quick peck I can’t react to. I try anyway. I don’t want to look desperate. I straighten my face before she notices. I open my eyes to Claire walking away with my arm in tow. I follow her down the hall.

I don’t know what to think, except I should have seen it coming. I didn’t. There were so many signs. She visited me every week, seemed to look forward to each visit, and wanted to see me more. The fact I didn't remember anything about her. More painful than I can imagine. We spent almost every minute together at the Institute. I like her company. After that first mission or the second one, I needed to see her,
needed
. Claire walks fast now with the help of the suit. I struggle to maintain a fast run, despite my profuse sweating.
I’m such an idiot!

This isn’t the first time. We kissed before. Something about how I feel, too familiar. The mix of emotions. I feel confused, happy, excited, interested, enthralled, hungry, and above all confused. She pretends it meant nothing the first time. I know better. She wanted to kiss me that night, and she made up an excuse to do it. Stop deluding yourself. Yet, I could tell something was off. I know why. Claire is Jenna. They are the same person with a physical cover as Jenna. Claire is Agent 7429. She knows everything about me, more than anyone else, and she helped me deal with the death of Kiros in whatever way was possible as Claire. That was why I felt connected to Jenna the first time we met.

I have to show her how I feel. I stop both of us, pull my wrist out of her grasp, and push her back into the wall. She lets me do every step of it. I go in for the kiss. She knows this is coming from the start. Like an open embrace to a warm hug, my lips meet hers. I have to show everything I’m feeling right now. I show how much I love and care for her in this one moment. The touch of her skin, the longer I’m in contact, the softer it feels. I just touched the tiniest drop of a well. I could live in this feeling for an eternity and still want more.
She pushes me away.

“We don’t have time for this,” Claire says coolly.

She holds my hand this time. We keep soldiering on, reach the doors as they open, and step into the cool night. The darkness is upon us — a swirling, inky blackness ever present in its natural environment. The black fog fills every visible space with the leprous mist. I feel myself getting lost in it — the air choked with it, our cover. Claire's suit luminescence cuts through the darkness provided I stick close. We travel down this corridor to some unseen loc.

We arrive at a rope descending from above, Claire grabbing the rope with one hand and me with the other. Her arm circles around me as a strap extends from her wrist around to her back. The suit is of a supple padded material — grippy. We move up through the darkness to what waits above.

Mon 1/29/18 8:35 p.m.

W
e get to a hole at the end of the rope and pull through. The darkness stays out as a trapdoor covers the exit. We land gently on the floor, and rope goes into the ceiling. We are in an IMMMR. The round room shares enough of a similarity. Windows encircle us, of the swirling mist outside. The craft sends a bright light out, into the gloom. Benches of lustrous steel and dark wood wait in every direction. The centerpiece of this empty space resolves to the command center, a place for pilot and co-pilot. The gleaming steel forms a platform and two seats, pivoting from one point in the ceiling. The chairs face us in their barred nature. The command area, wrapped in a teardrop shaped glass sheath of almost nonexistent thickness seemingly defying physics acts as a natural barrier to entry.