“What makes you think I can do it?” Han asked, reasonably sure he could.
“You can’t?”
“No.” He said it too fast, and she smirked. “I can. I definitely can, but it won’t be easy.” Han was already planning on impressing Paxton. Finding a way around his automatic bioscan locks for the staff doors would certainly be impressive. And difficult. He hadn’t even attempted to poke around in Dome security settings yet, so promising her results was premature. But Han wasn’t about to say that, not to Zurri. He leaned to the side again, this time without knocking the statue pedestal. “I want the autographs,” he said, watching her smile return. “And I want a VitMe.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “When?”
“Now, I guess,” Han muttered, watching her stride to his side and crouch down so the picture wouldn’t just be of his head and her neck.
“Fix your hair first,” she told him.
“Like this?” He tried himself, flattening his hopelessly stuck-up hair down, only for it to spring back up.
“Jesus Christ.” Zurri licked the flat of her right palm and smashed down his hair, then parted it on one side and smoothed it down. Now the trip was doubly worth it. “Get your VIT, come on, I’m over being extorted.”
Han raised his left wrist, adjusted the VIT screen and made sure they were both in frame before snapping the image. With practiced ease, Zurri slapped on one of her aloof and somewhat surprised expressions, while Han pursed his lips and hoped for the best.
“There.” She stood up tall again, crossing her arms and glaring down at him. “Now get me in that door.”
Han hesitated, eyes scanning along the ground, up the ramp and to the doors of Paxton’s office. “Genie,” he said, and the assistant’s voice emerged from the recessed alcove near the ramp.
“Yes, Han?”
“Is Paxton in his office?”
“No, I’m afraid Paxton is currently assisting a patient and will not be available for some time. Should I schedule a meeting with him for you?”
Han turned away, back toward the Dome courtyard and motioned for Zurri to follow him. “No, not yet. Thanks, Genie.”
“That thing is listening to us all the time,” Zurri pointed out, following a step behind him. “Won’t that be a problem?”
“Yep.” Han squared his shoulders, realizing he felt more himself again. More in the zone. “One of many. That thing heard all about your drugs, so I’ll have to figure something out for that. Come on, it looks like I have time to kill, too.”
15
Senna studied the ground through her fingers, both hands out in front of her, palms open, fingers tilted down.
My fingers look like rays . . . like rays of light bending toward the floor.
What was she trying to remember? Paxton put a hand on her shoulder. They were standing in the clinical offices, in the aquarium-blue serenity of the cubicles and terminals, a water feature in the corner rushing soothingly against a basin of pebbles. Something was on the tip of her tongue, something she was trying her hardest to remember. Every time she came close, pain shot across her eyes, white, hot and startling.
“How are you feeling?” Paxton asked. “We ran long; I didn’t mean for your first session to be so intense.”
“Just a headache,” Senna murmured, looking at the spaces between her fingers again.
“That will pass. Dr. Colbie?”
She heard the doctor’s heels clicking toward them. Over her white skirt and fitted shirt, she wore a loose lab coat with deep pockets that she now reached into. She pulled out two blue pill bottles and showed them to Paxton.
“How severe?” Dr. Colbie asked.
Senna didn’t realize she was being asked until Paxton touched her shoulder again and squeezed. “Senna? How bad is the pain?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. It wasn’t pain exactly, not all the time, but a disorientation that made her sway back and forth on her feet. “When I try to remember, it hurts.”
“Well, first of all? Don’t do that,” Paxton said laughingly. “That’s why you’re here, to forget. You have to relax, let the process settle, let those new connections we talked about form. Han was a little unsteady on his feet, too, but it shouldn’t last longer than a few hours, and you need to tell us if it does.”
“Can’t help it,” Senna murmured. Everything felt as bleary and soft as the time Marin had made her a few cocktails. If it was something I wanted to forget, why am I trying so hard to remember? The pain seared across her eyes again and she winced. “Bad. The pain is bad.”
“Here,” said Paxton. “These.”
Dr. Colbie handed him the bottle in her left hand, but tugged back when he tried to take it. “Paxton . . .”
“She’ll be fine. That was a long session, this will makes things easier while she recuperates.”
Even blurry-eyed and weaving, Senna could tell Dr. Colbie wasn’t happy. When she looked up into the doctor’s face, she saw a ridge furrow over her fawn-colored eyebrows. She still wouldn’t let go of the bottle, and Paxton didn’t seem capable of snatching it from her.
“What we’re doing here is medicine,” Paxton told her through his teeth. “It’s new, it’s a little funny, but it’s medicine. Give me the bottle, Dr. Colbie.”
Senna noticed him reach over and fiddle with his VIT, then he went for the pill bottle again. It was just a few quick taps, but he had definitely touched his wrist. Right away, the doctor flinched from him, then spun and left them alone, walking straight out the black door, the sound of her heels vanishing, leaving only the quiet rush of water and Paxton’s labored breathing. He pushed the pill bottle into Senna’s hands and made sure she could grasp it before saying, “Go light on these. Just half to start, lots of water. Can you remember that?”
She nodded, and her head felt like a melon balanced on a pin. Paxton guided her toward the door Colbie had just left through. Swearing, he glanced at his VIT. “Where is Anju? She was supposed to walk you back to your rooms . . .”
“I can do it,” Senna replied softly.
“Are you sure?” He glanced to his left, back toward the LENG room. “You really shouldn’t be alone right now, but I need to get things set up and cleaned before Zurri’s session.”
“Back to my room,” Senna replied, managing to lift her unimaginably heavy head and look Paxton in the face. There was that dark halo around him again. She wanted to paint it. “Half of one of these with lots of water.”
A slow smile crept across his blurry face. “That’s my girl. All right, you go, but raise me on your VIT if you start to feel worse, got it?”
“Got it.” She frowned. It felt a bit overfamiliar. She wasn’t his girl, but maybe he was just friendly like that.
Paxton approached the black door, opening it for her. When she stepped through and into the bright, bright gallery, she hissed and clamped her eyes shut. It was too much. All that light all at once, pouring into her, scouring the inside of her already tender head. Paxton must not have heard her. The door shut and he was gone, and Senna was all alone with the light and her drifting, rotating thoughts.
She put the pill bottle in her left pocket and shuffled into the blinding sear.
Back to my room. Half of one of these with lots of water.
She did not return to her rooms. Instead, she fell to her knees, suddenly weak. It didn’t feel too bad to be there, eyes shut tight, hands molded over her face while she waited for the right thought to come and stir her to action. She kept circling back to it only for the idea, the will, to skitter away. Get up, walk. It’s not too bad, your eyes will adjust. Get up, walk.
But walk where? A flicker of warmth ran across her hand, startling her. Senna squinted, holding out her fingers, watching a concentrated mote of light dance there before it bounced to the ground. It spread, bright even against the clean white tile of the floor
. Either she was still hurting and disoriented and imagining things or it began to take on a shape, like the reverse of a shadow. When she looked for a source of the light, she couldn’t find one, but it began to move, striding like a shadow would, only it was welcoming, warm, and winking like a flash across clean water. For a long moment, Senna stared at the “pale shadow,” just breathing. She felt her pulse even out, her eyes adjusting now to the brutal light and to the shock of being pushed out of the LENG room like an infant fresh from its mother.
Birth, she thought. I’m being reborn without my bad memories. Of course there’s pain, birth is pain, too.
She wanted to scream but stopped herself, then gradually climbed to her feet, deciding she wanted to see where the pale shadow was going. Maybe she hadn’t actually decided—the pull was so strong it felt like the shadow had decided for her, and, helpless, she followed. The light shadow seemed to sense her newness, her fragility, and walked at an easy pace, guiding her, taking her to the right and up a shallow ramp to a walkway overlooking the gallery. They reached two transparent doors and it turned them left, around a sharp corner to an open hall that ran above and parallel to the gallery below. The nearness of the crystal chandelier dimmed the direct surroundings, and made the brightness of the gallery easier to withstand. Here, even more art was on display, white rectangles of varying sizes showing off smaller, more delicate sculptures and tablets.
The pale shadow kept up its steady, slow pace, bringing Senna to a pedestal about halfway down the corridor, pushed tight up against the right wall, which, at about waist height, became windows. Senna reached out to touch one to see if it was hot or cold, but it wasn’t a window at all, just a screen showing a feed of the swirling misty ice fields outside the Dome.
At last, the light shadow stopped, still flickering and shimmering, and waited patiently next to that specific pedestal. Senna spoke to it, feeling foolish, but there was no denying that it seemed aware of her presence, modulating its pace to accommodate her. “Did you want to show me this?”
Of course there was no answer, and Senna studied the object instead. It was round and broken in two, about the size of a large man’s fist. The two halves seemed magnetically locked in place, the scooped-out dish on the bottom flat to the pedestal, the other half floating above it, a gap of a few inches between them. Senna leaned over it, trying to get a closer look. Then she checked in every direction, finding that she was completely alone. A memory came to her of a tall, confident woman with dark skin flicking the nose of a stone face. A woman. A woman named . . . named . . .
Zurri. She had touched the art, why couldn’t Senna?
So she did. She took the forefinger on her right hand and tried, gently, to touch the etched metallic surface of the upper half of the orb. A current passed through it and into her, hard and fast, with a force that felt like something had been shot directly into her skin. She stumbled back and made sure the tip of her finger was still there.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to touch the art.”
Senna whirled, embarrassed and hot-faced. “I . . . I’m sorry.” She expected to find Paxton there wagging a finger at her, but it was a man she had never seen before. Senna’s eyes dragged across the floor toward him, the pale shadow suddenly gone. Not only that, this man was a complete stranger and Paxton had never mentioned any other staff or participants. Odd. But then, she was having trouble remembering much of anything. Maybe they had been introduced the day before, or maybe Paxton just hadn’t gotten around to telling her about this employee yet.
“I’m teasing, it isn’t art anyway,” the man said, grinning. He wore a simple black suit, but on him it looked expensive and sophisticated.
“It’s not?” Senna swiveled back to look at the broken orb again. “Whatever it is, I think it’s strange. And beautiful. It zapped me when I touched it.”
“Really? It’s a paperweight.” The man observed her from a few pedestals down from where she stood. He was of average height and lean, with a relaxed and open posture, shoulders back, hands nested in each other in front of his waist. “At least, that’s what he calls it.”
“He?” Senna wrinkled her nose. “Oh. Paxton.” She wasn’t thinking of him but of this new he. Where had he come from, and where had that bizarre, compelling light gone?
“Yes, Paxton,” he said, seeming to struggle with the name.
“It’s pretty elaborate for a paperweight,” said Senna, gesturing to the orb. She had never seen anything hover like the top half of it did, or at least she didn’t think so. When she tried to remember, the pain burst behind her eyes again. She winced and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sorry if I seem off. I just had a treatment done in the labs.”
“There’s no need to apologize,” he replied. “Or explain. I know what goes on here.”
Eventually the pain dwindled and Senna dropped her hand, squinting down the floor toward the man. “Have you had it done? The LENG process? Procedure . . .” She shrugged. “I don’t know what to call it.”
“Me?” He laughed. “Oh, no, no, I would never. Do you mind if I ask what it was like?”
“Remembering anything hurts right now,” she admitted.
His expression softened and he took a single step toward her as if to come to her aid. “Then don’t try to remember anything. Or maybe just one thing . . .”
“Hm?”
“Your name?’ He smiled again, left hand scratching idly at the right.
“Oh! Senna.” She snort-laughed and shook her head. People usually recognized her. She remembered that much. “You’ve never seen me before?”
“Just around the facility,” he said. “And right now. My name is Efren.”
“Efren,” she repeated, and when she did, tiny wrinkles appeared at the edges of his eyes. They were both quiet then and he ruffled his hair, perhaps nervous. Perhaps awkward. He had lovely hair, she thought, immaculate yet careless, so black it was almost blue. Golden-hazel eyes. Brown skin. Lips made for smiling, and a brow too quizzical to be serious all the time. He looked like he laughed often and with his whole body. Beautiful. She kept using that word. Did babies feel this way, too? Heart-soft and welcome-eyed, seeing everything with a glow across it, uncomplicated, untainted by judgment or comparison. Did everything new start out beautiful?
“There I go again,” she murmured, somewhat dazed. “Off.”
“One can hardly blame you for that,” said Efren. “Given your reasons for being here.” He had an accent like Paxton’s, British but more pronounced, and with the touch of vague interference that came with bouncing around countries or prolonged time on the mishmash of the station.
“I’m supposed to be going somewhere, I think. I keep forgetting . . .” Senna gazed around at first the orb, then the “window” and then Efren. He seemed forlorn, or maybe in pain, a line tight between his eyebrows. Must have felt sorry for her. But it would come to her eventually, the destination . . .
Back to my room. Half of one of these with lots of water.
“My room!” she cried out, then covered her mouth. “Sorry, it just came to me. I’m supposed to be going back to my room to rest but I got distracted and took a little detour.”
“I’m glad you did,” Efren said. “If you don’t mind my saying so, Senna, you really don’t look well. Perhaps I could walk you to your rooms, with fewer detours this time.”
Senna nodded, patting the pill bottle shoved into her pocket. Half of one. It would all come back, Paxton had assured her. It would just take time.
“All right,” she replied. “Someone was supposed to walk with me anyway.”
“Ah, yes,” Efren said as he approached, waiting for Senna to tentatively dislodge herself from the wall and fall into stride with him. She glanced around for the shadow of light, but it had vanished. “One of Paxton’s dollies, I imagine. Which one? The doctor or the assistant?”
“Anju.” It fel
t like scraping dry bone to dredge up her name. “What do you mean ‘dollies’?”
They ambled down the walkway, toward an archway she hadn’t noticed at the end, it traveled under a gap that would take them back out into the Dome courtyard, but on a second, higher level. “Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed . . . All of his employees are tall, slim, perfect, same make and model just with a few settings tweaked.”
“Everyone I’ve met has been nice to me,” Senna protested, frowning. “You don’t need to be rude about them just because they’re pretty.”
“Oh, they’re nice! Lovely, yes. Perfectly nice.” He laughed and put his hands in his pockets and their elbows bumped. “Nothing wrong with their personalities, but Paxton likes things to look just so.”
“And what about you?” Senna asked, looking up at him as they walked. The humid, lush scent of the Dome plant life rose to meet them. “You’re the outlier.”
“Well spotted, eh? Nothing gets past you.” His hazel eyes twinkled, and she huffed. He was teasing. “I’m not like Anju and the rest because I’m not Paxton’s employee.”
“Then what are you? What do you do here?”
At that, he hesitated, half shrugging before changing his mind and bobbing his head side to side as if weighing possible answers. “It’s complicated.”
“Meaning you think I’m stupid.”
“No! Meaning I don’t want to get you in any hot water, let’s just say I keep the technology running smoothly,” Efren hurried to say. They started down another ramp, this one curving toward the ground level of the Dome. A huge, hulking tree arced over them, mist clinging to its trunk, an augmented-reality toucan watching them from its hefty branches. “Everything here is proprietary. You, me, the tech, even that fucking toucan is probably proprietary. You’re going to hear that word so much here you’ll grow absolutely sick to death of it. What matters is that I’m not Paxton’s employee, but he does need me, and so I don’t have to fit into one of his adolescent male fantasies.”
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