He turns to look at her, his eyes digging. “What are you afraid of?”
She feels a jab inside. Something gapes open, like a scab picked raw.
“Nothing. It’s just a waste of time,” she says. But she knows it’s a lie.
Chapter Six
“Hello Thane,” says Professor Jacob, “This is Apollina.”
Thane reaches out his hand only to be met with thin air. The pale woman with platinum hair appears not to see him—or does not care he is there. Her eyes are transfixed by the figure on a bed in the room next door. The figure is a man with bright yellow hair and skin painted brown by the sun. The man appears to be unconscious—so motionless that Thane wonders whether he is dead.
Thane walks closer to the glass wall that separates the two rooms. From this spot, he can see the rising and falling of the man’s abdomen. Still alive.
On the man’s head is a helmet attached to colorful wires that rain down from above. Thane’s eyes trace the wires up to a giant machine made of shiny metal the color of sunset.
“What’s that?” Thane asks.
“A Dreamcatcher,” says Professor Jacob from behind him.
“What does it do?”
“Erases disturbing dreams so the patient won’t remember the reason for his troubles,” Apollina says, eyes still fixed on the man on the bed.
“He’s troubled by his dreams?”
“Why else would he be here?” she says in an irritated tone that makes Thane feel stupid for having asked the question.
He glances at Professor Jacob. The old man gives him an encouraging smile, making him feel slightly better.
After a long moment of silence, Apollina turns to him. Thane immediately notices her icy blue eyes—cold as a winter morning and hard as a frozen pond. Her face is just as empty. He would have mistaken her for a droid were it not for the pale pink face indicating the suffusion of blood beneath her skin. Her light hair is pulled taut into a bun at the nape of her neck, accentuating her sharp cheekbones. She’s pretty. If only she would wear it with less severity and a little more warmth.
Thane cannot decipher her expression, or rather lack of it. He begins to feel nervous until he notices there are no smile lines on either side of her mouth. Her frigid manner has nothing to do with him.
“You came highly recommended,” Apollina says.
“I’m honored to have been selected.”
“I see you have the briefcase. You’ve studied the contents?”
Thane nods. Over the last five days, he has studied the profiles of those the Interpreter Center calls “suspects.” Names, addresses, pictures. Young and old. Men and women. They all look like harmless, ordinary citizens—people he would cross paths with on the street or at the coffee shop.
“That list represents years of hard work by me and Professor Jacob. But we suspect there are many more of them,” says Apollina.
There are about two dozen names on the list. If three and a half years had yielded so few, Thane wonders how difficult the job will be.
“They operate under secrecy. Like vermin,” she says as if she knows his thought.
Thane suddenly recognizes the man on the bed from the list of suspects. Bodie.
“He’s one of them?” Thane asks.
“Yes. By chance, Professor Jacob witnessed his psychotic episode in public. Because we’ve been building a case against him, the professor knew exactly what needed to be done.”
This must be the same person Aris told him about, Thane thought.
“If we didn’t know about him, he would have been taken into police custody for one night then released, like all public disturbance cases. It would have been useless. This way, he can be treated. He’ll no longer be a threat.”
“That’s why we need you,” says Professor Jacob.
“We need more information. Who they all are. Where they meet. We don’t know enough,” Apollina says.
“But why wouldn’t you just use video surveillance and drones? Wouldn’t those be more effective?” Thane asks.
“Only the police have access to those,” Professor Jacob says.
“Oh, I was under the impression that you work together,” Thane says.
“Reluctantly,” says the professor. “We don’t always agree.”
“In order to treat them, the law says we need consent,” Apollina says. “As you can imagine, people in love with their dreams aren’t exactly lining up to erase them.”
“Unfortunately, the police would rather follow an archaic law written hundreds of years ago instead of doing what needs to be done,” Professor Jacob says. “So it falls on us. We’re the guardians of the Planner’s ideology—of Tabula Rasa.”
Apollina steps forward, so close Thane can feel warmth emanating from her skin. At the same height, he is looking right into her cold, fierce eyes.
“After running tests, we’ve been able to determine one commonality among them—those we were able to treat,” she says. “A drug. We found a trace of it in his system. It makes people believe they can remember their past. Based on our database, it’s been around for as long as Tabula Rasa—invented to create unrest. The Interpreter Center’s goal is to destroy it each time it reappears. But it keeps returning every cycle.”
Thane feels as if the ground is shaking underfoot. “But how? How can it keep returning when everyone’s memories are wiped after Tabula Rasa?”
“We don’t know. We can only assume the source was never destroyed. We believe that once it’s eradicated, we should be rid of it for good,” Apollina says.
“The Planner’s hope for a peaceful existence for mankind rests on Tabula Rasa,” says Professor Jacob. “There’s nothing in the past but the Last War. That past has no place in the present.”
Thane imagines a world of chaos. Of people fighting against one another. A world where distrust grows like cancer of the mind. The image is too easy to conjure.
“That drug is a direct assault on peace. We need you to follow the suspects and find the source,” the professor says.
Thane looks at the man on the bed and begins to see him as dangerous. The Four Cities need to be protected. It is the only home he has—that everyone has. He must find the source that threatens to unravel this place and their way of life. He needs to destroy it before it destroys everything.
A breeze blows through curtains. The tinkling of wind chimes comes from somewhere nearby over the constant sound of waves rolling on sand. The air smells as if it is about to rain.
“Wake up sleepyhead,” a voice says. But instead of making her want to get up, the voice sinks her farther into the soft bed. She feels the hard tip of a finger running along her skin, outlining her. It moves down toward the supple part of her, rousing something primal.
“Aris, you have a reach,” says Lucy, waking her. “It’s Benja.”
“Put it through.”
She pulls the cover over her body and turns on her side. Benja’s image appears in the middle of her bedroom. He has a pencil behind one ear and his hair is tousled as if he had just wrestled with a bear. It only adds to his allure.
“We should go to the main library today,” he says.
He is not looking at her. Instead, his eyes are focused on something offscreen. She hears a crinkling sound like static.
They have been spending a lot of time together this week. It started by accident. They ran into each other at a library the day after their first date and got into a discussion about a book, one of the classics. When the library closed, she realized she did not want the conversation to end. She told him all she wanted was friendship. He was of the same mind. They’ve been together every day since.
They bonded quickly as if they’d always known each other. The more time she spent with him, the less his good looks distracted her. She learned there was quite a brain behind his gorgeous face. But he is . . .
She struggles to come up with a word to describe him.
Benja doesn’t appear to fit or want to fit into any box. His edges are all blurry. But he is interesting. And life could be worse than having an interesting, blurry friend. If only he was not a romantic. It’s a useless state of being.
Aris narrows her eyes. “Another library?”
“I just have to do some research,” Benja says.
“Research or stalking?”
He laughs and looks up at her. “Wait. Are you still in bed? What time is it?”
“It’s Saturday. I was out late last night.”
“Another first date?” he asks.
“Maybe.”
“Did he spend the night?”
“None of your business.”
“Anyway, if we happen to see the Dreamers, I’m not going to walk out.”
She rolls her eyes. The Dreamers are the focus of many conversations with Benja. In an attempt to talk sense into him, she had told him about the angry man from Elara and what Professor Jacob had shared with her about the Interpreter Center. But Benja had laughed it off, telling her to stop worrying about his mental health.
“You’re obsessed,” she says.
“I prefer tenacious,” he says. “It’s a quest for knowledge.”
He has dragged her to more libraries and bookstores than she cares to remember. Not once did they find anything or anyone resembling a Dreamer—not that she knows what they’re supposed to look like. She’s afraid he will soon run out of places with books to search for them. What will he do then? She has begun to think the Dreamers are an urban myth, created by those preying on romantic minds.
“Come on. Please,” he says.
“You don’t need me.”
“Yes, I do. Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.”
“Just go by yourself,” she says.
“I don’t want to. I already spend too much time by myself. We’re humans, Aris. We need social interaction—to see the faces of others, to have meaningful conversations. Without all that, we’re denying our nature. Do you want to deny the essence that makes us human?” he says in one breath.
She realizes that if she does not agree to his request, she will be spending the rest of the day listening to the reasons she should. He is a writer.
“Fine,” she says and sighs. “Meet me at the park.”
Aris leans back on her elbows. The green lawn is strewn with bodies on blankets like hers. Their shiny skin reflects light like solar panels. It is an unusually warm day—a good day to soak up the sun, to memorize its feel before the gray clouds return. The Planner was a true genius for having designed variety into the weather. Unpredictability makes life more interesting—feigned or not.
Dampness seeps through the square blanket. Under her is grass, squishy from the last sprinkle of rain. It smells sweet and earthy. Did grass from before the Last War have the same scent? It’s been engineered to require minimal water. All the plants and trees in Callisto are that way.
In her view is a glistening white building. The Interpreter Center sits alone, the only structure within the vast park. Professor Jacob told her they erase dangerous dreams. During the time she’s been waiting for Benja, no one has gone inside.
The dream from this morning stalks her like a slinky feline. She still cannot remember the precise image—only the feelings. They haunt her and follow her, scratching at the edges of her mind, unraveling the threads that bind it together. She wonders whether she should seek the Interpreter’s service.
Maybe if it gets bad enough. She’s more of the suffer-in-silence type. She raises her face to the sun, letting it warm her skin and chase away the troublesome dream.
A familiar voice rouses her. “Aris?”
She lifts her head and sees a face she does not expect. The bright sun bounces off his skin, making her squint.
“Thane?”
It’s the first time she has seen him in the real world. In a city as vast and populated as Callisto, chance meetings are rare.
“I thought it was you,” he says.
“Walking the park?”
“I just came from a meeting with Professor Jacob.” He gestures toward the white building. “Now I’m off to Griselda.”
“At the Interpreter Center? That place is a mausoleum. I haven’t seen anyone go in. What’s it like in there?”
“It’s not much different than going to the doctor’s office. Everything is white—white walls, white floors, white furniture. It’s a big place, with lots of rooms. But the doors to them were closed, so I couldn’t see what’s behind them.”
“Did you meet an interpreter?”
“Yeah. Her name is Apollina.”
“What’s she like?”
Thane cocks his head to one side. “She doesn’t smile.”
“Is she a droid?”
“No, human. She’s just . . . serious.”
“So her job is to erase dreams?”
“Yeah. She’s like a psychologist for dreams. She interprets them and helps eliminate the harmful ones.”
“I wonder what happens afterward,” she says, thinking of her pesky dreams. “Do you forget your erased dreams entirely? Or do you remember them, but you just don’t get them anymore?”
“I imagine it would be like how Tabula Rasa works. What you don’t remember can no longer affect you.”
“So why did you meet Professor Jacob there? He works for the Interpreter Center?”
“He consults with them for his research. What else can it be?” he says, “You know, you’re nosy.”
“I’m a scientist. I have a curious mind.”
“Your questioning is going to get me in trouble one of these days.”
She laughs. “Fine. We don’t need to talk about your secret mission.” She pauses. “So, what’s at Griselda? A date?”
Griselda is a popular music venue with gray glass walls and a ceiling that projects images of the galaxy. It’s normally filled with young black-clad artist types. She does not see it as a place that would naturally attract Thane. Thirteen point eight percent chance, if she had to guess. That’s for the color of the walls.
He shrugs. “Something like that.”
One side of her lips curls up. She finds Thane’s evasiveness funny.
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asks.
“Yeah. He’s late.”
“I’m not that late,” says the man who has kept her waiting. Aris whips around, sees him, and brightens.
Thane straightens.
Benja offers him his hand. “I’m Benja.”
Thane shifts the briefcase to his left hand. “Hello. I’m Thane. Aris and I work together at the Natural History Museum.”
“You should stop making her do docent duty. She hates it.”
Thane’s eyes widen. Aris kicks Benja’s foot. He shrugs and settles on a spot next to her.
“Hi, beautiful. Sorry I’m late,” Benja says and pecks her on the cheek. Without another word, he roots through her basket, ignoring Thane who is still standing next to Aris.
He makes a face. “I’m starving, and you only have fruit?”
“You said you’d bring cheese from that fancy shop near your place,” Aris says.
“I did? Sorry I was writing and completely forgot.”
She rolls her eyes. “Figures.”
“I brought you something even better.” Benja hands her a package.
“What’s this?” Aris weighs it with her hand.
“Something I found at the gift market. I thought of you when I saw it.”
Aris unwraps it and reveals a small desertscape painting. Her face breaks into a wide smile.
“You told me you like hiking in the nature preserve,” he says.
“I love it! You’re officially forgiven for being late.” A perk of b
eing Benja’s friend, aside from constantly being treated to costly meals at restaurants, is his random thoughtful gestures.
Thane clears his throat, and they both look at him. Aris had momentarily forgotten he was still there. Benja has a way of consuming all her attention.
“So, you’re a writer?” asks Thane.
“On most days,” Benja says.
“Anything I know?”
“Not yet. It’s a work in progress.”
“It’s an epic journey, in the vein of the Odyssey,” Aris says.
“Really? Is it almost done?” Thane asks.
“Getting there.”
“There’s only six months left. Sure you can get it done in time?” A small smirk frames the corners of Thane’s lips.
Aris feels Benja’s body tighten. She doesn’t look at him, afraid she would burst out in a fit of giggles from this awkward situation.
Thane looks at his watch. “I must go. Aris, I’ll see you Monday.”
Benja watches Thane’s back as he walks away. “I don’t like him.”
Aris arranges her face in an expression of mock surprise.
“What a jerk,” he says. “Six months left—like I don’t already know that. Who asked you, asshole?”
Aris laughs. “Well, I think the feelings may be mutual. He didn’t seem to like you either.”
“That’s because he’s in love with you, and he thinks I’m competition. You’re not dating him, are you?” He gives her a critical look.
“No! He’s never even shown interest. In any case, I don’t think of him that way.” She is not interested in the complication that comes with dating someone she works with.
“Why was he here?” Benja asks.
“He was on his way from a meeting at the Interpreter Center.”
Benja throws a blackberry into his mouth and looks over his shoulder in the direction of the gleaming white building. “The place gives me the creeps. Doesn’t it give you this weird feeling?”
“It’s just lonely,” she says.
He looks back to her. “Or haunted. You can’t get me in there.”
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