by Tricia Reeks
And Lindi looked sad, and Ariadne remembered taking the other woman’s cheek in her palm.
“You remember me,” Lindi said against her neck. Her breath is hot against Ariadne’s skin. She shakes in Ariadne’s arms, and Ariadne holds her tight until she stills. “You remember me,” Lindi said again, and then pressed her lips to Ariadne’s. The Lady had the sense to laugh, to pull away and swat at her and remind her where they were and that anyone could see, but Lindi only smiled and took her hand, and bade her, “Come with me.”
6. The Things We’ll Never Do
Mother would have a heart attack, Ariadne remembered thinking. In the basement, amid the rats and casks of wine, Lindi had her arms wrapped about Ariadne’s shoulders. Ariadne’s hands rested upon Lindi’s waist. They danced there together, kicking up dust clouds with their skirts, listening to the muffled music playing up above.
“This is wonderful,” Ariadne told her.
“You did tell me you love to dance,” Lindi replied.
Ariadne could not remember saying such to Lindi, but accepted it. She rested her forehead on the woman’s shoulder and followed her lead, rubbing circles against Lindi’s skirt with her thumbs.
The memory is short, or seems to be. Dancing in the dark, silently twirling to muffled sounds—Ariadne remembered not ever wanting to stop.
7. The Fruits of Summer
It was the first time they’d met outside a party. Lindi could pass for elegant nobility among the best of them, and yet here she seemed happier. Trousers, not a golden dress. Ariadne felt overdressed, in heavy skirts, a shawl, and a vibrant red sash across her chest to declare herself. Not for the first time, Ariadne remembered feeling jealous of Lindi.
The other woman had taken her deep below the city, and while the actual route was lost to Ariadne, she could hear the underground trains rattling above them. Lindi’s home, as Ariadne would come to know it, was tucked just behind an electrical closet, a cave carved into the stone.
Three things happened before the memory starts properly, three things that give the memory context.
One: Lindi found her at a dreadful dinner celebrating her eldest sister’s engagement. No one would notice that Ariadne had slipped away.
Two: Lindi gave Ariadne the “tour” of her place, showing off chemistry sets and other oddities that seemed familiar but that Ariadne could not place.
Three: Lindi told Ariadne that the government was manipulating everyone’s memories. Naturally, Ariadne told her that she was mad. That Ariadne knew people in the government and that she was hardly fearful any would display competence at any point in their lives.
Lindi pressed. She pulled a chain out of her pocket and offered the vial at the end of it to Ariadne. The Lady frowned, but took it. She does not remember what Lindi said to convince her to take it, only that she did.
The memory Lindi shared is faded, a stored thing translated twice over now. What Ariadne remembered:
A black girl runs before her, runs and runs and laughs, wielding a large cardboard tube as if a sword. From a first-person perspective, Ariadne is moving too, swinging her own makeshift sword. “Lindi!” the girl chants. “Lindi, don’t cheat! Lindi, don’t cheat!” The girl laughs, and Ariadne knows her name is Brianna, knows that she is her sister,
“Is such a thing possible?” Ariadne asked, when she could.
“It is,” Lindi confirmed. “I know how they do it.”
And Lindi explained and Ariadne knew. It was possible. Lindi’s explanation of why they did it hinged upon control. Ariadne did not voice what she thought.
The memory faded there, became fuzzy, but there was a moment Ariadne wanted in there, tacked onto the end.
Ariadne included the moment when Lindi told her to boil her water from here on out. “They do it every fourteen days,” she said. “To you rich folks, at least. Every six days for the workers and every two days for those in the conquered territories.”
It is not the happiest of memories, but Ariadne kept it close regardless. Not everything important was happy.
8. Now and Always
Lindi unbuttoned her blouse, slowly, revealing flesh, underclothes, and a single opalescent vial tucked between black breasts. “Just in case I forget,” Lindi said, lifting the vial with a finger before letting it fall.
“You drink that, and you remember?” Ariadne asked.
Lindi nodded. “Yes. Parts. The important things. It only holds fourteen memories, so I picked the ones that would help me piece myself together if I got lost.”
“Can you make me one?” Ariadne asked. “For my memories?”
Lindi gave her a hard look, blinking slowly before she asked, “Would you like me to?” Then, after a moment, she added, “I mean, you’re not in danger of losing yourself. They wouldn’t make you forget yourself, your family. Maybe just erase part of the past. Maybe make you lose a few weeks.”
Ariadne considered a moment, then smiled. “I’d put you in it, silly,” Ariadne told her. “I’ve only known you a few weeks.”
The memory faded into kissing, into holding, and Ariadne can’t remember the exact order in which they touched and where, only how it felt.
9. Back to Where I Know You
“So I can get you back,” Lindi said, smiling. Her eyes were sad as she did it, and Ariadne kissed her cheek upon taking the proffered necklace.
“Thank you,” Ariadne told her. She slid into Lindi’s lap, wrapping her arms around her neck. “It’s perfect.” The Lady had to pull the necklace down roughly about her braids, and Lindi did more laughing than helping when it got caught, but eventually it was settled with the opalescent vial between the Lady’s breasts.
“It’ll stay that color so long as you are touching it,” Lindi told her. Lindi’s fingers traced circles on Ariadne’s lower back, and brought gooseflesh out of her skin. Ariadne tucked her head into the crook of Lindi’s neck, bringing a hand up to touch the opalescent vial. Lindi’s fingers came up to join hers. “If you want me to add new memories, let me know,” Lindi told her then. “But, something will have to come out. It’ll be a new concoction.”
“What will you do with the old?” Ariadne remembered asking.
“Best not to know,” Lindi said, and Ariadne could not tell if she was serious or joking. Lindi kept her eyes down. “But, I’ll keep them. Return the ones to me you want to trade.”
And the memory devolved into touch, into feeling, into fingers and gasps and kisses, and when coherency reigned again, Ariadne remembered saying, “I think I’d remember this, even if I forgot.” She remembered that Lindi told her it might be possible to ingest the drug other than in water, but could not remember when that had happened. They remained in Lindi’s chair, though both had shed clothes.
Lindi looked sad. “You’d be surprised,” Lindi said, and did not look at her. “I’ll have a way to get you back to where I know you, if you don’t mind.”
“Back to where I know you?” Ariadne repeated. She smiled, caught Lindi’s chin, and turned her lover’s face towards her. “I rather like the sound of that.”
And kissing again, lost in bliss, in touch, and Ariadne lost sense of everything that wasn’t touch.
“Remember,” Lindi said, sometime later. They were on the floor now, yet Ariadne was not uncomfortable. “Take only a drop, and no more than once a day. Do not lose yourself in reliving memories and forget to come see me, my lady.”
“I’ll remember,” Ariadne promised.
10. In handwritten scrawl, unlike the other titles: I don’t like secrets, Lindi.
“Have I forgotten you before?” Ariadne asked.
Lindi turned her face away, back to her book. “Let’s not speak of such things.”
The remainder of the memory is silence. A moving image of Lindi reading, lasting for minutes. When Ariadne did look away, she was half sure she saw Lindi wince.
11. Let Me Go Too
“What if I just stayed here?” Ariadne asked. The memory was tinged with exhaustion. Ariadn
e was sore, her feet ached from dancing, and she wished nothing more than to remain with Lindi. It was always Ariadne sneaking out and never Lindi sneaking in. Ariadne recognized that it was safest this way, but also recognized that this meant that Lindi got to go to bed immediately after they had sex, where Ariadne had to walk the mile back home.
“You can’t,” Lindi told her. Her tone was plaintive. This was not the first time they’d had this discussion. Ariadne would want to stay, for laziness and comfort’s sake, and Lindi would put her back on the right path. The safe path. The Matriarch would either die on the spot or have them both executed for this. Lindi was right, Ariadne was wrong, and of course the Lady would relent.
And yet tonight, Ariadne persisted. “No,” she said. “I mean. What if I just stayed here.” Spotting Lindi open her mouth to continue the tired dance, Ariadne added, “Forever?”
Lindi blinked, plainly taken aback. “What?”
Ariadne smiled. “I’ve been thinking. I’m the spare-spare daughter. Mother has enough to keep the family name going. I don’t have to do anything else but be a disappointment and I can’t see why I can’t do that from here.” Ariadne gave a shrug, trying to implore Lindi to allow it. Her discomfort got the better of her, and Ariadne found herself asking rapidly, “Well? So? Would it be okay if I stay?” A beat, and then, “Forever?”
Lindi blinked again, shaking her head. Ariadne feared she would say no. Instead, Lindi swept herself into a mock bow, gesturing towards the bed. “Well, my lady,” Lindi said. “Why don’t you stay the night to make sure you like it here first?”
12. Shelter
The spare-spare daughter was spare no more. Rebels from the conquered territories had sunk the ship her two sisters had been taking to meet a potential fiancée in one case and suitors in the other. Lady Ariadne was in line now, the heir, to be the Matriarch of her family in due time.
Ariadne was heir now. It sounded strange, and stranger still the more she thought of it. Her mother, the Matriarch, was taking a personal interest. Ariadne had not managed to come to Lindi for a week and now that she was here, all Ariadne could do was weep.
The last thing she wanted preserved was the way something had gnawed a hole inside her, the fresh wound of death, the inability to breathe through the mucus, but she’d asked Lindi to keep it. For the first time in weeks, in Lindi’s arms, Ariadne felt safe. For the first time, Ariadne cried for her sisters. She trusted Lindi when she said that no one would try to take her memories of them away since other nobles knew them and mourned so her memories of her sisters should be safe, though in that moment she half wished someone would take them, and so Ariadne asked Lindi to preserve this instead.
Lindi’s hand in her hair, humming softly over Ariadne’s sobs. The scent of her rosewater perfume.
What is important is not always happy. Ariadne preferred to preserve only happy memories, to help her remember that life had not always been so gray.
13. Subterfuge
Ariadne did not want to be the heir. Memory marker number 13 hid many things, a memory of staring at the papers she and Lindi had drawn up. They’d spoken of it, quietly, after Ariadne’s sisters died. Running away. Going to the conquered territories and pretending to be farmers. There would be pigs in the house, Lindi had said, so they don’t get cold in the winter. Ariadne would rather live with pigs. It was simpler. Running was selfish. But being with Lindi was the only place that made sense. Lindi was the only thing that felt safe.
Memory marker number 13 held within it a map, and Ariadne knew where to look for it.
14. Ariadne Loves Lindi . . .
“I love you,” Ariadne said, and she froze upon saying it. The warmth of Lindi’s bed likewise chilled. Ariadne glanced up in time to see Lindi shut her eyes and pretend to be asleep.
Ariadne loves Lindi, she thought, to the tune of a rhyme her sisters used to sing. Lindi knew now. Would know when she included it in the memories.
Lady Ariadne nuzzled her face further into Lindi’s ribs, and pretended to be asleep herself.
***
Lady Ariadne wore her most important memories in a vial around her neck, but it was not there now. It was crushed into her mother’s palm. The opalescent memories mixed with red blood and turned black as they dripped out the bottom of the Matriarch’s clenched fist. Though her body faced her daughter, the Matriarch would not look upon her. Had not done, not since she had pulled the vial from Ariadne’s neck whilst Ariadne lay immobilized and bound to a sloping table. The Matriarch had taken a larger sip than Ariadne ever had done before, and yet was quick to come down from the haze of the waking dreams that had taken hold. The Matriarch swiped at a single tear on her own cheek, and then was still.
“Mother,” Ariadne said. Her voice was thick with mucus, her lips tasted of blood, but still she was not weeping near enough to blur the sight of her mother turning from her. She meant to go through with this, even now. Perhaps, Ariadne thought, especially now. “Mother, please. You saw. You saw! You cannot do this.”
The Matriarch paused in the doorway. She did not look back. “You’ll not remember that I have,” she said. Then, “Do it.”
And the Matriarch did not watch as they poured water over her daughter’s face, ensuring that if she did not drink that she would inhale. The Matriarch pressed her back against the outer wall and picked shards of glass from her bloody palm as her daughter’s screams turned to gurgles turned to choking turned to nothing.
***
The Lady Ariadne returned to her room after dinner, still sore from her extended bout of illness, but she would be damned if she spent more time on bed rest. Her throat burned, but was no longer raw. She had duties, as heir, and she would see to them. For her sisters. She moved to her desk first, for as weary as she was she had letters that she must write, and found mail waiting for her. The first several messages were on behalf of or written by potential suitors, and those got shifted into a pile to be responded to later. The last envelope was unmarked and heavy. With a frown, Ariadne opened it. Inside was a letter and a small necklace chain, upon which hung a small vial.
The message read:
. . . and Lindi loves Ariadne.
Ariadne considered the message for a moment, flicking backwards through recent memories to verify if there was anyone of that name she could remember meeting lately. Finding nothing, she turned her attention to the small vial that was attached with the note. It was clear in substance, but when she shook it gently a world of colors swirled within the newly opalescent liquid. It was beautiful, yet the object put unease in her gut. After consideration, Ariadne chalked this up to the uninvited and unfamiliar gift being attached to such a note. Again, she could not place the name Lindi.
What she did remember was her mother, tonight at dinner, remarking upon a story she’d heard when speaking with the Secretary of Defense. “Assassination attempts are up,” the Matriarch had cautioned. “Do you remember the Lady Christine? They found her dead in her boudoir. A terrible thing! Assassins are like rats, my dear. One never knows from whence they come, but they always find a way in.” This was followed by a command to double the guards about Ariadne’s room, which Ariadne had told her mother was frivolous.
“I can take care of myself, Mother,” she had told her, and the Matriarch had smiled.
The Lady Ariadne crumpled the note around the vial, and tossed both into the fire.
Green-Eyed Monster
J.D. Brink
I feel like I’m exploring the Great Orbison Salt Flats—his scalp is spongy but barren beneath my booted feet, cracked by the sun and dusted with dried perspiration. The slope of his head is a nearby horizon, bronzed and textured with pores. At this scale it’s an alien landscape, as if I’m an astronaut on an arid planet rather than a micronaut on something so familiar. The lamps burning above are like twin Sahara suns and the craft behind me, a desert-sailing skiff.
The microship is both a vehicle for q-mass reduction and a transport for getting here. The craft crouches
low on its landing gear now, like a carbon fiber locust resting after a long flight. Its dorsal and side fins fold inward and the engines hum in stereo as the power plant rebuilds for the return trip.
I call it in. “Fat Man, this is Little Boy. On the surface and feeling good. The skiff’s gone into its recovery cycle. Should be ready by the time I’m done.”
“This is Fat Man. Looking good from here, Ray. What’s it like to walk on the big man’s skull?”
“Oh, inspiring,” I say sarcastically.
“I bet it is,” Ricardo says, quite sincere.
If this had been a trip to Emil Orbison’s ass, Ricardo would have come himself so he could kiss it in the flesh. They all would have. But like most sycophants, they’re also cowards. Sure, I was nervous. Who wouldn’t be, lying in that coffin-like aircraft, spun down to the size of a gnat? If I were accidentally killed buzzing across the lab, no one would even be able to find the body. But fear is a lesser motivation, and I have more on my mind than giant flyswatters.
“Warm it up, baby,” I tell the skiff. It hums happily in return. I imagine its thrusters will leave a first-degree burn the size of a finger print when I take off. It’s a comforting thought.
My boots sport tiny climbing hooks, like insect feet, and I drag them for a few strides. This scuffs up dandruff flakes as big as my hands. I hope Emil can feel it, even in his sleep. I want to leave a mark.
Ahead is the curving ridge of his right ear. It’s bristled with jagged hairs, and its size and position seem to defy gravity. Below that long, hanging cliff are what look like the pyramids of strange Egyptians. At normal size, they’re just a blinking cluster of shapes arranged like an electronic snowflake, a slight blemish on his otherwise handsome bald head. Not even a blemish. Jennifer said it makes him look distinguished. Like he needs any further distinguishing. Doctor Emil Orbison, man of the year, brainiac heartthrob of the scientific community. And what am I? I was one of Neuro-Scene’s “top five to watch” just a couple years ago. But no one notices poor little Ray Sharp anymore, not even my own wife. Not when he’s around.