Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  "I would be in the market for something like that."

  The amnesia breaks. "Thank you for your time."

  "You are welcome. Let us end it there." She relaxes in the chair.

  "This time wasn't that bad."

  "This is not your first try?"

  Here question stops me for a second. "No, I did Claire first."

  "Gary and Claire must have set you up.” She chuckles. “You did a good job, either way."

  "Thanks, I hope I wasn’t too pushy." I can’t believe they did that.

  "It seems like just the right amount. How is your study going?"

  "Good. I just wanted to suggest something."

  She points at me with her upturned hand. "Go right ahead."

  "You seem to always eat in private. You could join Gary and me, just for a change." I feel like a zebra bartering with a lion.

  "Dr. Stephens keeps asking me, I have always said no. I don’t see a reason for that to change." She looks at me for really the first time, eye contact.

  "Sure."

  "I will let you get back to work." She goes over to the door and releases me.

  "See you around." As I leave her office, I call back the missed call. Tech support schedules an appointment tonight to look at my computer.

  Tech Rescue

  Tues 5/2/17 7:35 p.m.

  Someone rings the doorbell. It must be tech support. I'm surprised to see Claire in an all grey ensemble outside my door. I guess she has two jobs. That doesn't make much sense for a high-ranking employee. I'm going to ask, sometime…

  "Hi, Claire." I brightly smile at her. Something constant in my life (much to my contempt) must be her.

  "It looks like I have you to deal with tonight. What are you having issues with?" She shuffles in past me.

  "I can't get my computer working." I turn and direct her to it with an arm.

  "You mean you don't know how to use it. There is not much that can go wrong with the computer."

  A sheepish look covers my otherwise happy countenance. "Sure."

  "Let me look at it for a sec." Claire checks out the computer, first by looking under the desk. After a while, she gets up and takes out a few different colored cubes from her bag. She puts a small cube into the shelf below the desk. After a few minutes, she backs away, taking the cube with her. "Everything is working just fine."

  "How do I use it?"

  A harsh sigh follows my ignorance. "You just put your left hand in the shelf and the screen will turn on."

  "Does it matter where?" I ask as I come over.

  "Just give me your hand, don't you trust me?" She guides me hand to one side of the shelf. Claire touches the table and a chair comes out, folding open under me. "There you go. Now, just use the controls to operate the screen."

  "This isn't that hard." The keys elevate like at work.

  "Good,” A smile crosses her face, at least the hints of one. “Do you have any more questions?"

  "How do I make changes to the room?" Motioning to the room all around makes sense.

  "Okay, you go to room and select things you want changed. Then you choose how you want it changed. Let me show you. This device allows me access to your apartment’s systems." She takes out another device, puts it on the counter, and uses the computer from there.

  "I understand. How do I take it with me, the computer?" My voice stiffens into robotism.

  "Yes, this is just a screen with controls. You can peel off the screen and take it with you.” She reaches over, peals it away, rolls it up, and hands it to me. “The best way is to choose display on the H-tech. You will just see the screen. The physical screen is best for showing others what you’re doing, without sharing too much."

  "Thanks for your help. I just have one more question. Do you ever do anything half-assed?"

  “What is that supposed to mean?” She looks offended and weary.

  I say each word as if handling a caustic chemical. “You know, doing a crappy job sometimes.”

  "No, I do everything to my full ability." Her insistence follows every word.

  If I keep chipping away, a weakness may show up. "You must sometimes."

  "No, seriously, I never do that."

  "I don't believe that."

  "Here is your proof. Right now you are not getting my full attention." She walks right out, without even looking back.

  That must be how she does it. If something bores, she stops doing it. I don't know what to say to that, just that she takes everything too seriously. I should start researching what study to do. Pretty soon I need my own.

  Indoctrination

  Wed 5/3/17 8:25 a.m.

  I come to work and see a small group waiting outside — the study entrants. A quick cut to the head leaves me facing Gary just inside the door. He tells me about his inability to help me today. I scrounge for someone else ready to teach me today. First thing about uploading the programming summons up memories of trying to learn German. I hope Claire can help.

  "Hey, Claire. Are you busy today?"

  Claire just sits up straight from bending over her shoes. She leans back into her office sofa. Today she has a turtleneck zip-up open to one side of her collarbone. The open side hangs to her shoulder with a yellow sweater underneath.

  I look down at her knee length boots exposed by her rolled up pants. Normally the conundrum of women and shoes bore me, but one look at these boots shows a possible cipher. They would draw anyone in like a beautiful painting. The black laces magically untie themselves from the top of the red canvas, black-trimmed boot. The snaky ties unspool through the extensive maze of loops and settle onto the floor.

  "I’m doing great, thanks for asking." She ignores my staring at her boots.

  "Oh, sorry." I keep looking down as she pries off the boots and puts on clear tan spike toes. “May I?” Her befuddled look prompts a point from me to the boots.

  "That’s fine." She answers for my quick apology and the subsequent question. Her chuckle somehow tells me this.

  I reach for the boots, grabbing the heel and toe of one sole. The embroidered rose on each side dominates the canvas halfway up the leg. A black thorned stem serpentines its way down and around the sole. Red leather appliqués, leaf-shaped and imprinted with veins jut out from said stem forming the trim around the sole. Studying deeper shows off bits of satin folded into miniature rose shapes. The top falls over from flaccidity and brushes my hand, triggering a slight tingle of electrostatic charge. I return in to the floor with a whispered Wow.

  “You are a strange one, Conor.”

  The thought of a reply floats away as I walk around the boots and sit next to her. "Gary just booted me."

  "I'm not doing much, before lunch," Claire offers.

  "Great, can you help me learn how to program tech?"

  We go behind the counter to her office. I spin the counter chair towards the workspace and sit in it. I look out over the row of two desks, a foot lower than the ones outside so the input panel stays visible.

  Claire gets some stuff from the mass of compartments covering any open space on the walls and starts getting ready. She hands me two things. “These are the programmers or nodes," a playing card size white box like the infusion one and a 2 centimeters across silver disk, “The bigger one can inject tech, while the other one just modifies programming. Of course you need the computer with the stored programming."

  "Okay." My hands examine the tech stuff she just gave me.

  "As I am about to do, place the programming node on front of your shoulder or side of the forearm using the cues on your tech. The node sends signals into the sticky pad underneath that holds a sample from your tech network. From there, the tech picks up the code." Her yellow sleeves brush against me through the jackets zipper openings as she sticks the smaller node I have onto my forearm.

  "Can you give me an example?"

  "Yes. I have a fun example I can show you. Just wait for me to get it loaded.” Claire goes to the sitting area at my back.

 
I'm waiting and looking around. A poster scribbled across the wall draws me in. It seems strange for it to scroll through "Everything happens for some good reason. Every moment is precious, cherish them." It looks almost numinous. For a scientist, it doesn't make much sense. I have to figure it out, if possible. Claire surprises me wearing a chef’s uniform — big difference from the basic black with some color. What is happening?

  "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.

  Mental log of Agent 7429

  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.

  Answers

  Epiphany

  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.”
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  “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.”

  Absolution

  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…