Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  "You can think however you like. If you are interested, give this number a ring. You have 3 weeks to make up your mind. Otherwise, we'll never meet again."

  He leaves a card and strolls out of my apartment, my apartment. How does he get that right? What am I going to do? Just pretend it didn't happen? Take him up on his offer? I'm left with more questions than anything else. Everything returns to normal. I’m not sure it really happened when the light flick on and the table appears near the door again. The only evidence rests with the blank card displaying a string of seven digits and a pounding heart.

  Mental log of Agent 7429

  Fri 6/9/17 11:47 p.m.

  A:

  Ready to start briefing 2 on mission 62.

  R:

  Ready. Has stage 3 been completed?

  A:

  Yes, scheduled meetings with target have been established. Currently it is at lunch break.

  R:

  Stage 4?

  A:

  Affirmative, medical info about the target Conor Abby has been acquired.

  R:

  Good, have suspicions been aroused?

  A:

  No, nothing can be traced back.

  R:

  Has stage 5 been completed?

  A:

  Yes. Conor has been given the provided code through his food intake. The code has been activated by a trigger. He should start having suspicions.

  R:

  Any progress on stage 6?

  A:

  The partnership with agent 2645 is working. Mr. Abby has been approached. The test is going smoothly.

  R:

  Stage 7.

  A:

  No. I have to add an issue. I was almost caught by the target, but recovered the op.

  R:

  Good work. Until next update.

  A:

  End.

  A:

  There is something I'm missing. Something about him that has them curious, but there is nothing there. I've seen his medical file more than a few times. Nothing unusual. No genetic diseases except psychological based on life experience. They rushed me into a messy, dangerous, and possibly compromising data retrieval all for what? Useless garbage? Just given me a few days and no one would have suspected anything. They needed it right then, a physical, verifiable copy, as if my testimony wasn't enough. They are taking a lot of chances with my life here.

  Then trying to recruit him for an actual job? He can't do it. No question. I need the truth, now more than ever.

  Foreign Relations and Diplomacy

  Accommodations

  Mon 6/12/17 2:59 p.m.

  I look out at the passing meadow speeding by on my way to Prairie View — a neighbor of a few hundred miles. A big glass window to my left separates me from landscape. The isle runs at my right. The short ride ends with the train slowing down. I finally decide to get some convo out of Gary. Let me see if it speaks.

  "Gary, how are your preparations going?"

  "Good, you can never have enough. Just keep working." Gary doesn’t even look up with his reply.

  "I'm all set. Are you enjoying the trip so far?"

  "Um, yes, not much has changed from last time."

  "What was the last time?"

  "It was almost the same as this, just without you." Gary gets passive-aggressive at times.

  "What do you think about the ride?"

  "It is as expected. We are gliding on an elevated track at an imperceptible high speed."

  "You seem to know a lot about trains."

  "Yes, my granddad worked on the railroads. Other people tell me, he used to take me to see trains, when I was a baby. I guess it stuck. I've been interested in them for as long as I can remember."

  Not much came of it. "I don't have that many memories of my grandfather. I'm sure there must be some."

  "Don’t worry about it. If it was important, you would remember, right?"

  I change the subject to lessen my exposure to his condescension. "Go on with your story."

  "That is about it."

  "What can you tell me about trains?"

  "The usual stuff, trains are a super-efficient way to travel. Most of the energy used to accelerate gets recaptured when slowing down. The high efficiency has been created to deal with the long forgotten energy shortages."

  "Oh, you mean before the successful use of nuclear fusion."

  "Yes, government regulations have kept the pressure on to continue developing high efficiency modes of transport."

  Just as an act of politeness, "That is pretty interesting."

  Gary goes back to reading over his research.

  What awaits me at the conference? The native scientists show off their research projects. I go through my pad.

  Gary wants me to do the section about methodology.

  The train crawls slowly, now. Sure enough, the train enters the station, a giant glass bottle painted with waves. The train jumps to a stop and starts to clear out.

  "Ready to go?"

  "Almost there… Okay, all set."

  We move into the isle. I lead the way to the exit of the car and look back at the train sitting flat on the ground without any wheels keeping it up. My tech says almost zero friction develops with a nanopolish of the train bottom and the track. A minimal electromagnetic levitation turns the friction further down and provides propulsion. We descend the staircase leading to the baggage claim. The bags wait at the booth with our seat numbers. We hand over our tickets in exchange.

  "Where next?"

  "Right this way. We have to wait for the green bus." Gary says. We wait at the edge of the street. After a few minutes, a bus pulls up. We get on and stay in the back with our luggage.

  I look out the windows at a similar cityscape. All the buildings stand generic, with flat sides and a lot of projections. The above ground naturescapes of Mountain Overlook in no way compare to the gravelly alleys and grassy sidewalks of Prairie View. I look across at Gary.

  He hides, completely immersed in his pad. "Everything is going as planned. Get off the train at the ocean terminal. Get on the green route. Arrive at the conference center."

  He mumbles, but I answer. "Good to know."

  "Are you ready for the conference, tomorrow?" Gary resumes speaking to me with some sham of attention.

  "Looks like it. I'm just a little unsure about the timing."

  "You will do great. Don't over think it, much. How are you doing otherwise?"

  "Good, I just can't wait to get there."

  "We're almost there."

  "Can't wait." I keep looking at the presentation info. After the method section, Gary talks about how he recruits people for the study. We alternate through the rest of it.

  The bus stops, we get off with a couple other passengers and cross the street to the hotel. The big building with two visible towers dwarfs us. Unlike the other towers, these have perfectly straight and flat sides. We enter. The first stop continues to be the main desk in the lobby. The lobby echoes empty with the exception of a three other silent passengers, few chairs, and tables.

  "Welcome to the John Thomas Inn, the only historic hotel in Prairie View. How can I help you today?"

  "We are checking in. I'm Gary Stephens and this is…"

  "Conor Abby."

  "It's good having you stay with us. These are your keys." He points out two key cards shown on the glass counter. "Hands, please."

  We put our hands on the counter. The tech screens flash. The hotel features nothing historic.

  "Would you two like some help with your bags?"

  "You can handle mine, Conor?"

  "No, thanks, I can manage."

  "Right this way, please."

  We follow the person at the desk (replaced by another) and accompany him to the elevators. He presses our floor, eighteen. We walk down the hallway, looking for our rooms.

  "We have a few hours, yet. Any plans tonight?"

  "Not really. I'm just meeting a few friends for dinner. You're wel
come to come."

  "Sure, why not."

  "Great, meet me in the lobby at 7:30."

  "Got it, meet in 1 hour." We enter our hotel rooms, mine just smaller than my apartment. I examine the room featuring no combination spaces, and end up at the normal wood-grained door. Basically, the room excludes any custom configurations. This resonance means historic, a relic from the time before nuclear fusion.

  My situation starts to sink in. All this actually distracted me, for a while. What to do about the Agent's offer? He wants study info before publication from the computer system. I remember the key points, somehow. Does he want me to stall publication? How does he expect me do it? Move the data around? Remove it from the system?

  Enough speculating, if I don't help him, what can really happen? He could get into my apartment, knew about the office, but didn't know much else about me. He resorted to threats just to make me help him. He thought my life was complicated. The government stands as one big organization. He might have the ability to affect the investigation. My life could become more difficult. Info enters my head about general legal procedure.

  It doesn't seem that bad. After being charged, they allow me out to stay in my apartment. Trespassing doesn’t mean murder. After that, if they manage to convict, I end up in memory wipe and restore — my innocence or guilt proven from there. They can't make me guilty.

  Natives

  Mon 6/12/17 7:02 p.m.

  I prepare to meet Gary in the lobby and head out the door at 7:20. Good, time to spare. I look for Gary in one of the lobby chairs. He isn't here yet.

  I wait looking over the info about Prairie View. "Are you ready to go?"

  Gary just stands there adjusting the collar of his button down. "Yes. Do you want to walk or take a go-seat?"

  "How far is it?"

  "Just a few blocks."

  "We can walk. What is a go-seat, anyway?"

  Gary chuckles for maybe the first time. "Come on Conor, keep up with the times. These are go-seats." He shows me a closet near the doors.

  Inside, I see chairs connected to big single ball bases. With no controls, I connect with my tech for interaction. It looks like something I want to try.

  "Are you ready to go, yet?"

  "Yes, all set." We head out the door, turn left, and start walking. The decision of working for that Agent hangs around like a bad habit. What do I get by helping him — a little more complication? That doesn't sound bad considering the consequences otherwise, even doing stuff in secret. They can find anyone to do it, might as well be me.

  What are the issues, if I do this? Lying could prove problematic. It remains a work thing. Like taking info and allowing others to get blamed. The Agency he works for will find some way to get the info — with or without me. It looks easy to do. I can always walk away, so I should think about it more, no rash decisions.

  "Are you okay? You seemed far away for a moment."

  "I'm fine. Who are we dining with?" Really, dining.

  "They are three of my friends, David Walcott, Sanathy Veena, and Sarah Mulligan."

  "How did you guys become friends?"

  "My father decided it would be a good experience… going to school in Prairie View. After high school, he got me into college here. That is how we became friends."

  Harsh. "It is good you still stay in contact."

  "Speaking of dinner, here we are." We confront a restaurant called 'Masala'. It isn't just any other Indian restaurants. The place looks modern, not stuffy and traditional. We enter the restaurant which smells warm and interesting. Gary goes to the reception desk. A waiter leads us to a table by the window. Two seats are full, and three are empty. A waiter pours water for us, before we sit down.

  "Hi, guys. This is the work friend I was talking about. Meet Conor Abby," Gary introduces me. They smile widely in turn.

  "Hi, I'm Sarah Mulligan. Nice to meet you." A second quick smile. Sarah's red hair makes a statement with every layer tapering down to the hair line, edged in black (obviously a full utilization of the tech that inhabits the hair of everyone).

  "Hello, I'm Sanathy." Sanathy chose something classic, straight hair on one side held back with a silvery rose comprised of sharpened triangles and broad curls on the other side, slinking over the shoulder.

  "It is a pleasure to meet you two." It feels strange and somewhat uncomfortable seeing Gary’s world, it's a little too perfect.

  "Have any of you heard from David?" Gary asks.

  "He just called me. He's running a little bit late," Sarah answers.

  "Sure, we have plenty of time. How is life going?" Gary asks.

  "Nothing I can't handle," Sarah answers. Confidence and bravado come off Mulligan in waves.

  "Good. No problems," Sanathy replies.

  "I'm just a little exhausted, with the long, arduous journey." That could have been sarcastic, if I tried harder. The hot lights mix with the cool air blowing through the window at my back.

  "I didn't think a 2 hour trip was that hard to complete," Gary says.

  "What do you two do?"

  "I'm in adverts for Technovation," Veena says.

  Ad biz with such a terse response? "That sounds interesting. What are you currently working on?"

  "Yes it is. The latest is for micro-tech. I'm sure you have worked with it in research."

  What question did she say yes to? "Yes, Gary's study uses regular tech for a similar case."

  "Yes. Conor has been shadowing me with my latest study. You know, about dream collection and interpretation," Gary adds.

  I slip off my jacket finally overcome by the heat.

  "That is one possible use for micro-tech," the advertiser says.

  "You've finally arrived, David," Gary says suddenly, content for some odd reason.

  David takes a seat besides Sarah. "Come on, it's only 5 minutes." David stares at someone new, me.

  "I'm Conor Abby."

  "Hi. David Walcott." Walcott extends his hand across to me awkwardly avoiding the intervening glass, which I then shake.

  "Are we ready to order?" Sanathy asks.

  "Sure, if we all are in agreement." David continues looking around for dissent. His fawn colored hair forms whorls across his head, interlinked and scattering at the edge.

  We start looking over the menus (pads for everyone). Each dish appears with a few sides. I'm unsure what to order. I try looking through the options. Everyone else ordered something already through an inset glass ring around the unclothed table. I meander, still looking. They engage in polite convo amongst themselves. I choose something and put down the menu. We start sending our orders. Most of them ventured into similar things. I decide to order the exact same thing as someone else. No escape from what I have just ordered, better or worse.

  "I just can't believe how much tech affects our lives," Gary comments.

  "Yes, so many uses. I can't even imagine how it would be without it."

  Walcott gives another example. "Take my job, for example. Modifying DNA would be much more difficult."

  "What do you do, David?"

  "I'm a geneticist. I meet with people that have genetic disease and work on repairing the error. Before the numerous tech innovations, viruses where the best option," he answers.

  "We sure have come a long way from caveman times," Sarah says snapping back from wonder gazing.

  "David, how many people do you treat, normally?" Gary inquiries.

  "I've never had more than two or three at a time. We like to joke about how the changes we make last more than a few lifetimes,” David replies.

  I laugh out of politeness while everyone else nods knowingly. This discussion rambles on solely for the newcomer, me.

  "It is surprising that some small changes can have such a big impact. The fact is a miniscule percentage of DNA is different among totally different people," Walcott continues.

  "Those are the facts, when it comes to the fragility of life," Gary says relieved that topic is dead and buried.

  "Anyway, en
ough about my career. How are you guys doing?" The young geneticist gazes around to everyone.

  "I forgot to give you this mp," Mulligan says. She gives Walcott a sticker, a memory patch of our convo so far. Did I imagine Sarah's hair flash crimson? Must have. Trading mp’s reveals a close connection between those two.

  "The food is here."

  A waiter comes with a big tray. Three of us get plates. Soon, he comes back with another tray for me and Gary. We start eating. I get chunks of heavily seasoned vegetables, chutneys of the savory variety, multilayered broths, and fluffy, airy bread. I start eating by hand with everyone else (watching Irena at lunch helps). Everything has a complex taste, all savory containing hints of the unknown. Not to mention the heat, which varies.

  “Do any of you guys think I should get a go-seat?" David asks with minimal expectations. The speed of answer and response changes to something manageable under the chewing and swallowing.

  Sanathy answers with a wondering expression. "Why do you want one anyway? Can't you just borrow one from your apartment?"

  "I would, it is just that the apartment doesn't have enough. I can't find one when I need to go somewhere. Hence, being late," Walcott replies.

  My mind forces a whiny note to his voice. A brief quietness overtakes the talking as everyone chews together.

  “I personally think you should get one," Gary says.

  "Not everyone hails from a high socioeconomic class, such as you," Veena counters.

  "You all know my dad makes me earn it. You should also know, he has cut me off," Gary responds.

  "Calm down, I'm just pulling your leg." A simile lights up Sanathy's face.

  "I think you should work the system. If you send in enough complaints, you will probably get one," Sarah suggests.

  "You are just saying that because you are part of that system. I've written it up two times, already," Walcott infers in my mind. Their discussions echo something from back home.

  "Actually, I'm one of the many checks integral to one of the governments many systems," Mulligan adds.