Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  Claire constructs the last roll.

  “Gary, are you coming to Zhou’s going away party?” Irena stacks up her three empty plates.

  “Who?” Gary starts cutting through the steak in front of him, while the juices mar his snow white potato puffs.

  “Zhou.” Irena returns to her pad.

  “Yes, Zhou. I’ll be there for sure. Any chance to party on the company’s cred is good enough for me.” Gary chews a piece and swallows.

  Irena is now focusing on her pad, after just finishing lunch. She plans to ring in as needed.

  “We were talking about Claire’s study, the fact that Irena is planning Zhou’s party, and my new exercise regime.” No MP for Gary.

  “Thanks for the review, Conor. Like Zhou, I also found a promotion. I’m going to manage a biochem field research team.” Gary slaughters a potato puffs.

  “What is your team going to work on?” Claire slides her plate away.

  “A catalog containing hundreds or thousands of biological compounds that have yet been used to an end. Harvest compounds from nature. Find a use for them. If that isn’t possible today, find a way to synthesize the compound artificially, preserving our work for the future.” Gary slices off an ambitious piece.

  “That sounds interesting. What's the biggest hurdle you have to cross in order to accept this opportunity?” Irena inquires.

  “The biggest issue is logistical. The research loc is 10 to 15 miles away. No living space nearby. Commute out there, each and every day. We are, hopefully getting personal go-seats or sharing a triple.”

  “I can’t believe a regular go-seat works." I look into my empty bowl and across to Gary's carnivore plate. The memory of eating something like that and loving it.

  “It’s actually easier to get a triple balanced. The increased horizontal spacing allows for fewer lateral balance issues. The weight distribution can also be altered to create more balance adjustment. The fact that one individual rides a go-seat gives less room for error.” Claire focuses on me, distracting herself from Gary.

  Irena looks from me to Claire. “Is it a big change from what you are doing now?”

  “Just a small change. There are five other people there. We are more colleagues. A promotion from S7 to S8.” Gary pulls a potato puff (dauphine potato) through a pool of red juices.

  “Conor had a recruitment meeting with the GGC, last night.” Claire puts on a sly smile.

  “They have been trying to get a meeting for almost a month now. The weekly phone calls were just becoming too much. I decided to entertain them with a meeting.” A casual scan of everyone's face for believability.

  “Is there any other reason to meet with them?” Irena moves her hands under the table, leaving the pad behind.

  “Anything I do here is just distributed to everyone. It is almost pure luck if someone looks at it. A consultant for the GGC has the opportunity to influence decisions of people who can make a real difference.” This disagrees with more than half the people here.

  “I’m just dying to know how it went.” Claire keeps looking at me with her malicious, laugh suppressing smile, but I can't look away.

  “I won’t know until I get called, sometime this week.”

  “Did anything unusual happen during the meeting?” Gary ingests the last piece of steak, piled over a puff.

  Take a sec. “The recruiter asked me to sign something at the end of the meeting.”

  “That’s a good sign. You are going to get an interview.” Gary looks forlorn with nothing left worth eating.

  “It has been fun. I have six confirmed guests and need to contact other interested parties to bolster my guest list.” Irena starts getting her pads stacked together, walks away, and returns her stack of dishes.

  I turn my chair sideways to Gary and Claire sitting along this side of the table. “How many of Dr. Mekova’s parties have you guys been to?”

  Claire replies, “My personal record is six.”

  “I’ve been a few times,” Gary says.

  “What are they like?”

  “It's chose your own theme. Before getting in, you make a selection. Everything is changed from your perspective,” Gary answers.

  “So it's like Experimental, the food place?”

  “Yes, there are a few differences. My father is a big investor in Experimental. We have frequented it a few times. Everything is sim. The only real stuff is the food. Who wants to feel hungry after finishing a meal?” Gary pats his overstuffed belly.

  “Irena gets juices from a friend she knows, all real fruit. Last time, there was blueberry, raspberry, pineapple, mango, and orange juices. The food isn’t necessarily better than what you can get every day, just different,” Claire also replies.

  “Is there anything else I have to know?” Just shut up already. I know what work parties are like.

  “No. I better get back to work. The Claymont research station is going to use my next study as a final audition. All the other potentials are somehow involved in research.” Gary goes back to his desk, dumping his plate in the nourisher.

  Just Claire and I are still at the table. “Conor how was your date last night?”

  “What?” I blurt it out with my surprise.

  “Your date with the lady from the GGC?”

  I picture a high school convo across a private lunch table. “That wasn’t a date. It was a recruitment meeting.”

  “Let's go through the definition. A) Prearranged. B) Shared meal between two people. C) Dinner. D) A means to an end. E) Dressed up. Need I go on?”

  “I still hold my position. She was there to discuss my interest in a job.”

  “I’ll agree for now. Give me all the details.”

  “We met for dinner, outside Zensation. You saw what I was wearing. She was wearing a black coat with blue lining and an open back black dress.”

  Claire’s face is starting to turn red.

  “We sat down to dinner. I refused anything except water. Jenna had a plate of dark brown noodles and a warm dark broth.”

  Claire continues to turn even redder.

  “She asked me questions about my work history. She said she left the forms in her office. We walk down to her office. We passionately kissed and one thing led to another.” I can’t control myself any longer and burst out laughing. Through restrained laughter, I manage to say, “I got you that time.”

  “You got me,” she says as she extends her arm in a handshake. I take it as a sign of retreat.

  Kiss and Tell

  Mon 8/14/17 4:31 p.m.

  I walk through a compacted delivery path covered with lichens at the back of two buildings. The Institute borders at the edge of my vision, mostly obscured with other buildings. I keep moving. A cool shadow moves over me. What is happening? (A question that every insect asks the moment before it's squashed.) I stop and turn around. The shadow keeps getting bigger.

  I stare at a large black bubble of swirling gas. It stops right in front of me. Two armed people come around to the front. They grab me and move me into the bubble. An electrical field threatens my hair into standing. I can’t see anything, just darkness. They put me in a seat with a foot stand. I’m secured with at least six restraints and have no chance of escape. I can’t see a thing still, so I move my head, cycling through the wavelengths the tech can show me. Still nothing to see. I try turning on the tech screen lights with a squint. A light comes out of my eyes from the edges of the pupils. I can see a few inches. After that, an impenetrable cloud of blackness.

  I don’t know how long it has been, just sitting here waiting for something, anything to happen. It finally does. They pull me out of the bubble into the light and throw me onto the shingled ground. I see just one person escorting me. I look for some hope of escape. The gleaming city keeps its distance on my left. In front, ends shortly with a glowing, blue green lake, one of those carbon dioxide storage lakes. Algae transform the atmospheric carbon dioxide into oxygen and other more beneficial compounds. The black gaseous bubb
le barricades the space a few feet to my right. The kidnappers station someone just outside the bubble, dressed in a skin tight suit, helmeted, and weapon wielding (some palm-sized gun). I have to find out what’s happening without revealing too much.

  I crawl over there, pretending I'm too injured for walking. Never underestimate your enemy. Add surprise whenever possible. “Let me go, please!” I search the air before the guard with one arm.

  He takes an unconscious step back. “We just want you to meet with someone, then we will let you leave.”

  He seems weary or amateurish. I stand up like I just noticed I could. “Why did you get me out here just to talk?” The affectation of weakness fades away.

  “You do not yet know your importance. In time you will understand.” His sounds like a true believer, each word carries an assurance and awe.

  “What is so special about me?”

  This snaps him back to the threatening kidnapper and a step closer. “Just keep your mouth shut, and you may still get out alive. Vero, bring out the other one.”

  I see someone else emerge from the bubble with another prisoner, a messy version of Irena Mekova; she managed putting up a fight. They throw her on the ground next to me and just watch us. I check if she is okay. Everything seems fine then, I notice her scrapped knee. The epidermis has been scraped off entirely. The dermis is missing in some places. It should heal, if kept clean.

  I kneel near her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, Conor,” she says without a second thought.

  “You have an abrasion on you knee, not too deep.”

  “I’ll survive.”

  It might have been funny, another time. “Let me at least cover it up.” I dig out a cloth I keep for injuries like this. It self-cleans, treats contamination, and checks for severity. I tie it around the wound. “All set.”

  I stand up and say, “I demand you get her the medical attention she needs.”

  The one called Vero removes her helmet to cropped pink hair. “Just calm down, sir. We are going to take care of both of you. Just give me a sec to get the med kit.” She retreats to the bubble.

  This is my chance to get the upper hand with just one out here. I say something so unbelievable, he stops paying attention to his surroundings. “Can you understand the words coming out of my mouth? If you can, you are either stupid or a sorry excuse for a human being.” I get up a shove him or try at least with an untrained hand. He deflects my arms away from their destination. I get aggressively push to the ground while he palms his gun.

  “Stay there and do what you're told.” He holsters his weapon.

  I dust myself off and stand up. A sharp poke in my leg is what happens next. I look down to find a small disc poking through my skin. Irena screams for them to stop hurting me. I collapse and drift off.

  (—)

  The next thing I know my head is covered with a bag. I can make out a shadow surrounded by brightness. My hood is taken off. Someone with short to medium length hair sits across from me. The glare from the glowing lake obscures any face there. They use artificial lighting during cloud cover to maximize carbon dioxide processing. Grey and black clouds broil overhead. A table of cold wet concrete or stone separates us. I don’t see anyone else around. This must be a private meeting.

  A feminine voice comes out of the shrouded figure, “Before we begin, understand my perspective. I’m aligned with the Deep Intellectuals Thinkers or DIT. We are often looked at as a radicalization of the Deep Thinkers Movement. Factually, the inverse is true.”

  “Why are you talking to me?”

  She ignores me and continues her lecture, “I read so much about you, Conor Abby. A pleasure to finally meet, Mr. Abby.” She extends her hand in greetings. I refuse to even look at it. “My views are tainted with a long struggle against the Security Division. If even a shred of what I’m about to say is true, it presents an apocryphal outcome for everyone today and the future. The Security Division is nothing but the glorified lapdogs of the GGC. They, like children deprived of attention, go to incredible lengths for this attention and support. The Security Division tramples the rights of individuals and corporations, all towards one end: control for their masters. No doubt, you deny.”

  I start pushing to get something unrehearsed out of this person. I use a convincing laugh to engrain my complete lack of belief. “What do you expect me to say to the frantic raving of paranoia?”

  “I don’t think for a second I convinced you of anything with my words alone. Their actions betray their agenda. They will do the job for me.”

  That didn’t work. There is no way she just comes up with a statement like that, in a sec. I should just look at something while ignoring her.

  “At some point, they will make you do something so horrible; it will forever scare you into believing everything I have just said. This isn’t the first time nor last time this has happened.”

  I can’t do it anymore. Mr. Calm is out for the day. I start showing all my "anger and frustration" by yelling, “HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY KNOW ANT OF THIS!” Nothing happens! Everything just gets still. She just sits there waiting for something. “Are you going to say something?!”

  “I’m waiting for you to calm down,” she says in an unfaltering, even, tone.

  This makes me even more "infuriated". How can she be so calm with my apparent anger? “Just spit out the answer, with each moment of silence my anger grows.” Overdramatic.

  “You aren’t going to settle down?" No surprise or emotions enter her voice. "Then I will ignore your presence. I was in a similar situation at the beginning of all of this. A few years back the Security Division tried to recruit me. I refused at first. They tried threatening me with criminal prosecution. That set off alarm bells. This was too radical for any legitimate agency.”

  “You didn’t join them?” I’ve reacted too much. This is getting eerily close to my experience.

  As still as a statue. “I had to try something else, first. I have network connections to people in the Government District. I found a way to meet with someone high up in the GGC, Thomas Winters. I filled him in on the tactics of the Security Division. I was surely misinterpreting the statements that were made. That is what he claimed. I just went on with my life. A few days later, someone new contacted me. They were part of Winters’ staff. They told me what was really going on. DIT has been with me ever since.”

  “Did you have any trouble believing what they said?” She has me listening.

  “I didn’t think any of it was true, like you. They gave me the opportunity to find out for myself. They provided me with a safety net, if I accepted the offer with the Security Division. I did just that. They allowed me access to the computers in the GGC. From there, I found the intricate web connecting individuals within GCC and the unsavory activities of the Security Division. I was successfully pulled out and sent here. My skills were invaluable to DIT.”

  So what? “How does your story apply to me in any way?”

  “This isn’t the first time. You are in an untenable position. Everyone you encounter tells you that you came here for medical treatment. The issue with that is you lost contact with anyone from that pervious life, your parents, Kristen Nelson, David Easter, and countless others. You remember details incongruent with your daily experience. Is this just a desperate attempt of your brain to piece together what you do remember? I don’t think so. Do you remember going through college or is that just a guess from the info you have been provided? I know you.”

  Impossible. I haven't uttered that to anyone. The idea that it's true. “You could have gotten that info from a medical database.”

  “Then how could I possibly know you dreamt about going for a swim and drowning on May first. On the ninth, you dreamed about choking on ridiculous things like chocolate and crackers. The crackers aren’t beyond possible, but how on anti-choking meds. The next big one was a testosterone driven combat experience on the fifteenth of July. Need I continue?”

  Didn't happen. W
ait. Those are real dreams. “How did you know that?”

  “Memory Enhancer-LS. You have the ability to retain entire dreams. This dream info is part of a daily dream placement. Someone trying to manipulate you to a high extent.”

  I simply don’t want to hear her diluted ranting anymore. “How does that make even a bit of sense?”

  “If you would just think about it, it makes perfect sense. Dreams are just sims of your own making. Dreams can also be entered through a node. Your friend, Gary Stephens is doing just this. Dreams have some effect on our time awake.”

  Startling for a change. “I’ve never even had a node on recently. The last time was over a month ago.” It doesn't work.

  “There is a better way to do it, food programming for instance. Tech added to your food or anything entering your mouth. The act of eating is taken as permission to download the programming and start using it. You must have noticed, all your contacts take place when you’re eating something.”

  “Why use dreams?” Why not brainwashing? Why not alter my memory? Why give me a choice?

  “Dreams are the brains attempt to draw on experience, test possibilities, and process the info of the day’s events. In the dream state, the majority of functions take place in the brain. Nothing bad can happen based on mental decisions in this state. Dreams process memories, integrate them, and find some meaning. The ability to completely remember dreams increases the impressions they have on us. At some level, dreams affect who we are. It will soon come out that our impressions of situations, things, and people are greatly influenced by dreams.”

  I just try understanding her theory. “Who is doing this?”

  “I don’t think it matters. Just knowing that someone is trying to manipulate you reduces this influence. Is it really going to help knowing who is doing it?”