It was only logical to assume that Leon would possess some sort of familial affinity. Most everyone did, even cold people. The Vines were aware that Leon was distant. Sociopaths fit into the Remaking so well, that it was hard to distinguish those like Leon from normal people.
Leon did not care about his family any more than he cared about the house he lived in or the food he ate. His family was a genealogical fact to him. The result of the necessary biological arithmetic. Sela couldn’t recall a single affectionate word between Leon and his father, whom he otherwise idolized.
Not only would Leon be likely to figure out Phil’s script for what it was; at absolute best, he wouldn’t understand the sentiments it expressed. And that was a very chancy scenario by Sela’s estimation.
On the other hand, there was one thing about Leon that Sela could appeal to. If she could play to his vanity, his very belief in the Remaking, and his father’s role on the Council; maybe just maybe there was a way.
Chapter 18
"Leon, I know it's been a long time since we talked. You and I never saw eye to eye on much. We never saw eye to eye on anything.
"You probably know that I'm not in the Tower of Hope any more. My dad sent me away, and sent me into hiding. I… I really miss my parents."
Tears filled her eyes, honest tears.
"I really miss them. And I… I don't think I can stay in hiding much longer."
She squeezed her eyes closed and turned her face away from the tablet in her hands. It took several seconds to choke down the lump in her throat.
"Life isn't what... It isn't as easy as I thought, living out here with all of these… people," she said the word with the disgust she knew Leon felt for the masses.
"It's too hard. I'm tired of fighting, and I…" she opened her eyes and tried to actually feel the next words she spoke, "I hate living out here, outside of the Tower of Hope. I hate the people that are making things so hard on the Council."
She took a deep breath and sighed, her face weary and blotched from emotional strife.
"You and your father were right, Leon. I can't believe my family was so… so wrong about the Remaking!
"I know how the Council wants everyone to live, because I miss that. It was so nice not having to worry about all of the… mundane and stupid little things, all of the bothers that everyone clings to out here!
"Out here, I have to do menial, degrading work to make ends meet. I have to pay rent and electric and water. And I have to buy my clothes and my food. I have to pay for my food and any medicine I might need!
"I want to work hard and develop my potential, and I don't want to have to worry about all of that. I want to be able to be who I am, without dealing with that trivial stuff.
"It seems so… ancient… outdated, the idea of using money and sales. I never realized just how inefficient and archaic it is. All of this extra effort could just go into making art or music or to making new vaccines or better homes!"
She shook her head, "You were right. Markets are the thing of the past. I understand now that all these people out here, they don't know what's best for themselves. If they did, they wouldn't be fighting the Remaking.
"The Remaking would improve everyone's lives! Unquestionably! There's no way anyone can disagree! They have to be brainwashed or evil, if they don't want the Remaking. There's no other way to look at it.
"The Remaking is the greatest achievement in the history of the human intellect! It took me seeing all of these… these nobodies to understand that," she practically growled the words, shuddering the tablet cradled in her fingers.
"I want to come home. I want to come home and live in the Tower of Hope. But… But I don't want it to come back on my dad.
"He sent me away, but he doesn't know how these idiots live out here. He doesn't understand what you were right about, the whole time."
Sela scrambled for words. She had thought through most of the act, and some of it, she had actually felt now and again as she hid in her lonely apartment. No matter how little faith she had in the people that opposed the Remaking, she had even less faith that the Remaking was the right solution to human foolishness.
"My dad… My parents, they… I think they were confused. My dad thinks that… that everything that's happening right now is how it's going to be forever."
She had to fight to keep from grimacing at the words. Leon might think she was annoyed with her father, but she just didn't actually want to say these things.
It's one thing to put on an act for someone, but I'm having to slander my parents!
She muscled through, "But it's not! This is just a temporary period until you and the Guides and the Council can get everyone onboard with the program.
"And once we're there, it will be so wonderful! They will all know how wrong they were! They wouldn't fight the Remaking, if they just knew what it was!"
She paused and worked a sheepish grin across her cheeks. "I finally understand. It took me a long time, but I understand now. You were right. You were so right!"
She paused to let the statement have greater impact. For the few seconds, she gazed through the tablet, her mind drifting elsewhere.
"I guess, I just don't want my parents in trouble with the Council. But I want to come back, and I was hoping you could maybe meet with me somewhere, someplace where I'll feel safe."
She looked into the screen, glad that it was shut off, only the camera working. She didn't want to see herself as she begged her loathsome cousin, praised him and begged him.
"Could you please send me an e-mail? I'm really scared, because I've been ghosting for a long time, and I don’t want to lose the chance to come back. I know you're really busy, but you're the only person I can talk to about this."
She swallowed, feeling the wetness in her eyes again, "If you could please reply back at this address. Leon, I need your help. Please get back to me, okay?"
Licking her lips, she nodded and then set the tablet down, sitting back.
It felt light a huge weight had come off her shoulders, like it had rolled forward into the tablet. She had been in the studio for four hours, almost five; long enough to remember the banana and yogurt she had left on the table. The yogurt was room temperature, but she had become hungry enough to eat it.
Phil had disagreed with Sela's understanding of her cousin, and he had argued with her. Sela disliked the way he debated, so insufferably cool and calm, while making strident statements of his team's superior analysis.
Michelle, however, had agreed with Sela immediately. Research was all well and good, but most of the time, high-level knowledge is trumped by practical experience.
Sela had only performed the one take so far. And considering all of her faltering speech and fumbling around for what to say, Bob would probably want three or four more shots at it. Over the hours, she had developed a racking headache, and wanted at least to take a break before trying again.
She liked Bob. He was more than just a director or a studio manager. Whenever Sela had gotten flustered or intimidated by all the attention directed her way in the studio, Bob had shooed the crew out for breaks.
He had insisted that her appearance be without makeup. The whole approach was to make everything seem natural. Attempting that, the crew had spent an hour and a half arranging the lights just so.
Sela had thought the lighting from the table lamp would have been enough. Bob had gently explained why the lamp was insufficient. The apartments in the poorer areas were small, and the lamp would not merely illuminate the walls beside Sela and the furniture. The light would shine off all the walls and rebound, illuminating the room.
He let Sela look at her image in the tablet with all the studio lights shut off. She noticed the darkness immediately. The gradient of shadows across her face looked odd, like the lamp just wasn't nearly as bright as it apparently looked.
Anything that could make Leon think the video was a set-up, anything at all, had to be reduced as much as possible. Sela had stressed how unl
ikely she was to ever reach out to Leon. That would be enough of a hurdle to vault over.
Sela straightened her back and began analyzing her performance, trying to come up with improvements. Certainly, another attempt would iron out most of her stuttering.
She looked up and saw Desmond stepping out of the control booth. She couldn't see much back there, because of the bright klieg lights. Bob had restricted everyone to the booth to give Sela an easier time performing. It had been much easier to forget the eyes that were on her, being unable to see them.
Desmond stepped into the set and smiled. "That was good, Sela. It was great."
He had been indispensable throughout the process so far. Desmond's efforts to help Sela do a good job had been as impactful as Bob's, even though he had very little real input. A comforting look, a pat on the shoulder, his gentle encouragement; Sela felt warmer around him, if only a little.
"I feel… rancid," she said. "And I couldn't get my thoughts out at some points." Sela held up one hand, "And I forgot to mention my uncle!"
"I'm not sure that matters."
"Of course it does," Sela retorted, chiding herself through him. "His greatest pride is that his father is a member of the Council."
"Well, yeah," Desmond agreed.
"So I need to work that in somewhere,"
Desmond shook his head, scratching his stubble, "No, you probably shouldn't actually." He sat down on the couch beside Sela, putting an arm around her to draw her out of self-criticism.
"If you mention your uncle, Leon might wonder why you aren't contacting him. A Councilmember would be more useful than a Guide, no matter how important he is."
Sela had to admit, that was a good point, and Desmond's closeness seemed to calm her erratic mind. Still, that brought up a criticism of the whole plan in general. "Well, now I'm thinking that we should be sending a video to my uncle now."
Desmond didn't let her get away with that for a single second, "We need Steffen Wallis in place to get agents into the Conference, Sela."
He paused. Sela rubbed her forehead. The headache was pounding.
"Sela, you said that your uncle was pretty distant from you, right?"
She shrugged, but nodded. "He never really talked to me much. Thought of me as a little kid I guess. He always just talked to my dad."
"Not your mom?"
"Nah, she didn't like him. Didn't like how he was able to push my dad into stuff, stuff like working for the Remaking."
Desmond asked, "Would he greet you and such?"
"Most of the time, yeah," Sela answered "He would say, 'Hello Sela, how are you,' and stuff like that. The sort of stuff you say to a little kid."
"Even when you were a teen?"
She nodded.
"Well, you had to interact with Leon. You spent actual time with him. You don't really know your uncle."
"I don't like my cousin," she thought bitterly, out loud.
"Yes, but you know him. And that's enough."
Chewing on the thought, Sela rested her elbows against her sides, hands clasped together atop her knees. The quiet was nice. Those in the booth would be using headphones as they watched over the first take.
Several minutes passed, and Sela stood up to stretch her legs. She had spent most of the last hour on the couch, a permanent prop for the lighting engineers to perfect the illusion.
Desmond poured two cups of water and gave her one. It was lukewarm and tasted vaguely of copper. Sela could hear the murmur of voices from the booth. It made her nervous. She began to pace back and forth in front of Desmond who waited patiently, leaning against a shelf of props.
At long last, Michelle and Bob and Phil came out, followed by the studio crew. Sela was at least relieved to see the smiles on every face, except for Phil's. His face seemed never to stray from passivity, even if his voice did betray some emotion. On closer inspection, Bob Carson wasn't smiling behind his beard. His joviality was all in his eyes.
The crew began moving the lights, joking and laughing with each other. Sela sighed with exasperation.
She growled, "Are you kidding? We're redoing the lights?"
Michelle's smile crumpled into a smirk. "No, no. We're done, Sela."
"We are?" she asked.
"Masterful performance," Bob's eyes smiled. "I'm very happy with your openness."
Sela blushed, and stuttered, unable to digest the compliment.
"Sela, Sela," Bob's deep voice soothed, "I wanted you to be conflicted and confused, which is what you were."
"Yeah, but it was real," Sela managed to say weakly. Her face reddened all the more. Desmond gazed at her, eyebrows raised in compassion.
Michelle replied, "That's what Bob meant by honesty, Sela." She came toward Sela and took her hand, "It needs to be clear that you are distressed and confused."
"And if you were rehearsed, if you tried it again and again, it would be much dryer," Bob added. "You're not a professional actress."
"To put it bluntly," Michelle said, still smiling.
Sela didn't like Michelle's touch. Still did not trust her. Had to trust her.
But she didn't have to like her.
Pulling her hand out of the grip, Sela turned around and took two steps to retrieve her water from the table. The skin of her face felt itchy and salty. She could feel the heat of her embarrassment wearing away, and even still, she was glad that the filming was done.
A dozen little ideas still gnawed at her, ideas that she had meant to work into the video. And… now that she thought about it, the whole video seemed like a blur. She couldn't remember for sure just what she had said. Maybe she had included some of those ideas, maybe not.
"Do you want to see it?" Bob asked, half-turning back toward the booth.
By this time, the lights were all off, nearly all moved back from the set. Bright house lights were switched on while the crew tore down the apartment set itself.
Sela thought about it, and then decided against viewing the video. Her headache was bad enough already. She didn't want to deal with this mission.
Just maybe, a thought occurred to her, maybe Leon'll see the video, figure out it's a scam, and refuse to get in touch.
Then the mission would be over and Sela wouldn't have to do the next part, which might be harder.
No, she thought. Leon wouldn't do that.
Even if he knew it was a bogus message, he would still contact her. She wouldn't know whether he believed her or not. The fact was that Leon didn't believe anyone ever. He probably weighed everything everyone said to try to find the best advantage for him.
No matter what, Sela would have to wait until Leon replied and see what happened after that.
"No," she answered. "I think I'd rather have a shower right now." She drank another gulp of the water. “Did you send it already?”
Michelle shook her head, “The ghosting isn’t quite in place yet. It will go out in a few hours.”
“Ah,” Sela said.
This new identity would mask her long-term identity, Sela Mason. Leon would know his cousin immediately, of course. But it would be best if he did not know that she had been Sela Mason all this time. That could come back against Max Gaines if things went awry.
The ghosting would show Sela hiding under the alias Bethany Wilkins. Wilkins had two jobs: one as a secretary in a Megora Transit Authority office, and the other as an evening waitress to tide over her budget.
Other than that, the identity was familiar to Sela. Bethany Wilkins had not become involved with many people or organizations. She earned enough money to get by and spent her time reading.
"I'm going to take a shower, then," Sela decided aloud. She was not going to ask Michelle for permission. "If it's going to be a while before you send the message."
"It might be longer than that. We'll let you know when we need you to compose a response," Michelle said, moving toward the door. "Don't go too far, you two."
Bob gave Sela one last warm look and then headed around to the other side of the
studio again.
Sela glanced at Desmond, "Go too far?"
He blushed a shade and stuttered, "Well, I kinda… convinced Michelle that we, that it would be best to get you some…" he gestured with his hands, "some relaxation."
When she held silent, he added, "Look, you've had such a rough time, and… I know you aren't really… enthralled with the Vines right now." He shrugged and gave a thin smile, eyebrows raised, "I just want to make this as easy as possible."
She shook her head, "Shower first. Then we can talk about doing something, maybe."
After showering, Sela dressed into the clothes Desmond had given her. All she had was the jeans and baggy, long-sleeved shirt from the night before. And that just wouldn’t do for where we’re going, Sela thought with an annoyed grimace.
Still, it was clear that Desmond had remembered Sela’s preferences from that single visit with Emory. The shirt was stylish and comfortable, a light colored button down sewn to curve around her body. She could button it up as far as she liked though. The slacks were form-fitting as well, and made from an expensive material. Sela was comfortable in them immediately.
Desmond had even gotten footwear for her, simple flat sandals, with six thin straps on either side, with a main strap down the middle. She applied some basic makeup from her purse kit and then inspected her image in the mirror.
She looked about a hundred times better than she felt.
Desmond was waiting for her in the hallway, his hand now wrapped around another cup of coffee. She wondered just how many cups the man drank on a daily basis. It always made her feel jittery.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
Desmond looked up from his card. “We—” he paused, catching sight of her. “You look very pretty Sela.”
Sela stuck out her tongue at him, and then laughed at the astonished look on his face. And suddenly she felt a little better. The headache had drained away with the bath water.
Desmond shook his head in confusion. “Well, you do,” he said. “And we’d better get going. We have to be back here by seven.”
The Remaking Page 28