by Lea Daley
“Oh, Leslie-ahn!” Aimée murmured. “That did not feel good at all!” Her eyes were enormous and her nostrils flared with distaste. “This person is…rafe’la.” Monstrous. Aberrant. A word Aimée could barely force past her lips. No worse condemnation existed in Jashrine.
“Yes. Rafe’la—in spades. And she has Bahji. Will you help us find her?”
“It could be done. But it is dangerous. And we must first contain the real Turnabout. She cannot be seen doing one thing, while I attempt another.”
A point I hadn’t considered. I turned to Taylor. “How could we do that?”
“We’ll think of a way.” She was ready, eager to begin. Shiante put a restraining hand on her arm.
“Taylor? We still need that vote.”
“This can’t wait, Shiante! Every second counts!”
“At the very least, call a syntheticon.”
“A what?”
Taylor translated. “Instantaneous, simultaneous consultation. Something like a virtual conference in your day only—”
“I know, I know…just inexpressibly superior.”
“You’re not alone in this, Leslie! We’ve all had to adapt to advanced technologies!”
“Sure, Taylor, but you scientific types have an advantage! And, remember, I’m one of the earliest cryobabies. The rest of you come from more sophisticated times.”
Shiante cut in. “This is stupid, you two. Leslie, go home and get some sleep—you’ve had a brutal day. We’ll let you know the second we have something to report.”
“I want to stay—to see how it works.”
Shiante had me by my good elbow. “Not a choice just now. Aimée, take her home.”
The VTO gripped my elbow and pulled me into the street.
“Hey! I thought you were supposed to take orders from me!”
“On the contrary, Leslie-ahn. I am designed to address your needs, not your ‘wants.’ The two are quite often in opposition. Shiante is correct—you must rest now.”
I stuck out my tongue, but went along quietly. Because there were questions I wanted to ask, answers I needed. There couldn’t be a better time to begin. As soon as we left the main drag, I began badgering Aimée.
How is it possible that you’ve known everything else about me, but picked up nothing about Bahji and Belladonna? They’ve been in my apartment, for heaven’s sake!”
Aimée’s voice was subdued. “I have been pondering this, Leslie-ahn. Someone implanted a block in your brain. It has kept me from…reading…certain parts of your experience. Also it has prevented me from perceiving those gaps and locating the controlling mechanism. This, I believe, would be true for Chastity and the Elders, as well.”
No wonder I’d sensed an edge of desperation the day Whitehall invaded my home! And what other information was hidden from Aimée? I could hardly bear to frame the corollary question: had my brain been further altered? In ways as yet unsuspected? “Who’d be responsible for that?”
“An excellent question. A block like this is very complex work. Implantation could only have been accomplished at the time you were revived. And that suggests something Taylor’s faxim hinted at: Returnees have infiltrated the surgical staff of the Medical Reception team. This is the only possible explanation.”
“The only one?”
“I have done the calculations, Leslie-ahn. The probability of any other option is negligible. The Elders must know that too. Whoever installed the block is now in grave danger.”
I was tired of walking. And my shattered arm had begun to throb again. Aimée slung the sound one over her slim shoulders, that incredible strength supporting me. I let myself slouch against her as we traveled onward. She felt real and warm and desirable. Suddenly I was scared. Just after we entered my bedroom, I marshaled the courage to ask the question she already knew was raging through my brain.
“Aimée, if you help us, can any harm come to you?”
“Ah…that would bring us back to our debate about whether I am human. Perhaps we should delay this discussion until a later date?”
“I want to know now. I need to understand exactly what I’m asking of you.”
“Lie down.”
“Tell me!” Even to my ears, I sounded strung out and petulant.
“Lie down first, Leslie-ahn. You are so very tired.”
One nice thing about Jashari: you needn’t undress for bed. I let myself fall to the sheets, where weariness pressed me flat. Aimée pulled a light blanket up, then sat beside me, stroking my hair. I didn’t protest because it felt wonderful, essential. Soon my thoughts were so scattered I’d almost forgotten that question. But when it flitted through my mind again, I forced myself upright. “Are you at risk, Aimée?”
She answered reluctantly. “Yes, Leslie-ahn.”
“What could happen to you? Would they hurt you? Can you die?”
Aimée tried to still me by placing a finger over my lips, but I shook her off.
“Answer me, damn it!”
“As I was once brought into existence, so could my existence be terminated. But if I am careful and clever, this will not happen.”
I moaned. How could I put Aimée in danger? Yet how could I abandon Bahji? I reminded myself the VTO had skills and maturity the child lacked. Still she owed Bahji nothing. Nothing. “I can’t ask you to do this!”
“Yet neither can you prevent me. Remember: my mission demands that I serve your best interests at all times.”
That was encouraging. “So following this plan is in my best interests?”
Aimée wouldn’t commit herself. “There is an eighty-two percent probability, with a plus/minus error rate of four percent. Also, Leslie-ahn, do not confuse ‘best interests’ with ‘heart’s desire.’”
“I hate it when you go cryptic on me!” Then, quite suddenly, despite my intense curiosity, I fell into a sleep as deep as death.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I jerked awake, drenched in sweat, remnants of a nightmare taunting me. My heart hammered against my ribs and it seemed the world had tipped out of balance. When I sat, trying to make sense of my panic, a calming hand eased me onto the sheets again. Aimée. “Go back to sleep, Leslie-ahn. You still need to rest.”
“There’s something I need more.”
“Yes.”
So Aimée slid under the cover and pulled me close.
* * *
I thought I was back on Earth. I thought I was holding Meredith. Thought I’d never been so happy. Even after I realized the truth, I pretended to be fuzzy with sleep. Because sometime during the night, I’d changed positions and that was Aimée resting one cheek on my shoulder. Aimée stretched full length against my body, lying very still. Aimée who knew exactly what I was feeling.
She was smaller than Mer and—despite her power—more delicate. Meredith’s curls had been soft, fine as a child’s. But the VTO’s hair was heavy and smooth, slipping through my fingers without resistance. While Mer had always carried a faint scent of sun and soil, Aimée smelled of a rich, improbable muskiness. I turned my head, inhaled deeply. Just once. Then I pulled away. “Sorry—that was inexcusable.”
She knew better than to argue. She sat, combing through her hair with those slender fingers, leaning against the headboard.
“Aimée, I know you know what I’m thinking, but let me say it out loud. Just so I can hear how crazy it sounds.”
“Of course, Leslie-ahn.”
“In the dead of night, I got an idea about how to keep track of Chastity while you impersonate her.”
Aimée’s posture suggested I had her rapt attention. But she was so enchanting I’d lost focus. All I really wanted was to slip back under the linens and hold her till the end of time. And I knew she’d picked up on my longing when the corners of her mouth started to twitch. She’s a VTO! I reminded myself. Machinery. “Dammit, Aimée—keep me on task! We have important work to do!”
She bowed as best she could from a seated position.
I cleared my throat. “S
o I go to Whitehall’s house. I say that Taylor and company are crackpots. Say I don’t intend to take on the gig they’ve tagged me for. I ask how to extricate myself from the situation. And I detain her as long as possible while you search for Bahji. What do you think?”
“I do not know whether you can deceive someone like Chastity. She is highly intelligent and hyper-alert, Leslie-ahn—and very adept at dissembling, herself.”
“It’s the only thing I can think of, Aimée. Suppose I channel the most despicable facet of my personality?”
“Show me, please.”
I struck a pose, thrust out my chin and let my voice go sullen. “I didn’t ask for this crap, Whitehall! I paid top dollar for a ticket to this godforsaken place and now a gang of radicals wants to suck me into some paranoid plot…what’s in it for me?”
“Excellent!” Aimée said with lifted brows.
“Many trophies from drama competitions in college—surely you knew that.”
The VTO brushed away my impertinence. “You will have to be very, very careful, Leslie-ahn. But you are correct. Chastity will hear a genuine quality in your tone. And because that attitude is so like hers, she may trust it. However, this will require continuous concentration. You cannot afford a single lapse.”
“No problemo. I do have a sleazy side, you know.”
“But, Leslie, it truly is a very small aspect of your psyche!”
“Shows what you know, woman! Here’s something I can’t figure out though: I have no idea how long I’ll be able to occupy Chastity. What if she has a meeting or a lunch date? How will you know when she’s on the loose again? She can’t be seen in two places at once.”
“Oh, this is very simple. I will monitor you so I know how much time I have.”
I smacked my forehead. How soon we forget! “Let’s go see Taylor, find out what she thinks.”
“Shall we eat first?”
“Good idea.” Because I was visualizing that walk, wishing fervently for mass transit. Over tea, I probed Aimée. “Given the superiority of Jashrine science, why are transportation and communication so underdeveloped?”
“Have you not figured that out?”
“No, O Sage.”
“What results from these limitations, Leslie?”
I let my experiences of the past several months filter through my mind. Suddenly I had it. “Everything slows down! It’s hard to assemble and cumbersome to plan! Which would complicate every aspect of rebellion!”
“Yes. It is a very effective method of containment and control. And it fosters other goals, as well, such as supporting fitness and health. You must have noticed that everyone on Jashari is in admirable condition.”
“But what about the syntheticon Taylor mentioned? That sounded like sophisticated stuff.”
Aimée’s face tightened. “This technology is sure to come to the attention of the Elders. They will consider it extremely threatening. I am fearful that…”
“Fearful that what?”
But she wouldn’t complete the thought. Instead, she urged me to finish breakfast. Looking ahead to the day’s activities, I found I wasn’t really hungry. After I choked down a little more tea, we set off to share my wild concept with Taylor and friends.
* * *
As we approached the Hemingway home, a young man stepped through the wall and onto the street. I’d seen him before—on the day Bahji disappeared. He was the beautiful blond guy. The dancer. Or maybe an athlete.
He recognized me at the same moment and bowed perfunctorily. When he bent to Aimée, his face took on a puzzled expression, as if he were trying to place her. Then, shaking his head dismissively, he turned. Looked back at Taylor’s house. Which I thought he wanted to reenter. But if I’d read him right, he changed his mind. Instead, he set off at a brisk pace, leaving a sense of disquiet in his wake. For no reason I could have articulated, I was glad he’d left before we discussed our plan with the others.
“Aimée? Do you know that man?”
“His name is Peter Johansonn.” Nothing more.
This wasn’t a time for idle curiosity. I made a mental note to learn more about Mr. Johansonn when life was less complicated. Then we were through the wall, stepping into a space that looked like a war room. The very air charged with a sense of urgency. Many Returnees I’d never met were bustling around. Several moments passed before Taylor even realized we were there. But when she spied us, she came forward. With tortured eyes and outstretched arms. Stepping into her embrace, I said, “Easy, Taylor—we have an idea. We’ll find her.”
She hugged me harder and choked back a sob. “I want to believe that Leslie, but it feels like the other shoe’s finally dropped.”
“The other shoe?” Aimée asked.
But I understood. Understood as thoroughly as if I’d tapped into a vein of Taylor’s subconscious. From the instant Bahji was linked to the prophecy, her mother must have anticipated this. Dreaded it. Feared for the fate of her only child. Considered from that vantage point, I was awed by the freedom she’d granted Bahji. What a temptation to keep her daughter close, to oversee her every move! The only thing I could offer right then was heartfelt commitment to Bahji’s rescue. Words, no matter how sincere, would sound like mere platitudes. Cutting to the chase, I asked, “Have you gotten approval—will Aimée be allowed to search for Bahji?”
Hemingway nodded and Shiante leaned over to update us. “It took some tough talking, but the vote was unanimous because no one had a better idea. Still, there are lots of queasy Returnees out there. Since they trust Taylor’s judgment—and everyone adores Bahji—they’re willing to risk it.”
“Great,” I said, though my heart had just leaped into my throat. “Let me tell you what Aimée and I have planned.”
* * *
By midday, I was on my way to detain Whitehall. Alone. As I walked though, I seemed to feel Aimée beside me, shoring me up. I blew a virtual kiss, then tried to immerse myself in the role I’d play over the next several hours. But my mind kept drifting back to final preparations at Hemingway’s place. A half-dozen people—apparently an elite corps of Returnees—had been peeled off from the crush and ushered me into a back room. They answered my questions and offered advice, while Taylor coached me on approaches that would be effective with her former lover.
“Where Chastity’s concerned, the best defense is a good offense. Despite her forcefulness, she tends to back down when confronted by another dominant personality.”
I’d known people like that and relished the thought of going head-to-head with Whitehall. The groundwork for that dynamic had already been laid the day she showed up with her facsimile of Belladonna. My confrontational behavior then, I said, would provide a fair template for this afternoon’s game.
But Shiante took the consultation in an unforeseen direction. “What about Leslie’s clothes? Will they do the trick?”
“My clothes?”
“Appearances count with Chastity, my friend.” Shiante turned back to Taylor. “I’m guessing this is not the right look?”
“Thanks. I’m so distracted I never noticed what she was wearing.” Bahji’s mother studied me critically. “Leslie? Can you do something a bit more…butch…with your outfit? Chastity likes to play the femme—against the strongest possible contrast.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“You need to look sharper…a little wicked…something. Damn it! I’m no good at this! Shiante, can you show her?”
Faster than Aimée could switch personas, Shiante reconfigured her dashiki. Now she stood before me in the dyke finery of Taylor’s day. “Is this about right?”
“Perfect. Copy it, Leslie—except for the color of the armband. Chastity claims that blue is for the faint of heart.”
The women fiddled with me till they thought the look was just right. And though it felt like I’d abandoned a crusade to attend a costume party, I had to admit I looked smashing. Which would give me a boost of confidence as I made my opening moves. Because I’d b
e bluffing a lot of the time—there were so many unknowns, I couldn’t even pretend to have a plan.
I’d dreamed up answers to almost anything Whitehall might throw at me. But looking around the circle of advisors, I said, “How in hell can I persuade Chastity I’d betray Bahji? I get a knot in my stomach just thinking about it.”
That stumped the panel. Every last one of us was nuts about Taylor’s daughter. Selling her out was inconceivable. It took Aimée’s supreme rationality to cut through our confusion. “The problem is not as daunting as it appears, Leslie-ahn.”
“Why?”
“Because Chastity has a significant blind spot. Although she has acquired a great deal of data about you, she does not understand your true character. She assumes everyone is much like her, only too dishonest to admit it. Since her loyalty is only to herself, your actions will appear both plausible and prudent.”
I felt my face convulse with distaste. “How long will I need to distract her?”
“Three or four hours at least. More, if you are able.”
Nodding, I put another concern on the table. “How do I keep her out of sight?” After the group brainstormed possible strategies for that issue, Taylor raised another. “Leslie? Don’t trust Chastity. No. Matter. What.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!”
But Shiante said, “Taylor’s right—as usual. If you play your part well, you’re going to encounter a side of Ms. Whitehall you’ve never seen—you’ll meet the magnetic, persuasive woman who’s charmed two worlds. She’ll tell you tales that’ll make your head swim. Just be sure to keep it above water.”
I nodded again, trying to listen with real humility. Taylor’s friends had known Whitehall a long time. And there were reasons they called her the Turnabout. “I’ll be ultra cautious. But it makes me sick to pretend I’m joining forces with her. The sooner it’s over, the better.”
Finally, Aimée and I hugged Taylor goodbye, exiting her house through the rear. In the shelter of the courtyard, a private place facing only ranks and ranks of gentle dunes, I bid the VTO farewell. The meaning of the word had never seemed so appropriate. I squeezed her hands and wished her luck, then held her for a long time. Finally, I dipped into my high school French for the phrase that promised we’d meet again: “Au revoir, ma chere.” I managed to stop short of adding, “Je t’adore.”