by A W Wang
As I clench my fists in frustration, Jake steps up. “Maybe you can ask one of the other avatars about redheads.”
“Perhaps,” Lan says.
Cheri rubs my shoulder. “Describe her from your wedding day. That would be so romantic.”
I think back to the fun times at the reception with Mary’s family. The flowered gazebo where a geeky photographer took our pictures. Mary with her red hair spilling down her flowing white wedding dress.
The memory pauses, and my heart skips a beat.
Mary’s face stiffens and crinkles like a paper cutout. The obscene parody of a person crumbles inward amid an avalanche of creaks, then everything blackens into ash and drifts away.
When I try to recall the details, I draw a blank.
What was I just thinking of…
“Vic,” Cheri nervously says.
“Lan, just now, I had a memory turn into dust. Is that normal?”
The little knight turns, and the black slit of his visor stares down at me. “That is nothing to concern yourself about. It’s part of the acclimation process and will prepare you for the next phase.
As I pinch my lips, trying to get a handle on the ramifications, Lan says, “I shall leave you to the rest of the day. Cheerio!”
After the avatar disappears, I give Jack a sheepish nod. “You were right.”
“What are you going to do if you forget her?” he asks, inadvertently framing my entire new dilemma.
“I have no idea,” I reply with a helpless shrug.
Cheri smiles and says in her finest French accent, “C'est la vie. I have a marvelous idea for us to remember the best moments from our lives. This will be so much fun.”
Thirteen
In the open air of the Oriental Garden, nine of us sit on ornate, curved benches that border a concrete circle. Cheri stands on a blue sunburst in the center, watching the waning sunlight.
I shift with impatience.
Jake rests a hand on my shoulder. “She’s an actress and great at her job. Let her pick the right moment.”
Still annoyed, I lean back, deciding that anything I do will only add to the delay.
“Do you think she’ll be as good when her memories disappear?” he asks to make conversation.
As Saya whoops to amuse Whip and Ann on the other side of the circle, my stare moves to the lengthening shadows. “She’s a natural. But this obsession with lighting isn’t helping us. We only get to act out stories with her during the thirty minutes of sunrise and sunset.”
“We’re telling each other the rest.”
“That’s not as good.”
Jake purses his lips and changes the subject. “Besides this, shouldn’t we be doing more?”
“What do you mean?”
“We should be training for something.”
Tired of having the same argument every day, I reply, “Like what? The threads have already given us everything we could possibly use.”
“Just to have everyone take this seriously. The threads are lethal, but everyone’s pretending this is some Sunday stroll in the park.”
“Saving our memories should be the priority,” I say, remembering the prior nights when I stayed awake to watch my childhood crumble into ash. “Besides, do you see any of the other teams doing anything of the sort?”
“Fine.” He takes a deep breath. “There’s one other thing.”
“What?”
His gaze wanders to his feet, and he answers in a low voice, “Saya. And maybe Cheri.”
A little surprised, I arch an eyebrow.
“We don’t know what the next phase is, but I suspect it won’t be trivial. Saya is a wildcard, and one I don’t think we need. He might get us killed.”
There’s a ring of truth to the statement. I lean close and match his tone. “What about Cheri?”
“She’s different. I’m not sure she’s cut out for this.”
“We don’t know what this is.”
“This is a military program. I like her a lot, but I can’t imagine her killing anyone.”
I take a breath, uncertain of what his point is. “What are you proposing?”
“We break up the team.”
“What?”
“I ask Lan a lot of stuff, and one thing he mentioned was that if we were unhappy with our team, anyone could ask to break it up.”
“Like kick them off?”
“More like sending everyone to a different team in a different sanctuary.”
The notion of blindly hopping around the universe in search of my wife crosses my mind.
Jake leans to say more, but Cheri yells, “The sunlight is correct. Let’s hurry!”
Beauty lighting.
I roll my eyes and whisper to Jake, “I’ll think about it.”
“Vic,” Cheri says in her best French accent. “Come quickly, let’s perform your wedding day. Everybody will see how wonderful your wife is.”
“The reception’s gone.”
“What about the wedding?”
I visualize Mary at the altar in her beautiful white dress, and my feet are walking over the sunburst before I realize I’m moving.
When I stop next to Cheri, Saya jumps up and rushes over, saying, “I’ll be the priest.”
With the amber rays of sunlight disappearing, I hurriedly tell the basic details of the ceremony, and we begin. While Saya paraphrases his role, Cheri gives an exact rendition of Mary’s vows. I give her credit for knowing her craft. At the end, Saya pronounces us man and wife and tells me to kiss the bride with a whoop.
Although the loud noise wasn’t part of the festivities, I turn to Cheri.
She pretends to lift a veil and stares with large, beautiful eyes, which are filled with love. The amazing acting draws me into the illusion, and with a little imagination, I see the orange glows of the sunset coloring her platinum hair red. Sorrow at the lost moment spreads through me, but when Cheri smiles, a wave of anticipation builds.
With friends like this, how can the quest fail?
“Kiss her, Vic!” Saya says too loudly.
With the moment broken, I lean over and give the famous actress a peck on the lips as the others applaud.
She touches my cheek with tenderness. “Always remember the love from this instant, and may you never forget your wife.”
A genuine smile crosses my face.
“Your parents must have been so happy.”
I picture the distinguished couple in their perfect outfits. My father with his receding hairline, graying temples, and piercing blue-eyed stare, his tuxedo barely containing his broad shoulders.
My lips tighten. To keep up the appearance of family unity, I was forced to invite them. And the whole situation was worse because they loved Mary. My anger flares, and I grab Cheri by the shoulders.
She blinks, her lips parting in confusion.
Shocked by the depth of the rage, I extend my arms and push her back a step.
“If there’s anything I’ve done wrong. Perhaps with more direction, I can get things perfect for you.”
Realizing the situation, I give her a gentle squeeze before letting go and mumble, “No. You were wonderful. Just a bad memory on my part.”
While she recovers her composure, I glance to the rest of the group with a confident smile. “Come on, the lighting’s still great. Who’s next?”
Wanda stands and hurries to the center as I walk back to the bench, stopping just short of my seat.
While the former quality-assurance specialist chatters about testing sexbots, I fight to suppress the raw feelings from my days of darkness—the time before I met my wife. Without the layers of my past propping up my optimism and covering what’s beneath, the rage might become uncontrollable. While the acclimation will take those memories too, what happens if the emotions don’t leave?
These stories need to work.
A worse thought hits me. My wife has gone through this.
What if she doesn’t remember me?
“I’m sure she
’s trying every bit as hard as you. But that might be the least of your problems. Shouldn’t you worry about what’s coming next?”
“What’s to worry about? Everyone’s got the threads. There isn’t any martial knowledge we don’t have.”
“I doubt if things will be that simple.”
“If I don’t come through this as the man Mary fell in love with, then what’s it all worth?”
After I plop back onto my spot on the bench, Jake taps me. “Well, what about it?”
While gallivanting around the universe looking for my wife holds some appeal, there are countless sanctuaries. All my stories are with these people, and I like them. If we split up the team, all that disappears.
I shake my head. “For better or worse, we’ll make this work.”
When no response comes, I turn from the bawdy action on the sunburst and let my stare follow the outer circle marking the boundary of the garden.
I sit up with a start.
In the direction of the setting sun, the lengthening shadows from a tall row of ferns have merged with the black gravel, creating a dark hand.
As the seconds pass, a chill crawls down my spine.
The overall effect is like the spindly fingers of Death creeping toward us.
As I walk through the courtyard of the museum, my eyes shift to a dark, stormy painting. With my memories crumbling and anger churning underneath, I’m more restless than ever, but sinister clouds raining on a barren landscape isn’t what I need at this moment. Without a second glance, I march into the dank air of an arched hallway.
From each side, impressionist paintings hang, their wavy and oddly fragmented caricatures calling like so many of my fractured remembrances. Some works carry a light tone, while others trumpet the bleaker parts of the human psyche. Although more than a few tempt me, I stride past, brushing through the cones of late afternoon sunshine pouring from round skylights in the ceiling.
A woman with a parasol stands in a green field under dabs of white clouds.
I pause, searching for why the work of art evokes such familiarity.
The porcelain figurine in the bookcase.
Surprised by remembering Mary’s favorite trinket, I plant myself on one of the railed benches bolted down the center of the corridor and stare at the masterpiece. While the time passes, I take steady breaths, marveling at how the bright colors come together as a breathtaking image.
Of everywhere in Home, this tasteful museum is the place Mary would love, and where she would be in her sanctuary—maybe even in this exact spot.
I sigh and imagine her in fixer-upper garb framed by the sunlight of the bay window.
For however long that memory lasts.
The good mood evaporates, and I squeeze the edge of the bench, whitening my knuckles.
After all these days, I’ve accepted Mary isn’t anywhere in this sanctuary. Lan hasn’t been helpful, and, aside from breaking up the team, which is a non-starter, there’s no way to leave. I can only meet her in the next phase—whenever, wherever, and whatever that entails.
Dark thoughts bubble, and I clench my jaw, fighting the pessimism.
The acclimation is winning.
With the memory loss, we might become different people. Then what?
My sense of unworthiness surges. How could a man like me have gotten the most wonderful woman in the world?
I return to the painting and, concentrating on the brushstrokes of the clouds, let the beauty and depth of the artist’s vision soothe my psyche.
Mary and I met once and fell in love. When we meet again, I have to believe that will continue…
Footsteps pad down the hallway, and I shift on the thin rails of the bench.
“Vic,” Cheri calls, approaching with a practiced walk which borders on sexy.
I wave.
She stops under a cone of sunlight, letting the brightness outline her form.
“What are you doing here?” I ask the dreamy figure.
“I love this place.” She glances at the painting and exclaims, “Oh, Claude Monet is remarkable. I didn’t know you appreciated the finer things.”
“Lan said that a way to relax is to find a painting I like and sit in front of it until I feel better.”
“Is it working?”
“A little,” I say with a shrug. “My wife would have loved this place.”
“So, for you, this place is filled with love.”
I grimace. “A bit of longing too.”
She leaves the sunlight and sits next to me. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Curious, I lean toward her. “Sure.”
She giggles and says in her best French accent, “I long to go to the bathroom. I mean, they give us that blue liquid, but where does it go?”
I smile in spite of my mood. A moment later, I laugh.
“Do you think I’m a good actor?”
Puzzled by the question, I reply honestly, “The best.”
“No, I don’t think so. You are far better.”
“What?”
The lightness leaves her expression as her eyes turn serious. She says without the trace of an accent, “You’ve got a beautiful smile and nobody has more determination. There are so many layers of optimism to you. And it’s marvelous how you’re searching for your lost love. But this is all a role that you play to perfection.”
I reply with coldness, “I love my wife.”
“Of course, you do. And she’s lucky to have you. But, there’s more.” Her lips purse. “You’re a good man, but something deeper and angrier stains your core. And that’s what your acting conceals.”
My gaze flicks to the painting. There’s nothing I can say, except for the truth. However, I’m not prepared to share that yet.
“Vic, I didn’t come to highlight any flaws you have. I’m only here to help. So, if you ever want to just chat…”
Her earnest expression puts a dent in my defenses. “You might be right, but I’m afraid I’ll need that part of me before this thing is over.”
As our fleeting connection breaks, she straightens. A smile brings the levity back to her face, and she says with her heaviest French yet, “But never forget the better things. Life is for living.”
“Cheri,” I say, remembering Jake’s reservations. “I hate asking something so personal, but how did you pass the first test?”
Her dreamy expression wavers before she says, “I melded different traits from roles I’ve played to create a character. That of the assassin.”
“Did it work?”
“Am I not here?” She winks. “I am a very good actor.”
I smile in agreement.
“If I might ask, how did you conquer all those people?”
By running…
Not wanting to lie, I skirt the truth. “Winning was easy since they weren’t real.”
“They weren’t?”
“Close to real, but they were AIs.”
She stares for an awkward moment before letting out a snort. “As I said, ‘You are the finest actor.’ Nobody has your people skills.” Her lips scrunch. “Hopefully, you are right. Not killing people would make me feel better about myself.”
A pop echoes down the long hallway.
Happy to end the conversation, I turn to the metal suit glinting above me. “What do you want?”
Lan replies, “I’ve come to let you know the team has been deemed fit for the next phase.”
Although my muscles tense, I force my expression to remain neutral. “So, we’ll hold on to the memories we still have?”
“No, the acclimation process shall continue.”
I frown. “When does the next phase start?”
“Tonight, we have a special event. And then tomorrow, you begin the rest of your journey. Best of luck and cheerio!”
I shake my head after the avatar disappears.
Cheri gives a radiant smile. “Keep focused on your goal, and you will do well.”
“And you too.”
I rise and walk
into the amber sunlight streaming from a nearby window. When I peek through the metal bars, I cast my gaze to the expanse of the blue dome. Although the next phase is here, I push away from my own problems, wondering where my wife is and hoping she’s doing well.
We’re both a long way from home.
Fourteen
After the special event, a G-rated movie night in a giant opera house, the team spends the following morning anticipating what the next phase will bring.
Over a blue-liquid brunch, we joke, trying to imagine the taste of real army rations. Cheri switches things up and teaches us the finer points of French cuisine. Jake ruins the mood by again nagging about practicing more. In an exasperated tone, I ask him what one thing he’d like to practice in the time left or what the all-encompassing threads don’t cover. Since nobody knows what happens in the next phase, Jake relents but stays moody, infecting everyone’s good humor.
To lessen the anxieties, I drag everybody to the Oriental Garden. We swap stories for the rest of the afternoon, even acting out scenes from our pasts with Cheri as the lead actress, despite her protestations of the lighting being imperfect.
As Saya tells a rowdy tale of speed motorcycling around the Rockies over narrow roads with hairpin turns, the golden sparks appear.
We materialize in the honey and lemon scented prep room. It might be my imagination, but the glowing shapes etched into the wall seem muted and somber.
Lan pops in, floating just past the opening of the semicircle.
Everyone leans forward in anticipation.
“Welcome, are you eager for the next phase?” he says dryly, the lack of expression from his visor heightening the usual indifference underlying his words.
Not sure if eagerness is good or bad, I wait for some sign from the shiny avatar. He stays motionless, and when the silence becomes awkward, I answer, “We’re ready.”
“That is indeed wonderful,” Lan replies.
As people shift into more attentive postures, I put my elbows on my knees and steeple my hands as a chin rest.
Glints from the glowing shapes play over the miniature knight as he twists to each person. The gesture might be construed in many ways but feels more like a final goodbye than anything else. After finishing, he faces the center of the semicircle.
