Margi listened to the familiar voice and closed her eyes, imagining the scenes like they were her own memories reeling inside of her head. She would never venture to that kind of experience. Rivner did and described it in such detail, Margi felt the slivering of the snake’s skin against her own leg, even flinched when her ankle ached as if the snake hovered its fangs over it. She rubbed out the feeling.
Toward the end of telling another adventure, Rivner’s tone tempered at having to return prematurely upon the death of her Meno body. “I only wanted space,” she said.
As a boy she had ventured alone across the plains that stretched in each direction as far as his sight would carry. A storm descended upon him with giant balls of water that gathered in the heavens, blotches in the clouds drawing darker until their weight formed, plunging like raindrops that Rivner described as each being a meter in diameter. He ran for higher ground as the balls washed the ground out from under him. One ball hit him square, forcing his face into the mud from where he never rose. She had given him the name Baq.
Rivner was forced to return to her original body since her clone wasn’t ready. She recalled seeing her half-developed clone being piled atop other bodies on the way for discard. The mention of the scene was brief. The audio appeared to have been edited. She vowed to always return to her original body henceforth unless she adventured for a safe life, without risk. She had yet to succumb to such a scenario, opting always to venture outward. Though her Meno body of that boy was never found, she had aimed to return at some time to find it.
Margi listened to her voice with the longings and musings, with herself as her only audience. Rivner was searching for freedom. But freedom from what? Margi might never know. She wondered if Rivner ever did.
Some of the cruelties Rivner exercised and mentioned only in passing lingered on Margi’s conscience after the voice died off. Snatching a friend’s pet to feed to her snake. Lying at a tribunal to see a man hung from a bonga tree that would absorb his body into its bark over time. Margi’s own voice testified against her as if she herself had been the perpetrator of such deeds. Stavon loved Rivner. And this is who she was.
Margi slipped beneath the covers and closed her eyes. Her soul was weary of thought, confused with too much thinking for one day. Stavon did not join her in bed. She was thankful for that freedom.
She drifted away. No thoughts. No dreams. Only the nothingness of slumber.
* * *
She became aware only with the din of her alarm clock becoming louder and louder. Her arm reached for it and landed on the emanator. She startled awake.
She smacked the alarm into silence, then leapt from bed and darted to the window. The buildings of New York City staggered across the landscape, anchored by Central Park in silhouette of the moon’s glow. She was home.
She centered herself, then made her way to the shower and readied herself for work while she tried to make sense of the previous night.
CHAPTER THREE
A makeup artist dotted lipstick across Margi’s lips and strengthened their color.
“Good,” Margi commented and fluffed her hair as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her mind wandered to Rivner’s video advertisement and her likeness. She recovered her attention from it just as fast and gathered the papers she had been reading in preparation for the broadcast, then removed her glasses. She slid her feet into her high heels and left for the studio. She was back in the groove.
Shortly after a production assistant discussed the lineup, Margi took her place at the desk.
She smiled. She could do that—smile on the outside while grimacing on the inside. “Steve.”
“Good morning,” he replied. “You look rested.”
She brightened. “Why thank you.” At least the nanobots were doing their job. If only they didn’t destroy her in every other way.
The team took their places. Camera on.
“We’re rising in New York City and it’s a beautiful day,” Steve began the broadcast.
Margi followed with the first story. Headlines within the last twenty-four hours. New York City never slept, least of all was the show’s researchers. Yet they saved the more noteworthy stories for the heaviest ratings timeslot. She noticed more in the last year that she was reporting on stories earlier in the morning. Sandy, the younger anchorwoman, was elevated to primetime with more stories as the morning progressed. Margi’s gaze wandered over to the young woman.
“The fire had…had…” Her words fumbled. “Was contained. No one was hurt.” She rushed her words.
Sandra glanced at Margi, her eyes darting away when she looked back at her. Margi recognized the jealousy rising in herself but was overwhelmed with embarrassment. No amount of nanobots could compensate for lack of professionalism on air. Sandra’s eyes were bluer, her hair blonder, and her figure a mere inch higher in every zone of her body. Margi could not make such a mistake again.
“New York City is a mecca for many who seek to play in the biggest markets, among the most competitive pool of talent the world has known. One new resident now calls New York City home. She doesn’t compete but she does play. Sandra has the story.”
She turned to Sandra who introduced her video interview. Margi kept her attention on Sandra’s elocution. A slight uptick of the chin while punctuating a sentence. Such a flirt, signifying the degradation of their profession. The girl could learn much from her if she would be so lucky. Margi understood this girl. She felt a warmth across her face as she claimed her professional status once again. Maybe the nanobots were at work. She tried to sense them under her skin and guess what they would do. She knew she could do nothing to undo anything they would effect.
The camera cut to Margi, who was staring blankly into the monitor. Her own thoughts had gone to a deep place in a dream in another land where understanding of others could be grasped by living through another’s eyes. Meno. In theory, she longed for the experience but on her own terms. The identity of Rivner was much like herself in every way but who she really was…or something. Rivner, having different intentions, had used her experiences in less than noble endeavors—ones of destruction and folly for others and for a carelessness of her own wellbeing. What would drive a woman to such apathy?
The production manager spoke in Margi’s earpiece. An assistant waved his hands behind the cameraman, and her attention snapped to present time.
“Thank you Sandra, for that beautiful story,” she said.
Steve took over much to her relief, then cut to a commercial.
They returned on air with Margi summoning her fullest charisma. The room’s relief was palpable. Sandra even cracked a joke with Steve from Margi’s lead-in.
When the broadcast ended, Margi had never been so glad to be finished with the day. She gracefully stole herself away from the public eye.
One thought nagged her throughout the time she had awakened that morning: Dr. Howard. She called his office on the first free moment she had. No answer.
She took a taxi to his office. The door was locked, no note posted. She knocked. With no one answering, she placed her ear upon the door and listened. Listened hard. No noises, yet this was in the doctor’s hours of operation. Even if he were in surgery, his staff would be at the office. Always paperwork to do. She squinted into a section of glazed window hoping to focus on someone waiting in a seat. No one.
She called the number and noticed a strange thing. No phone rang inside the office. She placed her ear against the door in desperation. She heard her phone click over to voice mail, but no greeting from the office staff came.
“Hello. Dr. Howard.” She focused her attention. “This is Margi. I need to speak with you about a follow-up session. We need to modify the procedure.” She hoped that message was vague enough for the uninformed but would register sufficient urgency for Dr. Howard to return her call.
She leaned against the wall for what felt like an hour. She was hungry and tired. She wanted answers and felt the raw energy in her as she did
in the early days of being a reporter when she craved the chase and the exposure of lies.
Dr. Howard had come on good recommendation from a friend. She decided to phone her.
“Jules, Hi. Margi here.”
The woman’s tone was dignified as all high society was.
Margi explained trying to contact Dr. Howard. Jules, however, was more interested in meeting at the Four Seasons.
“Of course,” Margi responded. “First, I need to get a hold of Dr. Howard.”
“Maybe he’s vacationing.”
Margi hadn’t thought of that. Still, his staff should have been in the office. “How did you hear of this doctor?”
“A friend spoke highly of him. I haven’t gotten around to seeing him yet myself.”
“Do you have the name of that friend?” Margi asked while keeping her impatience at bay with a slight patronizing manner.
“I’ll need to get her approval. She’s in the public eye. You understand.” The voice was languid.
“Yes, I appreciate the discretion.” She chatted a few moments so as not to brush off the woman; society had its dictates. Her insides were panicked. She needed answers. Something was wrong. She felt it in her bones.
She finished up the call with the suggestion that Jules contact her with the phone number and talk schedules for the Four Seasons at that time. That was social code for quid pro quo.
Margi walked down the hall to another office and entered. The receptionist’s face lit up. Margi knew she was recognized and played along with a gracious smile. After all, she did like the attention.
“Do you know if the office across the hall has been open today?” she asked humbly, knowing that the rumor mill was about to get underway the moment she left.
The girl’s attention caught. “Dr. Howard?”
“Yes.”
“They moved his furniture out this morning.”
She froze, making the young woman look away, embarrassed.
“Oh, okay. I must have forgotten the change of address,” Margi said, brushing off any concern that might have taken root. She stepped away, but not before the woman asked for her autograph, which she obliged.
She took the elevator to the first floor and saw an information desk centered in the rotunda.
“Excuse me.”
The man looked up at her, and his face softened from the routine of his work. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m looking for a forwarding address for Dr. Howard. Suite 1501.”
He looked at a directory on his computer. “I don’t have a Dr. Howard.”
“I was just there yesterday.”
“Is there another spelling?”
Margi searched for words. “H-o-w-a-r-d,” she spelled out; she didn’t think the man had a problem with English.
She saw a slight irritation in him as he typed the letters.
“No. No Howard.”
“Who was in 1501?” she asked with an awakening of pursuit.
The man typed, then peered up at her with a matter-of-factness that precluded any other inquiry. “Regency Staffing Service.”
Margi was at once alarmed and for a moment considered herself fortunate that she had left the office with both kidneys. She then realized that she might have suffered a fate much worse. She needed to get the nanobots out of her face even if it cost another thirty thousand dollars.
“Do you have a phone number for them?”
He scribbled on a notepad and handed the sheet to her. The number was the same as the one she’d just called. Her spirit momentarily deflated.
“Thank you,” she said and added, “You were very helpful.”
The man’s demeanor softened. She walked to the entrance, the clacking of her heels on the marble echoing into the coffers. She would have opted for more of a quiet exit, but at that point she hardly cared.
She emerged on the sidewalk to see building shadows now beginning to encroach upon the streets, leaving the sun’s rays to catch the reflective surface of glass and metals. She walked home.
For all the time she had to think, only one thought remained as she arrived home: night will come.
She occupied some of her remaining evening on the treadmill. The rhythmic pace allowed her thoughts to emerge. If toxins were purged with her sweat, so might the nanobots.
Her mind wandered to Meno and what life she could imagine for herself. The thought energized her. She relished the interviews of others she had conducted over the years. Most told their stories in tragic circumstances. It shouldn’t always need to be that way: the tragedy being the cause of telling of a life that defined it. She had told too many tragic stories in her career. She liked stories though.
As a girl she had always wanted to be a monk. She chuckled. She liked the colors of their robes, of illuminated manuscripts, and the peaceful state of mind. Make bread or be a scribe. She could eat carbs all day or have access to all the books of knowledge denied to so many others—the poor, the uninformed, the uninitiated. She wondered if DanuVitro could go back in time like that. If it were all a dream, maybe she could dream it.
She retrieved a prepared meal from the refrigerator and ate standing at the kitchen counter, still pondering the lives she could live. DanuVitro had found a way to offer the gift of understanding through the eyes of another life and returning to oneself with that knowledge. What a story—this was to be hers.
She sat on her bed, ready for the day to end and the next adventure to begin. The emanator felt heavy in her hands. Such a magical little beast that interacted with her nanobots and her sleep pattern. The code that the doctor had entered was supposedly mapped to her alone and the energy she created at her most relaxed state. She contributed to its ability through her energy. Apparently, it was like a personal signature. Yet when the nanobots worked themselves out of her body, it would no longer work. Like a modem of sorts, the nanobots received the energy waves that the emanator sent so that her brain could receive it alongside her delta wave patterns.
So simple that her delta waves should be her deepest rest where her body repaired itself and so did her spirit. The story was already piecing together. This would be the greatest story ever told and not one born of tragedy but of personal awareness.
She placed the emanator onto the nightstand and pressed the button. The blue light grew stronger. She pulled the covers over her and closed her eyes.
CHAPTER FOUR
Margi heard the familiar giggle and opened her eyes. Ferli stood at the foot of her bed.
She glanced around the room to take in her bearings.
Ferli fiddled with a device in her hand. “I’ve got her.”
Margi sat up in bed. “Who are you talking to?”
“Stavon. Who else?” she replied while staring at her tablet. She displayed the contents into space.
Margi followed the girl’s lead as if it were the norm, though she was surprised that Rivner would hire such a dreadful creature as a personal assistant.
“Your campaign is scheduled before Holan takes the stage.” Ferli stopped talking. “Something wrong?”
Margi recognized the name the nurse had spoken yesterday or was it only yesterday? She was losing her sense of time. She dismissed it. “Go on.”
Ferli’s lips curled at the ends in what read as disgust. “I’ve transferred the script to you. You’ll have a teleprompter this time.” She sighed. “You’ll need to speak to them. They need to know that not everybody can go.” She chuckled to herself. “Not every body can go. Or return.”
Ferli peered into her notes, hiding a smirk. She glanced at Margi—the smirk now directed at her. “They all want to be clients. Who wouldn’t?”
Margi wanted to ask what that meant but decided not to. Flightiness of youth was rarely gracious. She reminded herself again that Ferli could be so much older than herself. Noteworthy, she thought and wondered what experiences Ferli had submitted herself to on Meno. Or Danu for that matter.
“Review the speech on our way there if you must.
The day is well and the driver is waiting,” she said and strutted out.
Margi sprang from the bed and peered down the hallway. Ferli was, again, nowhere to be seen. The girl was probably flirting with the driver wherever he was.
She entered what had to be the bathroom and saw a showerhead suspended from the ceiling. As she approached it, glistening water rained down. She stepped into its spray to discover it was effervescent. The temperature was so tepid she couldn’t feel it, only the bubbles bursting against her skin like tiny fingers massaging her body awake. She looked around for soap. There was none. It seemed only the bubbles were needed. She made a mental note for a possible business venture back home.
She finished readying herself and approached the landing. There stood Ferli and the driver as suspected.
Upon seeing her, the driver stepped to the side of the vehicle and raised the door for her. Ferli sat in front with him. A moment later, they swooped from the sky.
Margi was unsure if she would ever grow accustomed to the sensation and gripped the seat until they stabilized. The others paid no attention, and that was more important.
They joined the stream of flying cars. She watched them and the towering structures with their parasitic-looking landing pads as they sped on their way. She felt like a little girl on a road trip with her parents playing I Spy. I spy a bluey-black flying car.
Her gaze broadened out to capture the expanse of dark green blanketing the horizon to one side. The forest clearly demarcated the line between the civility of society and the wildness of what was left. She could only imagine the adventures that awaited those who claimed it.
The Assumption Code Page 3
