Remember

by Karthikeyan, Girish

  Our chance is now, forthwith embarkation on the never-ending path into the future, wherever it leads. The run up is everything in this case of expected trepidation and fear, noticing the wallows left by the behemoth in the crumbling mound construct lends me no pause. The most fleeting of handholds, signaling our significance on each other to all around, is the final moment of comfort before the deadly dive. The speed carries me up this conglomeration of fabrics, wood scraps, and stones braced on the fencing wall and over the wall. Sounds of my partner in crime reverberate through the silent and still air, rendering our post-incarceration goals of joint death apparent to the audience. An ever so slight rotation allots me a vision into the face of the pristine and divine. Following my thrown hand, Claire reaches for the assurances that only I can offer.

  We plunge into far-reaching depths below resigned to that which awaits us. The rushing tower at entwined feet does little soothing and calming of the nerves compared with static vistas of the forest at our heads, expanding in all direction to no end. The last vestiges of the sky disappear as we make way below the clouds, nearing the end of mutual descent.

  My shirt opens of its own accord, transforming into a set of leathery bat wings, from thin metallic extrusions and cloth of stark white. Flapping rapidly, slowing our descent makes me wonder about the wings of Claire as she hangs on just by my strong, heavily laden arms. Claire seemed lost at the modus operandi of escape, raised from ashes of almost certain death like a phoenix.

  We drift through the smooth and mellow air tainted by the fleeting sun with an array of oranges, reds, yellows, and violets. This effortless glide, bolstered by wing flaps, seems never-ending over the blank landscape of the endless thick and expansive jungle. We slink off into the cloak of darkness and the brief respite of night looking for nothing more than escape and freedom.

  (—)

  I wake up to the night, right in my bed all along. The thought of implanted dreams comes to me once more. The discovery of Irena’s involvement with DIT renders everything she says questioned. Are these dreams mine? If not, what’s the point of it all? What impact can these dreams have on me? They try getting me to do something, but what? The real question remains who is doing this to me. The fact that Irena doesn’t say who implants the dreams — not that I believe anything she said — makes it possible for the Division or DIT to be at the controls. That means Jenna and Morris or Irena know about the dreams. Thinking about this now isn’t helping. I can’t do anything at this time of night. Those people need to be questioned ab…

  Last Minute Choices

  Thurs 8/31/17 7:36 p.m.

  I stalk the restricted section — R10 through R15 — in the storage stacks. Irena wants me to retrieve some restricted materials for her personal reference. In her infinite wisdom, she chooses me to get it. The racks filled with bins of R-pads to transfer data, identified by the illuminated edges of the bins. The left side harbors stack upon stack of unused pads. I just get one. The paper backing feels oddly familiar — the storing of data in an easily destroyed material. Removing the pad from the Research Department, blackens and disintegrates the paper data drive.

  I search for anything linked with Irena, select everything returned, and accept the transfer. An empty bin flashes. I load the pad. My tech says 3 hours for the transfer — mostly a security measure against quick access to data. Transfers take anywhere from 1 to 16 hours. People resort to starting the transfers before the end of the day. I have heard somewhere that it actually takes that much time to transfer the data onto paper.

  My chance to get answers must come now. After this week, the Director’s office transfers to me. If anything goes missing, they would look at me first after next Monday. This is my chance. I have to take it!

  Can I get caught? Of course and end up in a facility for criminals. The memory recovery procedure would get me in even more trouble. The Division can’t help me, but DIT might. The equipment cache is my ticket — everything I need for covert data collection and defense. Just a quick walk away at the end of the isle. I can do this! What if something or someone stops me from reaching my goal? I still carry through, if I start on this path. The defensive equipment makes it still possible. Just the will escapes me. I can’t start hurting people for this. They have hurt me just by participating in research here. I won’t allow that to happen without repercussions!

  This stands in for a question that everyone has. Who am I and what am I supposed to do? I can answer one of those questions, today. Is this who I really am? Have they made me this way? I need the answers!

  How can that help? I can’t do anything about it.

  No, that doesn't matter. I need the answer first!

  If I don’t find it, at least some measure of control over DIT by proving Irena’s ties to them. People won’t have the ability to control me, anymore. DIT has to do what I want! I have to do it!

  I cross the restricted section to R20, open two boxes in R20 and one in R19 by touching them, granting a reason to be here — reviewing study housed in R19. The box slides out and the top tray slides open like with every storage bin. Just research equipment and research data inhabit R19. The equipment cache is as advertised. What do I need?

  Data collection means the crack drive and server injector, except the aquarium organo-server offers no injector access, and the crack drive needs a password. The password I have from yesterday: User name: IreMek, Password: L2em’m8uck5, so take just the crack drive. For cover, borrow tech id and physical id, but what's the point? Suppressing my tech id doesn't help with a reason to be in the Research Department, except for the tech id loc tracking. Better safe than sorry. The physical id refuses helping with cams around monitoring any masking. The masked me receives my nametag. With assailants, the paradigm shifts — turning into a double of any one of them the preferred scenario.

  V-tech works best, obscuring cams, granting an alibi as required, a smoke screen. Use a recording of me that I create and control with a remote. The people obstacles remain, but easily overcome with the NLIT or VNSP nestled in the cache. Irena waits in the lab. Few targets mean just the NLIT works. Everything I need: crack drive, tech id, physical cover (precaution), V-tech remote, and NLIT.

  I put everything in my pockets and press the lid of the V-tech, starting it. A wave of cool air moves by me — the tech screen on its way to cover the cams in the Research Department — showing everything as it is. I close the three boxes, go back to the R-pads, start the recording — just me standing there. A map of the department shows up with everyone on it. Irena works in the genetics lab. The tech duplicate surveys the shelves in the same loc as me. I move to the side and look at the tech version of me — no difference between us except the cool temperature of the replica. I set the tech id with the last used cover and stick on. Then the V-tech should allow the cover id through. I use the map, planning a route upon starting the recording, directing it or the recorded me into the conference room in front of the office, then sit facing the stairs, pretending to read. Start. The tech mass moves as directed. I go to the front of the stacks, check that Irena stays in the genetics lab, and I’m clear to start.

  I reach the doors onto the hallway. With the cold metal knob in my grasp, I prepare myself to do this. With a deep breath, I move through the hallway. I’m in. Irena leaves the lab. My tech alibi waits in position. I crouch down, remaining undiscovered and scurry behind the three rows of desks in a crouch. What to do about Irena? I can’t talk to her or she will know I’m responsible somehow. What about the NLIT? I can’t risk it. If the S-tech doesn’t work, I’ll have to keep her going for the 15 minutes, which might not work. I have to knock her unconscious somehow, maybe just a neck hold. That’s it.

  Irena walks by the first row, heading towards the edge of the desks. I move up the isle to meet her. She almost passes the second desk. I rise up to my feet and almost run to catch her in time. Once she turns into the isle, the narrow space gives her the advantage, for some reason I know her ability exceeds my own, esp
ecially in close quarters. I throw something from my pocket to the right as a distraction — physical id tub. She turns her head, following the sound. My left arm comes around her soft neck, latches onto the other arm for added strength, and pulls tight around, cutting off her breath. She reacts too fast, serious combat training. She elbows me in the ribs, before I'm ready for a long hold. The thickness of her white coat takes the brunt of the attack. She shifts her weight on tip-toes, guiding me back into the walk. The luck of everything, this opportunity, the empty office, Irena feeling cold, deciding to work late almost slips, almost.

  I fight it without going down, but I'm against the wall. She tries head-butting me reversed. I see it coming and move out of the way. This hurts her more than me. She starts attacking with her chin, tech weapons imbed there below the skin, spikes in the mandible. She prods me in the triceps, having never used this weapon of last resort, not knowing it's too soon. She lacks the will to carry through, yet. As consciousness starts to slip, the survival instinct kicks in. She can do just about anything then. That means sacrificing the tissue under her mandible in order to escape my hold. I can’t allow this. Evidence of my action be the result. Find something else.

  The NLIT. I don't have a choice, if I want that data. I absolutely can’t let her escape. She could identify me or take me down. Her with implanted weapons. My age of 5 years junior helps nothing. I’m using the NLIT.

  My hostile handling training kicks in once I settle on it. I use my mass and grip advantage to turn the tables. Irena is pinned against the wall with me at her back. With my left hand, I push her head into the wall. In the moment of her confusion, I push my left knee into the lumbar region of her back. My right arm still under her chin still.

  A good hold for now. My knee stops her from moving back without some pain. The lumbar bridge offers a good resting place for my knee, between the tendons. My arm around her neck keeps her back in tension. It also prevents forward and left movement. The leaning back spine gives her less mechanical advantage. She can easily get the upper hand, if she finds the weakness to the right. I have to use the NLIT. Everything else isn’t going to work. I get it from my pocket. Once I’ve palmed it, the NLIT just sticks there.

  With an assault suit, the standard next move is to launch both of us onto my back. The NLIT easily used in this laying down position. Without the assault suit the options reduce. Then, guide Irena right and NLIT her. She knows the counter-measure (push through my right hand and escape). I try something Jenna showed me.

  I position my right arm on the wall next to her. I remove my knee. Irena moves back, the only possible move. She starts kicking my legs in an attempt to make a path. My right arm comes around the front of her — the NLIT on her. The slight pressure tells me the NLIT deployed. Irena freezes there. I leave the NLIT on. My right arm moves under her back, while the left moves under her knees. I put pressure there until they buckle. She falls into my arms.

  I carry her to the isle, where I want her visible so people can find her. I need to think of a convincing reason for her injuries. I think falling into a desk could cause the head bump she has from a not-so-gentle tap into the rock-hard wall. Seeing a desk with a row of colored bottles (where I am) I swing Irena’s feet to knock two or three down. They shatter on impact with the ground. I kneel down near the desk, putting her down, so she lies on her side with her bent in a natural slipping pose. She barely touches the yellow liquid from the bottles. I think her right arm should be out more. To land like this, she would have to spin on the way down. The left arm is too close to the desk to swing out. I take out the NLIT. It doesn’t come out straight. I press the edges of the NLIT so it retracts and cleans off the blood.

  I look through the openings between the buttons of her shirt. The original wound stitches itself up, and the jagged removal wound slowly oozes blood. She can’t bleed out from this in 15 minutes. Everything is done.

  I look at her just lying there. She seems peaceful in some way. Her body sticks out all over the place, definitely uncomfortable. She seems at peace in her champagne shirt and black pants (probably the first set of pants I've seen her in). Her white jacket overlays everything. The shirt is going to be blood stained soon. I get up and put the NLIT back into my right pocket with everything else, except the crack drive, waiting in my left. I step over her, brushing another bottle which cracks it.

  I go over to my duplicate sitting at the conference table, sit in the same place, revert to the principle role, turn off the tech id, pocket it, and stop the V-tech. The display disappears. I pat my right pocket until the contents disintegrate and absorbs in (a measure designed for secrecy that holds as long as needed). Ready for the real mission? I get up and head for the stairs to Dr. Mekova’s office.

  Confessional

  True Intentions

  Mon 1/29/18 8:01 p.m.

  I hike up a ridgeline to the peak. The cool air in the early morning twilight bites into me. The beginnings of the sun paint the black and grayish rocks a pale blue-violet. Each step sends a small stone or amount of dirt careening down the mountain causing a miniature rubble avalanche. The long-toothed remnants of snow hang where the slope and wind allow. My goal looms ahead, a towering spire of stone. The heights and extreme environment mean little beyond beauty.

  Everything goes black. What’s going on? Sights or sounds refuse my senses. Something is wrong with the sim. It stopped working just now. I need the sim to release me. I don't even try remembering this happening before. I can’t remember much these days, so that means nothing. I move down to something. The blackness starts fading to the room I’m in. The wall waits just off my nose. How I made it there remains a mystery. The room looks darker and more dungeon-like than I know it to be. The lights stay off, leaving just the natural light from the large window wall. Everything grows gloomy and damp outside. The clouded day turns rainy, black clouds approach from the distance, and the wind transforms the invisible cloud movements to something that can’t be missed with a wandering gaze. The clouds color into a shade of deep midnight blue. The blackness of night is upon us. This wholly unnatural event must mean something. I can barely see anything except a few feet in front of me.

  I grope from somewhere to wait this out, stumble, fall into my bed, and slide over to lie down. This unsettling blackness offers no explanation that I know of. It grants one good opportunity to take a nap, if my wandering brain gives it a rest. Sleep escapes me in the dark.

  A message comes over the messaging system, “All residents and staff, please remain in your rooms until this situation is over. An intruder is within the grounds of the Memory Recovery Center. Thank you all for your cooperation.”

  I just lay there looking up at the ceiling, but I can’t actually see anything in this all-consuming darkness, so I just stay quiet. Heavy boots walk by my room three times. A loud clank echoes around the room as a heavy gauntlet lands on the glass of the door. White light comes through any gaps in the armor and into the immense blackness. The glass cracks sending splinters flying across the room and imbedding into the opposite wall. The door heaves under the continuous bombardment. Then, a slight movement starts the door creaking and groaning in protest. The snapping of the locking blots. The door swings off its hinges and lands on the floor with a loud smack. The hand extends into a full armor plated person.

  She steps over the door, walks toward me, and grabs my wrist. I let her do it, like I have a choice. The suit lights the room with a scorching white radiance. She seems perfectly comfortable in this dark world. Why me out of everyone here?

  It talks!

  “After all this time, I’ve come to rescue you, Conor.”

  “Who are you? Why should I listen to a thing you say?”

  “You called me Kristen the first time we met.”

  That thing wants me to think I know who is inside. I can’t give away who. The fishing replies don’t work if I stay general. Anyone with access to the visitation records could know that. I need more proof. Just because I want somet
hing to be true, it doesn’t mean it is. “Almost anyone could know that.”

  “You need more? I can give you something that only the two of us know. Let’s start with tech invasion.”

  That sends a jolt through me. I remember her showing me the history behind those detailed heels of hers. The old image of her at 15 or 16 and a group of students finishing with the rest of her class. She motivated me to come up with my first solo study. Tech invaded the bodies of everyone in the room. Highly evolving tech strains competed to survive in the target environment, their bodies. The containment vessel breeched, basically public knowledge. Anyone can find it. “It isn’t enough.”

  “How about tech test tank?”

  Familiar. I somehow managed to convince her into an experiment. She wanted to look up the answer or something. We stood near my desk looking at the tech. The micro tech was getting assembled by others. She got the container from her apartment. I found everything else in the lab. We met up and did it. I can remember like it was yesterday.

  That is everything she’s giving me. I still want more, something more to believe this is her. I go along with what she wants (for now), so I get off the bed and stand next to her. I follow her out of the room with haste. She does exactly what I want her to by reaching up to her helmet and pressing something. Cams probably stop recording in the hallways. The top of the faceplate moves over her head. The bottom half moves onto her chest-plate. That is Claire. The sight of her face makes it a little better. The white light of the suit shows her already happy face. Luckily, my shoes are on.