by J. S. Volpe
Reynard’s boots clacked on the white floor tiles as he sidestepped a puddle of blood in the main hallway of the Seldon Street Wellness Center in downtown Nioedo. A trail of red drops led from the puddle to Healing Room 5, through the cracked door of which he caught a glimpse of a green-unitarded biomage tossing a bloody towel into a SaniCan while a young woman reclined on the Healing Couch behind him, looking relieved. The neck of her pink shirt was soaked with blood, but the wound responsible was now gone, healed by the biomage’s inborn abilities.
Before either of them could notice him looking, Reynard swiveled his eyes away and continued on down the busy hallway, passing biomages consulting T-pads, aides escorting patients to Healing Rooms, friends and family anxiously awaiting news. He kept his gaze fixed on the main entrance a hundred feet ahead. He had come here on illicit business—namely to access the Center’s internal T-Net and learn the status of Ravenna Smodge, who had been brought here for treatment in the wake of last night’s botched data-heist at the Hexagon—but while that business was done, he wouldn’t be free and clear until he was off-site. Continually looking around to make sure no one was noticing you was the surest way to get noticed. You had to walk as if you owned the world yet had no time for it; when you did that, people stayed out of your way. His attire helped, too, the carefully chosen black-and-white unitard, silver boots, and silver FyberSteel headband giving him the appearance of a top-tier professional. People were always more likely to trust someone well-dressed.
When the aides station appeared on the left, Reynard acted as if its hivelike activity weren’t worth his attention. This was the biggest obstacle. Aides were notoriously nosy. A large part of their job was to keep the Center running smoothly, which meant that everyone and everything here was their business.
He was nearly past the station, and already beginning to bask in the pride of yet another success, when a figure in an aide’s purple-and-white unitard separated itself from the incessant bustle to his left and stepped into his path, hands on hips.
“Reynard!” Solace said with a huge delighted smile.
He stared at her a moment, then shook his head.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I think you have me confused with someone else.”
She jerked her head back slightly, her happy smile morphing into one of puzzlement.
“Your name’s not Reynard?”
“No. I’m Halfor Harriman.” Indeed, should anyone scan the Realms Chip in his forearm, it would tell them exactly that. Of course, he had figured out long ago how to hack a Realms Chip to make it say anything he wanted. He was always amused that people trusted those things so much.
There was a long pause. Solace’s puzzled smile slowly vanished. Her eyes narrowed.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her gaze never leaving his face. “But you look just like someone I know.” The way she said this suggested she still thought the resemblance was more than accidental.
“Well…” Reynard spread his hands and grimaced to show his regret at having to let her down. “I’m not. Sorry.”
She blinked at him, her eyes assessing him anew. It wasn’t that she was starting to believe him, exactly. Rather, she was starting to doubt herself. There was, in fact, a difference. He didn’t think he could make her fully believe him no matter what he did; but he could definitely make her doubt herself. And that was the war won right there.
He sensed she was about to apologize and leave, but he didn’t want this to end so soon, so he looked her up and down—quickly, of course; most women like a look as long as it’s no more than a flick of the eyes; linger anywhere too long and they’ll feel violated—then smiled a little as if he liked what he saw (which he did, of course; though he loathed the current fashions, he had to admit Solace’s lithe figure looked fantastic in a unitard) and said, “Seeing as how I’ve told you my name, it would be only fair for you to tell me yours.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. He stiffened inwardly while ensuring his calm veneer never wavered. Had he said something that gave himself away? If so, he couldn’t see what.
“You are Reynard,” she said. There was a pause, during which he raised his eyebrows in a perfect imitation of surprise. Doubt again clouded her face. “Aren’t you?” She squinted at him like a tough cop peering at a suspected crook. “You sound just like him.”
“Wow,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve heard people say everyone has a double. I guess now I know who mine is. My evil twin, perhaps.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is he evil?”
She laughed. “Sometimes.”
He gave her a questioning look. “So?”
She shook her head, confused: “So…what?”
“Your name.”
A pause. Her eyes narrowed once again, but only slightly, barely more than a twitch of the eyelids.
“I’m Santvana.”
“Nice to meet you, Santvana,” he said with a big grin, looking just like any guy glad to have acquired a pretty girl’s name. Behind the grin, he was cackling to himself at the instant’s shock that flashed on her face. She had put a lot of stock in her fake name trick, sure that the lie would garner a reaction. But he had anticipated that gambit the moment he saw her eyes narrow. He was the trickster here, not her.
“Um, nice to meet you, too.” Her voice was quiet, distracted. No doubt she was mentally retrenching.
He gestured at her outfit. “So, you work here, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“What time do you get off work?”
Another pause, then: “Five.”
“Well, if you don’t have plans after work, can I take you to dinner?”
She hesitated, mouth half open, and eyed him closely as if he had just made a perplexing move in a difficult and elaborate chess game.
Then her face cleared and, seemingly free of suspicion now, she smiled.
“Sure. Dinner sounds great.” She said it just like any woman flattered to be asked out by a handsome stranger.
Damn. He couldn’t tell if she had decided that he was who he said he was, or if she was just playing along. Not that he minded. On the contrary, the uncertainty of the situation thrilled him. A certain world was a boring world.
And he had a feeling he was in for one very un-boring evening.
