by Lea Daley
“I do not know. I think it must be because I am very young.”
I glanced at her enticing body and suppressed a wisecrack. She caught it, anyway. Of course. “Okay, Aimée. I sort of grasp that you know all about me, but how does that allow you to re-create every hair on Mer’s head?”
“Partly because images of her hair are stored in your memory—along with the timbre of her voice and every song you heard her sing.”
“Partly? What’s the rest?”
“Microscopic traces of Meredith’s body oils left on the MoVaDod allow us to correct for your…idiosyncratic…inaccuracies. Memory is subject to change and revision, but oils are virtually immortal.”
“I’m in too deep! What’s the rest of the story?”
“It is…something like following a recipe.”
“A recipe? I wonder why I’m confused.”
“It is a lot like cooking, Leslie-ahn!”
“How would you know?”
“Access to your mind, naturally.”
“Point to Jashari!”
“Listen, Leslie-ahn. We take everything we know about you, everything we know about Meredith and everything we know about probability, then mix them together. The result is essentially indistinguishable from reality.”
I couldn’t argue that. Suddenly I leaped to my feet. “Aimée! Is this something that can be extended in time? I mean…using this technology…could I have a life with Meredith on Jashari?”
For several heartbeats the VTO seemed to study the summer scene outside my window. “Would it feel like a life, Leslie?”
“Oh, yes, my friend! You’re very, very good at this stuff!”
“It is a choice some Returnees have made.”
“I’ll just bet they have. And why not? How does it work?”
“Your entire memory can be recorded and replayed—you can select sections to relive, to revise, to enhance. You can extend any memory into the future.”
“What’s the catch?”
“There is no catch. We can equip you to do all that.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this?”
“I thought it was too soon. Maybe it still is. You must ask yourself some difficult questions, Leslie-ahn.”
“Such as?”
“What is reality? What is the meaning of life? Why are you here? What do you truly want?” Her face was composed but unexpectedly pained.
“God! I feel it coming on—you’re about to pull a disappearing act again!”
“That is correct,” Aimée said tightly. She slipped from my bed and walked through the wall. Out of my reach.
Chapter Eight
My apartment was a space with few options. I flung myself on the bed, spellbound, rapturous. I could have Meredith here with me! Now! We could pick up where we left off—allowing, of course, for adjustments to a new place and time. It would be amazing to be with her again—the woman who knew my best and worst and loved me no matter what.
We could grow old together on Jashari—assuming that a projection of Meredith would age alongside me. I thought we might be able to have Stonewall too—and maybe even a few friends. Perfect. It was perfect! I couldn’t wait to do whatever it took to begin. In the morning, I’d ask Aimée to make the arrangements. For now, it was enough just to know the possibility existed. Ecstatic, I fell asleep hugging my pillow.
But I woke in a panic, sweat running off me in rivulets. My heart raced and I couldn’t breathe. Bolting upright on damp bedding, I tried to pinpoint the source of my terror. Meredith! It had something to do with Mer! Then I remembered—she’d played the starring role in a ghastly nightmare. Flashes of it came rushing back…The chill of death wafting through funereal air…The smell of corruption…Meredith’s decaying face…A skeletal hand beckoning me to a coffin, willing me to share her future…
I never completely reassembled the pieces of that hideous dream, but my bright fantasy of living with Mer collapsed. Completely. Because there was a catch: she was dead. Irrevocably dead. Life with a simulation of her—even a flawless simulation—would be a pathetic retreat from reality. And Meredith would have hated that. Still, I craved this escape, longed for it no matter the cost.
From far away, I heard a voice whisper, “You need to get out of here!” Seconds passed before I recognized the idea as my own. When Aimée returned, I’d inform her of my first real decision since revival. “It’s time,” I’d say, like an echo of an awareness already in her head. “It’s time to stop pretending. It’s time to begin my new life on Jashari.” Whatever that was.
First I’d need to “dress” for adventure, concocting and projecting the appearance of a suitable costume. Plainly I’d been gifted with that unsettling ability in order to conserve resources in this net-zero society. As a side benefit, that inventive solution eliminated the issue of dirty laundry. Still, it was hard to appreciate a skill so clearly based in some alteration to my brain. Which inevitably led to the unwelcome recognition that other aspects of my inner workings might also have been modified. But whenever I started speculating about Jashari’s intrusive methodologies, I shoved my questions aside, both scared and hopeful they might someday be answered.
Since my new world prized beauty as well as efficiency, I’d prepare for my debut with care. No easy task—I had few clues about local couture. Winging it, I imagined three exotic garments of midnight-green chiffon, shot through with metallic thread. In a few carefully chosen spots, I added riots of hand painted color. A low-cut shell would cling to my torso. An utterly illusory skirt would swirl about my ankles. The loose jacket would seem to float on the slightest breeze, conforming to every law of physics. I studded my ears with jade and wound a circlet of brass around my forehead. Did I look like an empress? An actress? A lunatic? That was entirely a matter of perspective.
Time to quit stalling. I took a deep breath and summoned Aimée. Who entered the bedroom before my cry died away and didn’t pretend to be ignorant of my plans. “I see that you are ready.”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. She extended a hand, clasping mine firmly. “Shall we?”
When Aimée led me to a spot near my bed, she confirmed what I often suspected: fear was my only captor. Astounding that I’d never fallen through the wall while tossing and turning in my sleep!
“That is not possible, Leslie-ahn. Intent is a requisite.”
I took a deep breath, closed my eyes and we stepped outside. The first sun was just beginning to rise. Na’Rahna, Aimée called it, as she pointed toward the horizon. I saw the spectacle in all its glorious detail, yet somehow felt isolated from it.
“Interference from an interior Dyson sphere,” my comrade explained.
“Of course,” I said sardonically.
The VTO turned to me with downcast eyes, embarrassed, I thought, by my ignorance. “An outer sphere harvests energy from the suns. The inner sphere is a sort of ecoscreen that encases our atmosphere. It is almost invisible, but not quite.”
Feeling outclassed, I dropped the subject and looked around. After months in close quarters I was awed—almost alarmed—by the expansive vista gradually appearing before me. Golden dunes as far as the eye could see. Not a tree in sight, though artful clusters of succulents bloomed in every imaginable color. It was a place of strange yet undeniable beauty.
The path beneath our feet was simply the finest sand, tamped hard as asphalt. On that surface, subtle geometric designs evolved with mathematical precision. No pattern repeated for more than a few yards, and each was more appealing than the last. Other trails branched off, crossing the dunes, rising and falling wherever topography dictated. From this vantage point, Jashari was more like a well-cultivated desert than anything I could name. Not surprising, I supposed, with two suns warming it.
Aimée explained: “An arid ecosystem requires relatively small quantities of fresh water. We have adapted ourselves to planetary limitations, rather than resisting them.”
I saw what she meant. Everything in sight was compatible with a se
re climate, including a scatter of low-lying buildings in the distance that appeared to be plastered with something much like stucco. And no wonder there were no doors or real windows here—the energy loss would be extraordinary. I turned to the VTO. “But why choose a location with two suns?”
“Cost was the primary determinant, Leslie-ahn. Centauri is a manageable distance from Earth.”
Money. Of course. Everything always revolved around money. I didn’t want to think about finance right now, though. Or why Jashari was necessary in the first place—I’d defer that question as long as possible. I continued to scrutinize the environment. The sky had gone pink and a light wind fluttered my garments. Other than that, all was still. No rodents or lizards rustled across the dunes. Neither bird nor butterfly claimed the heavens.
Aimée bowed acknowledgment. “Humans are the only animal life on Jashari.”
My jaw dropped. Even with many species gone extinct, the Earth of my era still hosted a rich complexity of life. Every footstep outdoors endangered ants, beetles and a thousand other minuscule creatures. “No animals, Aimée? What happened to them?”
“Nothing ‘happened.’ We simply chose not to have them.”
“Chose not to have them?”
“This is an artificial asteroid. Every detail was carefully planned in advance.”
I thought about the companionship of pets—of cats, languid on our laps, seeking and supplying comfort. I thought of puppies, prodding us into play. The VTO noted my disapproval. “Additional species would have made untenable demands on the system, Leslie-ahn.”
My mind rebelled. Even the harshest Terran deserts supported living creatures. Gila monsters, scorpions, rattlesnakes…Well, maybe there was something to be said for the cool rationality of this culture. And yet—to be all alone on your planet? What poverty! Even in the warming air, I shivered slightly.
Then something else struck me. “Aimée, I can tell it’s getting hotter, but I’m perfectly comfortable—I’m not even sweating!”
“We aim to please, as your people might have said.”
Before I could insist on an explanation, I was distracted by motion to my left—which, apparently, could only signify the presence of other humans. I whirled that direction, feeling guilty and exposed, as if I’d been caught doing something wrong. The VTO placed a calming hand on my arm.
Three people approached us at a leisurely pace. Even from afar they projected an aura of dignified authority. And there was something familiar about them. By the time they were in hailing range, I’d recognized the group—it was the trio of Elders I once summoned.
When they stopped to acknowledge us, their synchronized nods suggested ritual so powerful it might have been genetic. Aimée nudged me and we bowed back. Deeper. Then we all stood in silent contemplation for a few seconds. Once more, I noted the similarity of their features. And realized—for the first time—that Aimée resembled them, as well. Under the unruffled surface of their protocols, I thought I sensed veiled amusement at my own appearance. Standing taller, I willed myself to relax. It wasn’t easy.
At last, N’yal Di’loth spoke. “It is a pleasure to see you among us, Leslie-ahn.”
Sensing I should bow again, I did. But it cost me. “The pleasure is mine, sir.”
“Is everything as you desire it?”
What a question! Virtually nothing was! Yet Aimée fairly vibrated with reverence in his presence. Apparently this wasn’t an appropriate moment for complaint. “I am well cared for, sir.”
“That is as it should be.” Then, with no discernible signal, the three strolled off, speaking to one another in a lilting, unfamiliar tongue.
I felt foolish again, off balance—why had I never guessed there was a language specific to Jashari? And what were they saying? Maybe it was only idle chitchat. But even the grimmest conversation might sound lighthearted in such a melodic dialect. For all I knew, the Elders were engaged in dark analysis of my character, motives and fate. It was maddening to be so ignorant, so excluded!
Aimée, of course, had followed my internal dialogue. “All things in time, Leslie-ahn.” Then, cupping a strong hand under my elbow, she steered me to an outcropping of rock. Where we sat side by side, watching the community come to life.
The second sun—Py’tahn, according to the VTO—was on the rise now, chasing her swifter sister. The twin stars bathed us in light of a clarity unknown on Earth. Clusters of people began to appear, Jasharians, every one. Slender as Aimée, with the same warm coloring and angled eyes. Their clothing uniformly elegant, yet spare. I was gaudy as a peacock by comparison. I glanced at my hand painted chiffon. It was beautiful, I reminded myself—and it suited me.
“Indeed,” my faithful companion murmured. “Are you ready to return?”
“Yeah. I feel overwhelmed—like I’m a convalescent, or something.”
“That is typical at this stage.”
I stood, prepared to reverse course. But Aimée pointed ahead. “We have walked a looping route, Leslie-ahn. Going forward will be shorter than turning back.” And that, I realized, would bring me to the far side of the transitional facility where I’d lived these many months. Which I suppose I’d been too excited to check out during our departure. Soon, I caught sight of it, a low-flung, sculptural building with the endemic stucco finish. A pleasing amalgam of planes and angles, the structure looked cool and welcoming. And it was the only home I had.
As we drew nearer, I thought I heard rainfall, so improbable in this desert landscape. Aimée led me down a narrow branch of the footpath toward that musical sound. It seemed to come from within a shadowy courtyard. Stepping under a graceful arch, we found ourselves in a place of timeless beauty. As long as humans exist, we’ll yearn for spaces like this.
High plaster walls that formed a sheltering square. White gravel raked into a swirling border, and punctuated by well-placed boulders. A smooth sand floor glazed with scrolling botanical designs. Dense vines that twined on a pergola, casting shade in one corner, while potted succulents flourished in patches of sunlight. At the center, a stone fountain tossing water endlessly upward, gathering it in again. And positioned for maximum impact, a pair of polished marble benches. I knew before sitting they’d be cool against my thighs. “Oh, joy! Furniture I can actually see!”
“Well, it was designed with you in mind.”
“What do you mean?’”
“Think of this as your private refuge, Leslie-ahn. A place for contemplation and rest. It adjoins your apartment.”
Stunned, I dropped onto a bench. “This is mine?”
Aimée bowed. “You may request whatever alterations would suit you.”
“I wouldn’t change a single grain of sand! Whoever planned this must understand me perfectly!”
A pleased flush spread under the warm tones of her face. “Yes. She does.”
I turned toward her, beaming. “Oh, Aimée, it’s lovely! Thank you!”
Space! Light! Moving air! I’d missed being outside more than I realized. Leaning against a wall, I sank into peace. As the VTO withdrew, I only dimly registered her departure.
When my relaxation was total, I rose and walked through a wall, praying I’d judged my position accurately. I found myself in the living room. In a dreamy haze, I made my way to bed, crawled under my mother’s quilt and plunged into sleep.
Chapter Nine
Aimée was sprawled in the wicker rocker, waiting for me to recover from the stress of our excursion. Pushing hair out of my eyes, I said, “Tell me that wasn’t a dream.”
“It was real, Leslie-ahn.”
“And I can go outside whenever I like? Use the courtyard anytime?”
“Anytime. As you please.”
“Fabulous! Just don’t do a Glinda on me.”
The VTO sat silent, scanning data. Oddly, she came up empty.
I prompted her: “Glinda? From Oz?”
“I understood that much, Leslie-ahn, but the rest is…excuse me…gibberish.”
“You d
are insult me in my own language, madam? Perhaps your circuitry is inadequate to accommodate the inventive fluidity of English.”
Aimée stuck out her tongue and blew a raspberry.
“Witty comeback.”
“Translate, please,” she said testily.
“Ah, what a delicious turning of tables! I meant I don’t want to be told I could have gone outside whenever I wished.”
“But, Leslie—”
“Hush, Aimée! Even if it’s true, I don’t want to know.”
She looked shocked. “You can wish not to know the truth?”
“That’s correct. Sometimes I wish not to know the truth.”
“You are a very peculiar person, Leslie-ahn…if you will pardon my saying so.”
“Look who’s talking!”
I wasn’t prepared to see the VTO’s eyes widen with horror. “It was just a joke, Aimée! I was only kidding!” She nodded mechanically, but she was still shaken. “Damn it! I didn’t mean to insult you. Can you tell me what I did?”
An artificial smile lifted the corners of Aimée’s mouth. “Leslie-ahn. You must never say any of us are peculiar. It is…deeply rude.”
“You can say I’m bizarre, but turnabout’s not fair play?”
“You can be odd, Leslie. It is expected of you.”
“Ah, yes. We Laysancurobs are in a special category, aren’t we?”
“It could not be otherwise.”
For a moment I thought black rage would consume me. I understood—at a whole new level—the fury and frustration of the outsider. And then I remembered: on Jashari, the VTO was my nearest equivalent to a friend. Straining for control, I bowed stiffly. I even tried to slip in that ubiquitous honorific. “Aimée-ahn, I sincerely regret any offense I have given you.”
She bowed back—a little more deeply, I noticed.
My mind was racing, but we’d fallen into an awkward silence. I struggled to find neutral territory. “Change of subject, Aimée. I want to know how to play back Meredith’s…recording…without using you like a tool.”
