Remember (13 page)

That conversation ended fast, omitting the laughing. I kept looking at her eyebrows. They run just along that soft brow ridge. It just looks natural. Her slightly rounded small nose fits right between those eyes. She was so aloof the whole time. I take issue with the holier-than-thou attitude and have to do something about it. Somehow make her "see the light,” everyone is good at something. I have to figure out how to setup the tech injection without her help.

(—)

"Everything works, what’s next?"
The simulation just finished with the tech finding the pathways.

"We just have to wait for the participants to arrive. I've sent out an ad for people to join. We might as well eat lunch while we’re waiting." Gary walks over to the nourisher near the conference room. Everything comes out of the nourisher. How do they give us so many options?

(—)

Lunch with Gary today ended with me agreeing to disburse info about Mekova in hopes of his promotion. For some reason, I can't stomach the taste of meat any more. Anyway, the study work continues well into the afternoon. For me, reading up on other dream studies. Around 3 or 4, a message from Mekova shows up.

Irena:

Due to the decrease in study participation rates, a new survey requirement has been instituted. Please get the reason for refusing participation after initial info. Follow the standard procedure with this change. Thank you.

The group groans. And I don't know what it means.

Conor:

Gary, what are we going to do with this?

Gary:

Be right over.

Gary comes over.

"What does this mean?"
This assumes he got the same message.

He touches the edge of my desk for a quick peek at the screen. "Oh, the dreaded survey — an interview we have to do with test subjects. Now, they want us to interview the people that just requested info too."

"That is just a waste of time."
Another interview beyond a screening adds more hassle than it’s worth.

"I know. Usually, the new researchers have to practice the interview with Dr. Mekova and the techie." His relaxed face reeks of boredom.

"This is just
great
."
Spending one more minute with that unbearable techie reviles me.

"It isn't that bad. Come on." Gary hands over the list, a few questions about some random study.

I just ask Claire all these questions. Here goes. Today Claire has decided on a velvet knee-length skirt, with similar black flats. Instead of a maroon silk blouse, an aqua with black pinstripes. She sits on the couch facing the cluttered counter. My endless observation of her irritates me like unending hiccups. I just walked in through the open door.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Conor Abby." I stride up to her and extend my arm.

"Nice to meet you.” She ambles up. “I’m Katarina Genovese."

A formal intro?
"Yes, I'm here to conduct a survey for the dream category assembly study."
The scientific nomenclature of study types produces an ambiguously detailed chimera
.

"I have not been a part of any study."

I have to admit she can act with those brows wrinkled down to eyelids and crumpled like tissue paper.
My enunciation picks up to match her.
I can’t stand her, but she still makes me better.
"I understand that. This survey is to understand why."

"I
see
." She sits down while smoothing out her skirt.

I follow her lead. "Let's get started, then. You requested info about that study, right?"

"Yes." She focuses on my eyes with a stare that makes me uncomfortable.

"Why didn't you choose to become a subject?"
Reading off the list relaxes me.

"It's too invasive."

"Can you be more detailed, please?"
Pressing for more feels right.

"It is just too invasive and that is…"

Before I realize what happened, I'm outside the office. She must know how to handle people. Anyway, time for the next one.

I knock on her office door from the landing outside. She opens a few seconds later.

"Hi, I'm Conor Abby."

She shakes my hand briskly. "Hi, Conor. I’m Irena Mekova."

"Okay, I'm here to ask you some questions."
A phone ringing flies in through my ears and Mekova doesn’t notice. My tech. Then a message plays. Please choose to answer or hang up.
I choose
hang up
on my forearm.

She waves me over to the meeting area. "What is this regarding, please?"

"I see here you've refused to become a part of a dream classification study."
Maybe something more friendly would help, like dream classification.

"Yes, correct."

"What sparked your interest?"
Not from the list but a good icebreaker.

"I'm almost never able to recollect my dreams."

My scientific curiosity springs up.
"That's strange. Anyway, what about the study didn't you like."

"The public nature of the results."

A privacy nut.
"Do you know that the results aren't shown with your info?"

"Yes, I still do not feel comfortable with others looking at my private dreams." She crosses her arms and almost shakes back and forth like a stubborn child.

"Just one last question, would you be interested in tech that allows you to experience your dreams?"
A marketing question?

"I do not understand the use, except for people who can't remember their dreams."

The act slipped with that line. Does the fact that ‘she can’t remember’ her dreams mean nothing anymore?
"There is some evidence that says people have a hard time remembering the whole dream. They just end up remembering some of it by waking up during."

"I would be in the market for something like that."

The amnesia breaks.
"Thank you for your time."

"You are welcome. Let us end it there." She relaxes in the chair.

"This time wasn't that bad."

"This is not your first try?"

Here question stops me for a second. "No, I did Claire first."

"Gary and Claire must have set you up.” She chuckles. “You did a good job, either way."

"Thanks, I hope I wasn’t too pushy."
I can’t believe they did that.

"It seems like just the right amount. How is your study going?"

"Good. I just wanted to suggest something."

She points at me with her upturned hand. "Go right ahead."

"You seem to always eat in private. You could join Gary and me, just for a change."
I feel like a zebra bartering with a lion.

"Dr. Stephens keeps asking me, I have always said no. I don’t see a reason for that to change." She looks at me for really the first time, eye contact.

"Sure."

"I will let you get back to work." She goes over to the door and releases me.

"See you around." As I leave her office, I call back the missed call. Tech support schedules an appointment tonight to look at my computer.

Tues 5/2/17 7:35 p.m.

S
omeone rings the doorbell. It must be tech support. I'm surprised to see Claire in an all grey ensemble outside my door. I guess she has two jobs. That doesn't make much sense for a high-ranking employee. I'm going to ask, sometime…

"Hi, Claire." I brightly smile at her.
Something constant in my life (much to my contempt) must be her.

"It looks like I have you to deal with tonight. What are you having issues with?" She shuffles in past me.

"I can't get my computer working." I turn and direct her to it with an arm.

"You mean you don't know how to use it. There is not much that can go wrong with the computer."

A sheepish look covers my otherwise happy countenance. "Sure."

"Let me look at it for a sec." Claire checks out the computer, first by looking under the desk. After a while, she gets up and takes out a few different colored cubes from her bag. She puts a small cube into the shelf below the desk. After a few minutes, she backs away, taking the cube with her. "Everything is working just fine."

"How do I use it?"

A harsh sigh follows my ignorance. "You just put your left hand in the shelf and the screen will turn on."

"Does it matter where?" I ask as I come over.

"Just give me your hand, don't you trust me?" She guides me hand to one side of the shelf. Claire touches the table and a chair comes out, folding open under me. "There you go. Now, just use the controls to operate the screen."

"This isn't that hard." The keys elevate like at work.

"Good,” A smile crosses her face, at least the hints of one. “Do you have any more questions?"

"How do I make changes to the room?"
Motioning to the room all around makes sense.

"Okay, you go to room and select things you want changed. Then you choose how you want it changed. Let me show you. This device allows me access to your apartment’s systems." She takes out another device, puts it on the counter, and uses the computer from there.

"I understand. How do I take it with me, the computer?" My voice stiffens into robotism.

"Yes, this is just a screen with controls. You can peel off the screen and take it with you.” She reaches over, peals it away, rolls it up, and hands it to me. “The best way is to choose display on the H-tech. You will just see the screen. The physical screen is best for showing others what you’re doing, without sharing too much."

"Thanks for your help. I just have one more question. Do you ever do anything half-assed?"

“What is that supposed to mean?” She looks offended and weary.

I say each word as if handling a caustic chemical. “You know, doing a crappy job sometimes.”

"No, I do everything to my full ability." Her insistence follows every word.

If I keep chipping away, a weakness may show up.
"You must sometimes."

"No, seriously, I never do that."

"I don't believe that."

"Here is your proof. Right now you are not getting my full attention." She walks right out, without even looking back.

That must be how she does it. If something bores, she stops doing it. I don't know what to say to that, just that she takes everything too seriously. I should start researching what study to do. Pretty soon I need my own.

Wed 5/3/17 8:25 a.m.

I
come to work and see a small group waiting outside — the study entrants. A quick cut to the head leaves me facing Gary just inside the door. He tells me about his inability to help me today. I scrounge for someone else ready to teach me today. First thing about uploading the programming summons up memories of trying to learn German. I hope Claire can help.

"Hey, Claire. Are you busy today?"

Claire just sits up straight from bending over her shoes. She leans back into her office sofa. Today she has a turtleneck zip-up open to one side of her collarbone. The open side hangs to her shoulder with a yellow sweater underneath.

I look down at her knee length boots exposed by her rolled up pants. Normally the conundrum of women and shoes bore me, but one look at these boots shows a possible cipher. They would draw anyone in like a beautiful painting. The black laces magically untie themselves from the top of the red canvas, black-trimmed boot. The snaky ties unspool through the extensive maze of loops and settle onto the floor.

"I’m doing great, thanks for asking." She ignores my staring at her boots.

"Oh, sorry." I keep looking down as she pries off the boots and puts on clear tan spike toes. “May I?” Her befuddled look prompts a point from me to the boots.

"That’s fine." She answers for my quick apology and the subsequent question. Her chuckle somehow tells me this.

I reach for the boots, grabbing the heel and toe of one sole. The embroidered rose on each side dominates the canvas halfway up the leg. A black thorned stem serpentines its way down and around the sole. Red leather appliqués, leaf-shaped and imprinted with veins jut out from said stem forming the trim around the sole. Studying deeper shows off bits of satin folded into miniature rose shapes. The top falls over from flaccidity and brushes my hand, triggering a slight tingle of electrostatic charge. I return in to the floor with a whispered
Wow.

“You are a strange one, Conor.”

The thought of a reply floats away as I walk around the boots and sit next to her.
"Gary just booted me."

"I'm not doing much, before lunch," Claire offers.

"Great, can you help me learn how to program tech?"

We go behind the counter to her office. I spin the counter chair towards the workspace and sit in it. I look out over the row of two desks, a foot lower than the ones outside so the input panel stays visible.

Claire gets some stuff from the mass of compartments covering any open space on the walls and starts getting ready. She hands me two things. “These are the programmers or nodes," a playing card size white box like the infusion one and a 2 centimeters across silver disk, “The bigger one can inject tech, while the other one just modifies programming. Of course you need the computer with the stored programming."

"Okay." My hands examine the tech stuff she just gave me.

"As I am about to do, place the programming node on front of your shoulder or side of the forearm using the cues on your tech. The node sends signals into the sticky pad underneath that holds a sample from your tech network. From there, the tech picks up the code." Her yellow sleeves brush against me through the jackets zipper openings as she sticks the smaller node I have onto my forearm.

"Can you give me an example?"

"Yes. I have a fun example I can show you. Just wait for me to get it loaded.” Claire goes to the sitting area at my back.

I'm waiting and looking around. A poster scribbled across the wall draws me in. It seems strange for it to scroll through "Everything happens for some good reason. Every moment is precious, cherish them." It looks almost numinous. For a scientist, it doesn't make much sense. I have to figure it out, if possible. Claire surprises me wearing a chef’s uniform — big difference from the basic black with some color. What is happening?