Remember (43 page)

We whisper around the birds.

Claire first. “Why do you think Gary fired Irena?”

It feels like a secret, talking in the empty street, just with animals around.
“I couldn’t tell you. Gary has just been all over the place these last 2 weeks. I don’t know how much of it he means to say.”

We start jogging again. “How about this, you can be Gary’s social filter. You can just interpret what he says to you based on what he would normally say. Does that work?”

Do I know Gary that well? Everyone thinks so, even Gary. Might as well accept it.
“I’ll try. Gary feels it was unfair of Irena to keep him down for 4 years. He still feels she should have promoted him, and he despises the fact Irena wouldn’t accept promotion gifts. That is why he fired her or allowed her to quit. I’m not sure which.”

Claire starts talking normally, but how normal is hearing someone talk through tech during a jog. “Do you agree with Gary?”

I can't help smiling.
“No, Irena just likes things her way, if she can. It is her choice what criteria to use. She uses purely performance to make that judgment.”

“You’d agree that isn’t common?” Claire zips up her jacket and pulls down both layers.

It's expected that each employee delivers a gift option by message. Free of charge as long as it originates from the promotion gift database. Stress inducing as I remember.
“Yes, I’m sure Gary has always been promoted in a short time. Irena isn’t just going to go along with accepted policies. If there isn’t anyone good enough, that’s how it is. I know Irena hasn’t promoted anyone during her tenure.”

Claire stops right there, and I keep going, slowing down. Claire walks up to me, throwing her hair over her shoulders. “Have you considered where Gary would be promoted to?”

I lean back against a tree. “I’m guessing somewhere within the Institute.”

Claire comes closer and stands with a hand in her pocket. “Couldn’t that be to the Director of Research?”

I imagine Irena as a sinister puppet master, pulling Gary's strings, and cackling her head back in laughter with Kiros at her side. Stop thinking that.
“I don’t think Irena was thinking about that. She has gotten countless job offers during her tenure. She could have taken any of them.”

Claire fingers her round chin. “So that’s why Irena is leaving the Institute.”

I knock the trunk behind me. “Can we talk about something else? I don’t feel like talking about this.” We start off again.

Wed 8/30/17 5:21 p.m.

A
fter a while just jogging silently: “Okay, answer this. Have you ever thought you completely knew someone only to be wrong?”

I have to stall. I can’t talk about most of it. Irena’s betrayal. Gary can be the one. Jenna is completely out of the question. I have to think of something to say.
“No.”

Claire slides up her glasses and moves hair out from under the ear hooks. “It happened years ago, but it’s still with me.”

I can use someone else to tell the story. That's transparent especially with Claire. It won’t work. Think of something ancient. I need more time. She can go first.
“It did happen to me. Why don’t you go first?”

She scrunches her nose before answering. “There was a kid in my schooling years, Cody Lennox. You must have noticed someone like that in your school. He acted mute, but he was just there all the time. He became an invisible shadow. The only remarkable thing about him was he always had a hat on. His blonde hair was sticking out a little in the front. Except that, he just melted into the background.”

“There are always silent watchers everywhere."
A line about cams from a paranoid author. Every generation has them.
"What changed?”

A soft sigh. “Just let me get there. We had a required dance night. I went with a group of people, actually kids. Someone with blonde hair asked me to dance with him. I was just astounded that anyone would ask me. He was the most dressed up person there. I decide to go along with it.”

Impatience wins over.
“What happened to Lennox?”

“After a quick dance, he leads me off the floor. He needs to get a drink. He takes my hand and leads me out. We stop at a nourisher. It won’t work. He takes me to an old drinking fountain. He explains something about how he knows about it. His swept back hair falls over his face. I instantly recognize him as Cody. He hurriedly pushes it back. He knows it’s too late. He kisses me on the cheek and runs back in. I never see him again.” The edges of her eyes crinkle a little more.

We just turned left onto Carmen Street. “What happened to him?”

Claire turns her head towards me and looks back. “That was it. I just never saw him around again. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“I’m next, right?”
I smile saying that because of what comes next.

“Go ahead Conor.” Claire turns weary at my requests for permission.

“In middle school, my English teacher was Mr. Lauren. He was the best. He knew his stuff, but let us deal with the mechanical issues. He seemed ordinary in every way. Extraordinary was out of reach for him. We all liked the way he taught.”
Everyone has a least one really good teacher.

In the following pause. “Okay.”

“At the time an instrumental jazz song made the rounds. The most important part is the electronic sounds all the time. Some others chimed in at different places. I just was searching the net for an easy listen. I got one with Mr. Lauren in it. As a respectful middle schooler, I took it as my responsibility to send it to everyone in his class.”

We reach the edge of the forest, a thicket of brush. It changes over to low growing plants. Most lushly leafed with thick foliage. The grass is nonexistent.

“What happened the next day?”

I laugh right there.
“We all waited for him to come to class. Everyone started laughing at once. The vid was hilarious. Mr. Lauren just fell into the musical deep end, crazy head bobs, profuse sweating, rhythmic foot tapping, and doubled over strumming, all for smooth jazz. Mr. Lauren asked us what is going on. This just caused another wave of laughter. I kept a shaky hand up. Mr. Lauren waved me over. I explained everything to him.”

Claire shuts her eyes. “You don’t have anything better?” Opens.

“You just have to see the vid.”
No, really.

The grass canvases the ground — tall and thick as ever. The plants keep changing from grass all the way to thick, deep woods. The seasonal temperatures all year should foster more tree growth than there is. Rain possibly. In the 4 months I’ve lived here, it rained just about twelve times, lasting for about a day each time. Why isn’t everything just forest? What can be responsible for the different plant life? An uneven distribution of water looks like this. Low areas collect and store more water. Soil drainage makes the difference, too.

We arrive at a highly used trans-corridor (fast transport of goods) with buildings nowhere near. A good 10 meters separate the two. A nearby bench leads a vine railing that fences the corridor. We wait at the railing. Every sec or so, something zooms by with an accompanying whoosh of air. I can’t even see what it is at that speed. My first crossing of a high-speed one of these, good thing the tech guides. I can do it.

Claire faces me. I don't see her, so she puts her hand on my chest. “Are you ready?”

The background noise forces a yell.
“YES.”

Claire taps in front of her ear. “See you on the other side.” She spins around and crosses during a 4 sec gap in the traffic.

I move close to the trans-corridor. A warning message comes up. I wait. More keep appearing on my eyes. They fully cover my left. I walk backwards. It’s too late. I can’t see anything. The warnings blind me. I search for the railing with my hands, but I can’t find it. I wander around, not seeing, not caring where the corridor is. No matter where I go, the whooshing sound from the corridor gets louder. I run into the vine. I grab on. I can wait for my vision to return. Someone grabs my arm. I can tell from the delicate, slender, yet strong fingers it is Claire.

“I knew you would lose it. You can just come with me.” She grabs my wrist tighter and leads my forward, I think.

The sounds become louder and quiet down. Claire keeps leading me. A few meters later, we stop. She turns me around and pushes me back. I feel pressure on the underside of my knees and fall into a bench.

“What happened?”

“I can’t see anything. The warning messages are too much.”

Claire cups my head and turns it to her. "Open your eyes, please."

They stay scrunched shut, although this doesn't remove the messages. With her thumb and forefinger, she pushes apart the area around one of my eyes. I decide to open them.

"Wow." Claire releases me. "Just accept the next message you see.”

I see something new on my eyes. ‘Do you want to allow Katarina Genovese access to your personal tech?’ I say yes.

“Give me your hand. I need to see the screen.”

She holds my arm over her legs with the wrist. Claire enters a series of commands on the tech screen over my forearm that we can both now see, if I could see anything. Whatever it is, it gets rid of the messages. I can start to see some of the world. All the messages go away. My vision clears. I see Claire looking at me concerned then intently working on my tech.

“That’s everything. Those messages shouldn’t be bothering you again.”

I take a deep breath. “What happened?”

“The tech didn’t clear any of the old messages. They just kept gathering, blocking your vision. I’ve changed the setup to just show you one message at a time, the newest one.” Claire releases my hand and wipes hers on a pant leg.

I massage my sore jaw muscle after unconscious clenching. “It won’t happen again?”

“No, you’re safe. It shouldn’t be happening in place, but anyway.”

We continue jogging — the corridor a far memory. The buildings provide some shelter, and then the woods surround us. A cozy, more comfortable feeling comes over me in these woods from that open grassland. Not a real shelter, with no protection from the rain or cold, the wind just a little impeded, but it just makes me comfortable, surrounded by this living, breathing, transforming, creature that is these woods. I start talking to Claire, after that near fatal mistake.

As casually as can be expected in an adrenaline fueled jog.
“What are you doing tonight?”

“Actually, Ian, Corrine, and I are going to Legend of the Mixist. We want to do some research on a possible business model.” Claire continues checking on me every few secs.

What constitutes an innovation in bar tending?
“What’s different about this place?”

“Yes, it is a sim bar like
Zensation
. The sim patches somehow beam the process to make each drink into your head. Then you do it in partial sim. They claim you experience everything about making and consuming the drink. You can come along, if you want.” Claire resolutely minds her feet while I say something.

“Why that?”
Why not a new cocktail, dance mix, psychedelic light show, sim bar staff, or even a privacy consideration?

Claire thinks for a sec. “I’m not sure about the business case. Ian takes care of most of that. It's just an interesting idea. They want me to find a way to do something like that in
Zensation
.”

I smile a little. “What about the supplies to make it yourself at home?”

Claire moves closer to the trees and watches something pass by. “Yes, but it is too expensive for the majority of visitors. It's just for appearances.”

“Marketing the sim, maybe.” I shrug.

“That could work. It actually
does
work to sell it. The space can be scanned to correctly fit the sim. That is it." Claire almost purrs hmm in agreement.

Could make for a nice distraction.
“I’d like to come.”

Claire pulls up her sleeve for something on her tech. “Here's the loc.”

I see something on my tech. These are the details: Legend of the Mixist, Forest Lane and One Street.

Claire smiles more. ”We are meeting at 8.”

“I’ll be there.”

A cheerful addition.
“It’ll be fun.”

Wed 8/30/17 5:45 p.m.

W
e turn left at Oak Park, something like Lake Park — a wide thoroughfare right through the middle of the city. We covered anything about the last few days. Claire likes having discussions about various stuff. I search for something good. I read something yesterday about the causes of dreaming — an alternate pathway ideology for dream creation.

“What do you think is the process behind dream creation? You have two choices. Are dreams an attempt of the brain to decode random electrical signals from the brain stem? Or do you accept that it is the unconscious trying to communicate?”
The memory just came back without a fuss.

Claire keeps jogging until figuring out the salient choice. “I think it's the unconscious trying to communicate.”

“A manifestation of random signals.”
Not trying to disagree, that's just how I feel.

“Let’s start with the unconscious communicating. Why don’t you go first?” Claire stops in a few feet.

I stop next to her, bent over and panting. “If dreams are the brain talking with the same brain, why the difficulty understanding?”

Claire crouches down and unties one
shoe. She stands up, slips out her shoe, reaches inside and removes a stone stuck in a side vent. She hobbies over, supports herself with my shoulder, and remounts the shoe. “
One of the clear differences is the unconscious mind's ability to freely associate. The unconscious mind makes different associations than the conscious mind. So that means the unconscious speaks a different language.”

I brace my back on a tree. “That's a good point. Associations are the main organizing principle in the brain. Is there any evidence to back you up?”
I watch her lips move deftly from each word to the next and pretend lip reading as one of my skills.