Glasshouse Part 10

NURSE Zombie gives me a test that involves sliding a cold gla.s.s rod into my ear and staring into my eyes from close range, then she pulls out a jar and gives me what I a.s.sume at first is a piece of candy, except that it tastes vile. The hospital is set up to resemble a real dark ages installation, but luckily they seem to draw the line at leeches or heart transplants and similar barbarism. I guess this is some sort of drug, synthesized at great expense and administered to have some random weird systemic effect on my metabolism. aTry to sleep,a Nurse explains to me. aYou are ill.a aC-cold,a I whisper.

aTry to sleep, you are ill.a But Nurse bends down and pulls out a loose-weave blanket. aDrink lots of fluids.a The gla.s.s on the table next to me is empty, and in any case, I feel too s.h.i.+very to pull an arm out from under the blanket. aYou are ill.a No s.h.i.+t. Itas not just my arms and legsa"all my joints are screaming at me in chorus with a whole load of muscles I wish I didnat have right nowa"but my headas throbbing and I feel like Iam freezing to death and my stomachas not so good either. And the blackouts and memory fugues are still with me. aWhatas wrong with, me?a I ask, and it takes a big effort to get the words out.

aYou are ill,a the zombie repeats. Itas useless arguing with hera"n.o.body home, no theory of mind, just a bunch of reflexes and canned dialogues.

aWho can I ask?a Sheas turning away, but I seem to have tripped a new response. aThe consultant will visit at eight oaclock tonight, all questions must be addressed to the consultant. The patient is weak and must not be disturbed excessively. Drink lots of fluids.a She picks up an empty jug that was out of view a moment ago and whisks it away toward one end of the ward. A moment later sheas back with it. aDrink lots of fluids.a aYeah . . .a I shudder and try to work myself into a smaller volume under the blanket. I dimly realize I ought to be asking lots of questionsa"actually I ought to be forcing myself out of bed and running like my hairas on firea"but right now, just pouring myself a gla.s.s of water seems like an heroic task.

I lie back and stare at the ceiling, incoherent with anger and embarra.s.sment. Did I imagine myself killing Fiore in the library? I donat think so; the memories are vivid. But so are all my other memories, the ma.s.sacres and the endless years of war. And not all my memories are real, are they? The bootstrap memory, talking to another voice in my own larynxa"if itas not just a false memory of a false memory, then it certainly wasnat me: It was a customized worm running on my implant. I canata"this is getting difficulta"trust myself, especially while I keep going into fugue.

aCan I?a I ask, and I open my eyes again, and Sam startles.

Heas leaning over me where Fiore was, and I realize immediately that Iave been in fugue for some time. Iam cold, but Iam no longer feverish; the sheets are damp with sweat, and the light visible through the windows is dimming toward evening. aReeve?a he asks anxiously.

aSam.a I lift my hand and reach for him. He wraps my fingers in his. aIam ill.a aI came as soon as I heard. Fiore telephoned the office.a He sounds slightly shocky, his eyes haunted. aWhat happened?a I s.h.i.+ver again. The damp sheets are getting to me. aLater.a Meaning: Not where the walls have ears. aNeed water.a My mouthas really dry. aI keep having fugues.a aThe nurse said something about a consultant,a says Sam. aDr. Hanta. She said head be coming to look at you later. Are you going to be all right? Why are you ill?a I clutch Samas hand as hard as I can. aI donat know.a He offers me the water gla.s.s, and I swallow. aSuspect . . . not. Not sure. How long was I . . . asleep . . . for?a aYou didnat recognize me when I came in,a Sam says. Heas holding on to my hand as if heas afraid one of us is drowning. aYou didnat recognize me.a aMemory fugueas getting much worse,a I say. I lick my lips. aThreeaa"no, foura"atoday. Iam not sure why. I keep remembering stuff, but Iam not sure how much of it is real. Thought Iadaa"I stop before I say killed Fiore, just in case I really did and thereas some other reason the priest doesnat know about ita"aescaped. But I woke up here.a I close my eyes. aFiore says Iam ill.a aWhat am I meant to do?a Sam asks plaintively. aHow do I fix you? Thereas no A-gate here . . .a aDark ages tech.a My hand aches from gripping him. I force it to relax. aThey didnat disa.s.semble people and rebuild them, they used medicine, drugs, and surgery. Tried to repair damaged tissue in situ.a aThatas insane!a I chuckle weakly. aYouare telling me? Thatas what the consultant is, heas a doctor.a One of those weird, obsolescent words that doesnat mean what it used toa"in the real world outside this prison, a doctor is a scholar, someone who investigates stuff, not a wetware mechanic. I suppose it may have meant the same back in the real dark ages, when n.o.body really knew how self-replicating organisms functioned and there was an element of research involved. aI think heas meant to figure out whatas wrong with me and repair it. a.s.suming they donat just have a medical a.s.sembler down in the bas.e.m.e.nt herea"a I clutch his hand, because a horrible thoughtas just struck me. If theyave got a medical A-gate, wonat it be infected with Curious Yellow? aDonat let them put me in it!a aPut you ina"what? What is it, Reeve? Reeve, are you having another fugue?a Things are going gray around me. He leans close, and I whisper, a* * *,a in his ear. Thena"

DESPERATION is the engine of necessity.

Itas two hundred megs since that committee meeting with Al and Sanni and a lot of things have changed. Me, for example: Iam not in military phenotype anymore. Neither is Sanni. Weare civilians now, corpuscles of military experience discharged into the circulating confusion of reconstruction that has become the future of Is.

Iam not used to being human again, ortho or otherwisea"bits of me are missing. When the war exploded, trapping me on the MASucker for almost a generation, I was reduced to what I was carrying on my person and in my head. Then when I militarized myself, I had to let component aspects of my ident.i.ty go. Iam not sure why, in all cases. Some things make sense (when at war, oneas scruples about inflicting pain and injury on the enemy faction must be suppressed), but there are gaps that follow no obvious rhyme or reason. According to my written notes from the period on the Grateful for Duration, I used to have an abiding and deep interest in baroque music of the preindustrialized age, but now I canat recall even a sc.r.a.p of melody. Again, I used to be married, with children, but I am mystified by my lack of memories from the period, or feelings. Maybe that was a reaction to grief, and maybe nota"but now Iave been demobilized, I find myself out of reaction ma.s.s and adrift along an escape vector diverging from all attachments. Only my new job retains any hold over me.

The Linebarger Cats emerged from the coalition with significant a.s.sets. To my surprise I received a credit balance that with careful management might mean I never need to work againa"at least for a few gigasecs. It seems that warfare pays, if youare on the winning side and manage not to misplace your mind in the process.

When I left Mils.p.a.ce (a convoluted process involving numerous anonymous remixer networks and one-way censors.h.i.+p gates to strip me of my military modules before my reintegration into civil society), I had myself rea.s.sembled as a louche young man in the Cognitive Republic of Lichtenstein. Thereas a lot to be said for being louche, especially after youave spent several hundred megaseconds with no genitals.

Lichtenstein is a vivid and cynical colony of artistic satirists, so sophisticated theyave almost circled back into primitivism. By convention we use visual field filters that limn everything in dark strokes, filling our bodies with color. Life aspires toward a state of machinima. Itas a strange way to be, but familiar and comfortable after the unsleeping hyperspectral awareness of a tankie. So I hang around in the galleries and salons of Lichtenstein, exchanging witty repartee and tall stories with the other habitus, and in my copious free time I pay frequent trips to the bathhouses and floataria. I make a point of never sleeping with the same person twice in the same body, although I discover that even such anonymous abandon doesnat protect me from my loversa tears: It seems half the population have lost someone and are wandering, searching the world over.

My life is outwardly directionless for the first four or five megs. In private I work on something that might eventually turn out to be a memoir of the wara"an old-fas.h.i.+oned serialized text provocatively promoting a single viewpoint, without any pretense at objectivitya"while in public I live on my savings. DeMob gave me a reasonably secure cover ident.i.ty as a playboy remittance man from a primogeniture polity, sent to while away his youth in less hidebound (and politically loaded) biomes, and itas not hard to keep up appearances. But deep down, the insignificance and lack of meaning of such a life chafes; I want to be doing something, and while the project Iave been working on under Sannias auspices for the past couple of years fits the bill, it is, perforce, anonymous. If I make a mark, it will be by my deeds, not my name. And so, as my debauch intensifies, I slip into a kind of melancholic haze.

Then one morning I am awakened by a bra.s.sy flare of trumpets from the bedside orrery, which announces that I have a visitor.

I realize who and where I ama"and that I am desperately sicka"at the exact moment that Dr. Hanta presses a small, freezing cold bra.s.s disk against the bare skin between my b.r.e.a.s.t.s. aOw!a aBreathe slowly,a she orders, not unkindly, then blinks like a sleepy owl from behind her thick-lensed gla.s.ses: aAh, back in the realm of the conscious, are we?a By way of an answer I go into a hoa.r.s.e coughing fit, my muscles locking in spasms that leave my ribs aching. Hanta recoils slightly, removing the stethoscope. aI see,a she says. aIall just wait a momenta"gla.s.s of water?a I realize sheas jacked the back of my bed up as the coughing subsides. aYes. Please.a Iam s.h.i.+very and weak but not freezing anymore. She holds out a gla.s.s, and I manage to accept it without spilling anything, although my hand shakes alarmingly. aWhatas wrong with me?a aThatas what Iam here to find out.a Hanta is a pet.i.te female, shorter than I am, her skin a shade darker, although not the aubergine-tinted brown of Fiore. Her short hair is dusted with the silver spoor of impending senescence, and there are laugh-lines around her face. She wears an odd white overcoat b.u.t.toned up the front and carries the arcane totems of her profession, the caduceus and stethoscopea"the bell of the latter she rubs upon my chest. She looks friendly and open and trustworthy, the ant.i.thesis of her two clerical colleagues: but beauty is not truth, and some gut instinct tells me never to let my guard down in her presence. aHow long have you been febrile?a aFebrile?a aHot and cold. Chills, s.h.i.+vers, alternating with too hot. Night sweats, anything like that.a aOh, abouta"a I feel my forehead wrinkling. aWhat day is it? How long have I been in here?a aYouave been here six hours,a Dr. Hanta says patiently. aYou were brought in around midafternoon.a I s.h.i.+ver convulsively. My skin is icy. aSince an hour or two before then.a aThe Reverend Doctor Fiore tells me you were climbing.a Her tone is neutral, professional, with no note of censure.

I swallow. aSince then.a aYouare a lucky lady.a Hanta smiles enigmatically and moves her stethoscope to the ball of my left shoulder, pulling open my hospital gown to get at it. aIam sorry, Iall be quick. Hmm.a She stares into the stethoscopeas eye crystal and frowns. aItas a long time since Iave seen that . . . sorry.a She straightens up. aItas not safe to climb around in the walls here; some of the neighboring biomes arenat biomorphically integrated. There are replicators in the ma.s.s fraction reserve cells that will eat anything based on a nucleotide cha.s.sis that doesnat broadcast a contact inhibition signal, and youare not equipped for that.a I swallow againa"my mouth is unnaturally dry. aWhat?a aSomehow or other youave managed to get yourself infected with a strain of pestis mechaniculorum. Youare feverish because your immune system is still just about containing it. Itas a good thing for you that we found you before mechanotic cytolysis set in . . . Anyway, Iall fix you up just as soon as I finish sequencing it.a aUm.a I shudder again. aOh, okay.a a aOkaya indeed. Do I have to tell you not to go climbing around inside the walls again?a I shake my head, almost embarra.s.sed by my own fear of discovery. aGood.a She pats me on the shoulder. aAt least if youare going to do it again, come to me first, please? No more unfortunate accidents.a She carefully disconnects the stethoscope and wraps it around her caduceus. It makes soft clicking noises as it fuses with the staff. aNow Iall just run you off a little antirobotic, and youall be up and about in no time.a Dr. Hanta hitches up her coat, then perches on a stool next to my bed. aIsnat this a bit out of character?a I ask her, throwing caution to the winds. I suspect if I asked Fiore or Yourdon that question, theyad bite my head off, but Hanta seems more approachable, if not more trustworthy.

aWe all make mistakes.a Itas that smile again: Itas slightly fey and very sincere, as if sheas laughing at a joke that Iad laugh along with, if I only knew what it was. aYou leave worrying about the integrity of the experiment to me, dear.a She waves a dismissive hand. aOf course you worry about it when the priestsa backs are turned. Of course people try to game the systema"itas only to be expected. Probably some people donat even want to be here. Maybe they changed their minds after signing the waiver. All I can say is, weall do our best to make sure theyare not unhappy with the outcome.a She raises an eyebrow at me speculatively. aItas not easy to run an experiment on this scale, and we make mistakes, what else can I say? Some of us make more mistakes than others.a And now she pulls an expression of mild distaste, which seems to say it all. Sheas inviting my agreement, and I find myself nodding along despite my better judgment.

aBut those mistakes . . .a I stop, unsure if I should continue.

aYes?a She leans forward.

aHowas Ca.s.s?a I force myself to ask.

Dr. Hantaas face, which up until now has been open and friendly, closes like a trapdoor. aWhy do you ask?a I lick my lips again. aI need something to drink.a She slides off her stool and paces round my bed, pours whatas left of the water jug into my cup, and hands it to me without a word. I swallow. aOne of Fioreas little mistakes, I suppose.a I aim to say it lightly, but it comes out dripping with sarcasm.

aOh yes.a Dr. Hanta looks round, toward the far end of the warda"at something hidden from me by the curtain. I shudder, and this time itas not from the fever chills. aI wouldnat say one of his little mistakes.a Her tone of voice is dry, but thereas something behind it that makes me glad I canat see her face. But when she turns back to me, her expression is perfectly normal. aCa.s.s will be all right, dear.a aAnd Mick?a I prompt.

aThat is under discussion.a aUnder discussion. Was what happened to Esther and Phil discussed ahead of time?a aReeveaa"she actually has the gall to look upseta"ano, it wasnat. Someone miscalculated badly. Theyave gone back to the primary sources and discovered that what, what Esther and Phil were doing wasnat so very unusual. And youare right, the weighting attached to, uh, what they dida"Major Fiore misjudged the mood of the crowd. It wonat happen again, weave learned from that experience, and froma"a She swallows, then nods minutely at the curtain. aIf a couple doesnat get on, thereas going to be a procedure to go through to obtain formal social approval of the separation. Weare not evil. Weare in this for the long haul, and if youare unhappy, if everyoneas unhappy here, the polity wonat gel, and the experiment canat work.a The experiment canat work. I look at her and find myself wondering, Does she mean it? Fiore and Yourdon are so cynical I find myself startled to be in the presence of a member of their team who seems to believe in what sheas doing. Iam suddenly appalled, as badly taken aback by her honesty as the police zombies are by a stripper. aUh. I think I see.a I shake my head, then wince. My neck aches. aBut as long as Mick stays here, some of us wonat be happy at all.a aOh, Mick will be dealt with one way or another, dear.a Her caduceus trills for attention, and she fidgets with it as she talks. aI donat think the psychological damage is irremediablea"we probably wonat have to restore from backup, which is a good thing right now. But Iam going to have to redesign his motivational parameters from the ground up.a She frowns at the serpent heads but doesnat explain herself further. aCa.s.s will be . . . well, Iam attending to the physical damage right now, and when sheas better, Iall ask her who she wants to be.a She falls silent for a few seconds. aMost medical fraternities, confronted by a patient with this level of damage, would prescribe gross memory surgerya"or simply terminate the instance and restore from backup. I donat believe in authorizing such a serious step without taking her wishes into account.a She falls silent again. After a moment I realize sheas staring at me. aWhat is it?a aWe need to talk about your blackouts.a aMy what?a I bite my tongue, but itas a bit late to play dumb.

Dr. Hanta raises one eyebrow and crosses her arms. aIam not stupid, you know.a She looks away, as if sheas speaking to someone else. aEveryone in here has been through redactive reweighting and experiential reduction before we recruit them. One of the reasons this polity needs a medical supervisor is to be ready for ident.i.ty crises. Most people have some inkling of who they used to be and why they wanted memory surgery. Occasionally, we get someone who doesnat remembera"thereas something they wanted to bury so deep that they wouldnat even know what it was about. Something painful. But I donat normally see . . . well! Youave gone into fugue twice since you were admitted to this ward, did you know that? I checked with your husband during your last one, and he said youave been having them more frequently.a She leans toward me, keeping her hands sandwiched in her armpits as if sheas hugging herself. aI donat like to intrude where Iam not wanted, but by the sound of it, you need help very badly indeed. You seem to have had a bad reaction to the suppressants the clinic used on you, and while I canat be sure without making a detailed examination, there is a risk that you could be heading for some kind of crisis. I donat want to overstate things, but in the worst-case scenario you could lose . . . well, everything that makes you you. For example, if itas an autoimmune reactiona"according to your file youave got a heuristic upgrade to your complement system, and sometimes the Bayesian recognizers start firing off at the wrong targetsa"you could end up with anterograde amnesia, a complete inability to lay down any new mnemostructures. Or it might just be a sloppy earlier edit bleeding through and triggering random integration fugues, in which case things will ease off after a while, although you wonat enjoy the ride. But I canat tell you what to expect, much less treat you, if you wonat even admit youave got a problem.a aOh.a It takes me a while to absorb this, but Hanta is remarkably patient with me and waits while I think about things. If I didnat know better, Iad swear she actually liked me. aA problem,a I echo, uncertain how much I can let slip, before a cold chill runs its icy fingers up my spine, and I shudder uncontrollably.

aSpeaking of problems . . .a Hanta raises her caduceus: aThis will hurt, but only momentarily and a lot less than being eaten alive by a mechaplague.a She smiles faintly as she points it at my shoulder, and I wince as the asps strike at me. Thereas a toothy little p.r.i.c.kling as they begin pumping adjuvant patches into my circulation, upgrading my prosthetic immune system so that it can deal with the pestis. I try not to wince.

aThe infection will take some time to die off, and thereas a risk that itas adaptable enough to out-evolve the robophages, so Iam going to keep you here overnighta"just for observation. Hopefully youall be well enough to go home tomorrow, and Iam going to write you up for a week off work while you recover. In the meantime, have a think about what I said concerning your memory problem, and we can talk about it in the morning when I check on your progress.a The snake-heads let go of me and wrap themselves back around the staff as Hanta stands up. aSleep well!a NATURALLY, I donat sleep well at all.

At first, I spend an indeterminate time shuddering with cold chills and occasionally forgetting to inhale until some primitive reflex kicks me into sucking in great rasping gasps of air. Sleep is out of the question when youare afraid youall stop breathing, so I amuse myself to the point of abject terror by rolling the events of the day over in my mind. Great arterial gouts of blood project like ghosts upon the wall, shadows of my guilt over killing Fiore . . . Fiore? But he doesnat know I killed him! Did I hallucinate the whole thing? Obviously not the mad scramble up the shaft, arms burning with overstressed muscles. The priest and the doctor both knew about it. a.s.suming I didnat imagine their visits, I remind myself. Iam fighting off a mecha infection and an obscure neurological crisis at the same time. Wouldnat it be reasonable to suspect I might just be out of my skull?

The lights on the ward have dimmed, and the glimpse of sky I can see through the windows is deepening toward purple, fly-specked with burning pinp.r.i.c.ks of luminescence that glitter oddly, as if refracted through a deep pool of water. Maybe they donat know I know about Curious Yellow and the a.s.sembler in the library bas.e.m.e.nt, I tell myself. They just think Iam having a mental breakdown, and I went for a little climb. Dissociative fugue, isnat that what the ancients called it? I got myself infected with compost nano and Fiore called Hanta in to patch me up, and he wonat mention it in Church because it would undermine the integrity of the experiment. Maybe theyare right, and I just imagined killing Fiore. Iam not simply remembering fragments of badly suppressed memories, Iam confabulating out of fragments, synthesizing false memories from the wreckage of a failed erasure job. The memories of my time in the Cats, could they simply be recollections from a game I used to play? Multiplayer immersive worlds with a plot and an ident.i.ty modela"I donat remember being a gamer, but if I wanted to get rid of an addiction, mightnat I have tried to flush it out with a lightweight round of memory surgery?

I canat ask anyone, I realize. If I ask Sam, and he hasnat heard of the Linebarger Cats, it doesnat mean they werenat reala"everyone hereas been through memory excision! Iad giggle if my throat wasnat so dry. I am Reeve! Watch me fake up a bunch of memories to haunt myself with! Was the guy who stalked me through the hallways of the Invisible Republic real? What about the mad b.i.t.c.h with the sword who called me out? Iave been running from enemies I never actually sawa"only glimpsed out of the sides of my eyes. Itas like Iam suffering from blindsight, the strange neurological trauma that leaves its victims unable to see but able to sense events in their visual field by guessing. Maybe Iam an intelligence agent trying to track down a dangerous nest of enemies . . . and maybe Iam just a sad, sick woman who used to subst.i.tute game play for living a real life and whoas now paying the price.

I lie awake in the twilight and eventually I realize that the s.h.i.+vering has gone. I ache, and Iam feeble, but thatas to be expected after the long climb. And as I lie there I become aware of the subtle noises on the ward, the soft white noise of the air-conditioning, the tick of a clock, the quiet sobbing ofa"

Sobbing?

I sit bolt upright, the sheet and blanket falling away from me. My thoughts churn in parallel with a sense of dread and a numinous awareness of relief. Rescuing Ca.s.s and If Ca.s.s is here, then that memory was real with Still doesnat mean everything else was real and finally If it was real, Ca.s.s must be . . .

as.h.i.+t,a I hear myself mutter. I pull the bedding up and clutch it like a frightened child. aI canat deal with this.a I feel like sucking my thumb. aI am not ready for this.a Iam subvocalizing, so low I make no sound. I have to talk softly when Iam telling myself the truth, because the truth is embarra.s.sing and hurtful. I flash back to what Hanta said: When sheas better, Iall ask her who she wants to be, and thatas a comfort because I certainly donat have anything better to offer her. Is Hanta up to doing memory surgery properly? I ponder. It would surprise me if they didnat have a full surgeon-confessor along for the ridea"itas the ultimate prophylactic for those little ethical embarra.s.sments that an experimental polity might suffer. (Or for those little infiltration-level embarra.s.sments that a secret military installation might encounter, a lying, cynical part of me that Iam no longer entirely sure I believe in adds.) I lie down again. The sobbing continues for a while, then I hear the clacking heels of a nursing zombie converge on the bed. Quiet voices and a sigh, followed by snores. The white ghost of a nurse pauses at the foot of my bed, its face a dim oval. aDo you need anything?a It asks me.

I shake my head. Itas a lie, but what I need they canat provide.

Eventually I doze off.

15.

Recovery.

THE next morning starts badly, shattered into fragments like a dropped vase: aMore fugues. Reeve, youare getting worse.a His large hand enfolding my small one. Weak and pale. He strokes the back of my wrist with his thumb. I look into his eyes and see sadness there and wonder whya"

Two liquid-metal snake-heads bite at my wrist, and I cry out, pulling away as they inject soothing numbness. The woman who carries them is a G.o.ddess, golden-skinned with burning eyes.

Iam a tank again, a regiment of tanks, dropping through the freezing night toward an enemy habitata"or did this come later? I disconnect from the virtch interface and shake my head, look around at the other players in the game arcade, and hear myself whisper, aBut it wasnat like thata"a Scratch of a carved goose feather on rough paper, body of a pen made from a human bone. You will remember nothing at first. If you did, they could pa.r.s.e your experience vector and identify you as a threat.

aSheas really bad this morning. The adjuvants have workeda"that infection is definitely on the menda"but sheas no use to us like this.a aWhat do you expect me to do? Sheas in danger of sliding into full-blown anterogradea"a A suffocating stench of bowels as I slide my rapier back out of his guts. He lies among the rosebushes in a dueling zone, beneath the shadow of a marble statue of an extinct species of flying mammal. A sudden stab of horror, because this is a man I could have loved.

aFix her.a aI canat! Not without her consent.a Hand tightening around someoneas wrist until itas almost painful. aSheas in no condition to give ita"look at that, what are you going to do if she starts to convulse?a Iam a tank again, looping in a pool of horrors, blood trickling beneath my gridded toes as I swing my sword through the neck of another screaming woman while two of my other instances hold her down.

Iam flying, tumbling a.r.s.e over wing as my thumb sings a keening pain of broken bone, and I smell the fresh water of the roaring waterfall beneath me.

aMake it stop,a I hear someone mumble, and thereas blood on my lips where Iave almost bitten through them. Itas me whoas being held down by the tanks, facing a woman with burning eyes, and behind her is a man who loves me, if I could only remember what his name was.

The snakes bite again and drink deep, and the sun goes dark.

RESTART:.

I become aware that someone is holding my right hand.

Then, a timeless period later, I realize that heas still holding my hand. Which implies heas very patient, because Iam still lying in bed, and itas very bright. aWhat time is it?a I ask, mildly panicky because I need to get to work.

a.s.sh. Itas around lunchtime, and everythingas all right.a aIf itas all rightaa"Sam squeezes my handa"ahow long have you been sitting there?a aNot long.a I open my eyes and look at him. Heas on the stool beside my bed. I pull a face, or smile, or something. aLiar.a He doesnat smile or nod but the tension drains out of him like water and he sags as it runs away. aReeve? Can you remember?a I blink rapidly, trying to get some dust out of a corner of my left eye. Can I remembera"aI remember lots,a I say. How much of what I remember is true is another matter. Just trying to sort it out makes my head hurt! Iam a tank: Iam a dissolute young bioaviator with a death wish: Maybe Iam a sad gamer case instead, or a deep-cover agent. But all of these possibilities are a whole lot sillier and less plausible than what everything around me is saying, which is that Iam a small-town librarian whoas had a nervous breakdown. I decide Iall go with that version for the time being. I hold Samas hand tight, like Iam drowning: aHow bad was it?a aOh Reeve, it was bad.a He leans across me, and hugs me and I hug him back as tight as I can. aIt was bad as can be.a Heas shaking, I realize with a sense of growing awe. He feels for me that deeply? aI was afraid I was going to lose you.a I nuzzle into the base of his neck. aThat would be bad.a Itas my turn to shudder with a frisson of existential dread at the thought that I could have lost him. Somewhere in the past week Sam has turned into my anchor, my refuge in the turbulent waters of ident.i.ty. aIave got . . . well. Things are a bit jumbled today. What happened? When did you hear . . . ?a aI came as soon as I could,a he mumbles in my ear. aLast night they called but said I couldnat visit, it was too late.a He tenses.

aAnd?a I prompt. I feel as if there should be something more.

aYou were fitting.a Heas still tense. aDr. Hanta said itas an acute crisis; you needed a fixative, but she couldnat do it without your permission. I told her to give it anyway, but she refused.a aA fixative? What for?a aYour memories.a Heas even tenser. I let go of him, feeling cold.

aWhat does this fixative do?a Dr. Hanta answers from behind me as I turn round to look at her. aMemory is encoded in a number of ways, as differential weightings in synaptic connections and also as connections between different nerves. The last excision and redaction you underwent was faulty. You began to experience breakthrough. In turn, that was triggering alerts in your enhanced immune system, and then you got yourself exposed to a mechanocytic infestation, which made things much worse. Whenever new a.s.sociative traces would start integrating, your endogenous robophages would decide it was a mechanocyte signal and kill the nerve cells. You were well on your way to losing the ability to form new long-term a.s.sociative tracesa"progressive brain damage. The fixative is normally used as the last step in redactive editing. I used it to renormalize, erase, the old memories that were breaking through. Iam sorry, but you wonat be able to access them nowa"you keep those that youave already integrated, but the others are gone for good.a Sam has loosened his grip on me, and I lean against him as I stare at the doctor. aDid I give you permission to mess with my mind?a I ask.

Hanta just looks at me.

aDid I?a I echo myself. I feel aghast. If she did it against my will, thatasa"

aYes,a says Sam.

aWhat?a aShea"you were pretty far gone.a He hunches over again. aShe was describing the situation to you, and me, and I was asking her to do it, and she said she couldnata"then you were delirious. You began mumbling and she asked you, and you said yes.a aBut I donat remember . . .a I stop. I think I do remember, sort of. But I canat be sure, can I? aOh.a I stare at Hanta. I recognize the expression in her eyes. I stare at her for a long timea"then I manage to make myself nod, just a quick jerk really, but itas enough to break contact, and I think we all breathe out simultaneously. Meanwhile Iam thinking, s.h.i.+t, Iall never be able to figure out where Iave come from now, will I? But itas not as bad as what was going to happen otherwise. I donat remember the attacks, exactly, but I remember what happened between them, the consequencesa"itas a consistent story. A new story of my life, I suppose. aI feel much better,a I say cautiously.

Sam laughs, and thereas a raw edge in it that borders on hysteria. aYou feel better?a He hugs me again, and I hug him right back. Hanta is smiling, with what I think is relief at a difficult situation resolved. The suspicious paranoid corner of me files it away for future reference, but even my secret-agent self is willing to concede that Hanta might actually be what she seems, an ethically orthodox pract.i.tioner with only the best interests of her patients at heart. Which is a big improvement on Fiore or the Bishop, but at least one out of three isnat bad.

aSo when can I go home?a I ask expectantly.

IT turns out that Iam stuck in hospital for the rest of the day and the next night, too. Hospital life is tedious, punctuated by the white-clad ghosts wheeling around trolleys of food and different things, instruments and dark age potions.

I still ache from the fever, and I feel weak, but Iam well enough to get up and go to the bathroom on my own. On my way back I notice that the curtains around the other occupied bed on the ward are drawn back. I glance around, but there are no nurses present. Steeling myself, I approach.

It is Ca.s.s, and sheas a mess. Her legs are encased in bright blue polymer tubes from toe to thigh, and raised by wires so that the bedding dangles across her in a kind of valley. The bruises on her face have faded to an ugly green and yellow except around her eye sockets, which look simultaneously puffy and hollow, her eyelids sagging closed. Sheas still thin, and a translucent bag full of fluid is slowly draining into her wrist through a pipe.

aCa.s.s?a I say softly.

Her eyes open and roll toward me. aGuuh,a she says.

aWhat?a She flinches slightly. I hear footsteps behind me. aAre you all right?a The nursing zombie approaches. aPlease step away from the patient. Please step away from the patient.a aHow is she?a I demand. aWhat have you done to her?a aPlease step away from the patient,a says the nurse, then a different reflex triggers: aAll questions should be addressed to medical authorities. Thank you for your compliance. Go back to bed.a aCa.s.sa"a I try a last time. Gross memory surgery falls through my mind like a snowflake, freezing everything it touches. I feel awful. aAre you there, Ca.s.s?a aGo back to bed,a says the nurse, a touch threateningly.

aIam going, Iam going,a I say, and I shuffle away from poor, damaged Ca.s.s. Ca.s.s who I thought was Kay, obsessing over her, when all the time Kay was sleeping in the next room, and Ca.s.s was living in a nightmare.

I have a problem with the ethics here, I think. Hantaas not bad. But she collaborates with Fiore and Yourdon. What kind of person would do that? I shake my head, wincing at the cognitive dissonance. One whoad perform illegal memory surgery then implant the recollection of giving informed consent in the victimas mind? I shake my head again. I donat really think Hanta would do that, but I canat be sure. If the patient agrees with the pract.i.tioner afterward, is it really abuse?

ITaS a bright, sunny Thursday morning when Hanta comes and sits by my bedside with a clipboard. aWell!a Her smile is fresh and approving. aYouave done really well, Reeve. A splendid recovery. I think youare about well enough to go home.a She uses her pen to scribble an annotation on her board. aYouare still convalescent, so I advise you to take it very easy for the next few daysa"certainly you shouldnat go back to work until this time next week at the earliest, and ideally not until the Monday afterward. Take this note and give it to Janis when you return to work, itas a certificate of exemption from employment. If you feel at all unwell, or have another dizzy spell, I want you to telephone the hospital immediately, and weall send an ambulance for you.a aWill the ambulance be much use if Iam incoherent or hallucinating?a I ask doubtfully.

Hanta shoves an unruly lock of hair back into place: aWeare still populating the polity,a she says. aThe paramedics arenat due to arrive until next week. They have to have additional skill set upgrades to their implants. But in two weeksa time if you call an ambulance or see a nurse or need a police officer, you wonat be dealing with a zombie.a She glances along the ward. aCanat happen soon enough, if you ask me.a aI was meaning to ask . . .a I trail off, unsure how to raise the subject, but Dr. Hanta knows what Iam talking about.

aYou did the right thing when you called the ambulance,a she says firmly. aNever doubt that.a She touches my arm for emphasis. aBut zombies are no use for nonroutine circ.u.mstances.a A little sigh. aItall be much easier when I have human a.s.sistants who can learn on the job.a aHow big is the polity going to grow?a I ask. aThe original briefing said something about ten cohorts of ten, but if youare going to have police and ambulance crews, surely thatas not enough?a She looks surprised. aNo, a hundred partic.i.p.ants is just the size of the comparison set for score renormalization, Reeve, a single parish. We introduce partic.i.p.ants to each other in a controlled manner, ten cohorts to a parish, but youare nearly all settled in now. Next week is when we open the manifold and link all the neighborhoods together. Thatas when YFH-Polity actually comes into existence! Itas going to be quite excitinga"youare going to meet strangers, and thereall be far fewer zombies.a aWow,a I say, my voice hollow and my head spinning. aHow many, uh, neighborhoods, are you planning to link in?a aOh, thirty or so parishes. Thatas enough to form one small city, which is about the minimum for a stable society, according to our models.a aKeeping track of that must be a big job,a I say slowly.

aYou can say that again.a Dr. Hanta stands up and straightens her white coat. aIt takes at least three of me to keep track of everything!a Another errant curl gets tucked behind her collar. aNow, if you donat mind, Iam going to leave you. Youare ready for discharge whenever you want to go home; just tell the nurse on the front desk that youare leaving. Is there anything else?a aYes,a I say hastily. Then I pause for a moment. aWhen I was having my crisis, were you tempted to . . . you know, change anything? Apart from administering the fixative algorithm, that is?a Hanta stares at me with her big brown eyes. She looks thoughtful. aYou know, if I tried to change the minds of everyone who I thought needed changing, Iad never have time to do anything else.a She smiles at me, and her expression turns chilly. aAnd besides, what youare asking about is highly questionable behavior, ethically questionable, Mrs. Brown. To which I have two responses. Firstly, whatever I might think of a patient, I would never act in a manner contrary to their best interests. And secondly, I expected better of you. Good day.a She turns and stalks away. Iave really put my foot in it now, I think, feeling sick with embarra.s.sment. Me and my big mouth . . . I want to run after her and apologize, but that would be asking to compound the misunderstanding, wouldnat it? Idiot, I tell myself. Sheas right, they couldnat run the polity without having a medical supervisor who has the subjectsa best interests in mind; and Iave just p.i.s.sed off the only member of the experimental team who might be on my side. She could have helped me figure out how to fit in better, and instead . . . s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t. s.h.i.+t.

Thereas really nothing left to do here. I stand up and rummage through the carrier bag Sam left for me last night. Thereas underwear, a floral print dress, and a pair of strappy sandals, but he forgot my handbag. Oh well, he gets high marks for trying. I make myself decent then, after waiting long enough for Dr. Hanta to leave the ward, I head down to reception. On the way I pa.s.s the other ward, signposted MATERNITY. I guess itall be getting busy in a few months, but right now itas depressingly empty. Thereas a spring in my step as I reach the front desk. aChecking out,a I say.

The zombie on the desk nods. aMrs. Reeve Brown leaving the inst.i.tution of her own volition,a she drones. aHave a nice day.a The hospital faces onto Main Street, sandwiched between a run of shops and a stretch zoned for offices. Itas a sunny, warm day, and my spirits rise as I go outside. I feel airy and empty, light as a feather, not a care in the world! At least, not for now, a stubborn part of me mutters darkly. Then I get the impression that even the part of me thatas always alert shrugs its shoulders and sighs. Still, might as well take the day off to recover. Fiore has actually let me off the hook, for which I can thank Dr. Hanta; so Iave got an actual choice. Iam free to keep on kicking and struggling against the inevitable, or I can go home and relax for a few days, just play the game and settle down. (Itall avoid attracting unwelcome attention from Fiore or the score wh.o.r.es, and I can pretend Iam having fun while Iam about it; Iall treat it like a game. Plus, it occurs to me that if I want to get back at Jen, the best way to do it is to defeat her on her own terms. I can always go back to figuring out how to escape later.) Meanwhile, I really ought to try to sort things out with Sam because I donat like the way paranoia and dread seems to have been levering us apart.

It takes me three hours to catch a taxi home, mostly because I pa.s.s the Ladyas Lodge Beauty Parlor and stop to get my hair tidied up, and then the department store. The staff in the salon and the store are still all zombies, which is annoying, but at least they donat get in the way. I need some more clothes, anywaya"I have no idea what happened to what I was wearing the other day, plus, dressing la mode is a good, easy way to boost your score, and I can use that right nowa"and in between buying a couple of new outfits I fetch up at the cosmetics counter. The store is deserted, and I figure Iall give Sam a surprise, so I wait while the zombie a.s.sistant applies a makeover with inhuman speed. Those dark ages folks may not have had much by way of reconstructive nano, but they knew a lot about using natural products to change they way they looked: I barely recognize myself in the mirror by the time sheas finished.

Iam still not very well, and find myself flagging much sooner than I expected. So I finish off in the shop, arrange to have my purchases delivered, and catch a taxi home. Home is much as I expecteda"a mess. The cleaning service I commissioned when I got the library job has been round, but they only come once a week, and Sam has been letting the dirty dishes pile up in the kitchen and leaving the gla.s.ses in the living room. I try to ignore it and put my feet up, but after half an hour itas too much. If Iam going to settle down a bit, I need to take care of thata"itas part of the role Iam playinga"so I move everything to the kitchen and start cycling them through the dishwasher. Then I go and lie down for a while. But a pernicious demon of dissatisfaction has gotten into my head, so I get up and start on the living room. It comes to me that I really donat like the way the furniture is laid out, and thereas something about the sofa that annoys me unaccountably. The sofa will have to go. In the meantime I can rearrange where everything is, and then I realize itas nearly six. Sam will be home soon.

Iam a very poor cook, but I manage to puzzle my way through the instructions on the cartons, and Iam just laying out the cutlery on the dining table in the dayroom when I hear the door rattle.

aSam?a I call. aIam home!a aReeve?a He calls back.

I step into the hall, and he does a double take. aReeve?a He gapes at me: Itas a priceless moment.

aI had a little accident at the cosmetics counter,a I say. aLike it?a He goes cross-eyed for a moment, then manages to nod. In addition to the makeover Iam wearing the s.e.xiest, most revealing dress I could find. Iall take my praise where I find it. Samas never been a great one for expressing his emotions, and this is going pretty far for him. Come to think of it, he looks tired, sagging inside his suit jacket.

aHard day?a I ask.

He nods again. aI, uhaa"he draws breatha"aI thought you were ill.a aI am.a Iam more tired than I want to admit in front of him. aBut Iam glad to be home, and Dr. Hantaas given me the next week off work, so I figured Iad lay on a little surprise for you. Are you hungry yet?a aI missed lunch. Didnat feel much like eating back then.a He looks thoughtful. aThat wasnat such a good idea, was it?a aCome with me.a I lead him into the dayroom and sit him down, then go back to the kitchen and switch on the microwave, then pick up the two gla.s.ses of wine Iad poured and take them back to the table. He doesnat say anything, but heas agog, eyes tracking me like an incoming missile. aHere. A toasta"to our future?a aOur . . . future?a He looks puzzled for a moment, then something seems to clear in his mind, and he raises his gla.s.s and finally smiles at me, surrendering some inner doubt. aYes.a I hurry back to sort out our supper, and we eat. I donat taste much of the food because, to tell the truth, Iam watching Sam. I came so close to losing him that every moment feels delicate, like gla.s.s. A huge and complex tenderness is crystallizing in me. aTell me about your day,a I ask, to draw him out, and he mumbles through an incoherent story about missing papers for a deed of attainder or something, watching my face all the time. I have to prompt him to eat. When heas done, I walk round the table to fetch his plate, and I can feel the heat of his gaze on me. aWe need to talk,a I say.

aWe need.a His voice is congested with emotion. aReeve.a aCome with me,a I say.

He stands up. aWhere? What is this about?a aCome on.a I reach out and take his necktie and gently tug. He follows me into the hallway. aThis way.a I take the steps slowly, going up, listening to his hoa.r.s.e breathing deepen. He doesnat try to pull away until I reach the bedroom door.

aWe shouldnat be doing this,a he says hoa.r.s.ely. aI donat know why youare doing this, but we mustnat.a aCome on.a I give him a little tug and he follows me into the bedroom and I finally let go and turn to face him. I feel a looseness in my innards as I look up at his face, a warmth at my crotch. aKay. Sam. Whoever you are. I love you.a I freeze, my eyes wide as I see his pupils dilate and he looks puzzled: I realize he didnat hear me! aThe magic phrase, Sam.a And I realize that I mean it. This isnat the stinger-ampoule side effect of Jenas malice, itas something more profound. aWhat you said to me the other day, Iam saying it right back to you.a His expression clears. aCome here.a He looks confused, now. aBut if wea"a aNo buts.a I reach over to him and tug at the knot on his necktie. It unclips from his collar, and I fumble at the top b.u.t.ton. He chews his upper lip, and I can feel him trembling under my fingers, warm and immensely solid and rea.s.suring. I take a step closer until Iam leaning up against him, and I feel through his clothes that heas as excited as I am. aI want you, Sam, Kay. I donat want to have any barriers between us, it hurts too much. Iave nearly lost you twice now, Iam not going to lose you again.a His hands on my shoulders, huge and powerful. His breath on my cheek. aIam afraid this isnat going to work, Reeve.a aLifeas frightening.a I get another b.u.t.ton undone, then I look up to see his face above me, and I stop. I was about to stretch up to kiss him, but something about his expression isnat right. aWhat is it?a aWhatas wrong with you?a he hisses. aThis isnat like you, Reeve, whatas happening?a aIam doing what I should have done last week.a I wrap my arms around him and lean my forehead against his shoulder. But heas started a train of thought going, running on rails right through my l.u.s.t simple: aIave had a bad experience. It put a lot of things into a new perspective, Sam. You ever had one of those? Done something stupid and crazy and maybe a bit evil and only realized afterward that youad jeopardized everything you ever cared about? Been there, done thata"more than oncea"most recently the day before yesterday, and I donat want to be defined by my mistakes. So Iam walking away from them. I want us to work, I donat want toa"a aReeve, stop it. Stop this. Youare scaring me.a Huh? I pull back and stare at him, offended. Itas like a bucket of ice water in the face.

aThis isnat you speaking, is it?a he asks. He sounds certain.

aYes it is!a I insist.

aReally?a He looks skeptical. aYou wouldnat have thrown yourself at me like this last week.a aYes I would! In a moment, if I wasnat so conflicted.a Then what heas trying to tell me without actually saying it in so many words sinks in, and I jam one hand across my mouth to keep from screaming in frustration.

aSo youare not conflicted now,a he says, gently leading me over toward the bed and pus.h.i.+ng me down on the edge of it, sitting next to me so weare shoulder to shoulder. aBut you were conflicted when you went into the hospital, Reeve. Youave been conflicted as long as Iave known you. So youall pardon my momentary suspicion when, the moment you get home, you throw yourself at me? After swearing off s.e.x entirely just a week ago.a Itas there in front of me, a yawning abyss of my own making, no longer avoidable since Dr. Hanta applied her fixative. I am stuck with the me that I have become, unable to restore that which is missing. aIam not who I was a week ago,a I say tightly. aShe fixed the memory leakage, for one thing. And Iave acquired a restored sense of my own mortality from somewhere I donat want to talk about, except itas not anything that they did to me. I think.a But a cynical corner of my mind says, You said aI love you,a didnat you? Last time you did that, your CY-hack was triggered. Someoneas tweaked your netlink, havenat they?

The cold horror that steals over you when you wake up unsure whether you died in the night has just stroked its bony hand along my spine. Somewhere between the cooling puddle of blood in the library bas.e.m.e.nt and Dr. Hantaas sly consent, I seem to have lost something. Samas right, old-me wouldnat be doing this. Old-me would be scared of different things, and rightly soa"and Iam still scared of Fiore and Yourdon, and I still want out of their perverse managed society, but weare on board a MASucker, and I know what that means.

aI still want you,a I tell him. Although a worm of doubt adds, aIam just not sure I want you for the same reasons I wanted you last week.a aTheyave gotten to you.a I laugh shakily. aThey got to me a long time ago. I just didnat notice until now.a I clutch at him, but as much from terror as l.u.s.t. aWhy are you here, Kay? Why did you sign up for the experiment?a aI followed you.a aBulls.h.i.+t!a I can see it now. aThatas not enough. And donat tell me it was to get away from your time with the ice ghouls. Why did you go there? What were you running away from?a Sam is silent and unresponsive for a while. aIf I tell you, youall probably hate me.a aSo?a I see an opportunity. Shuffling up onto the bed I pull my legs up under my dress and sit cross-legged with my hands in my lap. aIf I listen to your story and I donat hate you afterward, will you let me f.u.c.k you?a aI donat see what thatas got to do witha"a aLet me be the judge of my motives, Sam.a Even if theyare contaminated. aYou keep trying to second-guess me. Itas getting to be a bad habit. Before, I didnat want to sleep with you for reasons that made sense at the time. Then when the reasons no longer apply, you say Iam acting out of character. You donat give me credit for being able to change of my own volition.a He shakes his head.

aHave you any idea how insulting that is?a aThatas not what I meanta"a aI am capable of change, thatas why Iam here!a I draw a deep breath. aIam not who I was during the war, Sam, or before it, or even after it. Iam who I am now, which is the end product of all those other people becoming one another. They can put you into the dark ages, but they canat put the dark ages into you, not short of truncating your life expectancy to about three gigasecs or erasing so many memories you might as well be . . .a I trail off. Iave got a strange feeling that I just realized something vitally important, but Iam not sure what.

He looks at me oddly. aYouall hate me,a he says. aI did terrible things.a aSo?a I shrug. aI did bad things, too. People out there wanted to kill me, Sam. I thought it was something to do with a mission I was on and had accidentally erased, but now Iam not so sure; maybe they were just after me because of, well, one of the people I used to be. A person who fought in the war. A combatant.a He rocks back and forth thoughtfully. an.o.body here but us war criminals,a he says.

It is very interesting to discover that the phrase amy blood runs colda actually reflects a physical sensation. It is much less pleasant to do so while sitting next to someone you love unconditionally and currently canat share a room with without needing a change of underwear, and whoas just triggered that sensation in your head. And itas even worse when you realize that what he said applies to you, too. an.o.body here but us monsters,a I say, trying to be flippant. aOr amnesiacs haunted by the ghosts of their past lives.a aHas it occurred to you that YFH-Polity might be very convenient for a certain type of person?a Sam asks slowly.

Iam getting impatient. aAre you going to lay me down on this bed and have s.e.x with me after you finish lecturing me to death?a He turns a funny color. aIf we both still want to.a If we both still want to. Well, I guess you just have to work with what youave got. aIam all ears,a I say.

He shudders. aDonat say that.a aWell itasaa"not literallya"atrue. Sort of.a aWhere were you when the war broke out?a he asks.

Oops. I didnat expect him to ask that. Revealing that kind of thing would be a big no-no under normal circ.u.mstancesa"a breach of operational security that could allow an opponent to work out exactly who you are and thereby figure out all sorts of useful things about you, enough to endanger you operationally, because virtually everything you ever did in public is stored in a database somewhere. Buta"weare in the guts of a MASucker, and if Iam not mistaken, thereas only one data channel in or out, and Sam isnat part of the cabal, and I reckon the current risk of our being eavesdropped on is low. Nor are these normal circ.u.mstances.