She gestured to the chair in the middle of the room.
By the look in the boy’s eyes, he could tell it wasn’t just a chair.
No one ever thinks it’s just a chair.
The boy glared at it as Dr. Solara offered him one of her winning smiles.
Normally the smile is enough. It’s the reason Dr. Solara has earned the title of «Mediator.» She’s good with the offenders. Mediators have to have smiles like that. It’s part of the job description.
I, on the other hand, just have to know how to push the buttons. Sometimes I think that’s all I am to them—a button pusher. The guy who writes the code. Who uploads the file. Who performs the final system tests to make sure the restorations are successful.
What they don’t seem to understand is that there’s an art to it. Ultimately, Revisual+ is a programming language like any other. But the language of memories is so much more than just logic and a degree in software engineering.
I observed the boy’s reaction carefully, waiting for that inevitable moment when he finally surrendered to his fate. When he succumbed to whatever kind of procedure this was. When he finally resigned to sitting in the chair that’s clearly not just a chair.
Eventually they all surrender.
The needle came from behind. Almost immediately after the boy sat down. It jutted out from the seat’s tall back, puncturing him in the neck. His whole body stiffened.
«Don’t worry,” Dr. Solara assured him again with another radiant smile, pushing the hair back from his forehead. «It will be over before you know it. And you won’t remember a thing.»
I rolled up to my desk to prepare my system for retrieval. As the boy’s eyelids started to sag, his gaze floated languidly in my direction. For a second, I swore he could actually see me, his accusing eyes penetrating the barrier between us.
Of course, I knew this was ridiculous. The only thing he could see on the other side of that window was whatever soothing landscape the doctor had chosen to project.
But I ducked my head nonetheless and focused on my monitor.
Dr. Solara appeared through the door a minute later, after the delivery boy was out. She ran her fingers through her short blond hair, tugging on the ends as though she meant to pull them straight from the roots.
«What a piece of work, huh?» she grunted, all traces of femininity wiped clean from her voice.
I opted not to comment. In the three years I’ve been working here, I’ve learned that the less I engage in conversation, the better. «Retrieval in sixty seconds,” I reported.
She sighed and pressed her balled fists to her hips. No smiles in this room.
The download progress bar inched its way across my screen, filling empty space with digital green pigment.
«Ready for metadata,” I announced, fingers poised on keys.
Dr. Solara lowered herself into the adjoining station and began to list off the subject’s stats. «Name: Niko Benz. Age: Nineteen. Occupation: Employee at Sunset Valley Flowers and Gifts. Address: 171 North Cannon …»
I entered the data with the precision and speed of a machine.
«How much do you need to see?» I asked.
«The last two weeks.» I immediately noted the annoyance in her tone. Having to review that much footage is a daunting task. «Filter out anything that doesn’t reference the infraction. I don’t need to watch this guy taking a dump.»
I yawned and input the search parameters. The results spit out a moment later and I transferred them to her terminal, activating the Revisualization program.
Dr. Solara rubbed at her painted cheeks as she watched the downloaded memories play out on the screen. I tried to keep my eyes glued to my own monitor, knowing full well that it’s not the coder’s job to assess the infraction. It’s only my job to remove it. And of course, leave something believable in its place.
But it was hard not to look. Especially once I saw the reason the boy was here.
The reason he was unconscious in that room on the other side of the window. And then everything became clear.
It was a girl.
But not just any girl.
Her intoxicating purple eyes flashed in and out of the delivery boy’s mind all day. Her flawless face mesmerized him. Consumed him. He thought about her everywhere he went. He fantasized about her constantly. Caressing her smooth bronzed skin. Running his fingers through her silky caramel–colored hair. Kissing her delectable pink lips.
It was she who kept him coming back. Who captivated the poor boy beyond reprieve. He was originally sent here on a routine delivery. A fruit basket, of all things. An innocent task turned into something else.
And for a face that exquisite, it was hard to blame him.
I felt myself leaning forward in my chair, gazing at Dr. Solara’s monitor. Falling into the delivery boy’s fantasies. Replacing his hands, his fingers, his mouth with my own.
It was the time codes on my screen that finally jolted me out of my trance. I surveyed them as they flickered past, seeming to go on forever. Two weeks’ worth of memories.
And she was in nearly every single one of them.
«Damn it!» Dr. Solara cursed, pushing her chair back violently. I could feel her stale, coffee–soaked breath on my face. «There are references everywhere. It’s all this guy thought about for two frickin’ weeks.»
She switched off her monitor and I solemnly watched the girl’s delicate face dissolve into blackness, the brilliant purple hue of her eyes the last to fade.
Dr. Solara groaned and rose to her feet, but her body remained hunched over in defeat. «Just …» she began with a frustrated sigh. «… take it all.»
«Doctor?» I questioned, a flash of panic shuddering through me. «Are you sure? A two–week restoration will take all night. Not to mention the potential side effects on the subject.»
She shot me a look that immediately made me regret the objection. «Well, what the hell do you expect me to do? If they had caught this pervert on day one, this wouldn’t be an issue.» She paused near the exit, thinking. Hesitating.
I noticed her head shake ever so slightly before she shoved open the door. «Replace the whole damn thing.»
Chapter Two
I bristled as the cold air of the server room smacked against my face. It was a harsh contrast from the sweltering desert climate outside. The three cups of coffee I’d guzzled after I woke up were doing nothing to keep me alert, but the artificially chilled air was definitely helping.
I hadn’t gone to bed until four in the morning. As predicted, the restoration took all night. And the only reason I wasn’t there four hours longer was because I was able to use precoded memory templates for the majority of the restore. It’s a common practice among coders to save time. Taking frequently occurring memories from the subject’s mind, copying them, and tweaking small details to make them feel fresh. Routine events like eating breakfast, showering, getting dressed, going to work, watching movies can seem believably new just by updating a few details.
But despite how exhausted I’d been been when I returned to my apartment, sleep simply wouldn’t come. Every time I closed my eyes I saw her face. Those sparkling purple eyes danced in the darkness. That hair draped across my neck. Those lips called out to me. I’d tossed and turned until daylight came streaming through the window and the effects of the sleepless night started to gnaw away at my sanity.
It was like I wanted her. No …
Like I needed her.
And the need was so desperate, so unfounded and relentless, it had started to consume me.
I had to at least see her with my own eyes.
Not through the grainy filter of the delivery boy’s faulty, unreliable memory.
What are you doing? I asked myself as I made my way down one of the long aisles of the server room. Glowing machines were stacked from floor to ceiling, each of them holding millions of byte–sized secrets. Like tiny fortresses.
But I only cared about one.