Chronophage by M.G. Churchill

Author:M.G. Churchill
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Chronophage
Publisher: Green Arbor Publishing
Published: 2014-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

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“Pompidou”

Cube Zero's flowerpot floated in space then disappeared, replaced by tangerine gradients of a virtual dawn. Pierre removed the Katsuhiro goggles from Zara's head. Like old digital, he'd wired her spinal jack with ribbon cable. Inset among the media panel was the glint of the spinal shunt. Pierre powered down the dorsal and limbic multiplexer then pulled the device from its socket.

“Keep it,” he said, handing her the dongle. “For next time. I've copied the micro-voltages into memory and wiped it. It's ready to record again. Now, what do you remember?”

Like an eager child, Pierre lorded over her, anxious for detail. At first, the replay was like any other dream, hazy fragments stitched into nonsense. But the detail quickly dissolved. He started to speak when Zara shushed him. She closed her eyes to concentrate, fighting to gather the fleeting memories.

“Water,” Zara said, eyes still pinched.

Pierre pushed a glass across the desk. She took a sip.

“I was outside, one of the seas, The Sea of Storms, or The Sea of Rains. There was a firefight,” she started.

Pierre dimmed his office lights. “And then...?”

“—And then I escaped; I ran away. There was a man with me... an enemy soldier, a unionist guerrilla.” Zara paused, biting her lip. “But that doesn't make any sense, does it?”

“Go on. Get it out. Remember, we're recording this.” Pierre pointed to a nearby camera pod. “We can piece it together later.”

“His name was Noland —or Norbert —or Nicolas —something with an 'N'. He reminded me of my father.” Zara struggled with the dream logic. Wading through the drift-dive recording was no guarantee, Pierre had warned. The limbic data compression was poor, the resolution degraded, the experience susceptible to information decay. “I helped him. He was injured. His head had exploded.”

“Exploded?” Pierre sniggered.

“I don't know, Pierre” Zara whinged, stymied. “There was blood all over his head. He didn't have a face.”

Pierre composed himself then apologized, begging her to continue.

“He needed help, so I helped him. Then Julian was with me.”

“Your ex-boyfriend Julian?”

Zara's eyes wandered off, unfocused and blank. Caught in the moment, her mouth fell wide.

“You were dreaming about your ex-boyfriend?” Pierre scoffed.

“I wasn't dreaming; I was in drift-dive. He was there with my father... I think it was my father —Shit!” Zara clenched her fist in frustration. “I was angry at Julian.”

“Like you were angry at your father...”

Annoyed the session had devolved into a couch trip, Zara got up and paced Pierre's office. Unlike a dream, the spinal shunt recorded experience —a drift-dive experience— based on events from her waking life. No matter the disjointed logic and missed segues, Malik had insinuated Julian into her drift-dive; she was sure of it. Everything remembered was real.

“This Nicolas person wasn't my father; he just acted like my father.” Put out, Zara plopped down into the mushy folds of Pierre's sofa.

“Dorsal and limbic multiplexing is imperfect, like human memory is imperfect. Mix that with a drift-dive dream state and...” Pierre shrugged, “who knows?” He got up and wandered over to the office window.

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