"She kept them underground." Amy frowned. "Didn't you know? Isn't that where you found them?"
"No," Portia said, with Amy's mouth. "These morons only found my search party. They have no idea how many we are."
The pouch dropped straight from Dr Kamiyama's trembling hand.
"Get this straight, you fucking chimp. My name is legion."
Amy now measured time in how often the members of the team changed their clothes. It wasn't the most precise measurement, but in the absence of windows or clocks it was what she had. By this count, she had spent roughly a week in Redmond. On the seventh day, Dr Singh put her halfway in the Cuddlebug, sat her at the table, and presented her with a huge, multi-course meal.
They're trying to make you iterate. They want to steal your baby and study it.
Examining the plates piled high with chunks of feedstock, Amy wondered if maybe that was in fact the case. Why else would they give her so much material to work with?
"What's all this?"
"Big day, today." Dr Singh handed her a thin pancake. Tiny flecks of carbon glittered in its surface. Utensils were out of the question. Dr Singh had suggested a vN variety of naan as a replacement. "You're going to be entering a deep game immersion. You won't eat for a few hours. So you'd better fuel up now."
Amy re-examined the plates. They were the smart kind; if she'd asked, they would have told her how many ounces she was eating from each. But she didn't need to ask.
"There's too much here," she said. "If I eat all this without having to repair myself, it'll trigger the iteration process." She leaned as far forward as the Cuddlebug would allow. "Will I have to repair myself?"
"No. It'll just wear you out, that's all."
"How do you know?"
"I've seen it happen." Dr Singh stood. "I thought you'd be happy with the spread. Your mother says you were never allowed to eat as much as you wanted. She says you were always hungry."
Amy shut her eyes. She was going to cry, and she didn't want Dr Singh or the others to see it. They'd seen so much, already. "Please let me see her," she said in her meekest voice. "Please."
"We'll see. For now, try to eat. You'll need your strength."
The immersion, they said, would help them take a picture of her memory structure. In order to be scanned properly, it had to be in use. Dr Casaubon had developed it over the past week, using existing game footage and the data gleaned from Amy's current gameplay patterns.
"With this, we learn more about your memory, and the nonna memory." Dr Casaubon was the only member of the team whose English wasn't quite right. "We bring the nonna out, but in a safe place."
The Cuddlebug had deposited her in a smaller room than usual. The walls were padded with sound-insulating foam. The projectors were new. Amy saw ragged edges of ceiling around their housings. The installers hadn't had time to make their work pretty.
"Nonna?" she asked.
"Portia. Tuo spirito familiare."
The speakers made him hard to hear. Amy couldn't see him. If they were watching her, it was via cameras. The room darkened. The projectors warmed up.
"We see what Portia see," he said. "We know what she know."
"Excuse me?"
"You drive car."
The room grew. Or rather, the projection deepened. It was stunning. Now Amy understood why the units needed to be new. She knew that the image of the maroon Jeep stretching around her was not real, but her systems registered the steering wheel and dashboard and two-lane blacktop spooling away from them as real data. The illusion probably wouldn't have fooled organic eyes, but for her it was seamless.
"This is my favourite game. You play, now."
Amy focused on the image of the car. As she did, it rippled to show her the car's interior with two hands on the wheel – her hands. Now she drove along a twisting country road, the headlamps her only light. She guided the car with her vision. It veered this way and that, depending on the slightest motion of her eyes. It felt tricky and too sensitive at first, but eventually she learned how to take in the whole picture without looking at specific parts too closely, thus keeping the car on the road. Rain spattered across the windshield, and as she squinted to get a better glimpse, wipers appeared to deal with the drops. She settled back in the chair. This was easy. She had played much more difficult scenarios before. She would do fine in this one. Portia had barely made a sound, and–