“Hey Tils!” Diane says.
“Hey, Di,” I say, folding my face into a smile—even if she can’t see it, she’ll hear it in my voice. I lean on my right elbow, like Tila does. She pitches her voice different from me, a little lower, but aside from that, our inflections are identical. We can still speak at the same time if we want to. It unnerves people when we do it. Diane’s speaking, and I focus on her words.
“… You can make it to the gallery this weekend, right? You’ll love this new artist. Such dark, fascinating work.”
And here we go. “Sorry, Di, I’m gonna be out of town for a while.”
“Really? Where?”
“China. Taema’s got a job and I’m going with her. Can you believe it?” I strive for Tila’s lighter tone.
“Oh, it’ll be lovely this time of year. How long are you going?”
“Not sure. I have an open ticket. Might even be a few months.”
“Wish I could come! Are you going to get one of those virtual assistants to help you do everything?”
I laugh and say probably not. We chat for a bit. It’s not that difficult at all to be my sister. I was worried it would be, with how much she’s changed the last few years. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to bridge that final gap. Perhaps it was just different hair, a different face, a different job. I can slip into her personality almost as easily as my own. I thought it’d make me feel braver, but it only makes me all the lonelier.
Diane never asks me what’s wrong, or if I’m feeling all right. I’ve masked everything behind Tila’s mannerisms. She’s brasher, doesn’t self-edit before she speaks. Or at least she doesn’t appear to, so it makes it seem she has nothing to hide. Though, obviously, she did.
I say farewell to Diane and make my way through the other names on the list. The only people I don’t ping are the friends from Zenith, since Nazarin says we’ll be going there soon enough.
When he first proposed that, so soon, I thought he was crazy. But now, as I say goodbye to Tila’s last friend on my list, I think it won’t be as bad as I fear. Although I have a lot less experience with seeing how the “hostess Tila” acts at work. Her job is a far cry from anything I’m used to doing—the machines I work with don’t speak to me, as I’m not in robotics—and I wonder if they’ll see straight through me as soon as I set my foot through the door.
After I finish pinging everyone, I lie down in an actual bed in my room and doze.
Nazarin comes for me a few hours later. When he knocks I tell him to enter, forcing myself to sit up. Though he’s only slept four hours, he looks refreshed, whereas I’m sure my hair is frizzy and my makeup has smeared halfway down my face. “No rest for the wicked, I’m afraid,” he says. “I’m to plug you back in. I’ll be going back out again. I’m needed.”
I get up, pulling my sweater around my shoulders. “What for?”
“Security for a Verve drop.” He sighs. We go downstairs. My feet drag on every step.
“Who are they selling it to?”
He grimaces. “They’re bribing a Zeal lounge, one of the shitty, off-grid ones, to spike the Zeal with Verve.”
My eyes widen. “Why?”
“I think they’re experimenting with it on a wider scale, and using the Zealots as a testing ground.”
“Fuck,” I say. Zealots are those who become so addicted to Zeal that they spend more of their lives plugged in than out. Sometimes, if their fantasies are too violent or depraved, the government takes an interest, worried that they might pose a threat to society despite Zeal’s soporific aftereffects. So some go off-grid and take Zeal in unregulated, horrible dumps. Anything for their dreams. Most of them don’t live long, spending so much time within the Zealscape they stop eating and waste away. I’ve always wondered why the government never cracked down on those illegal Zeal lounges. Now, with a sinking feeling, I wonder if it’s because letting them starve is easier and cheaper than stasis.
“I know. They have an orderly there, a lucid dreamer, who will be tasked to see how many dreams he can mine and how quickly. There might be more to it as well, but as a Knight, they don’t tell me much, and I can’t ask questions. I want to stop it, but I can’t.”
Because it’d blow his cover. That’s another aspect I haven’t thought of—how I’ll have to see horrible things and let them slide, because to speak up would make me stand out.
I don’t want to talk about it any more. “What are you shoving into my brain this time?” I ask in dread.
“We’ll give your brain a rest from Ratel info. Some of the data now will be physical fighting techniques. The rest of it…” Unease flickers over his features, and I can feel it mirrored in my own. “This … might not be easy for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s to help you with going to Zenith. Help you fit in.”
“You interviewed a hostess?”