The half hearted smile slips from my face.
The room is soundproof. Outside in the hallway, dozens of people must walk by, but I can’t hear any of them. It’s as if this room is all that exists, and the only sounds are the short susurrations of the machine, and the faint sounds of three humans’ breaths.
“What do you want me to suggest to him?”
“Nothing this time. Just observe. You don’t want him to notice you.”
“All right.” I turn off the brain recording. I’m not sure if it’ll work in the Vervescape, and Kim told me not to use it for too long.
She plugs me in, prepping syringes. If they can do it Chairless, like they did with my Test, why go through the steps here? Perhaps it’s still in process, or the level Ensi dosed me with was too low. I hadn’t even realized I was on it.
“Night, night,” Malka says from above me.
I float away.
*
Mr. Mantel’s dream is grainy. Small flecks of white float along my vision like static. I focus on making myself invisible as a ghost. I’m not here, I try to tell the dream. Don’t notice me. I’m just another speck.
The static parts, the dream clearing. The colors brighten until it’s as vivid as Mia’s dreamscape. Mr. Mantel has a woman tied up on a bed in a penthouse apartment. It’s Sharon Roux. The woman is the mayor of San Francisco.
She’s as naked as he is, their clothes scattered around the room. Fresh bruises paint her legs and upper arms. Nowhere they’d show in her suit. I furrow my brow, until I see her smiling. She wants the restraints, and he wants to restrain her.
He crawls on top of her again, beginning anew. He hurts her, she cries out, she smiles, he smiles. It’s different from the Zealscape. He’s not killing her. There’s no blood. No oily muck. No monsters. They’re both enjoying themselves with pleasure and pain.
It seems to me like he’s reliving a memory. Verve can enhance memories, so you relive them in glorious hyper-saturated color. It’s a strange sensation, to watch someone having sex, knowing that you’re strapped into a Chair and another woman is monitoring your physical sensors. I don’t look away, though. I’m doing my duty and observing everything, in the hope I notice what Malka wants me to.
Why has Mr. Mantel chosen this memory to relive? What is he enhancing? How will he be when he wakes up? Angrier? Ready to come back again tomorrow? And what will the Ratel suggest to him? There are so many options. To take a deal that will profit the mob. To hold back a patent or push forward another? Or they could overwrite his personality completely, and make him into whatever they want. If they have the main man of the most powerful company in the world as their puppet, think what they could do. Control the top of Sudice through Mr. Mantel, and control the bottom by sending violent, hungry Zealots, reprogrammed by Verve, into the fray. Topple the structure and make what they want of it.
After what seems like hours, Mr. Mantel and Mayor Roux have finished. Mantel unwraps her restraints and they sprawl across silken sheets.
Pillow talk. Time to focus. I shift closer, keeping to the shadows. Neither of them notices me. Even in the dream world, my temples throb and my stomach feels as though I’ve swallowed rocks, despite the fact that I turned off the brain recording.
Mantel and Roux lie next to each other, but don’t quite touch. I can’t tell if they love each other or are using each other. Maybe both.
“It’s getting out of hand,” Roux says, staring up at the ceiling. Static dances across her face. Strands of dark hair cling to her glistening forehead.
“What is?” Mantel asks, folding his hands behind his neck.
“The Ratel situation. Do you know how much of my time it’s taking up these days?”
“I can only imagine.”
She bares her teeth. “They have to be stopped, Mantel. It’s your pharmaceuticals they’ve twisted.”
“You think I don’t realize that? I don’t see how they can be stopped.”
“Yeah, yet it means the criminal bastards are out on the streets. There was a robbery last week. From a civilian. We had to cover it up. But I don’t think we’ll be able to do that much longer. And what if there’s a murder? We’ll have riots. This is a delicate balance, and I don’t want it to fall in the Ratel’s favor.”
“We’re trying to find a countermeasure, but it’s taking time.”
“We don’t have time.” Roux sits up, the bed sheet falling to pool at her waist. Her large breasts defy gravity, thanks to the wonders of flesh parlors. I don’t feel Mantel’s emotions like I did when Kim played Nazarin’s memories, but it seems somehow linked. How else can these drugged dreams be so clear, if they aren’t somehow messing with implants?
Everything’s connected.