Thane does not understand its allure. Why would anyone want to relive their old life? The endless possibility of the future is much more enticing than the fixed and immovable past. It’s no different to him than the broken and abandoned items in the storage room at the museum.
A rush of wind funnels through the buildings and knocks him off balance, sending chills through every molecule of his body. He thinks of his apartment and its warmth. He glances up at the tall building. There is no sign of Benja or the man.
Thane turns toward the direction of his home. A movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention. He looks back and sees the man who went up with Benja exit the door of the building. The man pulls up the collar of his jacket to cover the sides of his face and crosses the street.
Where have I seen you before?
Thane decides to follow him. They walk through block after block populated by restaurants and bars still busy with the late-dinner crowd. Callisto never sleeps, especially now, when everyone is out spending their entertainment points before they lose them at Tabula Rasa.
The air is filled with the sounds of chatting, laughter, the scraping of plates, and glasses clinking. People weave by like schools of fish. Thane concentrates his attention on the back of the dark-gray jacket so he will not lose the mysterious man in the masses. He has gotten better at following—“spying,” as the Interpreter calls it. The trick is to have patience and focus. Thane has both.
When Thane looks up again, he finds himself on a familiar street. The man stops in front of a building and walks through its entrance. Thane sucks in a breath in surprise. He hides behind a couple going in the same direction and follows.
The man enters an elevator. Its door closes before Thane can get in. He jumps into the one next to it.
“Which floor?” a voice of an AI asks.
Thane thinks quickly and decides on a number. The one he knows well. He hopes he is wrong.
When the elevator door opens, the wind outside pushes against him as if warning him to stay. He pushes back and gets out. The soaring promenade is empty. When he does not see the man, he sighs in relief.
Just as he is about to turn back, Thane notices him. The dimly lit figure sits on a bench, his eyes staring up at a building down the path. Aris’s.
The temperature is near freezing this high up. The man huddles in his jacket. Around him are shadows of leafless trees and scraggly bushes. It’s a lonely image, like a black-and-white photograph Thane once saw in an art museum.
On this barren walkway, there is no place to hide. Thane doesn’t want to risk being seen. He peels his eyes off the solitary man and turns away.
Who are you? And why are you here?
Chapter Fourteen
A series of loud knocks startles Aris from sleep. She was in the middle of dreaming the same dream that has been haunting her. Bright light. The sound of the ocean. The feel of warm wind blowing in through a window. The dream has been increasing in frequency and vividness and leaves her feeling ragged each time she wakes.
She runs to the door and opens it. Benja’s haggard face greets her.
“What are you doing here? What time is it? Is something wrong?” she shoots out questions without waiting for answers.
“Let me in. Please,” he says and pushes himself through the crack of the door before she can protest.
She glances at her watch. December 19, 3:06 a.m.
“It’s three in the morning!” she says.
His eyes zero in on the dining table, where a shiny object sits. He walks to it. The copper helmet is surrounded by a mess of tools and wires.
“What is it?” he asks.
She wishes she had put it away. “Nothing. Something from work.”
“Why do you have it at home?”
“I’m trying to figure out what it does.”
She took it from the Tomb so she can have more time with it. It’s not like Thane would notice a piece of junk missing from a storage room. Still, she can’t help but feel a little guilty for having it.
Benja moves to pick it up.
“No! Don’t,” she yells and rushes to it. “It’s fragile.”
A part of its shell is open, exposing the intricate interior. She has been trying to work out a way to turn it on. It needs a power source. Everything does. But there is no switch or button to jump-start it to life.
“What is it?” he asks.
“A transmitter of some kind, I think. It’s old. But the technology is pretty advanced.”
“What does it do?”
“That, I’m not sure. I think it may be for the brain. I think the wires are for transmitting information.”
“It reads minds?”
“That’s impossible.”
Benja scoffs. “Nothing is impossible. You, my friend, need to expand your mind.”
He bends down and peers at the helmet.
“Looks like a severed head,” he says.
He is right. The copper helmet with its cut wires resembles an amputated head. She touches the ends of the wires, feeling the sharpness of the metal pricking her fingers. They remind her of arteries and veins—transporters of blood, the life force in a human.
“What if it really does read minds?” he asks.
It is a far-fetched theory, Aris thinks. The mind is complicated. It is infinitely creative and deep. Thoughts are not linear like conversations. They are not bound by rules.
Aris imagines reading a person’s mind would be like sliding down a tunnel where different bends take you on tangent paths that lead to confusion.
“Or dreams,” he says.
“With you, it always goes back to that,” she says.
He answers with a mischievous smile.
“So, what’s going on? You didn’t come here to analyze
