Memory Lane
This story (the prequel to Babylon Dutch, for those who have read it and a newer version than than that seen by two people here on lj) has its tongue firmly in its cheek...
For Lorna, the journey through the precinct had been tough - dodging masonry loosened by the last shake, ducking under the sorts of wicked metal-edged entry hatches made to guillotine you instantly if they came down with a mind to. And there were the Purgs of course, wild and roaming, having to listen to them weep and wail out of the shadows as she made her way through the tunnels.
All so she could arrive at the old man's broken dwelling - sunk and secure behind heavy iron, steel grills, locks and bolts, a castle in the underground. How many times now? Each visit felt like a first - gazing around at the cob-webs, the piles of paper, the faded paintings, the cob-webs, rat shit and dust. And She was nervous, always, her knuckles whitening on the handles of her heavy duffel bag. The clinking of the equipment inside it was her only reassurance.
How many times?
"I don't remember," she'd said.
"Well, you're young - there's not much surprise in that." The old man had responded.
"I suppose it was a long time ago...?"
"Ah. What is time these days but an itinerant child - misbehaving and dragging its heel and hiding from the teacher."
Conversations that made no sense.
"Stars, my dear we're talking of stars. You may have seen them."
And Lorna thought of the calm and far off glitter - but maybe that was just a picture.
"I'm sorry - I don't get topside so often."
A chuckle from the man.
"Not those stars my dear, REAL stars of flesh and blood and more. The stuff of dreams. Brighter than a thousand suns - out, out brief candle and lost now in the dark."
The dark was something Lorna knew well.
"I'm just here to clean. Really." Her voice low.
"Up my dear, look up and see the stars. You are in the presence of one now - perhaps the last! Yes, I am the last of my kind. We danced under the eyes of millions - their eyes were like white light - but we were brighter yet."
And Lorna could believe even if she couldn't understand. And the old man's eyes were so very bright.
And then there was light - and it flashed hot and sudden and fierce and hurtful as biting flame, and she was held by that light as it tore through her, delving through the skin, racing through her veins, burning her from the inside - until there was nothing of those insides left.
And the old man sounded sad.
"It is not good to stand in the light of stars my dear. Some people burn under the glare."
But Lorna could not hear those words or see the light or feel the fire any longer.
Memory Lane: part one
For Suri, the journey through the precinct had been tough - dodging masonry loosened by the last shake, ducking under the sorts of wicked metal-edged entry hatches made to guillotine you instantly if they came down with a mind to. And there were the Purgs of course, having to listen to them weep and wail out of the shadows was - well, when a couple had come out into plain sight, she'd shot them just to shut them up. And that wasn't easy in her condition.
All so she could push through the shabby doors and into the mobile District Office, her feet making a dragging sound on the cheap flooring.
"Beginning to think you'd lost us, hah, hah!" Warm words of welcome, as ever.
"No thanks to this."
Suri deposited her locator on the rack with the others, meant to do the same with the gun but her fingers were too slippery now, so she settled instead for slouching up to the reception desk and thunk!-ing it down on that.
The man behind the desk looked at the gun. Then he looked at the girl.
"You look like shit," he said.
When a few hours earlier you could've bet that the night's end would find you looking like a CORPSE, then looking like anything else at all seems just dandy. Suri leant back and took the compliment for what it was - just Harry being an ass-hole as per, but in a well-intentioned way.
"I worked hard for this look... no/one here works harder, period."
That might be true, but then no/one in the station, except Harry maybe, seemed to recognise the fact.
"How long does that stuff take to come off?"
Harry eased himself off the seat that his weight was gradually crushing and leant his body across the desk instead. It flopped like something amphibian.
And there was the musty smell of noodles and packet sauce wafting up from the hairs on his chin.
But Suri looked worse. Disguise was partly the problem - she was uncomfortable enough in her dumb maid's outfit, but the false face imaging was beginning to run, at least one of the tired eyes blinking at Harry was a real one. The others were gradually melting away.
"Can't be quick enough for me - that's all I know." she was casting around for a chair but there wasn't one - chairs got thrown too often, Harry had claimed his as wound compensation. Shrewd.
"I hope you know a lot more than that!" The snapping voice belonged to Suri's boss, Ana. She had opened the door to her inner sanctum specifically to catch Suri. Her eyes were glittering.
"We'll need a full debriefing you know."
"Yeah, yeah - sure... I mean, I can tell you what happened... some of it anyway."
"But he's gone right?" Harry was always one to stress the positive. "You did that ok?"
Suri sighed. "Oh sure - he's a wipe. Ain’t no trace left - I guess that's why it's hard to remember it all clearly, maybe _"
"That's why we're pressed for time!" Ana cut in. "If the wipe is good - then you have to get a report in and quick. Right?"
"Ok, ok, I'll just grab a coffee and -"
"Use the machine in here." A long fingered hand pointed back into her room.
Suri nodded - there was a shudder than ran through the building - a rumble soon after. They were used to the tremors - but you couldn't talk over them. The strip lights blinked. Suri walked carefully to her boss’s door.
Harry craned his head around to offer a smile but the young agent was already gone and the heavy door shut behind her.
.............................................
"Looks like Halloween just happens all the time."
Suri had gazed around at the damp flaking walls, a paper-mache mausoleum of newsprint, paste and wire; the mess of lanterns, toys, parts of toys, masks, and what was that -make up?
"Well then," said the old man, "you can appreciate my need for a cleaner."
Suri nodded but she wasn't looking at the man, not yet, she was still surveying the crumbling piles of books, the bric-a-brac, the yawning folds of curtain and the blank canvas that hung like -
"Is that for movies? You have movies?"
There was a dry chuckle, guy must be used this by now, movies being what they were - and that being non-existent and certainly very, very expensive. "You must be rich - I mean rich, rich."
"Ah my dear - naturally, or I could not possibly afford your, um, services."
The old man moved directly into her view - irritated slightly by her refusal to make obvious eye contact.
"No need to be shy my dear."
The old face was simply that, old. Anonymous - she would never pick it out of a crowd. She'd expected something more charismatic than asthmatic but still, the clothes were certainly theatrical enough to mark him out; the shabby velvet of his jacket, the creased nylon of his pants, a scarf around his throat - looked like real silk.
He nodded, "Yes - yes, they all look a little disappointed... at first." He was appraising her now in turn.
"I must say... it's nice to see youth with some flesh on its bones. Nowadays - or the last time I looked anyway - people are positively cadaverous! Heh, heh!"
"Most everyone just tells me I'm short."
He blinked. "Not offended are you? I meant it as a compliment." A sniff. "Well you mustn't mind me - or my ways. There was a time, you know, when a figure like yours was all the rage... in art, pictures..."
The girl had shifted her centre of balance, if this guy tried anything...
"Have YOU ever wanted to be in pictures?" he asked.
There was a squealing sound from behind her - and a telltale scuttling.
"Quiet enough to hear the rats behind the walls and the bats in the belfry," the old man’s laugh was wheezy. The new maid just looked bemused.
"You know that's the real sign of wealth," the man waved a leprous looking hand. "These days, the most expensive thing you can buy is silence."
………………………………………………..
part two:
"So don't keep it to yourself. We need to know everything." Ana was scowling immaculately from beside the water cooler and keeping her eyes open despite the flickering lights. Suri didn't try; she waited till the damn things had steadied, before opening her own. How many have I got now - she wondered, it felt like both had formed into place but, she was so tired, it was hard to be sure.
"There's a lot," Suri began, "I mean how long was I there? Three weeks?"
"21 days precisely."
"Then you can't expect me to - I mean, to tell it like a story - it doesn't... it's not like that in my head."
Her boss sipped slowly on the metal cup she'd filled with water. That was her mug - and she was proud of it, given to her as a prize - youngest site-chief yet, good for her.
"I need a chair," Suri was telling the truth. Her legs were beginning to go. She could feel her 'skin' beginning to pool and drip under her shift. No wonder she felt queasy.
There was a stool of sorts lashed together from an old bike saddle and a metal box. When she sat down, Suri couldn't stop a nervous hand from picking at the duct tape holding the thing together. Naturally Ana had a chair, made a great play of settling herself down into it, those long fingers flicking out again now to switch on the recording machine, to unravel the earpiece and fit it snuggling in under the dark lengths of her hair. Suri could feel the plastered blonde of her own itching in response. She ran a hand through it - forgetful for an instant of her disguise - and tufts of unnatural red came lose and stuck to her palm.
"You know," she said slowly, almost to herself, "in the old days people used to say that hairy palms were a sign of madness..."
"Really?" Ana was clearly more interested in the machine, "a sign of madness," it repeated helpfully. "Well that seems to work just fine," a thin smile.
Something like a shudder ran down her body - she made no effort to hide it. Suri just hoped she could tell the story well enough to satisfy. The internal door opened suddenly, a figure in a white coat stuck a head round. "How's the feed?"
"Oh, fine - just fine." Ana sounded almost dreamy.
"Great", the technician grinned, "we're hooked in and picking you up just fine back here -everything is ready to go."
"Then... go."
"Oh - right, yes, of course," the head swiftly disappeared.
Ana leant back in her chair. "Now, tell me everything," she ordered.
.................................................
"You were watching the candles, yes?"
"What - oh, yes, - sorry I'm late."
She dumped the bag down with a heavy shlump! The man flinched slightly at the sound.
That will be me one day, he was thinking. Suri could read it in his face.
A tiny shake of the head. "Well, you're here now," an attempt at brightness, "and the candle lighting is very beautiful," he considered for a moment, "or at least I remember it that way."
Suri said nothing.
"Ah, of course - to the young everything is new and fresh." For a horrible moment she thought he was going to touch her - but he turned away, hunting for something among the jumble. "Why you would wish to waste your time with a - a cobweb like myself, I have no idea." He was talking to himself now really but Suri answered anyway.
"Well, you pay me."
The stooped figure straightened abruptly, almost fiercely.
"Yes, yes I do - of course. I pay for your time. Is it a fair price do you think?"
He had found what he was looking for, a rectangular tin with a fold back lid.
He studied it for a moment then looked up at her - staring with his rheumy eyes. "You must forgive me my dear, today I am somewhat maudlin."
Suri's attention was on the tin. "Is that...?"
"Food? Yes, Fish - real fish. Tuna. A delicacy." He let his words sink in before adding; "I feed it to my cats."
Then he was wealthy - really wealthy, and there was no mistake, the office weren't wrong and he had not been lying earlier.
..............................................
"Oh, oh - how..." Ana was actually smiling genuinely, "how - delicious!" She smoothed her clothes with her excited palms.
"Then I'm telling it right?" she asked, she was still concerned about that.
"Not telling - recalling," corrected her superior, "you are remembering."
Remembering.
The word sounded strange, but yes, it was true.
............................................
But still it was fragments; the smell of the sluice-chems as she made her way through the tunnels, the tension in her body as another tremor shook the brickwork and made the iron ring. There was the distant glimmer of the candles as the procession made it's way each night, if she was lucky enough to see it as she surfaced at a junction.
Further off was the sporadic glow of corporate electricity from those few offices left above ground.
The dark swirl of the pressing clouds and the rare flash of the moon, orange and sickly looking.
Remembering forced the images and sensations into her mind like a whoozy kaleidoscope, it was heady and strange.
"Yes, I felt quite naked under the glare of the footlights" the old man had cackled. "But I was born in a trunk, as the song says, so I got over that pretty damn quickly, heh, heh, heh. And now, since you are not answering I suppose you take me for a dementia case. Let me assure you my dear, that is far from the truth."
Suri had done her best to look curious - when in fact he had guessed her thoughts exactly.
It was intimidating how easily he could read her - or that part of her anyway.
"The stage - I'm talking about the stage!"
"But... foot lights?"
The term was new, foreign, silly sounding. "Why would you want lights on your feet? Rats'd come running at you for sure."
The old man sighed. "Figure of speech, my dear, figure of - oh, never mind. Look I'll show you. Stand over there in front of the screen."
Reluctantly she stumbled over and into position before the white scrim. "Yes, yes," the man clucked, "we can use the film projector as a - ah, good, there we are."
The beam of light was hot, bright and sudden. Despite the layering her disguise Suri flinched visibly.
"Now, now - don't be shy." The man said.
"What are you doing?"
"Imagine my dear," the man was peering into something, Suri could see his blurred outline shifting, "imagine yourself famous - known throughout the world. Oh yes, charming, charming. A famous person like you would want to be recorded for posterity, surely? Think of your fans!"
Fans meant air-conditioning, and Fay Muss, who was that?
"I - I..."
"Just a moment dear, that's right, keep still."
The sound of the whirring machine changed in pitch. All this was - with the blurring of things, with sound and outline fluid - Suri had to fight not run.
"There." The light snapped off.
Suri stumbled as though a pair of rough hands had suddenly let her go.
The man was holding up something, looked like a strip of coloured plastic. "Yes...hmm... well, not bad I suppose." He sounded disappointed, but his manners never faltered. "Charming. Would you like to see? The red of your hair has been caught rather well."
He beckoned the girl over.
Still adjusting to the change in light - and to the easing of her panic, Suri moved slowly across to join him. He held the strip up so she could see. "There that's you - on the stage, forever, or at least as good as. Of course in the old days this would be a negative, I mean you wouldn't recognise the images, but this is relatively modern so... there you are."
She looked. Yes, there was the maid looking out from the images, red hair, the little outfit of skirt and blouse, the hard shoes she wore were at odds somewhat, and of course her eyes were blue. Suri didn't recognise herself in the photographs at all. They really did a good job of me, she thought, could almost feel the fake skin she was wearing flexing its approval.
Breaking away Suri indicated the tins around her and on the shelves behind the machine.
"And you - are you on these?"
The man gave a modest bow. "But of course, Leonard Shapiro, the one and only." He put the new photograph strip down carefully on a little tray extending from the camera. "The one and only now - that's definite." A shake of the head. "Perhaps, perhaps one day you'd care to watch? Hmm?"
It took every ounce of willpower Suri had to keep the eagerness from her voice. "Oh, yes. Please. I - I've seen films before."
"Oh, where was an audience like you when I needed them?"
..............................................................................................................
part three:
"I can understand your nerves, but really Suri, you should have more faith in us and our resources."
Ana had taken advantage of Suri's pause for breath. The device on the table gurgling in readiness.
"Oh, yes - I know, but - under the light it was... I didn't expect to feel so much."
She really does hate me, Suri was thinking. Look at her, her face is flushed, there's sweat on her lip - she's just waiting for me to go on, but she has to get a dig in, every opportunity to keep me down.
Ana was still staring at her. Can she guess my thoughts? Suri wondered. Or is it the effects of all this?
"Please, go on." Ana said, a little more calmly now.
Now she's reminded me who's boss.
........................................................
Days. There were days of sorts, the regular burrowing down to the old actor's abode, squeezing through ducts and tunnels. She would never have been able to fix the route in her head - dreaded those times that the locater would suddenly cut off and she would have to rely on pure guiding instinct; fear - blindly, like a purg till it came back on and she found her way again. Eventually she would find herself in Shapiro's den and sloughing off her bag take out the equipment. Waiting for the things to start - the grinding noise when they finally did so - having to wait with her nails clenched into her palms every time the power went or a tremor killed the charge, she hated that too.
Making neat piles from the debris and trying not to scrutinise the photographs, the pages of journals, programme souvenirs, and any other personal clutter belonging to the man. Aware of the times he stood silent watching her back as she worked. It's just the costume - she told herself - the damn skimpy maid outfit that the office had told her his advert had stipulated.
She couldn't say if it was a comical or a sensual interest for him, but drawing her jacket on when the work got too messy, she could always feel his displeasure. And yet since that first time, he had been careful not to compliment her.
She almost regretted that now - compliments, she never got them anywhere else, so why not here?
It was just - wrong somehow.
So she worked, cleaning, dusting, and shifting the rubbish. She couldn't see that it made any difference to the place, but Shapiro seemed satisfied - and it was hard to know anyway with the days all blurring into one.
There were Purgs of course - but outside that was just a given, so it hardly registered.
One time though - some of them made it through the crude grating and into the vents.
The sounds of their breathing and weeping echoing down long in advance of the sight of their wild white faces and their hungry dull eyes.
Suri shot the first one before it could get its head clear of the tubing even. Another managed the drop and she took it out as it span around violently trying to assimilate the new place it found itself. Existing in a state of permanent confusion made the Purgs easier to shoot and that was only ever a good thing.
But as they continued to slop down into the main studio - it was clear that this was a large gang. And her ammo was limited.
"Cry God for Harry - England and Saint George!"
Damn if that outburst didn't cost her a bullet, zinging off the vent and ricocheted away into the mire of papers. The old actor, red faced and sticking his chest out appeared as if from nowhere with the projector in his hands - the hot white light picking out the drooling mouths and raving features of the Purgs - before they began to pop - one by one into slime and dust.
"This showing is reserved for a mature audience only!" Shapiro seemed to almost be enjoying himself - no matter the smell, the stains and the genuine danger they would face if the power went.
But the power didn't go - helluva time to catch a lucky break - and despite being driven together into the far wall of the studio they stood their ground while the projector did its work and Suri used up her bullets, Shapiro was laughing when the last purg tumbled down into nothing.
Suri never liked to see that, never had, never would. Bullets were one thing; Purgs went down and it was quick and it was clean, but that way, his way - just made her skin crawl. Her real skin.
"There now," he gasped as the last creature died, "I'd say we made quite a team! Bonnie and Clyde - Holmes and Watson - Van Helsing and - and - somebody. Heh, heh."
Suri was not laughing.
"Oh my dear - you look shaken. Don't be frightened, it's all over now. And you handled yourself like an amazon. No need to trouble yourself now. All over."
That wasn't it at all - but it was a good enough lie, so she tried to look panicked and feeble, and he seemed convinced.
And he was right about one thing - they had made a good team.
Suri didn't like that at all.
.......................................................
"Thank you," Ana's voice broke her concentration - and she was back in the office again.
"I - I've never thought of the Purgs quite like - I mean I've never noticed, their faces, not really - and the smell... you get used to it so quickly... and then you forget." The woman was talking to herself, and Suri must have reacted because she said, "I sound like him now - is that it? To you? Speaking this way?"
Suri gave a small nod, but Ana didn't seem to mind, far from it.
"Good - that's to be expected really. Such vivid experiences. Yours and," she patted her earpiece, "his."
Another nod, Suri keeping her expression guarded.
Her boss seemed to read that too, because she collected herself quickly. "Go on then - there's no reason to stop. Go on."
........................................................
"You don't like rats do you?" Shapiro had said, his hands reaching into the cage.
"It's a thing," the maid acknowledged.
"Ah, but they can be so useful!" The man made a series of unpleasant squeaking sounds, coaxing a brown longhaired rodent in his hands.
"Take Cosmo here," he said fondly, "Cosmo can generate more electricity than one of your StayCharged or whatever they're called and he's certainly better company!"
Stroking the old rat as he did so, Shapiro moved to open a copper coloured power cage and dropped Cosmo in. "He's so used to this, he practically plugs himself in!"
"You're in good spirits," Suri noted.
Shapiro straightened up. "You know," he said, "I believe you're right. Ah, must be the influence of the young. Rejuvenating, heh, heh. Or maybe it's like the old song said 'A man needs a maid'."
Suri tried not to look sour at that. "Uh, I guess."
"Music - you don't like music already?" A touch of his old querulousness creeping back.
"I like some songs. We don't get to hear them much now."
"Oh - of course, of course - I was forgetting. That's the prerogative of the elderly I'm afraid."
"I don't know - the old have a lot of memories too." S--t! That was a terrible slip to make.
But if her words sounded odd, Shapiro affected not to notice.
"Anyway," he continued, "if you want music - I have some old records about the place somewhere."
"Yeah... I moved some when I was cleaning. 'Least I figured that's what they were."
"Tidied away eh? That could be fatal."
He had finished connecting some wires together and there was a crackle of sparks that signalled Cosmo's activity. "Good lad," the old man smiled.
"We're nearly ready," he said turning to Suri, adding, "I've always liked music, there may even be some footage of me carolling away. Yes, what was the number again, Your Carbine Heart - a power ballad indeed!"
Suri feigned interest, he had lost her again.
"There!" Shapiro clapped his hands together. "And thanks to the ministrations of my maid - I believe we have two dust-free seats to recline upon as we are entertained by these wonders from the past." He waved a benign hand toward the chairs in question, one was a half-quilted definite antique, the other, ripped from a transport at some point, was nonetheless roomy and comfortable looking.
....................................
And now Ana was clearly rapt - her eyes wide and dark. "Yes, yes - exactly, exactly..." she murmured entranced by Suri's tale, the recording device purring between them.
.........................................................................................................................
part four:
These images, thought the old man; so frail - so thin - so colourless now almost, they told me the images would last... but look... is that really me, is it? That figure on the stage dancing, twirling, dramatic and commanding - comic and foolish - the many lives of an actor all the personae smeared on and rubbed away - rehearsed into the long night, to be or not to be that was the question...
"Yes, that was me..."
And they applauded on the good nights - as I bowed on the stage or when a director said "Cut - that's wrap..." in a soft impressed voice...
Or when the FEEL circuits let the viewers' pleasure overwhelm him, instantaneous across the invisible fibres of the world wide web - back when there was still a world wide web... before it collapsed finally and took humanity's memory capacity with it. He had been lucky - weird that way, always, reading too much and recording everything - so now, now he had souvenirs and old films and a memory.
Sometimes he pitied the purgs.
And then afterwards groping the blank way back to a trailer - thinking nothing - drained, The self left behind somewhere back there under the lights.
And on the flickering screen, beneath the jumping, scratching film, the stray hairs on the lens or the strip... gradually clicking into the white, the whirring white. Suri looked up.
"Just a minute my dear, I'll change the reel."
There was some fumbling in the shadows.
"Back in the day of course, there would be more than just watching, there would be - actually I might have some still, popcorn..."
"Silver packet?" She could dimly recall.
"That's the stuff. Would you like some?"
"No."
There was a tutting reply.
"I mean 'no thank you'," she corrected herself wearily. "I never eat popcorn."
This time Shapiro was chuckling.
"I say something funny?"
"No, no, not really - never mind. The curse of acting - or being in the audience," he was babbling again, she thought, "is that everything sounds like something you've heard or seen."
"For real?"
"Oh yes indeed. And there - next film!"
The screen was coming alive again.
This really is memory lane - Shapiro realised - how quaint of me. This youngster, and here I am spilling the contents, am I that eager to reveal - do I still need the attention? After all these years? Or was it after what happened before - that other girl, the other maid...
"That really you?"
The last maid may have been a horror but she was better spoken. "Yes, adorable little brat wasn't I?"
On screen a small boy in an outrageous costume of some kind - a wide hat and flaring trousers was dancing up and down the carpet of a room, firing a toy gun and whirling a rope about, with more enthusiasm than skill. The mouth was moving up and down.
"I was singing I believe. Even then I loved songs, I loved to sing - and I loved the Old West, obviously."
Oh, and I loved running through the alleys, back of the block racing as only the young will do, in a mad sprint for no reason but the pleasure of a pounding heart. Always a little gaggle of friends behind - an audience, yes, even then. The faces - those faces, dear god I haven't thought of them in years.
It made him feel dizzy the sudden memory rush.
And what else? Friends... yes... and friends meant something else too... what was it? School? The sound of a bell, the smell of a particular disinfectant... It was in his nostrils now.
"Association," his voice sounded garbled in his ears, “that's the thing - not just the pictures - not even the memories - it's the way we associate. Funny," he was fighting for breath, "funny minds we have."
There was a creaking sound as Suri got up from her seat. "You OK?"
"I'm sorry - I'll be alright in a minute, only - I'm rather old d'you see..."
"You were changing the reel..."
"Yes - that's right yes... this one." He threw out an arm to point with.
"I can help," The maid sounded concerned. "Here let me get that."
There was a rustling - so faint it seemed - as she deposited the film into place.
"I - I didn't think you knew how to..." he staggered against the near shelving, used it to balance.
"I remember now," the girl said. "There. It's done. Come and watch."
The projector was working again. He could hear the flapping sound - like applause almost.
Almost.
He felt a hand on his arm - or the pressure of a hand at least. "Hmm?"
"There..." she said again as she turned him about.
He could see the screen once more.
He could see a woman's face.
And what else? Friends, yes - and that lead to - family... yessss family, his brother Nathan, chickenpox - what was that stuff called again - the pink stuff, creosote? No, something else - and his mother so gentle as she put the stuff on, his distant wailing, and then a beautiful cool feeling.
"Better?"
The mouth of the woman on the screen was moving up and down - but the voice, he could hear her voice!
"Yes, Mom, much better."
"I think I'm having a stroke," he said.
"Hush, there now, you'll be alright. You just need some sleep."
He could feel her hand stroking his hair, "there now," he could feel a bone poking through the skin.
"You're one of - you're just like - that other girl..."
"You killed her remember? With the light?"
"Did I?"
"I'm not like her - I'm going to live - and I'm going to remember and you're going to sleep now and forget."
"Yes mom."
And so he did.
.............................
............................
"Ah - ah -" Ana was gasping, her mouth loose and her eyes rolling.
So I guess I did it right then, thought Suri with relief.
"A childhood... an education... so much... I saw... so much..."
And enough - Suri hoped, having Ana in her mind was just gross. Watching the woman now engorged and enraptured, Suri took the opportunity to rid herself of the gluey remnants of fake skin and the destabilising jelly of her facial disguise.
She'd been glad of it back in the den, back with the man - back when the light would have killed her like it had killed Lorna. But ever since her feed she'd wanted to throw off the rapidly disintegrating outer layer and give her real self some air.
Now all she needed was a shower if the pumping stations were working for once.
There was a noise as the inner door opened and one of the back-room boys staggered in - looking like someone had just shoved a needle off real good stuff up his ass. But then, in a way, they had - or rather she had.
"Did you get it all?" she asked.
The man looked at her almost blindly, but he said, "Yeah -- yes, recorded and transmitted - shit, a multiple feed!"
Suri nodded, playing it cool and hiding her elation. "Here's what you really need though," she said. "Taken direct." She held out two test tubes full of a clear liquid. "Memories are made of this," she said.
The man breathed deeply. You know - without this stuff, really, we're just Purgs who steal better." He took them eagerly.
That was when Harry burst in yelling about the cops - and the whole mobile office had to get to its feet and run again. But they were getting better at that all the time - and now, maybe, they would start to really learn and remember.
And maybe next time she wouldn't have to be the one in the dumb disguise and the stupid clothes.
Maybe.
