“Hey mister, have a light?”
He doesn’t immediately respond, but her presence and attention to him must be sufficiently alluring, as Matilda hasn’t even produced a visible cigarette.
“Uh… yeah, sure.” Reaching into his pocket, he produces a plastic lighter of a neon hue that screams ‘gas station’. “I’m. I’m Dominic, by the way.”
Matilda reaches out to take the lighter, and her touch lingers on his hand just so much before finally taking it from him. It doesn’t take long for Dominic’s firewalls to melt. Within minutes, they exchange views, a checkmark catalog of mutual interests, a half-dozen more artfully-accidental touches. He puffs his chest and musters what swagger he can.
“Oh sure, The Tower. Yeah, I work there. I’m pretty much the Head of Security.”
She knows he’s lying, but his clearance is more than sufficient for what they need.
“You’re keeping us all safe.” Matilda places a hand on his leg. “You don’t even know what it means to people. People like me.”
Dominic’s eyes dilate even more. He nervously slams back the rest of the alcohol in his glass.
Within thirty minutes – and after a light kiss – Matilda has woven a truly inspired backstory, a veritable rolling tapestry about a shattered family, a difficult youth. Dominic accepts this information with white-knight earnestness and begins divulging intimate confidences of his own. Despite the loud, crowded club it’s as if the two of them have cut themselves off from the rest of the world. Matilda revels in the euphoric momentum of his utter, transported enchantment. His desire to comfort her burns through his crippling shyness. An unspoken, seething heat – no less intense for either of them, although ignited by radically-different chemistries – blazes inside both of them.
Through that strange, warping fugue of mutual but variant desire, she finds herself in his dark apartment. She asks him whether he has anything more to drink, and Dominic pours two glasses of cheap wine. She takes his hand and stares into his eyes. He is completely open. There are no barriers between them now. She puts her glass of wine on the table, and they merge in a long, deep, final kiss.
Dominic doesn’t even notice as the inky darkness begins to consume his eyes
Even if he does, it’s too late. That dam has been blown. Information and memories begin to flow into the devouring Scry.
His memories, his true memories, play for both to see. One losing them, the other gaining them forever. The moments of truth, the moments of his real life. All thought lost when he interfaced with the System and joined the Cyberside.
Growing up in a suburb of Los Angeles. School. The parents. Christmas in Tahoe. His first kiss. The family moving to Boston. A lonely prom. Berkeley. Joining a raucous fraternity. The brotherhood of Sigma Alpha Epsilon. Working as an intern in Silicon Valley. Promotions. A wedding. Vacation in Italy. A son. Head of Information Security Department. A funeral with two caskets, one smaller than the other. Alcoholism. Lonely evenings. Mass-media chaos. Global panic. A dying world. The decision to leave for the network. Details. Details. Details. Little fragments of what had been his life. He sees it all.
Then his life in the Cyberside.
Trying to start anew. Working at the Tower. System memories substituted for real ones. Raids. Roundups. A child torn away from its mother. Endless batches of slaves entering into the city. Meeting Donovan face to face. Access codes for security systems. Hidden security entrances into the Tower. Attempts to break away from meaningless routines.
Attempts to escape from this world.
Each memory fades as the life drains out of his shell, his eyes slowly closing. As the last few stray streams of data are drained from his mind, all that he once was now becomes part of her.
She experiences his last thought. It’s almost always the same, with those she’s consumed: Remember me.
Not the way he is here, but as he once was – before this world.
Before the migration.
His lifeless lips part from hers. His body collapses to the floor. With tears streaming down her cheeks, Matilda sits down next to him.
“Thank you, Dominic,” Matilda says to the dark, silent room. “I’ll remember you, I promise.”
It takes her longer than usual to recover, but eventually Matilda composes herself.
Carefully closing the apartment door behind her, a solemn Scry makes her solitary way back to a dreary motel room.
Where a Taciturn waits in silence.
Chapter 9: “The Tower”
Matilda and Taciturn stare up at the looming presence of Donovan’s Tower. For the first time since their arrival in Babylon, James is starting to seriously doubt they’ll have enough time.
He wants to trust the information Matilda has acquired with her Scry powers, but it’s led them to an offshoot of the complex – and a dead end. His frustration reaches a critical point when he notices the girl continuing to walk towards the wall.
“What… what are you doing?”
She either ignores him or doesn’t hear. Stepping right up to the wall, Matilda pushes on a wad of gum stuck to it. A holographic keypad appears, and Matilda quickly enters a series of codes. Once she keys the final code, the wall retracts, revealing an entrance. Satisfied, Matilda turns to face him, grinning.
“Did you see that?”
Nodding his acknowledgment, James steps through the discovered doorway. The passageway is dark, but eventually leads to a large chamber. Large statues flank both sides of the room.
“Um… this wasn’t part of Dominic’s memories. What the hell is this?”
Perplexed, Taciturn cautiously evaluates the chamber.
“I don’t know. Stay close.”
Pistol in hand, he steps past large statues of Osiris and Isis, Thoth and Amon, Gor and Meshenet. All are dwarfed by the massive Sphinx that resides at the far end of the chamber.
A noise from behind the Sphinx startles them both. James steals behind Thoth, pulling Matilda with him. The Scry silently unsheathes one of her blades. James was hoping to avoid a fight – or to at least get farther before one started.
“How did they know we were coming?” Matilda whispers next to him. “I bet that Hermit sold us out.”
Instead of the tromp of combat boots, James hears the squeaky wheels of an approaching cart and the wet splot of a mop hitting the marble floor.
Before he can stop her, Matilda emerges from behind the statue.
Taciturn preemptively winces, anticipating an instant onslaught of gunfire. Instead, Matilda’s voice echoes through the chamber.
“Uh, hi there. How’s it going?”
An unfamiliar voice answers, equally augmented by the acoustics of the hall. “It’d be better if you’d tell your friend back there to stop leaning against the statue. I just cleaned it.”
Succumbing to his curiosity, James peeks from the safety of his cover. He’s surprised to see a grey-haired man in drab overalls mopping the floor in front of the Sphynx. Seeing Taciturn, the man grunts.
“Put that pea shooter away, young man. You’re likely to hurt yourself, and I’ll have to clean it up.” James lowers his weapon. “Good. Now, what are you two doing, sneaking around this late? Don’t you have better things to do?”
Matilda steps forward.
“I’m Matilda, and this is James. We’re trying to speak with Donovan. I think he’s been trying to have me killed.”
Dumbfounded by her frankness, Taciturn raises his gun again. His internal analysis shows no outcome now that doesn’t lead to violence.