Black Marion

6

There were twelve fish in the aquarium, and a thirteenth which might be dead.

Cross-legged, Sasha sat on the rich velvet carpeting, watching the beautiful creatures drift through the pristine water. It was 9:20 in the morning. Vaughn was not in the apartment. Neiman had come and gone. The network had been Sasha's destination, but upon entering the workroom, she had discovered hardware issues with the port machine. It wouldn't boot up.

Curious that a top-of-the-line machine would malfunction the day after Vaughn admitted to withholding the truth. Last night's conversation felt liquid in her head. Only one moment was solid, twined with a hard, bare profile and the raw words, I love you.

I love you.

Love came in many different forms. Selfish, selfless, giving, taking. Wanting, adoring, devoting. Kind, consuming. Dangerous, safe. Which was it?

Desire, that much was certain. Those pupils ate into silver whenever Vaughn looked at her, and physiology didn't lie. Beyond this point Sasha had her guesses—from the tears in the patio to these reactions whenever Sasha was distraught or harmed, sincerity bled from the man like Sasha held his unarmored heart. Affection could lie, yes, but this degree could not be worth the effort of a Regent.

So, then, Vaughn loved her, in some form.

Sasha doubted this less today than she had before that vulnerable admittance in the falcon. That should give her security, but alongside the broken network port, the thought disturbed her like the thirteenth fish. Vaughn was a Regent after all, insurpassably powerful in the State. What kind of truth cowered a man like him? Drove him to deceive a lover, break a port machine? To say, with rigid pain, You don't have to trust me.

Certainly, it was a truth more dangerous than she had imagined.

It could be a psychological danger. It could be criminal. She preferred the psychological: a trauma that might cripple her if remembered. This would be the more innocent truth, matching up with her hand episode and black out, with the sex, the wounds on her body. Brutal as the trauma would have to be to fit the story, she leaned toward this conclusion.

But a criminal danger remained a possibility: no doubt there was information floating around the State that could cost lives, and with all the network knowledge that Sasha possessed, it was reasonable to think that she had stumbled across some in her past. And if it was a criminal danger, then her amnesia was, as she had suspected from day one, man-made.

Logic told her to leave it be. Trust the most powerful man in the State and indulge in this lovely, maybe constructed reality. But instinct told her there was no substitute for truth.

Torn between the two was how she found herself in front of the fishtank, envious of these simpler creatures. She could change now, throw on another sweater and a jacket, head down to midground for a deeper look. Visit Kindle Facilities, see if anyone could answer some questions. Spend time in a cybercafe—the network ports wouldn't be half as reliable and she wouldn't have access to all the new network tools she had constructed these past few days, but she could make do. See if she could find her grandparents' updated contact information. Then...

Sasha covered her face with her hands, rubbing her eyes, forehead. She felt exhausted. What was this addiction to truth? It was almost certainly going to cost her. Why couldn't she just accept the safe alternative? It seemed like such a lovely life. She didn't even remember what she was missing, if she was missing anything. In any case, what could be better than this?

Comfortable, in the Sky. A home with the prettiest view of the State. A devoted, powerful man as her lover. A caring friend in Harriet Louman. A prestigious career. Any luxury she wanted at her fingertips.