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Chapter 14

"How are you?" he heard.

Ruskin blinked. Tamika's face slowly came into focus. Over her shoulder, he saw Max. He turned his head and realized that he was in a varigrav bed.

"I just met my own mitochondria," he murmured. He gazed at the ceiling for a moment, then laughed out loud. Tamika looked puzzled. But he couldn't explain yet; the memory was still too dizzying.

"Are you okay?" Tamika asked.

He tapped his temple, sighing. "I've still got a small army running around inside me. But I feel better now that it's two armies instead of just one."

Tamika peered at him intently. "E'rik told us that the implants were adapting successfully. How does it feel? You look healthy."

He closed his eyes and tried to analyze how it felt. Everything had been so disjointed. What was it really like, knowing that he was not alone in his own skull? "I've had some enlightening conversations. And I've been given a tour of myself that not many people have had." He told them what he'd experienced, as nearly as he could put it into words.

"The strangest thing was going into my own cells—actually seeing the inner structures, as a visitor. Not quite a literal view—but not totally symbolic, either." He paused, reflecting. "I saw the nuclear matter. DNA. RNA. Ribosomes."

"And mitochondria," Max said.

Ruskin opened his eyes. "And mitochondria, yeah. I felt a special affinity for them—on behalf of Dax, maybe, I don't know. Fellow benevolent interlopers, I guess." In each cell he had seen myriads of mitochondria—the strange little organelles that shared none of the human genetic component, but nevertheless reproduced along with the cells. They not only resided permanently in the human body, they played a crucial symbiotic role in the cells' metabolism. And now here were the NAGs, smaller and more alien, and yet seemingly as necessary to his survival as the mitochondria.

With an effort, Ruskin sat up. He shook his head—and drew a sudden sharp breath as he felt something open in his mind: like a gate to a windswept mountain pass, and through the pass came a whisper of wind, and in the wind were voices. (What's happening?)

((I'm simply releasing some of your anxieties, freeing up a few memories.))

That last voice was Dax's, he realized dizzily; but the others were the voices of his own memories. He struggled to catch his breath as a torrent of images poured through his mind. "Dear God," he croaked.

"Rus'lem?" Tamika gripped his arm. "Are you blacking out again? Max! Can you tell if—"

"No—no—" Ruskin gasped. He started to laugh again. "I'm just—remembering!" It was coming in a torrent: memories of work, of days and nights with Tamika, of friendship with Ali'Maksam, of the years before Kantano's World when he worked for the Auricle Science Council . . . the images were coming with cinematic speed, flickering so fast he could barely absorb them. "Dax—thank you!" he cried joyfully.

He heard another laugh; but this one came from a hologram beside his bed, a hologram of a man. "Wonderful!" the hologram said, in E'rik Daxter's voice.

Ruskin blinked rapidly, trying to separate the internal torrent from the information his eyes were giving him. The memories faded. "Dax? Is that you? I thought you were—"

"No, no—I'm Daxter," the hologram said. "Don't confuse me with my offspring. The NAGs you call Dax are just an AI device with some of my personality traits."

"Um—right. I guess I didn't expect to see you here. Looking so human."

Daxter chuckled. "I try to keep my hand in it. And I wanted to say good-bye in person."

Ruskin started. "Good-bye?" He looked at his friends. "Do you really think it's safe to let me out of here?"

"We don't have much choice," Daxter said. "You need to show your face at your job. And you probably need to show some results from your time off. I gather that there is some sense of urgency to your work."

Ruskin nodded. "I wish I could remember what that work was," he murmured, feeling a cold pang of fear.

((I may be able to help you some with that.))

Dax. Well, that's what he's there for, Ruskin thought, swallowing. "I hope your confidence is warranted," he said with a sigh. He hooked a thumb toward his friends. "I'd hate for these two to have to deal with me if I go over the deep—" He flinched at a sharp pain in his forehead. It vanished instantly. "Ow. Who did that? Was that you, Max?"

The Logothian stirred. "Was what me?"

E'rik Daxter was chuckling; but when Ruskin glanced at him, Daxter turned his palms upward, denying responsibility.

((That was just to let you know that I can protect you the same way Max did—until I find a better way.))

(Oh.) Ruskin took a deep breath. "Okay," he said to Daxter. "I get the idea." Tamika was looking at him in puzzlement, and he explained, tapping his head, "I've been given my own little safety device. I've been told not to worry.

((I didn't quite say that. I said I can handle emergencies.))

(Okay—)

((But be warned: we need to allow the invaders room to work, if we're going to learn what they're up to. So there may be difficult times ahead.))

"I stand corrected," he murmured. Raising his voice, he added, "The voice of my conscience says . . ."

((Not your conscience.))

(Figure of speech.) ". . . that he can keep me from maiming and murdering, but the confusion has only just begun." (Close enough?)

((It'll do.))

Max and Tamika exchanged glances. As Ruskin stood, Tamika extended a helping hand. He turned back to the hologram. "Thank you, sir. Shall we be in touch?"

Daxter nodded. "Ali'Maksam knows how. And Dax. In the meantime, I will do some checking to see if I can trace this fellow Broder. I suggest that you leave the outside detective work to me and focus on your own affairs. Good luck, Ruskin. It's been a pleasure and a privilege."

"To use me as a guinea pig?"

"Correct. Take care." The holofigure saluted jauntily, then vanished.

Ruskin turned back to his friends—and raised his eyebrows. The far wall of the room had disappeared. In its place stood a pleasant stand of trees. Beginning at Ruskin's feet, spiraling once and winding into the woods, was a narrow path of carefully laid bricks. Yellow bricks.

Ruskin stepped carefully across the spiral, then shrugged and followed the path out, flanked by his friends. He felt a momentary shiver as he glanced up and saw two small pairs of eyes peering out of the treetops, watching them depart.

 

* * *

 

The trip home took on an air of dreamy restfulness, at least for Ruskin. Tamika looked as though she was bursting with questions, none of which she could ask in public; and even Max had a look of anxious impatience about him. Ruskin watched the scenery and left the navigating to Max, who again took care to follow an evasive route.

The city seemed at once a fantastic landscape, filled with towers and spires and illuminated by a sun sinking through a smoky haze of clouds—and a place of astonishing solidity. Ruskin felt like a man who had stepped from the rolling deck of a ship onto dry land: the feeling of movement persisted long after the movement itself had stopped. So preoccupied had he been with his own inner landscapes that it was disconcerting to make the shift back into what they were all pleased to call reality. If this be reality . . . he mused, and left the thought unfinished.

They were coming into the city from the hills on the east, though Daxter's laboratory was located somewhere much farther to the north. The tube-train brought them into the downtown crossing, and after a quick change they headed at last for Ruskin's home. He asked Max if they were going to try to sneak into his building.

The Logothian's eyes were concealed behind his visor, but his voice conveyed a note of warning. "No, Willard—we have nothing to hide, do we?" He turned his head slightly, as though scanning the tube-car.

Ruskin took the hint. If they were being watched, they must convey an impression of normality and well-being. He reached for Tamika's hand and gave it a squeeze. She peered back at him uneasily, and he forced a smile. If he had relaxed during the ride, Tamika had grown more anxious. He wondered whose state of mind was more appropriate to the situation they were facing.

They found his apartment apparently as they'd left it. If it had been searched, the job had been a professionally unobtrusive one. Still, they looked the place over, taking care not to appear as though they were searching for bugs. Max was in charge of locating any spying devices; not only did he know more about that sort of thing, he could walk around looking somber and mysterious and nobody would think it odd if they saw it on camera. He found none, however, and finally said, "Willard, I think this apartment is as clean as your housekeeping habits allow." Tamika chuckled, causing Ruskin to raise his eyebrows.

"Shall I kill the lights all the way so you can get out of that suit and relax?"

Ali'Maksam's head swayed. "Thank you, no, Willard. I need to relax, but it has been too long since I have properly rested in my own home. And perhaps you and Tamika have . . . talking . . . to do." The Logothian gazed in Tamika's direction. She looked away in embarrassment. Ali'Maksam nodded almost imperceptibly. "I'll leave a ready-connection between your console and mine. And I'll check in by virtual." He hissed laughter at Ruskin's worried expression. "Fear not, Willard. You are well protected by Daxter's little friends. Probably better than I could protect you."

((He is right, you know.))

Ruskin started, then shrugged. "Right. I guess I've just gotten used to having you around." He frowned. "Max, I don't know if you might be in danger, by association. Be careful. And—thanks." He extended an open palm.

The Logothian's palm opened toward Ruskin, then closed. "Yes. You are most welcome. You both be careful also." With a gesture of farewell to Tamika, he closed the door behind him.

Tamika perched in a corner of the sofa with a sigh of relief. Ruskin gazed at her without a word until she lifted her eyes to meet his. "Are you glad to see him gone?"

"Max?" She shook her head. "We had some time together, you know—while Daxter was working on you. He's . . . a gentle individual, Willard. I hadn't quite realized that. And he sacrificed a lot, keeping us safe from your blackouts." She gave a little shiver, then chuckled. "Besides, he was more afraid of those little creatures—the terrakells—than I was. It's the first time I've ever seen him not in control."

"But you still don't exactly feel comfortable with him."

One corner of her mouth curled up in a smile. "We're making progress. I don't know if we'll ever be best of friends—or as close as each of us is to you." She dimpled a cheek with one finger and gazed with those golden eyes, her catlike pupils taking his breath away. And she asked slowly, as though considering each word with great care, "Are we still close that way, Rus'lem—you and I?"

He had trouble getting his breath back. He looked away, nodding. "Sure. I mean—I hope so. I—" He cleared his throat and looked back at her. "So what did you two talk about, while I was unconscious?"

She gestured noncommittally. "Oh—you. Politics. Religion. Science. The usual things one talks about with strangers." A nervous grin came over her face.

"Well—as long as you can joke about it, I guess it must have been okay." He ran a finger along the spines of the books and data slivers on his shelves, and closed his eyes, wondering, Will I remember what any of this is? Will I remember about Tamika and me?

And from within he felt, not exactly an answer—but an encouraging nudge.

"And what should we talk about?" Tamika asked softly, close behind him.

He scanned the titles for an instant longer before turning. "Oh—" he said. "Politics. Religion. Maybe a touch of science to round things off." He met her eyes finally, acknowledging the need there. "And maybe, you. And me."

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Framed