Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

Still, Tessa wanted to stick to her word. Plus, technically, the INRs belonged to her. She’d been the one to add them to the suite of Seahorse tools. The one to acquire them from John Kwak. That Luke had taken control of them was outrageous.

She switched off the bathroom light and stepped back into the office. Through the dimness, her eyes settled on the napping pod. Peter’s description of Luke returned to her: narcissist lite .

And then she could see it: Luke hovering the wand over his own body, transfixed by the view inside himself. Gazing at his bones and organs and soft tissue. Smiling. Rapt.

She hurried across the room to the pod and unzipped it. She tapped on her phone’s flashlight and shone the beam inside, where a firm white cushion was fitted into the base of the resting platform.

Moving on instinct, she worked her fingers into the space between them until she could pry up the cushion.

Underneath it was an INR-View, cool and smooth as a small missile as her fingers closed around it.

2021

From behind a two-way mirror in the Quarry, Wayne adjusted his headset and watched Johanna, wearing pink nursing scrubs, tend to Viv in a room on the other side of the glass. She was attached to an IV, lying on a white-sheeted bed opposite a large monitor affixed to the wall. He desperately did not want to watch or listen, but the IP required both. His guilt thrummed in sync with his headache. He’d been awake for thirty-six hours, since early the previous morning. On the flight from New Hampshire to New Mexico, in the ISA plane, he’d watched Viv in her chemical slumber, her chest rising and falling beneath her “Weldon Lacrosse—We’ll Stick It to You!” T-shirt and felt progressively worse. He forced himself to complete the items on his Importation Task List: Ensuring Viv was in a proper and safe reclined position, seat belt fastened. Checking and logging her vitals. Timelining and documenting each stage of the day’s events. Wiping her phone clean and sending all the data to the ISA’s tech staff, so they could communicate with Viv’s friends and family, posing as Viv herself, to keep them all from worrying. Tech was remarkably good at these deceptions, down to specific nuances of a PIT’s tone and emoji use.

The thought of some floppy-haired IT guy in a plaid shirt, who was all of twenty-six, pretending to be Viv on a keyboard, congratulating himself for nailing another impersonation, made Wayne rageful. He imagined punching a window of the plane, over and over, until he’d smashed the bones in his hands. It might feel good.

As he scrubbed the data from Viv’s phone, he noticed a recent text thread with Tessa Callahan. They were discussing a plan for Viv to visit Tessa at her biotech fortress south of San Francisco. Before Wayne sealed Viv’s device into an evidence bag, he entered Tessa’s number into his new phone, which had replaced the one he’d thrown into the river. Couldn’t hurt to have it.

His to-do list completed, Wayne was free to sleep for the remainder of the four-hour flight. His body begged for it, but his mind had veto power. Each time his eyelids cinder-blocked, Viv’s face flashed behind them and he jerked awake. So he sat in the seat next to hers and watched her sleep. Every so often, he applied Vaseline to her dry lips, savoring the plush feel of them under his finger, hating himself, until the plane finally descended on an airstrip just outside Tremble City.

Now, sequestered on the other side of Wayne’s two-way mirror in the Quarry, Viv was just beginning to wake. Wayne imagined her confusion as she tried to make sense of where she was, to clear her fogged brain and swallow away the sandpaper-dryness of her mouth. He wondered how long it would take for her confusion to give way to fear, and then her fear to anger. How long would it take her to begin to loathe him?

“Ah, she’s awake.”

Johanna’s lilting voice came through Wayne’s headset. He sat up straighter and leaned toward the glass.

“Good afternoon, love,” she said to Viv. “I’m Johanna. Don’t try to speak yet. I know your throat’s dry as dust. We keep you hydrated”—she gestured to the IV—“but it doesn’t stop that recycled plane air from drying out your throat.”

“Plane air?” Viv croaked, and the sound of her voice cut into him.

Johanna popped the top of a soda can and poured the contents into a plastic cup. “Here, have some fizzy water.” She tipped the cup to Viv’s lips and Wayne watched her drink with animal greed.

“Where am I?” said Viv.

“In a safe place. My job is to take care of you. You’ll get a full explanation soon. In the meantime, it’s best if you keep resting.”

“Where’s Wayne?”

She spoke the question slowly, with effort, and it was all he could do not to bang on the glass and say, Right here.

“Oh, you poor dear,” said Johanna. “Your mind’s a bit fuzzy, yes?”

“Yes,” said Viv.

“It’ll wear off, don’t worry. It’s just left over from the shot. You’ll be back to yourself in no time. Don’t be afraid. Everyone here is kind. They want this to be as least troublesome as possible for you.”

“‘This’?”

“Not my domain, dear. The team will be here soon enough to orient you.”

“Team? Where’s Wayne?”

“He’s resting, love. It’s hard work to bring you here.”

Wayne took a deep breath to steady himself. It wasn’t easy. “Get him for me,” said Viv, more sharply.

“You’ll see him soon enough, love.” Johanna opened a box of crackers and offered it to Viv. “Are you hungry yet? Best to start with something bland.”

Viv slapped at the box. “I don’t want any fucking crackers. I want to see Wayne.” She attempted to sit up and realized her restraints.

“Why can’t I move?”

“Wish I could fix that for you,” said Johanna, unflustered. “But you’re restrained for safety purposes. It’s temporary, just until you’ve met with the team.”

“Untie me!”

“Here,” said Johanna, picking up a remote from the IV cart. “Let me sit you up. This bed’s magic.”

“Help!” said Viv, as the bed adjusted smoothly into a seating position.

I will, Wayne answered silently.

“And let me know if you need to use the restroom again. You went before, but you weren’t really awake. The bed adjusts for that, too.”

Viv said nothing.

Johanna pulled her phone from a pocket of her scrubs, glanced at it, and smiled.

“Good news,” she said. “The team says I can start the video without them. That’ll help.”

She thumbed her phone, and the screen on the wall jumped to life, displaying an animated American flag, rippling slowly. Over the flag, white text appeared and a female narrator began to read the words in a vaguely British accent.

Welcome to the Internal Stability Agency. You are in temporary custody of the United States government. The reason for your presence is a matter of national security. Through an accumulation of evidence acquired from one or more public forums, we have determined that you are consistently engaged in activities that threaten the stability and collective well-being of American civic life. Thus, we have brought you into temporary custody to discuss the cessation of such risk-perpetuating behaviors. You have committed no crimes and will face no legal penalty as long as you enter compliance with our risk-abatement protocol. We regret that our methods require transport to our facility with minimal warning to the individual…

There was a hard rap to the door and Johanna snapped off the video. Viv swiveled her head, her eyes passing by Wayne’s. He watched Borlav and Winger enter the room with matching strides, both in white button-down shirts and black pants.