Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

“Ms. Bourne. I’m Gary Borlav.”

“Douglas Winger,” said Winger. He pulled two chairs from a table in the corner and both men sat at Viv’s bedside, hulking close to her.

Motherfuckers, thought Wayne. He pressed his palms to his knees to keep his hands from shaking.

“We want to thank you for being here,” said Borlav. “We realize it’s a jarring experience, but soon it can all be behind you. We’ve taken care of all external logistics. You can be back at Weldon in time for graduation.”

“Graduation?” Wayne heard panic rising in her voice. “That’s still ten days off. I can’t just disappear. My parents, for starters, will freak out. And I’m supposed to be on a plane to California on Wednesday. Do you know who Tessa Callahan is? She’s an extremely powerful woman. There’s no way she’ll just—”

Borlav interrupted. “No one’s going to worry, Ms. Bourne. We’ve covered all your bases. No one will worry. You yourself should not worry. You’re here strictly for conversation. As long as you cooperate, you’ll get back to your regular life with minimal disruption. In the meantime, we can guarantee your comfort and company. Our facility is climate-controlled for maximum kindness to your system. You’ll have a private living space, a full-time personal aide”—he gestured to Johanna—“fresh air, and high-quality nutrition.”

“It can feel like a vacation, really,” added Winger.

“I want to leave right this minute,” said Viv. Wayne could see her arms straining against her ties. “I demand it.”

“That’s not possible,” said Borlav. “Our facility is a highly secured environment. Attempts to depart before we’ve reached an agreement would be fruitless.”

“Where is Wayne? Where’s my boyfriend ?”

Wayne cringed; there was a caustic, bitter note in the way she spoke the word.

“We’re getting to that,” said Winger. “Wayne is your field-op.”

“My what?”

“An employee of the ISA, assigned to you for the past several months. It’s been his job to evaluate the validity of our concerns and to assess your activity firsthand. We don’t bring anyone here who hasn’t been thoroughly observed by a field-op and declared a viable risk. Unfortunately, Mr. Bridger ascertained that for you, a conversation with us was in order.”

Viv was quiet for a moment. Wayne felt his heart rate pick up.

“I see,” she said coldly.

“Mr. Bridger is a veteran of this work. His reports indicated a strong need for your cooperation with us. That’s why you’re here. We’re going to let you rest a bit more, have a shower and a meal, get your bearings, and then we’ll sit down and have a proper conversation. We’ll tell you exactly what we need from you, and you can have some time to think it over.”

“I don’t need time,” said Viv. “Whatever it is, I’m not cooperating.”

“It will behoove you to wait until you have more information,” said Borlav.

“I was just kidnapped.” Viv spoke slowly. “By my alleged boyfriend. I’m now in captivity. That’s plenty of information.”

Alleged boyfriend. Wayne felt sicker.

Winger gave a short laugh, his furry eyebrows jumping.

“Ms. Bourne,” he said, “kidnapping is a very serious crime. A federal offense, in fact. However, I regret to inform you that we are the Feds.”

He stood up and Borlav followed suit.

“Get some rest, Ms. Bourne,” said Borlav, and the two men lumbered out of the room.

Wayne saw Viv biting her bottom lip. She was fighting tears. He felt them rise in his own throat.

“Oh, honey,” said Johanna to Viv. “It’s not that bad, I promise. Those two come off as a couple of bullies, but that’s just their act.”

“I need Wayne,” said Viv, her voice barely above a whisper.

You have me, he said back soundlessly, through the dark glass.

2021

Luke stood at the window of his office in West Lobe, staring out at the ocean. In the distance, the noonday sunlight sparkled on the water, and he watched clusters of his employees on the campus below, miniaturized from eight stories up, eating their lunches on benches or strolling on the paths.

He had made a good life for these people, he thought. Or at least, he’d upgraded what were already above-average lives. Provided them with meaningful work, beautiful surroundings, generous compensation. He wondered if they were grateful. Probably not. The caliber of people he and Tessa hired came with a baseline of entitlement, accustomed to being sought after, believing they had something unique to offer the world. Rarely did they acknowledge the convergence of luck and circumstance that had landed them in this special place. They were the best of the best—Milford and Gupta and the rest—but they lacked humility. After the Trial wrapped, he thought, he’d announce a Gratitude Day on campus, a sort of personal mini-thanksgiving for his staff, to see who would acknowledge being grateful for Seahorse. He was curious to find out who really cared.

Lately, he’d been concerned about Tessa’s loyalty. Her attachment to the Cohort worried him. He’d rarely witnessed Tessa in the social context of other women; he had only known her as their manager. In that role, he could depend on her to keep careful professional distance, never allowing her “feelings” to get in the way of clear-eyed decision-making. But now, in her more nebulous role as the Cohort’s advocate during the Trial, a role in which hierarchies were unclear, Luke felt Tessa’s inner compass had shifted. Away from the practical needs of their organization toward the emotional needs—which were considerable—of the three women. Plus, there’d been the business with Vivian Bourne, wanting to bring her to the Center for some sort of vague Cohort-bonding purposes. Then her instant resentment of Luke when he’d pointed out the absurdity of the plan. When he’d tried to be the voice of reason.

It was as if, in just a handful of weeks, a mistrust of Luke had bloomed in Tessa. Mistrust with no basis that he could discern, beyond the fact that he was male, and thus stood in stark contrast to the pregnant women with whom she now shared regular meals.

He didn’t like the new Tessa. Hopefully, after the Trial had wrapped and the Cohort went off to bond with their babies, she’d return to herself. In the meantime, he had no choice but to adjust responsibly. Meaning that it was not safe to share the details of Gwen’s pregnancy with Tessa. He’d had to make an executive decision to eliminate use of the INR-Views from the Trial. Historically, he would have confided in Tessa and asked her to weigh in. Historically, they did not keep secrets from each other. They made decisions together, with a single eye on the greater good. Now, though, she’d probably demand they tell Gwen everything, immediately. It was too risky. As Cohort One approached their collective due date, June 8, he felt more pressure than ever for the Trial to succeed. Felt his father looming over him, whispering radical and extraordinary. Radical and extraordinary.

Luke struggled with withholding information from Tessa. She was the only person in the world to whom he truly felt close. He often wished he were attracted to her. If he had been, they would have been an insurmountable pair. He’d tried to convince himself to see her as a sexual being. He’d even sampled contact once, the first night they’d met. It did nothing for him. Embarrassingly, he found himself attracted only to the most clichéd ideas of women—models on catwalks, actresses in sexy superhero costumes, other demeaning iterations.

What was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he have just fallen in love with Tessa?