Caeli Widger - Mother of Invention

Surely she would have left Peter for him. She’d given Luke all the signals. What would he need from her, in order to want her that way? It wasn’t a matter of her physicality; she was perfectly attractive. It was more the sharpness of her mind. The same vibrancy that turned his brain on turned his body off.

But weren’t they supposed to be one and the same? The brain being the body’s largest sex organ and all that.

He sighed and spun his fidget on the desk. Then he tapped a monitor to life and surveyed the Cohort’s latest ultrasounds and stats.

Kate and LaTonya: perfect.

Gwen: well.

The voice of Zeus cut the air. “Callahan, Tessa. Authorized to proceed.”

Startled, Luke shut off his monitor just as Tessa stepped into his office. She wore a cream-colored dress he hadn’t seen before, sleeveless, with a narrow red belt. Her appearance was as composed as ever, but her eyes were lit up and angled at him.

“What’s up, Callahan?

She shut the door behind her.

“You know what’s up , Luke.” Her voice was tight.

“Have a seat.” He gestured toward his guest chair, hoping to sound casual, though his pulse had instantly kicked up.

“I’ll stand.”

“You look… agitated.”

“I am agitated. I’m going to be direct, and I hope you’ll reciprocate.”

“Consider it done,” said Luke, wondering.

“I know I disregarded your opinion when I invited Vivian Bourne to Seahorse. I’m not particularly proud of that. But it was well within my rights to bring her here. I cleared it with Legal. She’s a personal contact of mine. A friend. You’re not allowed to decide which of my friends visit me here, at my company . Canceling her trip was way outside your jurisdiction. And doing it behind my back made it an even bigger overstep.”

“What?” Luke felt utterly discombobulated, as if water had been slung in his face. He’d braced for a confrontation, but not this one.

“We need to stop playing these games, Luke. We need to get back to transparency with each other. Starting right now.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Cut the shit.”

“Callahan! I have no idea what you’re talking about. I didn’t interfere with Vivian Bourne’s trip. I had no idea it was a thing . I thought we’d put that topic to bed.”

Tessa paused, hands planted on her hips. “You didn’t reach out to her and tell her that the Seahorse legal team determined her visit needed to be postponed?”

“No! Who told you that?”

Tessa waved her phone in the air. “ Viv told me. In a text. That she thought it was in the…”—she hooked her fingers into quotes—“ best interest of everyone involved if she postponed her trip. This is a complete one-eighty—she was clamoring to visit while the Cohort is still pregnant.”

“So?” Luke shrugged. He felt his pulse decelerate. He was not in trouble for anything he’d actually done. “She changed her mind.”

“No,” said Tessa. “I can tell this isn’t coming from her.”

“Do I have to spell out the possibilities? Maybe a friend talked her out of it. Maybe it was her parents. Maybe she just got freaked out.”

“I’m just not buying it. Did Finance ask you to sign off on her travel arrangements? Is that how you found out?”

“Stop.”

“She was wildly excited, Luke. Who else at Seahorse would’ve contacted her except you? No one except Finance knows anything about her visit, and they certainly don’t give a—”

“Tessa.” Luke raised his voice. “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?” Tessa’s tone softened slightly.

“I have no idea,” said Luke. “Maybe the first question we should answer is why you did something I explicitly asked you not to do.”

“You didn’t ask me. You told me.”

“It’s unlike you. We make decisions together.”

“Do we, Luke? Because lately it hasn’t felt that way.” She stepped over to his desk and rested her palms on the edge.

“Tessa, cut it out. If you feel a lack of solidarity, it’s because you’re too occupied with the Cohort.”

“That’s my job, Luke.” She leaned toward him. “Why don’t you tell me how Vivian’s trip got canceled?”

Luke paused, considering. In a way, this felt like a stroke of luck, Tessa attacking him for a transgression he knew nothing about. It made him feel certain she knew nothing of the data he’d refrained from sharing with her.

It was almost fun, having her mad at him like this.

Though what she’d done with Vivian Bourne irked him.

“Maybe she chickened out,” he said. “Maybe she got cold feet.”

“And made up some absurd lie about it? A lie that I could disprove in two seconds? Why would she do that, Luke?”

He pushed his chair back from his desk with his heels, widening the gap between them, and shrugged. “I wouldn’t know, Callahan. I’m not the one who’s famous for understanding the complexities of young women, now am I?”

He watched the rage take over her face, contracting the corners of her mouth, hardening her gaze. He wished he could take back his words. He’d spoken childishly. Gone too far. But he wasn’t used to this—being separate from her, out of sync. Tessa had long been his most important ally, his “co-brain,” his friend. She was one of the few women he’d ever truly cared for.

“Look, Tessa, I’m sorry,” he began. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Oh, that’s quite all right,” she interrupted, too brightly. “I suggest you save your apologies for later. You’ll need them.” She grabbed the green fidget off Luke’s desk and tossed it over his head toward the window.

“What the hell?” said Luke. In disbelief, he turned to watch the spinner bounce off the smoked glass with a hard ping and fall onto the floor. Instinctively, he rose from his chair and went to retrieve it.

When he stood up, Tessa was gone.

2021

“We’re disappointed, Theroux,” Borlav said.

Harsh light accosted the seams of his eyelids. Tracy jerked up his head from where he’d laid it on the table in the Blue Room.

Borlav’s bulk filled the doorframe.

“Turn off that light,” Tracy groaned.

“No can do. This isn’t a romantic dinner.”

Tracy had been unable to stay awake while he waited for the results of Viv’s first screening, in which an Inner Panelist and a Revision Specialist sat her down and laid the facts bare: she needed to shut up about accelerated gestation or pay the price. If she spoke about it again, she would tell their story. Not hers. Not anyone else’s. She would stick to the script, or she’d become a permanent resident.

Now that they’d been separated for three days, Tracy found himself unable to stay awake. Viv’s absence felt like withdrawal. As soon as he’d gotten back to sleeping in the staff residence zone, he’d begun dreaming of Viv strapped to the bed in quarantine, a cluster of faceless white coats hovering over her, syringes in hand. Nightmares, really. He’d never dreamt of Viv before, not once; he’d read somewhere once that people tended not to dream of things that made sense. He hadn’t needed to dream of her because she’d been right there beside him.

Now, she was gone.

Borlav eased into a chair across from him, setting down the single mug of coffee he’d brought for himself.

“Hey, thanks,” said Tracy, nodding at the mug.

“I’m in no mood to be nice,” said Borlav. “Vivian Bourne’s screening was a disaster. What exactly have you been doing for the past four months?”

“My job, Gary.”