If Celia were here, the human connection would already be made.
Sighing, Kasey swiped through her Intraface until she came to the folder labeled CELIA. She’d let Actinium keep the physical Intraface—seeing the kernel still unnerved her—but she’d downloaded the memories to her own. Problem was, she couldn’t bring herself to touch the folder icon. She tried to remind herself that memories, Celia’s or not, were just code. Kasey and Actinium needed to analyze as much human behavior as possible to design their secondary barometers. But same as the first time, a force held Kasey back. It wasn’t simply respect for Celia’s privacy. It was dread. Because it was possible to love someone without fully understanding them. Possible to love parts of them, and not their whole. Kasey’s bots had scared Celia. Kasey feared seeing the rest of herself through her sister’s eyes.
Ding! The notification from her Intraface was a welcome distraction. Two blinks, and Kasey was brought back to Ekaterina’s message. Actinium had reacted to it with a checkmark. Kasey waited for his name to turn an inactive gray. When it didn’t, she messaged him privately.
Have you been?
She didn’t need to specify Territory 4; he’d understand the shorthand.
The speed of his reply was strangely gratifying. Once.
What’s it like?
Cold. Dry.
Kasey waited for more. None came. That’s it?
Patience, Mizuhara. You’ll suffer it firsthand tomorrow.
A pause in the conversation. Kasey didn’t know what else to say. SILVERTONGUE offered no suggestions. After it kept auto-opening during her presentations, urging her to be more engaging, Kasey had uninstalled it. She had no use for an app that didn’t perceive life-saving information as engaging.
Her heart stilled as Actinium’s avatar pulsed blue; he was thinking again. Seconds later:
Are you busy?
No. Kasey paused. You? Working?:P The emoticon slipped out of her. She considered it, deleted it, and sent the message without.
No. Actinium paused too. Not working.
Kasey could almost see it: the slide and latch of his gaze, his silence a dare for her to comment on his work habits. She could, if she wanted to. She could speak her mind without fear around Actinium now that they’d built something together. They were on the same wavelength—perhaps had been as early as the all-nighter they’d pulled reviewing Celia’s memories, they’d communicated via glances and gestures. They’d streamlined their communication even more since then, and now, staring at the last message from Actinium, Kasey sent him a holo hotspot on a whim. Told herself she wouldn’t be disappointed if he didn’t accept.
Held her breath as the air before the chaise glowed.
For a split second after Actinium holo-ed in, he seemed dazed. Kasey was too. She’d never seen his holograph before and certain details were lost in translation even after she bumped his opacity up to 100%. Like the texture of his hair. It lacked definition, the strands flat and lifeless compared to when the wind had messed it—not that Kasey should have been thinking about his hair at all. She redirected her gaze to the window, throat itchy. Must’ve been the particulates in the unit.
“Do you come here often?”
The pitch of his voice was unaltered, at least. “More often than before,” Kasey said. “Celia used to come for the windows.” It wasn’t lost on her that wherever they went, whenever they talked, they couldn’t escape Celia’s pull. But why would they want to? She was their common denominator. Their compass, setting them on this course. “We argued about it, in the beginning. I didn’t want to visit.”
“Why not?” asked Actinium, sounding genuinely curious.
“It felt like trespassing.”
She didn’t say the owners were dead, or name them. Everyone knew who lived on stratum-100, including Actinium, who scanned the unit and said, “It’s a lot of unused space.”
“My dad insisted it remain uninhabited. In memoriam.” If it sounded elitist, it was because it was. The one and only time David Mizuhara had violated his own principle of space-saving living. “Our families were close,” Kasey felt the need to add, but that portrayed a community of elitists, living as high as their rank. How did they come across to someone like Actinium, whose unit had no fancy furniture or windows for natural light?
“You must think us strange,” Kasey said as Actinium did a slow walk around the unit. “So removed from human nature.”
“What if human nature is the last disease we have yet to eradicate?” Actinium returned to her. The moonlight passed through his person. He left no shadow on the ground.