Down the memory line

This time, the testing run as smoothly as it did on their first day. Eve took care to keep a certain distance between herself and Victor at all times and to follow the pre-made schedule to the point, but the man himself also acted nothing like the last time. 'Something good in all that mess, at least.'

'The transmission of thoughts has the same mechanism as mind control, Doctor Ziffer. The difference is in what I transmit and how,' a thought appeared in Eve's head. It wasn't spoken in her own voice—instead, it belonged to Victor. It was a strange feeling, to hear a thought of not your own in your mind. She nodded and closed her eyes to tick off a first part of the test in DreamscapeEdit. The next item on the list was a transmission of emotions.

"Continue," she said, not opening her eyes.

Victor obeyed after a brief delay. An unexplainable serene and light spread through Eve, like she was on sedatives or just drunk. It wasn't intense enough that Eve wasn't able to brush it away, but it was strong enough that her earlier problems with Xia and Victor became insignificant and faraway. Eve's mind was still sharp, though—the feeling differed from simply being inebriated. Several seconds later the feeling disappeared into nowhere, leaving behind only an aftertaste of calm.

"Good. Now, next… Make me surprised, and transmit thoughts at the same time."

'Yes, Doctor Ziffer,' Victor's voice rang through Eve's head in response. The feeling of shock appeared together with it, creating a weird dissonance between her thoughts and her feelings. She bore through it as Victor continued to speak telepathically. 'Reading memories is the combination of transmitting and reading thoughts. I suspect that there's a way to be less invasive with it, but I didn't find it. As it is now, it requires me to force a person to remember what I want to know and read it from the forefront of their mind.'

Eve nodded and ticked off another item from her list. There were a lot of artificial emotions she needed to get through, but after a while Eve got used to detaching herself from them, just like from the many pictures and sensations that Victor sent to her.

It was weird to act as a part of the experiments, though. Victor was being, Eve could tell, really gentle about it. He only did a bare minimum of everything, always warning her beforehand about what he was going to do. None of the urges that he planted into Eve's head by her wishes went above what her willpower could resist either. Soon enough, they finished with that part and went to the last item on their today's list—memories reading.

"You are going to experience vivid flashbacks," Victor warned. "If you concentrate on a particular memory beforehand, I will only read it."

Eve shook her head. "No, I need you to pull it out on your own."

"Then tell me if there's a time period I shouldn't touch, Doctor Ziffer. Anything that you don't want to remember."

Eve scratched her chin. "Don't bother with anything after the apocalypse."

As she spoke, the shadow of the images she remembered from that time passed in her head, and Victor—not unwillingly, he admitted to himself—caught them, only to be left confused by imagery of wandering without purpose and… eating insects? He pretended he didn't see it and nodded to Eve. "Then I'm going to begin. Please, be ready."

When Eve nodded her assent, the present—Victor, the forest, the heat in the air, the bright rays of sun, the rustling of leaves on the wind—all went to the back of her mind in an instant. It was as if someone turned off lights in her head and then turned on the projector instead. With nothing to disturb it, the imagery it brought to her mind was clear as day, almost as clear as if Eve was living through that moment again.

She remembered herself young and sad. Her eyes were red with bitterness and unshed tears, but Eve held them back, unwilling to become all snotty and red-faced. "Mom, mom, why do these boys keep calling me names?" she asked.

Her mother smiled and patted her head. "They are simply envious that they aren't as smart as you are. If they call you names again, you can tell them that when you grow up, you will be a renowned scientist and work in Radiant, and they will be lucky to clean your lab equipment."

Somewhere far away and in the future, Victor noted that adult Eve was almost a splitting image of her mother, the biggest difference lying in the sharper features and greener eyes that Eve had. Another difference was the smile. Eve had never smiled so softly—she rarely smiled at all, in fact, but when she did, it was never with the same loving expression in her eyes.

"Yeah, but I won't let them! They will break something," Eve said, puffing her cheeks. Any bitterness that she held before disappeared without a trace. "Mom, want to see a robot I drew today?"

"Of course, my dear, but let's eat first, while the food is still warm, alright?"

As Eve ate, she chattered animatedly about the giant robot she was going to build after finishing school. Her mother nodded and smiled, continuously praising Eve's ideas. There was no one else besides them at the small—but giant, for Eve—table. The kitchen, where they sat together, looked in a need of quite a few repairs. The wallpapers were brown with years of oil and some cupboards missed doors entirely.

Suddenly, Eve's mother coughed hard. Eve looked at her in worry, but it soon passed and the woman smiled. "It's nothing, Eve. Something just got caught in my throat."

The memory cut off after that. A part of Eve could still remember what happened after, and the robot she drew then, but a force of will stronger than her own pushed her forward, years into the future. The place, though, didn't change, and so didn't people—Eve and her mother still sat together at a small table in their kitchen. There were changes, though. The old cupboards were replaced (but not the wallpaper), the viewpoint of the memory became noticeably higher, and Eve's mother aged what seemed like twenty years. There were quiet wheezing sounds whenever she inhaled or exhaled.

"I always knew you would get that internship, Eve, though I only recently realised that it would be even before you turn eighteen," her mother said, smiling the same warm and soft smile. "Soon enough you will be able to move out of this old place."

"I don't want to, mom. The campus isn't that far, anyway. I can just ride a bike there."

Her mother's brows creased. "Be careful, then. I've heard there are more protesters on the roads recently. Check the roadmaps before you leave."

"Don't worry, mom, I will be alright. Just think about your health. Don't overuse these lungs of yours, or they will give out on you like the previous ones."

"I know. I'm just happy to be with you as long as I was." She lowered her eyes and touched her chest. "Isn't it a wonder how much could modern medicine do, and how much more we still need from it?"

Eve pursed her lips. "One day, we will find that panacea," she said with conviction. "And before that, I will earn enough to buy proper, unused, artificial lungs for you."

Her mother smile turned sad. "I believe in you, Eve. You put so much effort, that if not for me, you wouldn't have eaten for days. I know it brings you joy, but sometimes I wish you would rest like other people do. Watch a movie, or meet with friends."

"I have more important things to do, mom, you know it. I don't want to get old before I learn everything I need."

Eve's mother chuckled. "You are so ambitious…"

The memory stopped there, turning into a fog of vagueness. Another became playing in the forefront of Eve's mind in its stead. The time had moved into the future again, but this time, the place and the characters were different. The memory itself was very short—a singular moment in time, a snapshot of the past.

It was a room—Eve's room—on campus. It was late evening, almost night, but the lights were on. Eve sat at her writing desk with both hands on a keyboard of a laptop. Her fingers were heavy with the exhaustion that came from typing all day long. On the laptop's screen a development environment was open, with lines of code running through it. The memory was latched with feelings of frustration, deep sorrow and bone-etching loneliness. There was a thought attached to the moment—'It didn't work.' Not just the code—everything.

In the next moment, Eve was back in the present. Or, more like, the present was back to her, dyed in the shades of twilight. It was just as well—both she and Victor agreed they had enough of tests for today.