Page 112 of CHOICE Lover
His mind clearly isn’t firing at optimal capacity, because he can’t make the connection. “You’re going to have to spell it out for me.” He gestures for her to get on with it.
She sighs, as if conversing with him requires a ton of effort. “Real people likeher.”
Her point clicks into place. She’s right. He is an idiot.
37 – Real, Adoring Fans
Electra
December 31, 2390.
Sister Xelna calls out from the living room, “Dear Electra! Another fan is here to see you!”
She winces. As much as she’s enjoying running her column, the constant stream of in-person fans the priestess allows in her home is draining her energy. In her early writing days, she learned to channel her energy. Fill the tank and the muse will come. When she was living with Res6, she didn’t realize how much the “dates” he took her on fueled her creativity wells.
Not that she isn’t grateful for Sister Xelna taking her in, and for her money-lending workaround—a.k.a. paying her for “fortune-telling services” until Electra can get an ID and Worldbank account so she can use her own funds and return the money. The woman means well.
She crawls off the cot in Sister Xelna’s spare room that she’s been sleeping on for over a week, and tosses her tablet aside. As her back twinges, she regrets leaving the comfort of Res6’s enormous cushy bed and the ergonomic computer desk he bought for her. Why did she leave again?
Because he cares about fake people more than real ones. He’s been having a relationship with a clone pretending it’s his dead brother. He said she was a mistake. Right. These are all great reasons.
Reluctantly, she steps out into the living room to be greeted by Sister Xelna, who is chatting with three women. All with long, straight, dark hair like hers. All with freckles. Oh God, was Res6 right? Is her column a trend that will pass in a flash? Dear Electra is how she’s earning income, even if she can’t access it yet. How is she going to make money? How is she going to survive? Deep breaths. Focus on three things that are real. But as she stares at the three women with their fake freckles and artificially perfected skin, a sense of the real eludes her.
“There she is!” the nearest woman shrieks. For a second, she looks like she’s ready to throw herself forward, wrapping Electra in an unwelcome hug. But she holds herself back at the last moment.
Thankfully, Sister Xelna steps between them, linking arms with her. “This is my dearest friend, Dear Electra!”
She is supposed to love this. Becoming a famous writer is what she wanted, right? Surely, she can sell her Dear Electra fans on her romance books, and she can build a career out of this. Dread slices through her in place of the glee she should be feeling. She forces a smile, observing the priestess’s smug expression as she shows Electra off like a prized possession. Is that all she is in this future world—anovelty? A sick feeling swirls in her gut. No, that can’t be right. She’s just being paranoid again. Sister Xelna isn’t using her. They’re friends.
Her fingers itch to touch something real.Res6 was real. Res6 is not the one for you. He made that abundantly clear. God, Electra. Say something to your awaiting fans. Be grateful!
“Hi,” she offers sheepishly. “So you guys are fans of the column?”
38 – Five Simple Steps
Res6
Time is moving too fast, or not fast enough. Res6 isn’t sure. He steps into his unit, making a beeline for his bed—the one that still smells like Electra as he’s refused to clean the sheets, thus removing her scent. More torture that he deserves.
Exhaustion weighs heavily on him as he kicks off his shoes. He peels out of his aseptic-smelling jumpsuit and crawls under the blankets. Wrapping himself in them, he inhales deeply, taking in her lingering scent like an addict.
Please, just let me sleep, he prays, hoping Zephyr will finally take pity on his weary body. How long can he go on like this?
Even Sable commented on his bedraggled look as they finished with the last of the decoy units right in time for GROW’s midnight deadline. For the last five days, if Sable wasn’t at GROW dealing with the ramifications of the inspection, she was in the lab with him, psion-splicingDNA vectors into the organic bio-gel substrate, then using the accelerated test protocols to grow a full lab’s worth of manupartners asblanks.
Her presence was an interesting break in the monotony of After Electra, at least. Despite Sable’s role as a physician with GROW, she easily operated the Spot-Gene Interface while they waited between phases, sifting through the highly technical Jerme data. She seemed to understand the science she was looking at, asking for time to mull it over, but already offering a few promising suggestions.
Is he actually weighing the prospect of hiring her? Inspector Wanda’s suspicions present a challenge, but if he can help prove her relative innocence, the ambitious physician might end up being the hire he needs. And if NHOS ends up shutting down GROW permanently, which is still up in the air, she’ll be looking for a new position. He’ll have to deal with her involvement with the IdenTECH company, though. That could be problematic. As intriguing as he finds her, hiring her might be too risky. He gets the impression she’s a bit of a loose cannon.
He rolls over, glances at the clock, and buries his face in the pillow. 02:34.Sleep, he begs.
After another hour of pointless ruminating on the future of his company, his thoughts unavoidably drift back to Electra and another future stolen from him. His grief briefly transforms into anger. He did this to himself, and he’s being too cowardly to write in to Dear Electra like Sable suggested, afraid of rejection. If he does nothing, the possibility is still out there. The lack of finality feels safer.
He huffs. Since he clearly isn’t going to fall asleep, he sits up and reaches for his device. If he could just read one of her journal entries . . . He’s not supposed to, but he’s rather desperate to feel some connection to her. She’ll never know.
He quickly finds the folder that she renamed “Electra’s Private X-Rated Thoughts (Hint: Res6 is Forbidden).” Just seeing her words lessens the ache in his chest.
He leans back on a pile of pillows and opens the last entry from a week ago. The day she left.
