Heart to Heart

This will probably be pulled into Revelations at some point, but I woke up with this discussion in my head and now I am sharing it with you. Dr. Mortum and the puppet sharing secrets.

....

Some time in the unspecified future, a late night in Dr. Mortum's lab. The lights are mostly off, only a corner of the on-site living room is lit up, the well-worn couch partly covered by blankets. The books and magazines normally stacked on the table have been moved aside, leaving room for a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and a bowl filled with ice. A lava lamp bubbles incongruously in a corner, meditative in it's mellow glow. Many secrets have been revealed over the months that Dr. Mortum and Eden has known each other, though most have come from Eden's lips. Ace. Sidestep. Re-Gene. Masquerade. Betrayal. Reunion.

It is time to even the scores.

"It is still too late to back out, mon coeur." Dr. Mortum puts down the bottle of whiskey between you with a cautious smile. Nervous. On edge. Curious.

"That implies that I can't back out in the middle in case things gets too intimate," you reply, pouring each of you a glass. You take yours straight, but she takes a moment to drop a cube of ice in hers.

"You know that's not true." A cautious sip, the kind that tells you that the good doctor is not used to drinking her liquor undiluted. "It felt like the polite thing to say."

"It felt like a dare," you retort with a wink and a sip of your own as you lean back in your corner of the couch.

"Perhaps it was. Aimed at both of us." There is a brief pause as she looks at you straight on before she seems to remember how uneasy you are with direct eye contact. It's better in this body, but old habits die hard.

"On account that we're both secretive bastards. I get it." You do, things have escalated to the point where you both are deep enough in this together that trust is all you have. And with trust comes an itching willingness to share. To reveal. Maybe a bottle and a challenge just makes it more palatable. Interacting like two normal human beings was never really how you did things.

"Secrets are safer," she agrees. "But to be fair, most of mine are less about hiding my deep, dark past and more about being able to maintain a suitable mystique for my station." She swirls her drink as she leans back, the warm light playing over her bone structure.

"Don't want to ruin your villain rep by admitting you shuffle around the lab in bunny slippers and a bonnet in the morning, huh?" You keep a straight face. Barely.

"They. Were. Cute." Her indignation is mostly fake, and the smile that peeks out makes you smile in return. "But yes, that. I need people to respect me. And when it comes to villains, they are bound to imagine far more interesting and dangerous things than I could come up with."

"So are you saying that in reality you are boring and safe?" You wink and take another sip, not waiting for a reply to your teasing barb. "You or me first?"

"Age before beauty I suppose." Dr. Mortum swirls her drink, the ice cubes making a soft clinking sound. "I'll answer the first question."

"What makes you think you're not beautiful?" When did you get this smooth? Maybe when you learned you could get such wonderful responses. "Because you are."

"What..." She nearly spills her drink before adjusting her glasses. Flustered. You got her there. "That is not a fair thing to ask right of the bat. I'd thought you'd ask me something simple, like my name."

"And here I thought your name was Dr. Mortum," you say with a chuckle. "Your real name, I mean. But fine, I will bite. What's your first name?"

"Mirlene," she says, her accent turning the name soft in her mouth. "But it's been years since someone called me that. My usual false name is Jay."

"Like the bird." You smile. "Which one would you prefer I call you?"

"I'm honestly not sure." Dr. Mortum's gaze grows distant. "It's been too long since someone did that on the regular. I suppose you could try them both and see how things feel. Mortum have been what I've lived and breathed for decades." There is a pause, and then she continues. "Do you mind that I keep calling you nicknames instead of your real name?"

"I... don't know." You frown, trying to sort out your feelings. "Names are complicated. Nicknames are easier. And then there's the whole definition of what my real name even is." You take a deeper sip then. What would your name be? Your Farm designation? The one you picked after escaping? Sidestep? What you named this puppet body? Ace? You don't even know if that was a name or a nickname. "And I do like that it's a name only you call me. Makes this feel more personal."

"I'll continue then," she says with a nod. "And you let me know if that changes."

"I will." You refill your glass, not worried about Dr. Mortum keeping up. The bottle is here for show and liquid courage. This is not a race. "Is Vitruvian off limits? That was the one dead end I ran into when I researched you before hiring."

"Is he..." She pauses, looking down at her whiskey before taking a resolute sip. "No, I suppose he's not. I'm surprised you went there though. What do you want to know? We weren't a couple, if that's what you're worried about."

"I didn't think so," you lie, there had been enough rumors that you couldn't rule it out. "But there was always something about him that bothered me. In the way you talked about your past interactions. Everything else is always so straightforward. It's only when he comes up that you grow uneasy."

"I killed him." The confession comes so easily neither of you bother to act shocked. "But I guess you suspected that already."

"I did," you admit. "But what I don't understand is why. You worked together for years. You admitted that you still don't understand how he pulled off some of his gadgets, I feel like even if he was the most insufferable man alive, you'd keep him alive until you had figured out his secrets."

"You really know me too well." Dr. Mortum laughs and pours herself more whiskey. "Part of me is still angry about that. I should have. Would have saved myself some sleepless nights. But truth be told it really was a crime of passion. Not the erotic kind, but I did act without thinking things through."

"I have noticed you do that on occasion." You wink.

"Well, I am sorry for having held you at gunpoint in the past." Her face grows serious once more. "But I suppose if there's anyone who would understand, it's you."

"What happened between you?"

"It was always a partnership of convenience." She takes off her glasses, leaving her face vulnerable. "He was brilliant. The first person I'd met to really challenge my way of thinking. The way he saw the world was a revelation... as long as it came to physics. In everything else he was garbage. I don't know if your research revealed that he had been a Green Sky sympathizer?"

"I never found proof, but the name alone was a bit of a giveaway."

"Yes. He was a believer, but not one to think himself a mere member of a cult. His ego was too large to commit fully I suppose. He did subscribe to the whole "homo superior" agenda however. That surviving the boost drugs meant that you were one of the one percent that really mattered. The chosen ones. I laughed it off at the time, you know how it is with villains. And at least he wasn't overtly prejudiced in the ways I was used to struggle with."

"A black woman in STEM."

"Exactly. What I didn't know at the time was that the reason he was so accepting and helpful in our partnership was that he was convinced I was a boost all along." Her mouth twists cruelly. "That the reason for my brilliance was drugs."

"A black woman in STEM," you repeat, echoing her grimace.

"Eventually the subject came up, I can't even remember how. I might have said something in passing. He was shocked, of course, but I didn't think anything would come off it." She shakes her head at her past folly. "If anything, I hoped that it might get him to tone down the boost supremacy talk, we were in the middle of developing our teleportation system and quite frankly it was becoming a distraction."

"I take it that didn't happen." You pull your feet up on the couch, keeping your attention on her.

"It most certainly did not. But I never thought he'd do what he did." Her face grows serious, and you reflexively lean over to give her hand a squeeze. Her smile flashes in return, like a fish rising to the surface before returning to the bottom of the murky pond of memories. "He tried to kill me. No." She shakes her head. "That is unfair. I am sure he saw it as trying to help me."

"Did he try to feed you the boost drugs?" Your eyes grow big, that's as close to a death sentence as you can get.

"Or something very similar. He kept calling it a sacrament." She makes a dismissive gesture with her hand, and you doubt she picks up on the shiver down your spine.

"A sacrament. That's what they called the blood of the Void." You volunteer the information, isn't that in the spirit of this talk? "The leader of the Green Sky. They used their blood to boost people instead of chemicals. It's supposed to be excruciatingly painful, but safer. Especially if it has been filtered through others first." Supposed. You add that for plausible deniability.

"It was." Dr. Mortum locks eyes with you, but it still takes you a moment to realize what she's saying.

"He did it? He actually dosed you? And you lived?" The implications come slow, an initial pebble cascading down a slope until the avalanche of possibilities hits you. "You're a boost?" Nothing in your research had indicated that. Dr. Mortum had always been very vocal about their humanity.

"He did. Spiked my coffee with paralytics, then dragged me to the freezer while I lay there nearly senseless. He'd said the cold would help me through the process, that he'd do his best to keep me safe. Guide me." She empties her glass, and you pour her a new one without waiting for an invitation. "He hooked me up to a portable sensor array, poured cold water over me to get my body temperature to drop and then... he injected me. You're right. It did hurt."

"I'm so sorry." You can imagine the helplessness, you've been there. Paralyzed. In pain. Cold fury the only thing to cling to. "I'm so sorry."

"So would he be, eventually." The words sends a chill down your spine. "I survived. If I'm being honest, he probably had a hand in that. Kept track of my vitals, injecting me with I don't know what to counteract me going into shock. I got the feeling he had done it before."

"He probably had. The Green Sky went through a lot of people to find the few ones that lived. I'm glad you did."

"So am I. I don't remember much, thankfully. When I finally regained my senses I was wrapped up in blankets on a mattress, with a space heater blowing hot air at me and him hovering like some worried father. I pretended to be confused, which wasn't much of a stretch." Dr. Mortum runs both hands over her face, careful to avoid smudging her makeup. "I pretended to be fine with it. I pretended to be grateful. I had lived. I was a boost now. One of the chosen ones. It wasn't hard to lie to him, he wanted to believe what I told him too badly."

"People like that do." How many times have you played people just by acting like they imagined you would? "Too used to being right to look beneath the surface."

"I killed him the same night." The confession carries no guilt. "Shot him while he was setting up an experiment to help me pinpoint what powers I had got. I still feel bad that he never saw who did it. I would have wanted him to know it was me before I pulled the trigger, but I didn't dare to take the risk."

"Monologuing have brought more powerful villains down," you agree. "You've kept this a secret though. Nobody has even breathed any suspicion that you might be a boost."

"There's not much boost to brag about," she confesses with a laugh.

"Can I ask what it is?"

"It's adding up to a pile of questions from me at this point, but sure. You've shared enough in the past. It's nothing grand." Dr. Mortum looks to the side, and the glasses she removed earlier gently rises from the table. They hover in the air for a moment, before they slide back on her face. She pushes them back with a finger and smiles. "I tend to call it tiny telekinesis."

"Why tiny?" You can hardly hold back a laugh after the traumatic retelling earlier. "That looked like impressive control." Telekinesis was an uncommon talent, and not everyone managed to be delicate with it.

"Oh my control is excellent," she admits. "But the range is hardly more than my own physical reach. A couple of feet, depending on weight. And I can't exactly lift much. It helps when moving heavy equipment and such, but the heavier a thing I move, the less precise I am."

"Is -that- how you control your hands-off equipment." Suddenly things start making sense. "I thought you had implants, either for neural broadcasting, or simple fingertip connectors."

"I do have a neural plug." Dr. Mortum nods. "It helps interfacing with my car. But yes, this talent is handy around the lab. Especially when it comes to working at the smaller scale. That's how I dared to work at your nanovores from the start. I could keep them securely sealed and still modify them through the containment field."

"Your control is that precise? Through a solid screen?"

"Indeed. As long as I can see. I might have to view much of my work through a microscope, but I can manipulate things physically without bothering with miniaturizing tools. And tools are always the limiter at that scale. I am currently experimenting with direct molecular manipulation, but the inherent uncertainty of observation and effect on that scale makes it difficult."

"Damn," you say, impressed. "That explains a lot. I gather that's where you've focused rather than working on your strength?"

"I have no use for heavy lifting or fisticuffs." She looks pleased with your reaction, there's an openness to her face that wasn't there before. A relief that you know. "But I will admit that it has been handy in my work. Though I'd hate to give him that credit."

"He's dead, you don't have to." Your smile grows thin and cruel. "And when you finally figure out what made his teleport technology tick you can claim credit for that as well. He owes you."

"That is some excellent academic cutthroat arguments." Dr. Mortum laughs. "Thank you. I mean it. Just don't tell anybody what I can do. I like being underestimated."

"I am good at keeping secrets," you assure.

"Speaking of which... has any more memories come back?"

"From this body?" You shake your head reflexively, then sighs. "That depends on what you mean." The whiskey in your hand is familiar and strange at once. "There's glimpses. Like this." You sip the drink. "Whiskey tastes better in this body. There's a comfort in it, a habit. Not to get drunk, but..." you try to pinpoint the exact ways in which the taste makes your neurons fire. "Focus. Getting ready. Steady my hands. Get in the mood. It feels like a ritual for a productive night out. Ace was a gambler, I can only guess this was a way of getting in the right mood."

"Not enough to build a narrative off exactly."

"No." You run your forehead. "And you know what the worst thing is?"

"No, mon coeur, that's why we are here, remember?" She reaches out to pat your arm.

"Point." You empty the whiskey and pour yourself some more. "I can't even be sure what I am remembering. My head... my memories." How can you explain this without sounding deranged? "There's no either or."

"I don't understand." Dr. Mortum sounds patient, as if she's expecting an explanation that makes sense.

"Before we even take this body into consideration, I am a telepath. And a Re-Gene." It feels strange to talk about this so openly. "We're seeded with memories when we are decanted. There's a chip... they call it an AI chip, though it doesn't do any thinking. That's just to sell us as inhuman robots. What it does hold is a cocktail of memories of useful skills. Education. Language. Weapons' training." You look down at the glass in your hand. "Stolen from reliable people. Soldiers. People used to obeying orders without question. That speeds up the training, you see. When they start working with us out of the tube, the memories we keep using gets embedded in our brains and neural matter, while the rest... well, fade. Like childhood memories no longer needed. But occasionally they pop back up. A brief flash. And I have no idea what or where it came from."

"I never considered what they had to do to you to make forced growth work." She looks both horrified and curious. "How do they even translate memories to silicone?"

"I don't know the details," you admit. "There's a central processor, they usually call it the Core. Telepathic in nature. But that's the heart of the project. Without it we'd just be full-grown bodies with the minds of infants. Useless."

"There were rumors of experiments with translating memories and personalities into fresh bodies," Dr. Mortum muses. "But as far as I know, they all ended in madness and death."

"That amount of implanted memories? Not surprising. What we get is carefully curated down to the bare essentials. It would be counterproductive giving us anything to make us real."

"And so you can't be sure what the source of your memories are."

"Bingo. And add to that the problems with being a telepath. I read other people's minds. On occasion strong memories or feelings linger. I excise them as best I'm able, but early on I wasn't as good at it." That's the reason you found your sense of self. The notion that you were worth something. The concept of escape, and the outside world. Being able to say no. To think freely.

"I'm amazed you have as solid sense of identity as you have. It sounds like it would be easy to get lost."

"It is." You run a finger along the edge of your glass. "Sometimes it's hard. You..." your face twitches. "I prune." You make a snipping motion with your fingers. "Block off. Shut down. Make myself forget. There are things I shouldn't know. That I can't know. Not if I want to survive. Or stay sane."

"Like a trauma response." She sounds horrified. "You can control that?"

"Somewhat." Another nervous laugh. "It's not an exact science. It's like cutting off an infected limb. You lose something, but at least you're still alive. My head is full of holes, and at this point I don't even know if they were always where, or even who I am supposed to blame. Did they burn them out in the Core when they tried to reprogram me after my first escape? Or is this something I did to myself? All I can do is try not to trip into the craters."

"Oh I am so sorry, mon coeur." Dr. Mortum reaches for your hand, and you let her grab it. "And I made it worse with my speculations. I didn't know."

"I don't blame you. It was a fair question, and I wish I could be sure. It's not like I have many other telepaths to talk to and compare notes." Have you ever met one? Not on your level. Not that you can remember. You pull back your hand, rubbing it.

"Well..." She frowns, looking thoughtful. "Do you think that it would help?"

"I don't know." Would it? It's not like you would dare to let anybody into your head regardless. That's where you keep all your secrets. "It's a moot point. You said it yourself, there's not any telepaths around these days."

"I did say that, yes." She nods. "But there is still the issue of you being stuck in that body."

"I'll handle it." You will. You have no choice at this point.

There is nobody else that can help.