More snippets of interrogations trickle into my mind. I learn names of prominent members of the Ratel, more details about the relationships between the various pieces on the chess board of San Francisco underground crime. The information changes, and I see tables of the same data, laid out logically, so that my brain will process and store it in a subtly different way. This includes maps of suspected Ratel hideouts, possible combination codes or passwords.

Still later, music floats through my brain, the wavelengths undulating through my mind. Here, my brain finally enters REM, and facts still trickle in through the music, deep into the subconscious. Certain nuggets of information will arise if and when I need them.

So many words, so many sounds, so many pieces of a puzzle that I try to fit together. Throughout it all, I wonder: how much of this does Tila already know?

*   *   *

“Wake up,” Nazarin says, his voice low and soothing.

I open my eyes, and his face is the first sight to greet me. His dark brows are knitted together, studying my face. “How are you feeling?” he asks. He takes off the electrodes and brings the Chair into a seated position.

I press a hand to my temple. “Like an overly damp sponge.”

He gives me a humorless half-smile. “I remember that feeling. I made some coffee. Do you want any?”

“Yeah, sounds good.” I rise to my feet, steadier than I expect to be.

I follow him into the kitchen, slumping into a chair. I clamp my teeth together to stop the endless litany of facts streaming through my brain from escaping my lips. Within a few hours, the information will settle, but right now, my brain feels like it’s in overdrive.

Nazarin pops a Rejuv and sets the steaming cup in front of me. “They put a lot more into you than I’ve ever seen before in two hours. You sure you feel all right?”

“Fine,” I say, trying to sound so. I take a sip of coffee. It’s the sanitized San Francisco stuff, nearly caffeine-free, with creamer, but it’s warm as it slides down my throat.

“Do you have any questions about what you’ve learned?” Nazarin asks.

I frown. “I’m still sorting through it. Maybe later.”

Nazarin glances at the clock above the replicator. Half past six. “I’ll leave you to drink your coffee. But then you should phone Tila’s friends. Your first assignment. I have to go.” His eyes are a little puffy, despite the Rejuv.

“Right,” I mutter, staring into the coffee cup. Nazarin stands, and pauses right before he passes me. For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to rest a hand on my shoulder. I think I would have appreciated the gesture. In the end, he sighs and leaves me be.

“Hey,” I call after him, and he turns. “How old are you?”