“I thought it best to dispense with your mask,” Martin said. “The Adam Trevor Profile doesn’t suit you. Antique furniture?” He shook his head and set the paper aside. Something vibrated deep within the walls, and Ambrose thought he saw a pale human ear sprout from the plant before becoming a plump green leaf. He focused on his last clear memory: Mistletoe’s abrupt disconnection.

“What did you do with her?” Ambrose asked.

“Nothing.”

“How about Len? Was that nothing, too?”

“I had him safely immobilized. The disruptor merely stunned him. He’s my son, Ambrose.”

“Unlike me.”

“You’re the future.”

“I saw him die, Dad.” Ambrose winced. He hadn’t meant to call Martin Dad ever again. And he was angry at his own brain for automatically triggering a sense of professional awe. Even now, part of him felt like he should be presenting some kind of detailed report.

“But you’ve been seeing other things, too,” Martin said.

The plant rustled and presented Ambrose with a bottle of dark, fizzy liquid. The bottle was sweating little beads of water, as if it had just been pulled from a bucket of ice. Martin clasped his hands together and leaned back in his chair. “UniCola?”

“I’m not thirsty. And I know what I saw.”

The bottle shrank back into the leaves. The plant drooped. It looked disappointed.

“Do you?” Martin asked. “Think back to the rapid deterioration of the Level Seven test subjects who preceded you. Your mind is no different, Ambrose. It needs regular calibration. Let me give you your life back. Full Process Flow ability, position at UniCorp. Everything.”

Martin leaned forward, setting his elbows on the table. The picture frame on the shelf above his head displayed a candid image of a younger Martin Truax sitting on the grass of the Gen-Farm in the New England Expansion. Next to him, Ambrose and Len buried their faces in two enormous ice cream cones. Ambrose remembered the taste: creamy vanilla synth-dairy, right from the source.

“We were a family once,” Martin continued. “I know I’ve been preoccupied lately, but things can go back to the way they were.”

“You remember what you got me for my birthday last year?”

Martin’s face was a rigid mask.

“New Process Flow assignments. You doubled my workload.” Ambrose’s heart was pounding. A few days ago, he never would have said these things. A few days ago, he didn’t even know he felt this way. His eyes went to the image on the shelf. “It would’ve been nice just to get some ice cream.”