memoria - memory, remembrance, recall, recollection; history; time within memory
"In Medias Res"
By Amanda Swiftgold
Part Two - Memoria
Pars maior lacrimas ridet et intus habet.
"You smile at your tears but have them in your heart."
--Martialis
There was no logic or reason that could explain why she was standing here on this unfamiliar balcony at this moment, Paradigm falling in front of her, but she was there all the same. She could feel the thundering footsteps of the huge metal robots and could sense the heat of the fires on her skin, could hear the rumbling crashes of buildings falling and domes shattering, the screams of people and the similar crying whine of the flying megadeii as they soared past, raining down death. The sky bled and churned black clouds as the world slowly came to an end.
Despite the vague alarm the sight brought to her, she did not feel any fear, or urgency. It was as if this was a scene playing out in front of her but not involving her in the slightest. None of the large robots were responding to her call, not even to ignore it
R. Dorothy jumped lightly onto the rail of the balcony as she was used to doing at Roger's home - though this was not his home, but one she didn't know. She turned to face its glass windows and stone façade, stretching out her arms, her usual black skirt fluttering around her legs. She felt herself tipping back, knowing she would fall, knowing it as well as she knew that night would become day. She did not want to fall; she did not even want to be up on the ledge like this, but her feet had moved without her consent or order.
Has someone programmed me to kill myself? she wondered, almost as calmly as she might wonder if Norman had any more chores for her to do. The thought of Beck swam into her mind, that wide grin framed by yellow hair, and his rape of her mind with his electronics. Put something in and she would do whatever they ordered almost anything. Maybe what bothered her the most was that she couldn't kill Roger when forced to, but she might kill herself wasn't self-preservation the most important thing? Not that dark-haired human man with the beautiful eyes
Almost as if she had summoned him, she heard the sound of a door swung open, a man rushing out onto the balcony from the house. "Roger?" Dorothy asked tentatively, staring at the messy-haired figure with something akin to shock. He was wearing some kind of beige slacks, and a emerald-colored shirt that remained unbuttoned, his feet bare on the stones. He was wearing green? Did he even own something that color?
"What are you doing?" he asked urgently, his gaze wavering as he saw her on the ledge. He looked around at the destruction behind her, but he too seemed unworried about it affecting him, about a megadeus casually flinging a missile toward this mansion.
The android blinked, unable to take her eyes off him. How could she answer that? "I'm not sure" she replied slowly. He was acting oddly, displaying none of his usual mannerisms that she'd mentally catalogued from watching him. Of course, perhaps she was not taking the physiological effects of the event happening around them into consideration.
Without knowing why she did so, she tipped back on her heels, watching as he raised his hand, biting off a cry. She could not even take satisfaction from his worry or force herself to stand up straight again. Roger, I do not want to kill myself... do something, please...
"Dorothy!" she heard him scream out as she toppled, feeling the air rush past her face as she fell, and then a sudden jolt as his hand closed around hers, as he yanked her back upward. She flew forward so fast it startled her - how was he able to pull her up that fast? He was not that strong!
She stared at him as he tried to tug her down from the ledge, but as much as she wanted to step back down onto the balcony she could not force her feet to move. "Roger, if I was programmed to fall then I have to," she informed him, feeling almost afraid because she had known fear when she had 'spoken' to that proto-megadeus under the subway and he had put her fear to rest, smashed it for her he was the one who put her fears to rest
The man reached up, trailing his fingers along her face, and although her mind told her to pull away she didn't want to. Her components, her programming, told her of the softness of his fingertips on her skin, a 'matter of function' - but was it telling her also that it felt good. Am I really capable of feeling like this, or is it...
"I can't do that," he said quietly, and she frowned at him. It didn't make sense. He was not replying to what she had said. So what had he heard, and what was he seeing in place of what was?
Suddenly, she realized the answer. "This must be a memory," Dorothy murmured, "a memory of hers." Her. The real Dorothy, who had died forty years ago. Father... no, her father, must have given me some of her memories... then I really am simply a... vessel...
And that meant that this wasn't Roger, it couldn't be a dead girl's remembrance told her that the man's name was Aaron, but it looked just like him, when he stood outside in his robe, his hair messy but as he jumped up on the rail with her, standing so close as he was, how could it not be? Why could it not be Roger who looked at her this way-
"This isn't the answer," he told her softly, tenderly, with none of the sternness the man she lived with would have used. He put his arms around her waist and she could not move away, did not want to move away, even if he was really a stranger to her.
She looked down, looked away, knowing that she was in a memory, knowing there was nothing she could do to change what would occur, whatever had occurred. "I am bound by history to carry it out," she told him somberly even though he could not hear her, was hearing whatever the real Dorothy had said years ago. The past has intended me to fall...
"We'll think of something," Aaron pleaded, turning to face her on the wide rail, his back to the expanse of the house behind him. She could see the redness of the dying city reflected on his face, the despair in his eyes as he looked over her shoulder at the destruction that was touching everyone else but them.
Before she could try to respond to him, a voice cried out, a voice she knew from deep inside, her father's voice, "Get away from her!" He held a gun in his hand, raising it up, pointing it at the back of the man who was just now looking over his shoulder
Dorothy's eyes flew wide, but she couldn't move, she was used to reacting with such speed but now she couldn't move couldn't move couldn't do anything couldn't move! "Stop - no!" she screamed as he pulled the trigger, the loud bang like a sudden thunderclap in her ears. The man in front of her fell forward, gasping, almost knocking her back she should have been able to hold him up easily but she couldn't-
She felt the heat of his blood on her, but not the pain, although she knew the bullet had passed into her as well, had torn through wires and components and metal that should have stopped its piercing path. His body was trembling, his face white, so much blood staining them from the wound that had blown open his chest. "I love you, Dorothy," he gasped, trying desperately to keep a hold on her.
It was almost as if her mind had shut down; the redheaded android didn't know how to react. That was Roger's face twisted in such pain, his breath hitching in his throat his voice saying those words to her
Her father's voice howled, "Dorothy!" in shock as he realized what he had done, that he had killed his own daughter by shooting her lover. He was running for them and she knew what she had to do.
She grasped onto Aaron's arms, pulling him tight against her, rocking backward to lose balance. "I love you Roger," she breathed quietly, feeling gravity take hold, her toes leaving the edge of the stone, the weight of the dying man against her. She held onto him as they fell, watching the balcony grow further and further away, the face of her father appearing over the rail, reaching out for them in vain. She watched as the sky receded, as the world receded, as vision and senses and existence itself receded, smashed along the broken surface of a road.
And so an android felt what it was like to die.
*****
When she became aware of reality again, she found that she was sitting in front of the piano, her head resting on the keys. They made a discordant jumble of notes as she sat upward again, pushing the russet hair of her bangs out of her eyes. Is that what a dream is like? she wondered, glancing around at the room. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, unusually, it seemed, for a place like Paradigm. It was morning now how long had she been 'asleep'? Certainly for some hours
Dorothy stood up, trying to get the unfamiliar groggy feeling out of her system. Brushing invisible wrinkles from her black dress, she left the room slowly, her mind filled with thoughts. Why would she suddenly have had a dream when she hadn't had one before?
She went over what had happened as she walked, her perfect memory seizing upon the answer she'd thought of during the 'dream' - that had been a memory of the human Dorothy, the predecessor whose death she'd died. But if that had been a real memory, why was Roger in it?
She glanced into the room she was about to pass, the one where the negotiator met with clients, slipping inside it when she found no one was in there. It had not been the first time, then, she realized, only the longest. Several days had passed since Roger had been acting strangely, since she'd thought she'd recognized him, called him by that name, Aaron what secrets was she hiding in the mind even her creators could not understand? Or, she thought with a small nervous feeling, who was she hiding inside?
Almost angrily, she stalked up to the impressive array of hourglasses that were arranged on Roger's desk. She knew his rules, his love for order and consistency, and sometimes she took great satisfaction in turning over this table full of him. Whatever he may have been measuring, or the purpose of the hourglasses, had long since been thrown off thanks to her methodical rearranging and flipping of each glass that sat there.
The sound of a throat being cleared resounded behind her, but she did not stop flipping the glasses, looking back over her shoulder. Roger stood there glaring at her, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed. She took note of the sunglasses he was holding in one gloved hand, the suit jacket that was on and buttoned, and spoke in a neutral, almost pleasant tone, "Are you going somewhere, Roger Smith?" The soft sounds of wood against wood continued, grains of sand spilling and tumbling, down down down
He seemed a little startled at her perception but went on gamely. "And may I inquire what you are doing with my hourglasses, R. Dorothy Wayneright?" he remarked in return, trying to imitate her monotone but not succeeding.
"I am flipping them over, Roger," she explained patiently, making him release a sudden, violent breath of air in exasperation.
"I'm going to the military police station to ask a question," the black-haired man began. Dorothy found herself running out of hourglasses to turn and found herself turning them back again from the beginning, one after another, almost mindlessly. Couldn't let the last grain fall couldn't let time run out
He regarded her with a flat stare when she didn't respond. "Well, would you rather flip hourglasses all day, or would you want to join me?"
Dorothy paused, her hand hovering over the polished end of the largest timepiece. "Why do I need to go to the police station?"
He rubbed at the back of his neck and sighed, turning in the doorway to go. "No reason I just thought you might want to get out of the house or something." He shrugged broad shoulders. "Just thought I'd ask."
"Very well," she answered before he could take another step out into the hall. Whatever else that memory was, it was affecting her thought processes and she had to stop that from happening, had to think about something else. "I'll go." He stopped short and turned around before sighing again, his face relaxing into a smile. She felt a little twinge inside at that expression on his face turned in her direction, before brushing that silly thought aside.
"All right let's go then, shall we?"
*****
I wonder if I should tell him about the memory, she thought, glancing over at the man as he guided the long black car through the crowded streets. With the rare sunlight shining brightly overhead, the city today seemed to be crammed full of the people who usually kept hidden, out of sight, out of mind. Would he be interested in something like that, or would he think it was just another pretense at being human? He didn't refer to her as an android much anymore, but even so, she wasn't sure about it.
Even as she opened her mouth to say something, he began to speak, and she surreptitiously put her question aside, listening to his. "Ah, Dorothy do you dream?" he asked, shifting his hands on the wheel. "I mean can you?"
"I have not," she answered after a pause long enough she was worried he might think she was hiding something. "I do not know if I am capable of it." He looked thoughtful for a while, and finally she broke the silence with, "Did you have a reason for asking?"
He was quiet as he downshifted, bringing the Griffon to a stop just behind the traffic cop's plastic signal. "I had a dream a couple nights ago," he said then, and was silent once more, searching for the words.
Dorothy waited patiently before remarking, "I thought that humans dreamed every night."
"They - we do," he responded hastily. "It's just that this one was different, somehow." He frowned behind the dark glasses, depressing the clutch and revving the car through the intersection with an uncharacteristic jerk. "It was more like a memory, but not mine. A memory from forty years ago." He gave her a sidelong glance, smirking with one corner of his mouth. "Crazy, right? I mean, I'm only twenty-five. It had to be a dream." He sounded more like he was trying to reassure himself than anything.
It is completely impossible. I won't believe that it could be true... or what it might mean if it were. "I can't help you with that, Roger," she told him softly, glancing down at her hands folded in her lap. He gave her another look but soon returned his attention to the road as the military police station glided into view. He parked in front of it and they got out, walking the short distance up stony steps in thoughtful silence.
The android waited in the lobby as Roger went to find Dan Dastun, brushing off a young lieutenant's fumbling attempts at conversation while the negotiator met with his former superior in his office. The wait was not long and she didn't mind it - for it was nice to get out of the house.
Finally the tall man returned, holding a small slip of glossy paper in his hand and with a satisfied smile on his face. Dorothy felt rather amused at the disappointed look on the young lieutenant's face when Roger came over to greet her familiarly, waving the photo in front of her. "What is that?" she asked curiously, although her voice was as even as ever.
"Something I needed to prove to myself," he responded. "I thought you might like to see. Do you recognize it?"
She took the picture from his hand, looking at the man depicted. She knew who it was - and he knew that she remembered him from the near-imperceptible widening of her dark, reflective eyes. He was older than he had been in the memory, gun in hand, taking life away, but decades younger than he had been when she had sang for him in the NightinGale, when Beck and his goons had killed him. "My father," she said.
Roger nodded somberly, making no move to take the picture back from her. "It was the oldest they could find on file"
"Why?" Dorothy asked, meeting his eyes. "Why did you want this?"
"I" He crossed his arms, looking away. "That memory," he said in a low tone, "if that's what it was. I saw Timothy Wayneright in it and wanted to make sure it was him. You can keep it, if you want to." He burst into sudden motion, striding forward toward the door as she stood there with picture in hand, regarding him seriously, knowing she would catch up to him in a moment.
Is it possible that Roger is having the same memory as I...? But... how could that be?
*****
It was a foolish notion, to be afraid of balconies now. Even nervousness was no good. She could not let such things get in her way of the enjoyment of the nighttime outside, when everything was dark and peaceful, the wind blowing through her hair and ruffling her skirt. Sometimes Roger joined her, but tonight he had gone to bed early. She wondered if he would dream again, or if she would - perhaps it was not a good idea to stand on the edge, then, if she was in danger of losing control and falling into a memory.
Dorothy sat on the rail, tucking the ends of her dress under her. She missed Pero at times like these, holding his tiny feline body in her arms, feeling the rumble of his purr against her chest. She knew loneliness, and he had eased that pain because he had been like her, made for purposes beyond understanding.
She could have simply known how long she sat there, but chose not to - it was more human that way. The android was jolted from her meandering thoughts by the sound of a soft clink, and glanced over to see the end of a grappling hook catch on the edge of the platform. She held still, waiting to see who the intruder turned out to be, although she was quite certain whoever it was wasn't up to any good.
A few minutes later a lithe form pulled itself up onto the balcony, shaking out blonde curls as she straightened, looking around with a small smile. I know her, Dorothy thought. She's the client who came to see Roger some time ago - the one whose business card I tore. Casey Jenkins... why is she climbing up to Roger's balcony now? He can't be... waiting for her... She shook her head, standing silently before calling out, "Most people knock on the front door when they want in."
The woman hid her surprise, turning to face her. She put her hands on her pink-clad hips, regarding her thoughtfully. "Oh it's you. Dorothy, is it? Guarding Roger, I see?"
"I enjoy it here," Dorothy replied, leaping down to her level. She stood between the door leading inside and the blonde woman, watching her cautiously. Even if she weren't trying to sneak in, I don't think this is someone I can trust.
"So you can enjoy things?" The blonde made a face that ended up in a smirk, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek.
She watched her emotionlessly, not showing how much that had actually stung. It would probably give that woman much too much satisfaction. "Are you Casey Jenkins?"
"For a while I was, yes," she remarked airily. "I suppose that you too can call me Angel."
I too? I think she has been contacting Roger before this... why hasn't he told me about her? Ignoring both that thought and the woman's introduction, the slender android went on, "I have to ask you to leave. You are intruding here."
Angel gave her an almost-shocked look, as if in wonder at her daring. "How can you be so sure about that?" she retorted finally. "You don't know if Roger invited me or not. I'm sure he doesn't discuss all of his business with you."
"If he had invited you, then Norman would have had instructions to bring you in. Roger does not like anyone to be let in without his permission." She paused for a moment. "Especially through a window, I might think."
The other woman sighed, one hand fluttering upward in a gesture of resignation. "Very well, you are right. He is not expecting me, but I have to see him anyway. I have a very important question to ask him."
Dorothy gave her a flat look. No matter what she wanted, each passing moment was making her increasingly reluctant to ever let her in. "He is sleeping now and would not want to be disturbed."
"When I said it was important, I meant it" Angel scowled, looking almost as if she would rush the door.
Dorothy was unworried; even if she was armed, she would not last long against an android if she tried force. "You can come back tomorrow, then."
The suggestion was met with another baleful glare, and then a sudden weary sigh. "Look Dorothy, right? Just let me go in. If he gets angry, it's not your fault, it's mine." Her pretty face softened a little. "But the answer to this question could mean life and death."
"I think you are exaggerating," she replied, holding out one arm to the side as Angel took a step forward. I think you are just an actress playing another role.
She frowned, crossing her arms beneath her chest. Her tone said that she was making a concession, that this was so important that she was willing to even ask the android housemaid about it. "Has Roger ever told you anything about memories surfacing? Memories he is too young to have?"
The question caught her off-guard. How could she have known that Roger had just been talking about that very thing? It couldn't have been a coincidence. "No, he has not," she replied without hesitation.
Angel huffed, tossing her head with a smile, as if she'd expected that. "Maybe he hasn't told you, then." Her tone added, 'as if you were worth speaking to'. "But I have to know if he has, and just never said anything." She shrugged, spreading her hands disarmingly.
"We were talking about it, and he said that he has not," Dorothy persisted. Everything inside, any intuition she might have had, was telling her not to trust this woman, not to let her get close to Roger. She didn't like the odd feeling this thought gave her
"I think you're lying," Angel accused shortly.
"Can you prove that I am?" the android returned simply.
She shrugged, scrutinizing the redheaded woman in front of her. "Only if you let me talk to Roger."
Dorothy continued to regard her seriously. She was a bit put off by the layers of emotion in the other's gaze. What was she hiding? "I will not."
"Fine, then. This answer will do, for now." She narrowed her eyes, turning to drift over toward the rail where her grappling hook hung. She leaped up on top of the stone, hands on her hips once more. "But don't think that I can't see right through you, android."
"You will believe what you want to," she replied, not sure what Angel meant by that statement. She had only been doing what she was supposed to, in accordance with Roger's rules what she'd thought was right.
She tucked a curl behind her head, giving her a half-smile. "I suppose so. Goodnight, then" And, a moment later, she dropped out of sight, leaving Dorothy with new things to worry about throughout the remainder of the night.
Soo, yeah. This chapter was hard to write. Thanks for all your comments! I hope you're still enjoying the story. ^_^