ROGER

T E N

I was floating. Wafting through the air—weightless, soundless—like energy.

I felt pulses beneath my fingers, surges behind my ear, but my body touched no solid and I felt no floor. I wasn't sure if I was standing up or laying down. I wasn't sure of anything at all.

All I remembered was the boot, the man, and the pain. No... I remembered Roger. His frustration, his fear, still rang in my ears, a distant echoing whisper. He hadn't meant to put me in danger, but that's where I ended up. And now?

Where was I?

When I opened my eyes, all I saw was white—white ceilings, white walls, and that floor I couldn't feel. Looking down at my feet, I realized I was standing, but when I stepped forward, I wobbled. Mentally, I knew where I was. I awoke in that dream place, just like last time. Only now, something told me that I shouldn't be here.

"Clara."

I hadn't noticed—or maybe he simply just appeared—but Roger sat in a chair a few feet in front of me. His head was in his hands, fingers pressing hard into his scalp. The folds of his shirt curved around his arms and shoulders. His black shoes tapped repeatedly against the floor.

Taking a step towards him, I extended my hand. "Roger?"

"I should've seen this coming." Roger lifted his head to look at me. I saw the apology in his eyes. "Everything, right there in front of me, and I... I pieced it together all wrong."

"How'd you do that?"

He slammed his fists against his knees, the sound making me jump. That apology shifted into pain, and I saw it all over his face. The blue color in his eyes faded, his face pulled back in a grimace. My natural reaction was to go to him, drop beside his chair, and wrap my arms around him as best I could. He embraced me in seconds. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Don't be." I pulled back and cupped his face. "None of this is your fault. What could you do? You're only one machine."

"Machine?" Roger moved back slightly, looking at me in disbelief. Was what I said wrong? It was the truth. Yet, the look in his eyes pleaded with me to see it differently. "Clara, can't you see..."

"See what?" I slid my thumb along his cheek. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Me." He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his face. "I'm more than data."

More than data. I'd seen an array of emotions from him before, but this was different. There were tears in his eyes. His cheeks were flushed pink. Looking up at him as I sat back on my legs, I tried to figure it all out. Wherever this was, was real, right? At least, it was real for him. Made entirely out of data, it was the space he called home.

I just couldn't understand how it was that I ended up here...

"The men who took you aren't controlled." Roger cleared his throat after a minute and wiped his eyes. "No receptors in their heads."

Chewing my lip, I tried to get him to look at me. "Okay, but how?"

He shrugged, looking ahead into emptiness. "It looks like they either had their implant removed, or never had one to begin with. All receptors give off a signal, like a buzzing fly; happens even when the device isn't in use. But those men...." He covered his mouth entirely with his hand. "I couldn't sense them at all."

I looked down at my hands and my chipped nail polish. The idea that there were unmonitored people out in the world, free from VF hands, seemed impossible. Receptors were required by law; VFs were installations approved by Province officials. To not have either one meant they were Rebels.