Remember Me (ONC2020) ✔

Chapter 3

Ju'rah. The two were close, and he was the scoundrel who talked Messita into the tech. After it was implanted, she could talk about nothing but moving up in society, selling more memories, pulling riskier stunts. Ju'rah had put those ideas and that harmful device in her head. "Yes, but he's probably on his sixth beer at The Drunken Skunk."

Solara smiled and stared at him. "It'll be like old times, except I can hold my liquor a little better."

Runan wrinkled his nose and set down his fork. Was this a game to her? His sister was dead, and she was turning it into a damned reunion. "You must need it with your job crushing your conscience." 

The words drove her gaze to her noodles, and she stirred them around. Finally, some remorse for the harm she caused their people.

"I don't love what I do, but it helps others."

His body grew hotter, and his shoulders tensed. Did she consider herself as a saviour? It was fortunate they'd never reconnected. "It creates a broken society that will starve itself while lining the pockets of the middlemen."

Solara sighed and looked him in the eye. "You're upset about Messita, and you should be, but we're on the same team. I can't help you to the best of my ability if you keep making me feel like trash. I wanted to reach out when I heard the news, but I knew you'd react like this." Fiddling with her necklace again, she bowed her head.

His heart ached. She was right. His frustrations were meant for Mem-Stem, not Solara. "Sorry," Runan muttered. His finger traced the rim of the clay bowl as his stomach churned. He might as well have been nineteen again, trudging home with his head hung low after their biggest fight. She'd make him so nervous all the wrong words had tumbled out his mouth. His sweating palms reminded him she still did.

After they finished their cold meals in silence, Runan paid for the food, and they walked to the bar. The setting sun painted the wooden and clay buildings in reds and pinks. Shutters hung at awkward angles, and cracks slithered up the sides of their foundations. Most structures had stood for decades, as it had been ages since this neighbourhood was desirable or the residents had enough money to invest in housing. Everyone built closer to the cliff face, hoping that in generations they'd be plucked up by the elite to the plateau of Upper-Caldozza. At least it sorted the soul-sellers from those like Runan who wanted a simple life.

As people in patched and mended clothes sat on their stoops, they grinned and waved at Solara. Some kids ran over to give her big hugs, asking when she'd visit next.

As a woman with a young baby in her arms retreated to her home with a smile, Runan said, "You're popular around here."

Solara waved at a boy kicking a new ball with his friend in front of a seamstress shop. "My clinic is in Old Peroa for a reason."

"They can't be clients."

"You'd be surprised who walks through my door. Very few of my clients are career creators like your sister. Most are looking to sell a memory or two to feed their families in desperate times."

"What experiences would they have to offer?"

Solara chewed on her lip before a smile bloomed on her pink lips. "Is Runan Zaridi interested in the memory business? Do you have something juicy to sell?"

With a huff, Runan increased his pace, making Solara rush forward on her shorter legs. Did she see him as some patsy without scruples so desperate he'd violate the privacy of those he cared about? Messita had died for that business. He slowed as the outline of a wooden skunk sign appeared in the distance.

"Sorry, Ru, I don't know your buttons anymore. I was just trying to lighten the mood."

"Lighten the mood?" Heat erupted through his veins like lava. He narrowed his eyes at Solara, in her frivolous gypsy clothing and those silly tattoos up her arms. "My sister is dead because of people like you, and you want to crack jokes? If I had any other choice, I wouldn't be here. Coming to you was a mistake."