nod. We touchdown some time later, and I lean on Led for support as we make our way through the Precinct. If it bothers him, he doesn't say. My legs still feel weak and my breathing is laboured. The ascent to Nonsiu’s office feels like a mountain hike. I have walked this flight of stairs too many times in the past week. Led shoots me a worried look before knocking on the door. Doing that is unnecessary – Nonsiu can see us approach, and if he by some incident misses it, his interface will inform him. It is a courtesy – for those who are technophobes, when technology has everything, you have to grasp onto small victories and hold on tightly.

“Come in,” Nonsiu’s voice echoes.

Another worried look.

Surprisingly, when we enter, neither Nonsiu’s nor O’Neil’s heads are ripped off. O’Neil and Nonsiu are sitting on opposite loveseats with solemn expressions. Nonsiu stands up; on ceremony as always. “Aylah, Officer Whiston, I’m glad you intruded – please, sit.”

Led steps forward. “Sir, we have something important to –"

O’Neil is stone faced. “Sit down.”

Led and I exchange looks. I take a place down next to O’Neil; the sticky leather groans – I have to hide an embarrassed blush. Led sits next Nonsiu. O’Neil and Nonsiu trade a cautionary look. O’Neil takes a breath. “We need to discuss something.”

Anxiety builds in the pit of my stomach. “What is it?”

Nonsiu leans forward; the leather makes another gross sound. “When Sinead passed, the Foremen put forth a Rereading order – it was inevitably put in the works when the protests were started…and by her successor, no less.

“Ita Ru, whatever his reasons, did not believe it ‘morally correct’ for Sinead to be Reread. The Foremen naturally disagreed – her stature was of too much importance. It was put to a vote.”

A bell rings at the back of my mind. “I remember that.”

And I do. I remember scrolling through my Specs, lying in bed, when the prompt came up. Perks of living in the ultimate democracy; everyone votes on everything. Sinead Vui’s murder was no different. But Ita Ru’s propaganda had already become sensational, he may not have had much pull, but he had the influence where it mattered most and he was not shy to yank at whatever strings that were within his grasp. The ratio was pathetic: 5:1. For every one person that voted ‘yes’ on the Rereading, five voted ‘no’. It was a failure of epic proportions. Ita Ru counted it as a success – any regard toward Vui’s killer absent.

Led shifts uncomfortably. “What has that got to do with anything?”

Nonsiu and O’Neil share the look they’ve been sharing since we walked in once more. Then Nonsiu looks at me. “The Foremen have approved the Rereading.”

Led coughs. “But the matter was already voted on.” And denied, he did not have to add.

There is a long awkward pause. Nonsiu doesn’t meet Led’s eyes. “Her brain was preserved. In light of recent events…”

“Have the Foremen approved this?” Led stands up. Defiance is clear in his every twitch. Nonsiu’s hands ball protectively.

“Whitson.” O’Neil glares. “Sit down.”

Led’s legs turn to rubber and he plops back down. I find my voice. It is deep in my throat and it hurts to summon. “I don’t understand…why tell us then?”

O’Neil hesitates. He rests the weight of his hand on my thigh. “Aylah,” he says, hesitates again, looks to Nonsiu and then down at the floor. “You’re the one who has to enter alt-con.”

I reel back. “Why not Szah?” I almost cover my mouth. The impulsiveness. O'Neil casts me a look of...I cannot decipher it. Maybe he is thinking that I already practically agreed to it last night.

Nonsiu closes his eyes for a long second. Led looks as though he is about to burst – the shade of his cheeks are curiously close to that of a pomegranate. “Why not Szah?” Nonsiu meets my gaze. And that is it exactly: why not Szah?

Because she is impulsive, wild, secretive, and since yesterday, violent. Why not Szah?

“Okay,” I say, breathlessly. “I’ll do it.”

“What?” says Led. “No. No, you won’t. That outrageous.” He stands up again. “And ridiculous. Come on, O’Neil, you can’t.”

O’Neil’s eyes turn to him sharply. “You disliked Aylah from the moment you saw her. Why so defensive now?”

“Because we have other clues. We don’t have to do this. This is drastic.” He turns to Nonsiu. “And illegal.”

O’Neil perks. “What clues?”

“I found The Painted Rose’s log book,” I say.

“Really? I tried – the old hag would barely let me through the door,” O’Neil confides.

“You and me both,” Led grumbles.

“More importantly,” interjected Nonsiu. “What did it read?”

I look to Led for courage – then look away – why him? I…hate him, I think. I turn back to Nonsiu. “Sinead was…an avid patron.”

O’Neil leans back.

“Monthly – no – weekly visits. And as soon as her visits desisted…Lio seemed to…pick up the slack, I guess you could say? He came less often, but he came.”

“Did Lio visit whilst Sinead was…?” Nonsiu asks.

“Yes. But his weren’t frequent, until she passed – I took snaps. I can messenger them over to you?”

Nonsiu mirrors O’Neil and leans back. “Yes, thank you, Aylah.”

“See?” says Led. “Now we don’t have to do the Rereading.”

“We should still do the Rereading.” Nonsiu looks to the wall. “I’ll make the call to Midhurst.”

“What?” Led takes a menacing step forward.

O’Neil stands up. “Whitson,” and when Led looks to him: “Not now. Not here.”

Led throws up his hands. “I won’t be a party to this,” he exclaims and walks out. The door softly shutters close.

Nonsiu looks to O’Neil. “Will he tell?”

O’Neil looks to me then back at Nonsiu. “No. He’s a good kid. Just…conflicted.”

Nonsiu stands and places his hand on O’Neil’s shoulder. “Sometimes the right thing isn’t always easy.”

O’Neil raises an eyebrow. “We’re not doing the right thing, Nonsiu. We’re not doing what’s right, never mistake that. We’re doing what’s necessary.”

“That’s what I’m worried about, Investigator. That’s what I’m worried about.”

I stand up. Test my legs. Protocol doesn’t allow for one Rereader to enter alt-con twice in the same week. Or even the same fortnight. Every time you lie beneath that laser, risks of permanent mental trauma increase tenfold. It makes you wonder why anyone would choose to be a Rereader – and you’d be wrong to wonder that. Because maybe, just maybe, it isn’t a choice at all.

It doesn’t take long for Midhurst to respond to the call. Led disappears and his desk is conspicuously empty. He is conflicted, says O’Neil, but I’m not sure about what. I’m not sure if maybe, maybe I should be too.

The law is the law. You can’t just disregard it because it doesn’t fit in neatly with your agenda. That’s not how it works. But right now, the law isn’t fitting in very neatly in my agenda, and disregarding it is working out fine. I don’t know how long that will last.

O’Neil takes point with Midhurst in the labs. I see it before some officials escort it into the control room. I see her brain. Its ugly and floating in preserved goo, suspended in time. It’s weird to think that right now, there is a thing like that, grey and light pink, floating in my skull, the sole provider of all my thoughts, the sole instigator of all my actions.

That was in Sinead Vui’s head. I’d never met her – never wanted to, either. I’d seen her on TV, listened to her speeches; she saved lives and empowered people. She was one of the Foremen who managed to finally forge diplomatic relations with the Federation. She’d done a lot, and there it was: her brain. The thing largely responsible for it all.

My nanosuit bites into my skin when I slide it on. I ignore the thrum of my head, the images of Lio and The Painted Rose that skate by. A brothel? Why? What was going on there? Why was a Rereader meeting at a brothel with a Foreman? Were they having an affair? Why did he keep going?

The black fabric of the suit clings to the sore bit of my arm, and I don't know whether they're harming or helping but it feels like the former. I swallow the pain and the thoughts that try to coax me into telling O'Neil about my recent escapade. But somehow it doesn't feel relevant just then. I can tell him when I'm out of alt-con.

I try, but I cannot picture Lio and Sinead involved in any elicit activity. The image just feels wrong. Lio was so cheerful, so happy, so enthusiastic, and Sinead was serious, determined and single-minded. It is not the dichotomy in their personalities that propels me to rethink the obvious conclusion, but rather what I know to be their morals, their beliefs. I don’t believe Lio or Sinead to have been the type to frequent brothels, but The Painted Rose’s books speak otherwise.

In RL21, O’Neil is waiting. “I’ve never actually been down here for one of these things – how do they work?”

The muscles in my shoulders tense uncomfortably. In the florescent, his eyes seem so blue, so light, they might even be a tainted grey. The nanosuit sticks to every angle I have; no one has ever seen me in it, with the exception of Midhurst. Somehow, the thought of O’Neil’s somewhat blue-grey eyes studying me, in this form-fitting suit, makes me want to shy away. And maybe shrink and die.

I keep my eyed trained on the ground. Maybe if I don’t see him looking, it won’t register that he is looking. “Midhurst takes care of it,” I say. “I just lie down. If you’re interested, you should stay in the control room with him.”

The projectors’ flash. The blue heart rate monitor flickers on the wall at the head of the chaise. My eyes are unused to seeing without the protective (and informative) glass and pixels of my Specs. In the corner, on the desk, there is a new pad of paper and a fresh pen.

I try to block out the world. Entering alt-con is tricky. Rereading is tricky. It requires an ultimate focus – the ability to close your eyes and completely open your mind to foreign influence. There is a vulnerability in that. A vulnerability and a stake. But I have been trained for it. Don’t focus on O’Neil, I tell myself, because breaks in concentration can mean my brain being fried by a laser dangling above my head.

Because even though I’ve died my fair share of times, I don’t think I’ll ever be ready.

I lie down on the chaise and the protocol is initiated. I close my eyes and I think I feel the darkness before it comes. This time, it feels different. But that’s okay, because it’s always different, right? This time, the darkness is controlled, forceful and overwhelming. This time, it starts in my neck.

This time, it takes everything away until I am not even sure I am left.