30 I emerge from the shower, balanced and clear, all synapses firing, muscles and organs in synch, energy coursing , and excitement about getting back and heading home. I will enjoy this time off, time well-earned, a successful trip behind me, and more to come, soon, maybe. But not so soon, this is my time. I pause to look out of the window in the terminal the vast expanse of Baidu looming off in the distance, my home nestled in there and waiting for my return. I’m almost there, so close and free to be with my family; a brief respite from obligation, work, the Corporation, my debts, all of it. It’s time to reconnect, banishing the memories and dreams of this trip and all that comes with them, the isolation, the confusion and fear. “Hello, Norrin,” a familiar voice says from behind me, “welcome home.” I turn around and find myself face to face with Morg. Fuck, motherfucker, fuck, so close, so fucking close. Goddamn you Morg you baby-faced motherfucker. “Nice to see you Morg,” I say forcing a smile, and ready to act out, relinquishing all control over my feelings and unwilling to care that I’m doing so, “I didn’t know they had you working the greeting committee as well. Nice.” “It’s Steven,” he says with his pink baby-faced half-grimaced , half-suppressed smile. “Now please come follow me, let’s talk.” We walk into a room similar to the one we first met in. Sparse. Windowless. A table and a few chairs. There is no box in the middle of the table though, no clip for my finger, no nothing. O R P H A N S 100 “What, no clip Steven?” I say sitting down and looking at Morg. “You have nothing to probe? No truths to seek out, nothing about my disappeared father or dead mother ? What about the lingering effects of those losses and their impact on my psyche? Or, wait for it, my feelings toward the Corporation regarding my ability to move huge parcels of property?” Morg smiles, he adjusts his baby-faced head, first left, then right; he purses his lips and squints. He starts to speak. He stops. He’s thinking. I can see him thinking, the circuits firing, the engines whirring. What’s right he’s wondering, what’s the best approach to this conversation, the right mix of fear and humor? He smiles. And then he starts again. “Why would we need the clip?” Morg says. “Do you have something to hide?” This is fun. Morg has no real advantage this time—he knows everything; I know he knows everything and so now I can just fuck with him. “You tell me?” I respond. What could he say? There are no secrets. I sold property . I moved his package. I munched SynthKhat. I sang karaoke. I came back. And now I’m going home. End of discussion. “Are you enjoying yourself?” Morg says suddenly getting serious. I look at him quizzically, but don’t speak, he seems upset . I want the moment to last just a little longer. “Is this a joke to you?” Morg shouts, suddenly reaching out, grabbing my wrists and pulling me toward him. I wrench my arms free and smile at him. Fucker. Morg leans back in his chair, takes a deep breath, a sole bead of sweat forming along his forehead. [54.225.1.66] Project MUSE (2024-03-19 04:45 GMT) B E N TA N Z E R 101 “We’re building something great here,” he continues, more calmly now, chilly, composed. “We’ve invited you to be part of something so much bigger than you, so much bigger than you deserve, and you will respect it.” I lean forward, looking for something in Morg’s face, a tell of some kind, and some kind of insight into the hand he’s playing. There’s always an angle, something hidden, an agenda. It’s never just passion, is it? We look at one other, sizing each other up. What’s the move? “I will respect it or what?” I respond. “Are you going to make me disappear too, like father, like son?” “Hey, I was just kidding,” Morg says relaxing his shoulders , “I kid, I thought you would enjoy me playing bad cop.” I don’t speak. I don’t believe him. And I don’t speak. Let him think he’s in charge...