Chapter 2

Molly stared at the shiny circle of pink scalp skirted by soft white and grey hair as Dr. Polaris walked toward the metal doors from which he had entered her confused and frustrated world. Who is this man? She shoved an aggressive strand of auburn hair behind her ear and touched the iComm link to mentally access the Legal Enforcer’s Civilian database, Search, Doctor Polaris.

Information scrolled in green letters at her lower visual range. “Dr. Norton S. Polaris, Ph.D., Psy. SID 874 57 T974...” She gasped when she saw the “T” in his social identification number.

“Doctor!” She walked quickly to catch up with him. “You’re a ... a twin?”

“Yes, I was. Let’s hope your connection will help bring yours back.” Sadness permeated his eyes.

“But—she’s already back.”

“Not entirely.” He slipped through the metal barriers and was gone.

Molly stared at the cold, impersonal doors. “ ... Ph.D., Psy,” she re-read his credentials. He’s a Psychologist. Not a medical doctor. Molly slumped into a seat.

“What’s wrong with my sister?” She reached out with her “gift,” against her own moral code, and searched deep into his emotions.

Isolation. Twins don’t feel isolated, unless—his twin was not—what—alive?

She reached out again but not as deeply. Concern. Confusion. Kita. He was worried about Kita and he acknowledged the twin connection, but ... something else. She couldn’t quite distinguish— Agitation forced her up. She shook out her limbs as if she were about to run, but paced instead. The uniformed attendant’s eyes followed her, even though its head never rose from the standby posture. It was unusual for anyone to exhibit such impatience physically. The bot stood ready to make a security alert if she should become too animated.

Glancing to her right lower peripheral, light green numbers perpetually glowed the twenty-four hour time, 13:47.

It’s been an hour. Geez!

Interplanetary travel had begun over the last decade, to the degree that it was common now. Passengers of different cosmic origins along with Earth ethnicities shuffled past her sister’s empty arrival station. Molly still found the differences fascinating. Some were tall and slender. Others were short and broad. Some were multi-colored, while others were mono-hued. Some had markings like cheetah spots, others had stripes. They all moved as one herd toward their departure station. Their general emotion was so strongly unified, she sensed one large numb reprise.

These were business assignees, not one of them traveled for fun. Apparently, the thrill of traveling had been lost long ago by repetitious blasting into Faster-Than-Light travel to peddle their wares, attend their meetings, gather information, and appease the bosses.

The room swirled and tilted, and Molly staggered to a stop. Kita! Her knees weakened, and she fought to stay upright. She collapsed into a chair. A buzzing sound filled her ears, drowning out the travelers.

She pushed out to sense her sister. The spinning reversed directions then tilted and reversed again. It was like being on the Twirling-Tilt at the fair. Nausea swept over her, and bitter fluid touched the back of her tongue. Her arms drew up across each other as if she were desperately holding on to ... something. She glanced down at her empty embrace. Tears pooled in her eyes and threatened to spill. She swiped at them with vehement desperation.

Shaking her head, she closed her eyes, reeling backward, mentally, to separate from the twin connection. Something solid banged against the heavy doors, bursting them open, and causing her body to jerk. A sheeted gurney shot through the gap. Two medical attendants guided the mobile stretcher into the waiting area. They were dressed identically to each other, white, high-collar shirts, black belts, white slacks, and black, rubber-soled shoes. Their uniform had an oriental combat look about it, although such practices had been outlawed decades ago. The only remnant of the ancient practice was its Korean Region dobok style and only in public service uniforms.

Molly eased herself up to stand. The swirling sensations nearly set her back down. Inwardly, she had to pull back further and completely cease her connection with Kita.

Once stabilized, Molly took a deep breath and stepped over to the gurney. Kita’s sunny highlights had faded to dull, ash-brown, damp lumps that clung to her like leeches strung across her pale face. Her eyes rolled around under heavy lids. Shiny tracks dampened her cheeks. Was it tears or residual chemicals from the Cryogenics? Even her once brilliant freckles were bleached out in her pallor condition.

A lump under her sister’s sheet did not escape Molly’s sharp, ever-monitoring eyes. The doll? Molly’s heart broke as she wrapped her arms around herself, clinging to the imaginary something her twin-symbiotic conduit had seemingly placed in her grasp and watched her sister’s gurney float by. How broken was Kita’s mind?

“Maulry,” Kita mumbled.

Molly’s senses returned to her twin. Could she filter the confusion and help bring her sister back, as Dr. Polaris had suggested? Something like a duo-psychological crutch? Kita was physically here, but her mind was far, far away. So, why did she need such heavy sedation?

Glancing up at the corpsmen, she explained her presence. “I’m her sister, Molly Jacobsen.”

The Malibu-blond attendant nodded. He stood as tall as Molly, five foot, ten inches but more broad in the shoulders. Either he had spent a lot of intimate time with free weights or he was a more realistic replica of a bodybuilder. Probably the latter, most subservient positions were bots. Only Legal Enforcers were one-hundred percent humans. Even today, artificial intelligence technology couldn’t fully integrate the cognitive differentials necessary to appropriately handle a potentially illegal situation.

Bot or human, it was strangely onerous to distinguish the difference these days. Soon, it would be impossible. But, these corpsmen had to be bots, they were too similar in stature like someone had picked all the five-foot-ten bodybuilder models for this service, although they represented the typical diverse ethnicities of Earth humans.

Molly accepted the blond’s nod as permission to follow.

Kita absently cooed toward the lump under her pristine sheet. Even in her heavily sedated sojourn, her focus was on comforting the doll. Molly blinked quickly and drew in a sharp breath. She would not allow tears. Not now. Not here.

Following the two corpsmen and the gurney to the transfer lift, she waited a step or two behind. The dark-haired, Asian-looking attendant announced, “Service Garage, Level One. Personnel, two—and...” The bot glanced at Molly. “Correction, Personnel, three—and patient.” The four passed through to a cool, dim-lit garage. An emergency transportation vehicle hovered near the garage lift. A third coffee-brown-skinned attendant jumped out of the driver’s seat and sprinted toward the back of the vessel. He quickly opened the rear doors while the two guided the gurney into the vehicle and hopped in on either side.

“Okay. We will see you at Hope Memorial Healing Station,” the driver said as he secured the doors, without actually looking at her.

“Wait!” Molly grabbed his sleeve before he rounded the vessel. “I can’t ride with you?”

“No! You must secure your own transportation.” He pulled himself out of her grasp as if he had been contaminated and hurried to the driver’s seat.

“What? You’re kidding! But, that’s my—” she hollered at the departing vehicle “—sister!”

Slapping her pocket, her trembling fingers fumbled to grab her badge and waved it over her head. “I’m a legal enforcer...!”

The emergency vessel decreased in size and sound as it sped away. Eventually, she turned with an exasperated sigh. She’d never been in this underground garage. Nothing looked familiar. Activating the iComm device she requested, “Locate, Mass Trans Platform.” The map glowed before her. She pinpointed the MTP, found her “You Are Here” red marker, refocused past the readout to the transfer lift, adjusted myopically back to the illuminated map, and bit her lip. It was a thirty-minute walk to the MTP. Running would get her in even more trouble, but at this point, what could it matter. She touched the virtual glowing MTP and called out, “Status.” Red letters crawled along the bottom of her peripheral, “MASS TRANS SYSTEM OFFLINE – APPROXIMATE WAIT TIME, unknown.”