"Please, if you see Karolina. Do let me know."

"Please, if you see Karolina. Do let me know."

"Do you have a daughter named Karolina?"

The man parts his lips in measured surprise. Then the smile returns.

"You're a... friend of hers?"

"Why didn't you say anything before?"

"I didn't realise you were K's father."

"'K'. Right."

"She chose to take her mother's name after she passed. I didn't object, naturally."

His eyes narrow ever so slightly as if to place your face.

Prey drive kicking in. He senses a threat.

"I'm sorry, this is just... how did you say you knew my daughter?"

"I was sort of an older sister to her, just trying to help the youth." (Make your 'social paladin' face.)

"Worthy causes?" He seems distrustful.

"Refashioning them into a modern, techno subject."

"Hmmm, well. I suppose we have always been believers in medical advancement here."

A quick, apologetic smile.

"The last we spoke she was living in the old Cinema Kosmos. With her... boyfriend. Nothing strange going on, mind. He owns the place."

"Who's the boyfriend?"

"His name's Septimus, he..."

He looks away from you while he decides which script to follow.

"I'm sure he's an upstanding gentleman. He comes from a political family, you know. Important people."

He hates him.

"Doesn't sound as if you like this boyfriend at all."

"It's a father's place to be wary, is it not? I'm sure she's doing okay."

His lips ready themselves for a pretend smile.

"An old cinema's an even stranger place to live than a boat."

"I believe they're running a... distribution business together. I don't know any details -- something to do with the media."

"So there's nothing strange about it."

Unclear whether he's trying to convince himself of this or you.

Media, distribution. Perhaps there's a sexy techno-angle to this!

"You sound concerned." (Proceed.)

"I don't know. She was always so passionate and driven. But also... impressionable. I think she fell in with the wrong crowd at university."

Wrong crowd? He's talking about us!

All you had to do to make her your KINDRED was to separate her from her own.

"All the more urgent that we get her back on a socially acceptable life-path."

"I'd tend to agree with your assessment, yes."

"But to be honest we've barely spoken at all for the last few years."

Not since the crew dissolved and you left Portofiro.

"You had some sort of falling out, I take it?"

"Yes, something like that."

"I could check on her. Let you know how she's doing."

"Check on her, yes. You do that." He exhales slowly.

Fear and relief, together.

"Cinema Kosmos is just north of the roundabout, by the aero-tram stop."

"I just want to know that she's... safe, you understand."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not unheard of, these types of parent-child relations, you know. It will always normalise, eventually."

A wound he is unable to sew shut.

"I assure you the embassy is more than willing to overlook a few youthful indiscretions."

"Indiscretions, yes. That's... good for her, I suppose."

"I hear the universities are breeding grounds for the 'wrong' sorts these days."

"It's supposed to be a time of personal growth, development. Instead she become... I don't know. Something very different."

"I'm sure they were great people, actually. Sick, even."

"There was something sickly about her, now that you mention it. She became nervous, cagey, withdrawn..."

"What makes you say that?"

"Much as I hate to admit it... she became nervous, cagey, withdrawn."

"Entrepreneurial mentorship for the traditionally underrepresented."

"I suppose she has always had an entrepreneurial spirit, especially considering her... recent activities."

"Improving conditions for the working class, and such."

"Is that so? She still has her spirit of activism."

"We're a pair of Ombre Hombresses.

"Ombre... hombresses?"

"It's a comic book. We're fans."

"Well, I'm glad she's taken up... some activity to divert her attention."

"We are disciples of the shadow realm."

"I lived in Quisach for a while. We used to hang out."

"Oh... I suppose I never saw you around."

"My hair was different then."

"Different hair, okay... maybe that's all it was."

Across town, a pair of eyes blink in the rhythm of an undying machine.

"The last we spoke she was living in the old Cinema Kosmos. With her... boyfriend. Nothing strange going on, mind. He owns the place."

"Odd that she never mentioned me."

"Yes. Something's odd indeed."

Say nothing.

"I mean. I haven't seen her around for a while either."

A long while, by the sound of it.

"We went to school together, way back."

"Oh... I -- but you seem much older than her."

"The years have not been kind to me, let's leave it at that."

"Of course. Did you graduate? She didn't, but... actually, it doesn't matter."

The sound of his own voice makes him wince.

"I was a 'non-traditional' student."

"Of course, sorry, I mean't no offence -- each of us has a different path to follow. We can't always see where it leads us."

"I'm from the Mircean embassy on a diplomatic mission."

"Excuse me -- you mean to say my daughter's become embroiled in... what, international diplomacy?"

"You sound surprised."

"Yes, well, I always supported her educational goals, but... I thought certain elements of her history would preclude an international career." He looks to the side.

"So, yes, I am a little surprised."

"She's a very bright girl. Very internationally minded."

He studies your body language and tone of voice, trying to assess whether you're serious.

"I didn't want to be intrusive."

"Oh... of course."

"I need to speak with her about something very important."

"She hasn't inconvenienced you in any way, I hope."

He's wary.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"It's been a little while, I have to say..."

"Karolina was helping you out with your research, right?"

"Yes. As I've mentioned to you, I was running a Dream Study, she was a participant." He rubs his forehead. "That was a long time ago."

His fingers twitch like he's fighting the urge to shuffle the papers on his desk.

"Why the interest in dreams?"

"Dreams are one of the least understood phenomena in nature. My colleague Gonzalo and I developed a novel technique for rendering our subjects' dreams as two-dimensional imagery."

"We received a generous grant through EMTERR's foundation for basic research, though I have to say it was an uneasy match."

"Wait, 'Gonzalo'?"

"Yes. My colleague. I believe I recommended him to you once."

"Making videos of people's dreams, is that it?"

"In so many words."

"Why was it uneasy?"

"I came to understand our benefactors saw our work as a form of 'market research' -- not exactly what I got into the work for."

Banks of living data. Silent, interlinked.

"And what did you get into the work for?"

"Gonzalo and I wanted to answer a very simple question: Are our sub-subconscious minds connected at some deep level?"

"I've heard the theory. Residue of ancient collective consciousness, that sort of thing. The Treffe School, right?"

"One of the more 'out-there' proponents of the idea, but yes -- the general thrust is the same."

He bristles a touch at being lumped in with a school of notorious glue addicts.

"Well... did you find anything?"

"It was a long time ago. I prefer not to dwell on these things."

Yes.

"Sounds like a massive opportunity. Impossible to turn down."

"Yes. Countless researchers spend entire careers without a shot like what we were given."

A smile makes a brief appearance on his face.

A sunbeam accidentally puncturing a low overcast sky.

"I can't picture you and Gonza working together."

"It would be unprofessional of me to say anything more."

A mantra repeated.

A tight, self conscious smile.

"Boring." (Yawn.)

"Forgive me. Gonzalo used to say my speeches were better than 'benzos'."

Nod silently.

"It's not every day that the richest organisation in the world offers to underwrite your life's work."

"And what was that?"

"Yes. My former colleague."

"What did you need all that EMTERR money for?"

"Equipment, mainly. Designed and fabricated to our own specifications -- neuroimaging tools, REM inducers, separate monitors for blood flow, electrical activity, eye movement. It's only when taken together that coherent, dynamic pictures can form."

An astounding custom rig. One you must get your hands on.

"It was far from perfect, mind you. Some of the imagery came out skewed, whether that's the fault of the imaging or the underlying dream matter, we couldn't say. But these were early days. The potential applications, well, they were endless."

Therapeutic.

Metaphysical.

Practical.

"Instead of simply visualising dreams these machines could induce the public to dream more hygienically."

"Don't misunderstand. The point of our work was to help people, not control them."

"The sub-subconscious is the last great untapped market."

"That may well have been the view of our benefactors, but I promise our interests weren't so crassly commercial."

"Dreaming is bourgeois."

"Everyone dreams, whether they realise it or not. I don't see how there can be a 'class dimension' to a fundamental neurobiological process."

"I'm not feeling a political angle to this."

"I never saw the work as political. Dreams as a fundamental neurobiological process."

"What happened to all that funky dream tech, after the study was cancelled?"

"It was all technically EMTERR property -- the machinery, the data. They took it all. We were only left with one unit -- barely functional, not even with the cost to move, they said. And then someone stole that too."

You have a strong suspicion you know who.

"I imagine they stripped it for components. A machine that could peer behind the veil of consciousness, a machine of magnificent subtlety, and someone stole it for scrap, to buy drugs... or whatever else."

"Very tragic, for you."

He nods as a way of acknowledging your sympathy.

"I suppose at least I don't have to work through the night, every night."

He'd give nearly anything for an excuse to do just that.

"Very tragic, for the funky, subtle machine."

"To say nothing of the countless people our work might have helped."

"The boo-boo boat is becoming the boo-hoo boat. I can't take this."

"Right. Self pity. Rarely appealing." He makes a sheepish half-smile.

"What was K's role in the study?"

"Karolina started out as one of our participants. A volunteer, surprisingly."

"Why surprising?"

"Simple. Because until Gonzalo and I received our grant, she'd never evinced the slightest interest in my work."

Because her interest was actually your interest.

"What were your daughter's dreams like?"

"I'm afraid the raw data were carefully anonymised. We couldn't match any individual participant to a particular set of sub-subconscious imagery. This was by design."

"Surely you must have wondered."

"I'm a trained physician. Patient confidentiality is sacrosanct."

Not a direct answer.

A conversation. Fogged Mirror. Two gin cocktails, her regular table.

"To be a spy like you. In-theatre. Getting totally absorbed in a task greater than myself."

I told her to be careful, she could lose herself like that.

And then she wasn't, and she did.

"When her turn as a participant concluded she begged me to stay on. I thought, 'Well, what harm?' There was no real limit on our grant from EMTERR, and Gonzalo agreed we needed an assistant of sorts."

"And you must've liked the idea of working alongside your daughter."

"Yes. Perhaps that was my dream."

A dream that tastes like ashes on his tongue just now.

"What did she do as your assistant?"

"She was responsible for organising and cleaning the visualisations. A massive undertaking, very labour intensive."

Approval. Pride.

Immediately apparent in the copies she passed you. Annotated, pertinent sections marked with colour-coded flags.

In retrospect, her diligence gave you a false sense of her abilities.

"So how'd it come apart?" (Proceed.)

"Karolina didn't appear at work one day. I went to the police, who had no information. I thought she must've been in some kind of accident, you must understand my fear, as a father."

You must understand that, he means, if you're going to understand what happens later.

"I received a call from the hospital. Karolina was there, in intensive care, barely lucid, handcuffed to her bed. There were two carabineros accompanying her."

"They told me she was under arrest, to be charged with unlawfully aiding a foreign power -- espionage statutes."

"Which foreign power?"

"The Superbloc. Their spy service, the Opera, isn't that how they call it."

"I was in shock. Borderline delirious. It took me a some time before I realised, what it meant."

For his work, he means.

"EMTERR pulled their support, the study was shut down within days. All our data seized. I was investigated too, of course. Along with Gonzalo. The official part dragged on for several years before they finally closed it."

"And you still don't even really understand what happened."

"I've thought about it quite a bit. The details... I'm not sure they would answer questions as much as provoke new ones. I would rather not."

Blank entries in the archive. Impossible to query or cross-reference. A form of willful oblivion.

"When she came home, I -- said some things. Perhaps things I shouldn't have."

Politeness, professionalism, the performance of empathy. These are the things he was taught would make a good man, or at least a correct man. In his moment of greatest extremis, they all deserted him.

You gain nothing by making this poor man repeat the words he's most regretted saying in his life.

On the contrary, you gain immense power over him.

"Like what?"

"I said, I said she was no daughter of mine. I told her..." He removes his glasses for a moment and wipes his eye with his thumb.

"I told her I wished it had been... her, rather than her mother, you see."

"She left after that. Then I opened this clinic and moved down here... to Quisach."

And here he's stayed.

"You must feel partly responsible, given that she was your daughter."

"I suppose I do feel responsible, somehow. Though I know it doesn't make sense."

"Because you got into bed with EMTERR?"

"Yes. Something like that."

"In any case, that's all in the past. No changing it now."

"Because you were a bad father?"

"That's... not what I was going to say."

"It wasn't your fault. It just happened."

"You were both figments in the dark dreams of a vast, incomprehensible intelligence."

"I understand Karolina didn't act alone, she was part of some kind of organised network. It's very odd, the tricks the mind plays. There are times I nearly convince myself it was my fault."

"She took your work from you. Can't forgive that."

"I'm not sure I could explain it... what my work meant to me. It was a calling, I felt I was doing what I was born into this world to do. And then I lost it. If you haven't experienced that feeling, well, how could you possibly understand?"

Glowing embers of old grudges burn holes in his stomach lining.

"I don't suppose any of that is a defense."

"There's no inherent meaning to events just because they're sad."

"I agree. Let's leave it."

"You don't have to say it. It was a difficult time."

"Thank you. You understand, of course."

"There was a communist spy in their experimental study, what did you expect?"

"I suppose I thought, I don't know."

That he could clear it all up. That things could go on, as though none of what happened had happened.

"What about the unofficial part?"

"Hard to say, sometimes it feels like it's ongoing."

Your eye gravitates toward the framed credentials on the wall, the dusty anatomical torso, all of it.

"But Karolina was eventually released, wasn't she?"

"She was. She was... held for nearly a year."

He can't bring himself to use the word 'incarcerated' in the same sentence as his daughter.

"Do you think she was really a spy?"

Alternative wording

"Do you think she was really spying for the Superbloc?"

He hesitates for a moment, then bobs his head in a single sharp nod.

They showed him evidence. Irrefutable, damning, and absolutely covered with Karolina's fingerprints.

As was always intended. She was a tool you used to keep your own hands clean.

"How was she caught?"

"I'm sorry, I can't speak to that. There are many details of that time that are... murky, to me."

Better for him that they remain that way. Dark, sticky, unexamined.

Naive kids, you can't tell them anything.

Not that you tried.

"Keep going."

"That's all I wanted to know about that."

"Alright." He takes a long sip of water from his cup.

"Yes. I was running a Dream Study, she was a participant." He rubs his forehead. "That was a long time ago."

"About the Dream Study..."

"Yes?"

"I saw Karolina."

"And? Is she eating well? Does it look like she's getting enough sleep?"

Her skin: pale. Eyes: tired. Muscles: atrophying.

A vision of Karolina's home life suddenly flashes before you. Her father -- doting, concerned, overbearing.

"Well, she's still with Septimus."

"The boyfriend, fine." A wince. "He's treating her well at least?"

"He's very protective of her. Like you, actually."

"Hmm. Perhaps he was putting on appearances, because you were around. I expect he's good at that, given his upbringing."

"Did you have a chance to tell her what I said?"

"I did, yeah."

"Good, good. And?"

The doctor's heart is a snowglobe, a thin glass shell surrounding a moment of perfect pain. You feel it in your hands now.

If you mean to bring KINDRED with you, a clean break is best.