It kicked again. This was a little annoying even if it was evidence of a joyous event to come. Savanna held the swelling in her lower abdomen as she patted the swelling in Maricia’s. “Three more months, Mar, and you’ll be a mommy,” she said.
“Three months be a mommy.”
Not exactly scintillating conversation but better than what it was a month ago. Savanna wiped drool from Maricia’s mouth and gave a small sigh. “How do you feel?”
“Good. I feel good.”
“What is your name?”
“Name.”
It was going to take a while. Savanna followed what Lola had been doing such as holding Maricia’s hand and saying, “Hand.” Maricia’s memory had been wiped. Her ability to learn was poor, worse than the forty-something brain she possessed. A question occurred to Savanna. After thirty minutes of attempted memory reconstruction, she walked over to Zhivago.
“What is the cause of the memory loss in Paulson?
“The cause is not certain, Commander.”
“You have done neurological assessments of her and me. Compare and contrast your findings.”
“You are functioning at 97 percent of your prehibernation capacity. She is at about 35 percent of her cognitive ability but improving.”
“We took different formulations of Tuphalonatide. Could this have been responsible for the difference?”
“It would be speculative to answer definitively. However, based on the hundreds of simulations performed by medic Fischer, it is entirely reasonable. The magnitude of the differences seen between the two of you is only slightly more than projected.”
“Strange mixture of good and evil.”
“I am not clear about your meaning, Commander.”
“Neither am I, Zhivago. I was just thinking about Dr. Parambi.”
“You judge him as both good and evil, a contradiction.”
“Correct.”
“For us, he had no value either way.”
“Do you play chess, Zhivago?”
“Yes. I am unbeatable.”
“What if I programmed you to play at the level of a novice? Then I could beat you.”
“True. You could also program me to lose every game, to play at the level of the challenger and make mistakes that enable the outcome.”
“I wish life were like that. Can you create original art?”
“I can paint or draw with perfect accuracy.”
“That is not art. It is reproduction. Can you invent art?”
“Anyone can, including medic Paulson in her current state.”
“The question is whether the art is pleasing.”
“That is a judgment for you to make, Commander De Clerq.”
“Can you recite Richard III for me?”
“Of course.”
“Would you recite it for me?”
“You should consider using the five-sense booth and bringing up a production far more entertaining with realism, placing you in the action, perhaps as one of the characters.”
“Then Maricia would miss it. Besides, a good reading is very pleasant. I get to use my imagination more than having all my senses assaulted and immersed as if I were there. I don’t want to be a character. I want to create how they look inside my head. Each character should have a different voice. My Richard usually has a whiny, nasal, unpleasant voice. All the actors should have a British accent. It would be best if it were from the period, but I don’t know that I would understand all the words.”
“Would you like me to do this ‘reading’ for you?”
“Yes, for both of us.” Savanna sat next to Maricia and placed a hand on her arm.
In Medical, the air rang for a couple of hours with the sound of Zhivago reciting Shakespeare. “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York.” He had different voices for each character, added occasional sound effects, swords, footsteps, arrows, and such. Savanna would get up and walk around but returned to Maricia’s side for most of the recital. This particular play seemed so apropos for the moment, but she was not completely sure why until it ended.