Mindwalker by AJ Steiger

me aching but stable. I exhale softly.
    Steven watches me from the corner of his eye, and I wonder if he noticed. Then he turns his attention to the Gate, squinting. “This is it?”
    I nod. “I know it doesn’t look like much, but it’s one of the most sophisticated computers on the planet.”
    He makes a noncommittal sound. “So how’s it work?”
    â€œWe’ll sit in those chairs and put on those helmets. The Gate will read the activity in your brain and translate it into electronic signals, which will be sent to mine. I’ll be able to share your thoughts and memories, as well as any physical sensations you’re experiencing.”
    His eyes are shielded, but I can see the clouds of tension swirling just beneath the surface. “Will I be able to read
your
thoughts, too?”
    â€œNo. That would only be a distraction.” I take a few steps toward the Gate and rest a hand on the hard drive. At my touch, it powers up automatically, humming softly. A green light blinks on. I run a hand over the smooth plastic. It feels like greeting a pet I haven’t seen in years. “The initial phase is called mapping. It will help me create a system to navigate your memories so that later I’ll know exactly what to delete. Many clients are concerned that good memories will be accidentally destroyed along with the bad ones. I’ll do everything in my power to avoid that, but you should know there’s still a risk.”
    â€œI don’t have any good memories, so I guess I’m safe,” he mutters. “Lucky me.”
    â€œNone at all?”
    â€œWell, I guess I’ve had a few decent lunches.” He flops down in the chair on the left and props his shoes up on the footrest.
    I wonder what his life was like before the kidnapping. What sort of childhood did he have? But now is not the time to ask.
    I settle myself into the other chair and pick up my helmet. It’s marked with a silver dot on the back to differentiateit from the client’s. The inside is lined with malleable white foam designed to conform to the contours of a person’s skull. Hundreds of sensors are embedded within that foam: shiny black circles, like tiny eyes capable of peering through scalp and blood and bone.
    Steven pulls on his helmet, fastens the adjustable strap under his chin, snaps the black visor over his eyes, and leans back in the chair, his whole body as stiff as a board. His fingernails dig into the chair’s arms.
    I wave a hand in front of the Gate’s black hard drive, over the sensor, which blinks a blue light. A holographic monitor appears, hovering in midair, displaying a three-dimensional image of a brain rendered in translucent blue. Amorphous clouds of yellow and orange—neural activity—swirl within, while a corner of the screen displays Steven’s vital signs. “All the sensors seem to be functioning.”
    He grimaces. “It’s making my head tingle.”
    â€œThat’s normal. Do you want to see your brain?” I remember being enormously curious the first time someone showed me mine.
    â€œNo thanks,” he says. “I’ve seen it. It’s nothing special.”
    I shrug, switch off the monitor, and pull on my own helmet. “Just relax.” There’s a tiny microphone embedded in each helmet, close to the wearer’s mouth, and little speakers by the ears, so we can talk to each other without raising our voices.
    â€œAm I supposed to be seeing anything?” he asks.
    â€œNo. The visors are just to block the distraction of sight so you can focus more completely on visualization.” I fold my hands over my chest and take a few deep breaths. Unlike thechairs at IFEN, these have no restraints. Enveloped in darkness, with only the sound of Steven’s breathing in my ears, I find it easy to forget the outside world.
    The connection opens. That warm, allover tingling envelops my body. A soft