Rules of Conflict by Kristine Smith

Or had it been two? “Affecting me?”
    The ergoworks in Pimentel’s seat creaked as he leaned forward.
“Blink patterns are designed to affect Service augments in very specific ways.
You’ve been here often enough in the past few months to have heard the term takedown. That’s when we use blink patterns to halt the progression of an unwanted
overdrive state, a situation where the panic-dampening function of the augment
asserts itself in a non-conflict situation. We do it both as a semiannual
precautionary treatment, and, when necessary, to short-circuit an acute event.”
    “I told you I was augmented?” Sam reached into his shirt pocket
and pulled out his Service-issued handheld. He kept all his appointments in it.
And his little notations. Where the men’s room was, for example. Well, the SIB
was a large building—it was an easy thing to forget. What did I tell
Pimentel, and when? He’d kept no record of that, unfortunately.
    “Yes, Sam. You did.” Pimentel glanced at the handheld, his tired
eyes flaring with curiosity. “The aftereffects of a takedown aren’t pleasant.
The patient can feel fatigued and disoriented for as long as a week after
treatment. Unfortunately, much milder versions of blink patterns can have a
similar, though lesser, effect. For that reason, many augments develop an
aversion to the color red, and become highly agitated when exposed to arrays of
blinking lights. We take that into account here at Sheridan, where the
augmented population stands at twenty-seven percent. Certain types of lighted
displays and exhibits are expressly forbidden. Enforcement becomes difficult
during the various holiday celebrations, of course.” He grinned weakly. “But
it’s different in the world outside the Shenandoah Gate. No holds barred in
Chicago, a city you visit three to four times a week.” He grew serious. “Am I
right?”
    Sam nodded, resisting the urge to check his handheld again. “I
visit the city, yes.”
    “You visit the various Service Archives to research the names for
inclusion in the Gate. You travel at night, from what you told me. You find it
easier to work when no one else is around. You take the Sheridan Local Line,
which passes the Pier exhibits, the Bluffs Zoo, the Commonwealth Gardens. They
each have thrill rides. All-night exhibits.” Pimentel’s weary gaze never left
Sam’s face. He seemed to be prompting him, reminding him of his life. As
though—
    As though he doesn’t think I can remember on my own.
    “I guarantee you, Sam,” the doctor continued, “if you were
augmented, you couldn’t look at those exhibits, because every augment I
examine mentions having a problem with at least one of them when they visit the
city. Some wear special eyefilms to filter out the light. Some wear hearing
protection because they’ve developed related sensitivity to any sound
resembling emergency sirens or explosions. But every one of them does something ,
because otherwise, they become very sick very quickly.
    Sam’s chest tightened as his anger grew. “You knew from my
encephaloscan that I didn’t have a Service-type augmentation?”
    “Yes, Sam. You’re the one who seemed to require convincing.”
    “My augmentation is different.” Yes, that was it. Pimentel must
have only asked him whether he was augmented, not what type of augmentation he
had. He hammered Sam with vagueness, then called foul when Sam responded in
kind. Don’t ask me what I remember, Doctor, ask me what I know. “It’s
not a Service augmentation. It’s something else.”
    “Define something else, Sam.”
    “It was supposed to make me hear things. See things. Feel things,
deep in my body.”
    “That’s an odd function for an augmentation. Why was it made that
way?”
    “Because they wanted to study my reactions. Because they wanted to
see what I’d do.”
    “They?” Pimentel glanced down at his recording board, then back at
Sam. “Who’s they?”
    “The ones—” Sam blinked away images that