Tears in Rain by Rosa Montero, Lilit Zekulin Thwaites

the population and we all die of the same thing.”
    Four years, three months, and twenty-three days
, thought Bruna, without being able to do anything about it. She was just as unable to do anything about the awful impulse to keep arguing.
    “Believing that the entire universe is conspiring against you seems like a victim mentality to me. As if you were at the center of everything. The feeling of superiority is a defect that tends to accompany a victim mentality...as if you deserved any merit for being a product of fate.”
    “Fate and human genetic engineering in our case,” whispered Myriam.
    The two women stopped talking and the seconds passed with embarrassing slowness.
    “I know you, Bruna,” the RRM leader finally said in a soft voice—so soft that the sudden use of her first name seemed both necessary and natural. “I know people like you. You’re so full of anger and hurt that you can’t put words to what you feel. If you admit your pain, you’re scared that you’ll end up being nothingmore than a victim, and if you acknowledge your anger, you’re scared you’ll end up being a tyrant. The point is that you hate being a rep but you don’t want to admit it.”
    “Don’t tell me—”
    “That’s why I disturb and intrigue you so much,” continued Myriam, unperturbed. “Because I represent everything you fear. That rep nature that you hate. Relax. In reality, it’s a very common problem. Look at the people on the Trans Platform—you know, the association that encompasses all those people who want to be what they’re not: women who want to be men; men who want to be women; humans who want to be reps; reps who want to be humans; blacks who want to be white; whites who want to be black. At this stage, we don’t seem to have aliens who want to be Earthlings, or vice versa, but it will happen; we haven’t spent enough time in contact with the extraterrestrials yet. I think we reps and humans are sick beings; we always feel our reality isn’t enough. So we consume drugs and give ourselves artificial memories; we want to escape from the confinement of our lives. But I assure you that the only way to resolve the conflict is to learn to accept it and find your own place in the world. And that’s what we do in the RRM. That’s why our movement is so important, because—”
    Despite herself, Bruna had listened to Chi’s argument with a degree of attention, but when the woman cited the RRM, a stream of uncontrollable and liberating sarcasm popped out of the detective’s mouth.
    “An eloquent homily, Chi. A fantastic speech. You should turn it into a holograph and sell it in your shop. But how about we get back to the matter in hand?”
    Myriam smiled. A small grimace, tight and cold.
    “Of course, Husky. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’d forgotten that I’ve just hired you, and you charge by the hour. My assistant will give you all the information we’ve gathered on the earlier cases, and deal with you regarding your professional fees.You can ask him to add a few gaias for the time you spent listening to the speech.”
    Bruna felt the sting of the small slight. It was as if she’d been slapped. And in a way, deservedly so.
    “I’m sorry if I seemed rude earlier on, but—”
    Myriam completely ignored her and continued to speak. Or rather, to give orders.
    “Just one more thing: I want you to go and see Pablo Nopal.”
    “Who?”
    “Nopal. The memory writer. You don’t know who he is? Well, you should. Unfortunately for him, he’s quite well known.”
    In fact, Pablo Nopal’s name did ring a vague bell with Bruna. Wasn’t he the one who’d been accused of murder?
    “He had problems with the law, didn’t he?”
    “Exactly so.”
    “I don’t remember much. I don’t like memorists.”
    “All the worse for you, because I think that in this instance you’ll have to talk with a few. Go and see Nopal right away. He might know who wrote the adulterated memories. And then come and