She had been waiting for Tom for an hour, but at this point, they were already too late to attend the annual meeting of the role-playing club. Outside, the snow storm that had immobilized Boston and its suburbs had resumed with renewed vigor. Disappointed, Suzanne settled down lazily on her sofa, pushing away with her foot a tablet and last night’s box of Chinese food. Lee, her roommate’s cat, slid from beneath the hoodie where he had taken up residence for the afternoon and sat on her stomach with a purr.

There was nothing interesting on TV. Christmas classics, a staple of this time of year, inundated her Netflix suggestions. Some were more than one hundred years old. This realization made her sad. All the people on her screen were dead and buried. Their children most certainly were too. After all these years, there was nothing left of them but these ridiculous programs, thought Suzanne as she lifted the feline gently away from her.

The campus channel was airing the usual afternoon talk show where the president of the audiovisual club, a moron with a lame haircut, licked the boots of a renowned researcher or professor.

“This dream of transcendence, a human mind in a computer, is absurd! No human being will ever be capable of that, regardless of the technology at our disposal,” spewed the TV now that the volume had doubled.

“But why?” followed up the presenter as Suzanne got up to arrange her lesson plan for the week.

Annoyed by the lack of attention, the cat slipped away from her field of view but not without first trampling with malice on the tactile remote.

“We might be able to retranscribe information up to a certain limit. But the brain of the sapiens is much too complex to be transferred in full! And plus, like teleportation, what you would be able to obtain, is a mere copy of the original person. Which means only some recomposed fragments!”

“You mean like this old movie? What was it called? ‘The Fly’?”

Suzanne imagined her consciousness getting mixed with that of a gnat and a chill ran down her spine but, on the screen, the scientist nodded with outmost seriousness.

“Your observation is pertinent,” continued the researcher. “During the first attempts conducted at Lhassa, the Chinese government merged the subject partially with an artificial intelligence to stabilize it. And what they obtained there were monsters…”

“Those poor lab subjects. We have to ask where the CCP manages to find so many!” the student joked bitterly.

Suzanne jumped when someone knocked on the window. Tom’s face appeared in the fog…

Finally! She immediately wrapped herself with a blanket, but when she approached the window to let him in, he had disappeared. “Very funny, Thomas!” she screamed because the cold made her flinch.

Suzanne caught the shutter that the wind had bludgeoned against the brick wall. Strangely, the sky outside was a curious turquoise blue despite the late hour. It was almost blinding. Lowering her eyes, she saw a message drawn in the snow. It was Tom’s handwriting and he asked for her help.

Suzanne was shivering wrapped in the cape of a city guard. She didn’t know if the man was a friend or an enemy, because until now he had remained silent. She didn’t know where Erol was and where they were headed so rapidly on what she believes to be a horse.

Little Octave was dead. That was her only certainty. She remembered her last conversation with him.

“Be careful with Erol,” he had said before climbing the steps quietly.

If only the archaeologist were her sole problem. She thought back to those crazy figures who had ambushed them at the University. This Inquisition bore a symbol she had already seen in the past.

And that young woman with mirror-like eyes who had read straight through her. She could feel the nun rummaging through her mind, scanning her most intimate memories. She reminded Suzanne of those pirates who were capable of probing the virtual world beneath the net.

With a muffled cry, the curious mount suddenly stopped its course for the first time since they had left the gardens and when they removed the hood that covered her head, Suzanne was blown away. It took her a few seconds to get used to the light that emanated from a large red neon sign. Bright flashes of light flew around her like sirens. Night had fallen.

A man in a gilded helmet took her in his arms. From afar, she could hear Erol’s voice and other cackling sounds coming from some gigantic birds and their beating wings. Someone ordered in Italian that a gate be closed and the loud sound of iron slamming against stone resonated in the air.

The man carrying her climbed an interminable staircase before laying her down onto a flat and soft surface. It was a bed.

A little bit later, she felt Erol’s presence. When he appeared within her reach, his silhouette was blurry. His words were inaudible. She thought she heard him say that everything was going to go well, that it was all over. Finally, she fell asleep.

Suzanne woke up a few hours later in what appeared to be a Mediterranean-style hotel room. A timid twilight sun illuminated the room from the balcony. She had clearly slept an entire day in that big four-poster bed. Her naked body was wrapped in a white sheet that she found to be very comfortable.

Her gaze probed her surroundings. There was a wooden desk with a leather chair, and several shelves filled with books. A curtain hid a bathroom illuminated by a violet neon light.

“Not bad for a woman who is a thousand years old,” she said to herself as she examined her body in the mirror.

A voice behind her made her jump when the fluorescent lamp sizzled. “Suzanne?” Tom was there again, this time in the flesh. She turned around mechanically. He had disappeared, although she could still hear his voice. “I am lost Suzanne.”

Fear gripped the length of her spine and shrouded her heart. “Where are you?”

“In the place where you left me, one thousand years ago.” He paused. “You have to help me.”

“How?” she cried as she looked for her partner around the room, pushing away the toiletries and the towels they had prepared for her. “Damn it! Where the hell are you?”

Tom did not answer. But he was alive. Erol and Octave were right. Suzanne was now certain. If he was somewhere, she could find him.

Her head turned around. Feeling dizzy, she leaned against the edge of the bathtub.

I am going mad … she thought. None of this is real. Tom… These psychopaths and these… This future…

Suzanne took a deep breath, but was unable to stop herself from crying. Drying her tears, she prepared a bath. The water was warm and brown, like a very diluted tea.

“Talking about the future…”

Being able to plunge her head under the water gave her the reinvigorating sensation of being reborn. After drying herself off, she put on the garments that had been left out for her on a wooden trunk at the foot of the bed: a simple matte tunic and a synthetic pair of pants. The boots were unfortunately too small and crushed her toes. Never mind, she would explore the premises barefoot.

Suzanne rushed down the stairs of fused iron and arrived in a long corridor that had been painted red. She followed the corridor, but didn’t come across anyone until she gained access to a circular balcony that stood over an internal courtyard where a jet of water that smelled of lavender flowed at the center of a carved fountain adorned with carefully decorated stones. The fountain was surrounded by granite benches sheltered by olive trees with pink leaves. Just below, several women, dressed nicely in almost transparent silk outfits, were chatting near a pedestal table. A man, wearing a simple skin tabard, was bringing them to drink in refined cocktail glasses.

The young woman climbed down the stairs to join them. She hoped they might be able to guide her towards Erol, when he suddenly erupted from one of the rooms at the foot of the staircase. Judging from the sounds emanating from this room, it must be the establishment’s kitchen. He was accompanied by a lovely blond woman.

“Suzanne? You are finally awake!” he exclaimed, visibly surprised to see her before him. “How are you feeling?” He must have read the hesitation in her gaze, because he gave her an embarrassed smile.

She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to be feeling. She opted for gratitude. “I am doing well. Thank you for pulling me out of … of that bad situation.”

Erol dismissed the young woman with golden, almost white hair. Turning to Suzanne again, he took off his glasses. It was the first time she had seen him without them. His eyes were a very light green and bloodshot. Octave’s death must have affected him deeply.

But she did not let herself be touched by this. Octave’s warning resounded in her head. She had to beware of Erol.

“It was nothing. We both owe our lives to our dear security forces.” He had lowered his voice as he spoke with barely concealed sarcasm. Apparently, Erol had a grudge against the city police. “They are the ones who brought us here on ostriches.”

The ladies and the waiter were departing the atrium. Suzanne saw them leave in the direction of a large wooden gate. When the gate opened, she thought she heard music and clamor.

“Ostriches?” asked the young woman still looking in the direction of the door. “Where are we exactly? Do you know this place?”

“Vaguely,” mumbled Erol.

“Vaguely?” squeaked a voice above them.

Leaning against the balcony railing that she had left a few moments earlier, a curious figure stared at them from head to toe in disdain. He was wearing light makeup and had extravagant purple hair stuck on his head. A pair of earrings the size of coins adorned his ears. His piercing gaze oscillated between Suzanne and Erol before his sulky pout transformed into a beaming smile.

“Ah! My favorite grave robber!” cried the debonair figure raising his arms and dousing an olive tree with the liquid that spilled from his golden cup as he walked towards them.

“Where are we then?” asked Suzanne between her teeth. “Who’s this clown?”

“Bacchus’s Lair—a cabaret. And this is Sileo—” Erol admitted. He could barely conceal his discomfort, but he continued: “My brother.”

So this curious character was their host. Suzanne found it incredible that Sileo could be the brother of the stormy Erol Feuerhammer.

When he finally reached their level, Sileo, visibly out of breath, hugged Erol and then turned theatrically towards Suzanne. “Is this bleak geek bothering you, Signora? He has never been comfortable around women.” Suzanne could only stammer and Sileo pursued: “Quell’idiota prefers to spend his time in the caves scraping dust.”

“I am afraid this is not the time for jokes, Sileo,” Erol intervened, clearly tired of his brother’s quips.

The cabaret owner’s smile tightened before fading away. “Yes. Yes, of course. I have just returned from my provincial retreat. It’s awful. Master Marian … the University…”

“Octave.”

Sileo was stunned speechless. “The kid’s dead?”

Suzanne nodded and saw him lose his composure. Rubbing the back of his head, he invited them to follow him.

“He was a brave boy. And the one who did this got away?”

Sileo’s tone had changed and his Italian accent disappeared. The frivolous cabaret owner had disappeared behind a cold, hard mask. Octave had told him to beware of Erol. She didn’t know if his brother was worthy of her trust.

“His executioner was a Judge-Executor,” responded Erol.

“Fanculo! Those birds of ill omen? Here at Renaissance? The noose is tightening on the Foundation. It is all rather unfortunate. Extremely unfortunate!”

Suzanne and Erol followed the cabaret owner as he went up the stairs to the balcony. Once there, they ventured in the opposite direction of the corridor that Suzanne had taken to get to the atrium. Finally, they stopped near a back door that the young woman had not noticed on her first passage.

“We are going this way,” explained Sileo before leading them through a narrow corridor lit with artificial candles.

The owner invited them to enter a discreet living room arranged with sofas, armchairs, and tables. The cabinet overlooked a larger room that was immersed in a soft pink light. He lit several electric chandeliers and invited his guests to sit down.

Suzanne settled comfortably in an armchair. A few seconds later, Sileo handed her a cup of fluorescent apricot liquid he had pulled from a barrel hidden in the wall. Erol was offered the same drink before Sileo finally spoke:

“It is a special blend from Francie. It resembles the inhabitants of that damn country: acidic and dull,” he said before emptying his glass.

Erol contented himself with a sip that still managed to turn his face a scarlet red. Prudently, Suzanne tried a small mouthful.

A tingling sensation went through her tongue and throat, in the places that the drink had grazed. The sensation was strange, as if an army of ants had started dancing in her mouth. Its flavor was definitely a mixture of citrus and antifreeze. It had a terribly chemical aftertaste.

“Your friend’s palate is less sensitive than yours. Now you’ve really brought back a donna of quality,” joked Sileo.

“I would prefer if we discuss what we need to do next, Sileo,” Erol retorted, tapping his glass nervously.

“You—you are both safe here. We will talk after you take a hot shower, because you stink like a goat, my dear brother. You are going to scare away my customers.”

Sileo smiled at Suzanne. She wanted to return his smile, but her face felt frozen, heavy. She pressed her thumbs over her eyes. The light blinded her.

Suzanne swallowed. She felt herself burning from the inside. A strange snake of fire grabbed her guts as her feelings jumbled in her stomach. Fear gave way to anger and then to joy. The air was both warm and cool, and every time she breathed in, she smelled a different scent. Her heart was pounding.

She saw herself again as a child, walking through a forest that had now disappeared, an ice cream between her fingers. Her grandparents walked behind, waving enthusiastically at her. In the distance, the barking of her Labrador echoed between the trunks.

Suddenly, she found herself in a cold office, at the top of a tower overlooking a treeless park. In front of her, a man in a gray suit was talking but she couldn’t understand him.

“The Novan-Kamiru has a laboratory in orbit, of course. But it’s still not operational. They have encountered nonconformity on several photovoltaic panels. To our great regret…”

The voice came from another salaryman, also in a gray suit, who was standing against a window sill that was too small to really let the sunshine through. They had the same hairstyle, the same glasses, and the same monotonous technocratic tone. They looked like clones, perfectly formatted by the corporation.

“You’ll have to make do with the bucolic Swiss mountains for the moment, Miss Courtois,” the man at the window continued, pulling his electronic cigarette. “We will be able to examine your transfer request at your next annual qualification interview.”

She remembered calling them all sorts of names, in all types of languages, and slamming the door behind her. She had decided to accept Thomas’s proposal. Anyway, she was still stuck in Switzerland.

It was not a happy memory. Yet she had a lot of them. And they all resounded violently in her head.

“Joyeux Anniversaire!”

The voices were distant. Her family. She had been given a telescope for her twelfth birthday. Her father and mother came over to drop off a strawberry cake with candles on it.

Sileo and Erol’s faces appeared behind the colorful flames. Their features were twisted and the timber of their voices distorted by the crackling of the festive candles. It was as if they were behind an opaque glass.

“Oh mio caro, are you feeling well?” asked Sileo.

Suzanne lost herself in a sea of apologies when Erol put a hand on her shoulder.

“With everything that has happened, she hasn’t eaten anything solid for … far too long,” he said.

“But of course, that’s true! My apologies,” Sileo exclaimed.

They were right. She was starving.

The cabaret owner put his hand to his temple and a couple of servants brought out a tray of food immediately.

A neural implant, Suzanne thought as her stomach rumbled. So they still exist! Was the net still active? Perhaps Tom might be able to communicate with her after all! If he was alive…

The dish that appeared on the coffee table contained some strangely colored fruit individually covered in a very thick plastic film. There were also slices of finely cut dried meat. The net must wait, she thought as she felt her stomach grumble.

“Take the time to get your fill,” continued the master of the house, serving himself another glass. “I’ll make sure your makeshift guide takes a shower and then we can continue this conversation.” He insisted once more: “You are perfectly safe here. Buon appetito!”

Suzanne was not listening to him anymore. Her mouth was rediscovering all sorts of sensations that time had made her forget. The fruits all had the same bitter taste and their flesh was floury. She remembered the strawberry cake that concluded each one of her birthdays and the memory made her salivate.

However, the meat, although very seasoned, was delicious. Her appetite was ravenous and it surprised Sileo’s servants.

“What is this meat?” she asked after eating her fifth piece. “It’s very salty.”

“Cafards, Madame.”

She gulped. “What?”

“Cockroaches, Madam.”

Nausea overcame her and she would have fallen backwards if one of the servants had not come to her rescue. Suzanne vomited. The salt burned her esophagus. When she looked up again, the two brothers had already disappeared and there was a knock on the door.

As Suzanne regained her lucidity, a richly dressed stranger suddenly entered the room. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed the two servants, who went on without flinching. Her skin was a matte brown and she was one head taller than Erol. Her almond-shaped gray eyes fell on the young woman who felt like something had pierced her very soul. The visitor’s eyes revealed an overwhelming strength of spirit. She possessed the room with her presence as she walked towards Suzanne with a smile on her lips.

There was something celestial about the way that she moved. Each step and each gesture were executed with grace and precision. Her voluptuousness was accentuated by the lightness of her clothes: she wore a fine blue dress with golden seams that was completely transparent. The dress hid nothing, not even the many scars that dotted her abdomen.

“Sileo has already run off?” Her voice was deep and authoritative.

Her belt caught Suzanne’s eye. It was adorned with the hollow tree, symbol of this Foundation that Erol talked so much about. “Sileo. The—the brother? Suzanne. I am Suzanne. They have left,” stammered the young woman, attempting a ridiculous curtsy. She didn’t even know why.

The lady smiled. “Strange. It’s not like him to leave a pretty lady in the lurch.”