Erin
The Remem tech feels dystopian, doesn’t it?
Bannister
If you had the chance, would you use it?
Erin
…maybe? Though I don’t know what that says about me, if I can call it dystopian and still want to use it for work.
Bannister
What does it say about me, if I agree with you?
Erin
Do you?
Bannister
Yes.
Bannister
Speaking of dystopian fiction, have you read anything by Martha Wells?
She had.
Erin flopped back onto her pillows, smiling at the ceiling.
7
Ethan blinked awake after four hours of sleep. He was perched perilously close to the edge of the mattress, one ankle already dangling into space. A rear canine paw pressed into his back, twitching to kick him out of bed, while the golden retriever sprawled across three-quarters of the blankets, snoring in bliss and slobbering on his pillow.
“Bunsen…”
The dog huffed another luxurious snore.
“What’s wrong with your own damn bed?”
That engineering miracle of fleece, memory foam, and gel pads for heat or cooling lay abandoned on the floor. Bunsen was happy to nap in his dog bunk, dragging it around the condo to an optimal position that only he could triangulate before dropping it onto Ethan’s feet for a snooze. But after dark?
“Maybe I should sleep in it.”
Groaning at the crick in his neck, he gave the retriever an ineffective shove as he stretched across Bunsen for his phone on the nightstand—and something cracked along his torqued spine, a pinch of discomfort followed by a sweet release.
“U-ugh.”
Snagging Bunsen’s pillow, he propped himself up against the wall. His mother had been harping on him to get a bedstead for years, though what was the point? His mattress on its rolling metal frame was functional, and the lengths and slats of a bedstead would just be more things to break while stuffing them into his hatchback during a move. He’d been fortunate so far with his rent, but this was Silicon Valley. No one’s luck lasted through its vicissitudes forever. Defiantly repositioning the pillow and raking a hand through his hair, he opened his SVLAC email and edged Bunsen’s creeping legs off his lap before the dog could shove him toward the door for their Saturday morning hike.
A run in Edgewood Park was an inviolable part of their weekend routine.
So was Ethan’s watch duty for overnight SVLAC messages.
Eischer-Langhoff Edits, read the subject line of a new email from Dr. Kramer.
Meyer:
