We’ll stop upstairs. In a windowless room that she thought had probably been used for projectors they stopped. The gray figure reached into another pocket and handed her a thin packet, like a large bandage. Put this on. She peered at it closely, but couldn’t figure it out. What is it? It’s a mask. Mycelial membrane. Put it on. She hesitated. What’s your name? I’m Emory. I’m Maya. Can I see your face first? Before I put this on? Why? I’d feel more comfortable. It’d be better to wait. Please. Her guide crossed their arms. It’s not a good idea. Look, I just, I don’t know, I want to know that you’re a human being and not like, a robot or something. After a moment’s consideration Emory nodded, as though this made sense somehow. They reached up and loosened something at the back of the head, and then the neck. Beneath the gear was a thin pale white kid with a shaved head. The blond stubble shone in the red light. Satisfied? How old are you? How old are you? I’m fifteen. Well, I’m thirteen. Any other questions? What are you doing here? I’m trying to help you. I know, I know. Thank you. But, like … how did you get here? You know how. Ava sent you. Yeah. And she sent you too. Do you want to put your mask on now? How? Hold still. With careful gloved fingers Emory set the mask over her mouth and nose, then with a gentle massaging motion pressed its adhesive edges onto the skin of her cheeks, nose and chin. Its fabric was very fine, soft and elastic, like high quality spandex, and seemed to trap little moisture. How’s it feel? It’s soft. Are there more like you? Like us, you mean. More than you think. Come on, they’re waiting for us. No. 128
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