Upgraded by Peter Watts, Greg Egan, Ken Liu, Robert Reed, Elizabeth Bear, Madeline Ashby, E. Lily Yu Page A

allow myself to be carried along the rails.
    My vision became dim and fuzzy, and it was impossible for me to say what I truly saw. But the emotional flavor of everything was sharpened. I felt anxiety and anger coming from all around me, resonating with me, as though I was in the middle of a crowd swarming like a hive of bees.
    A stone fell into the water; fiery light flickered; sorrow, like the muddy ground after spring rain, held me in place. I felt death approach me, step by step, and I had no way to escape, my consciousness imprisoned in such a tiny space that all that was left was desperation.
    I saw a little girl squatting in the only sphere of light in the endless darkness. She seemed to be drawing something.
    In spite of her blurred features, I was absolutely certain that she was my mother.
    Of course, in dreams we often know for certain who a particular person is, even when we do not see her clearly, but it was odd to dream about your mother as a little girl.
    I tried to touch her, but I couldn’t move at all. The sphere of light shrank and moved further away.
    I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
    She disappeared in the darkness.
    “Perhaps I shouldn’t pry.” Doctor Qing’s voice pulled me back into the real world. “You must love your mother very much.”
    “What makes you say that?” My voice rasped with resentment.
    “You cried out for her.”
    I said nothing.
    “Aromatherapy works on the body and the mind at the same time. Some people react to essential oils in unpredictable ways. Feelings repressed for many years could suddenly resurface.”
    “—I haven’t seen her in nearly five years,” I blurted out.
    “Would you like to talk about it? It can help with your therapy.”
    I took a deep breath, exhaled, and the flame in the lotus candleholder flickered. She couldn’t see me, and I couldn’t see her. This made me feel safe enough to talk.
    My lack of reservation surprised even myself. This was the first time I had ever told anyone of the history between my mother and me. I told her of my childhood, my mother’s odd moods, my stepfather, and my many boyfriends. Finally, I brought up my experience with MAD.
    “You really went through with it?”
    “But it didn’t work. I changed the past, but I couldn’t change the present.” I mentioned the strange dream I had just had. “Maybe I even made it worse.”
    Doctor Qing seemed to be deep in thought and didn’t answer me right away. When she spoke again, her tone sounded unnatural.
    “Have you ever thought . . . it might not be your mother’s fault? The dreams—they might not belong to you either.”
    “What are you trying to say?”
    “Before I became a masseuse, I was involved in scientific research. A dangerous project I was working on blinded me, and then I was laid off. I was just glad that I survived.”
    “What kind of research, exactly?”
    “I don’t know. They erased all my memories of it.”
    “Oh.” In fact, I had heard many other stories like hers. The state would sometimes erase the memories of some individuals because they violated the law or because they knew too much. Afterwards, their social status inevitably declined. “But what does this have to do with my dream?”
    “After I lost my old job as a researcher, I tried to make a living in many different ways. But because of my blindness, I couldn’t last in any of them very long. In the end, I sort of stumbled into this profession. Sometimes, I wonder if it was all arranged ahead of time.” Her tone was casual, amused. She also didn’t really answer my question.
    “Arranged? By who?”
    “The person who saved me, who laid me off, and maybe even . . . who blinded me in the first place.” She sounded so calm, as though she were only discussing some essential oil. “Even though my memory had been erased, some aspects of my training remained with me. My intuition and logical approach have served me well in this new profession, too. For example, I’ve