Cadeyna opens her eyes and looks around... So she slept after all.

           Disappointment tumbles down as she finds herself still in the strange tree-root room and not, as she had hoped, in the relative normality of her own home. Gazing around she realises she wouldn't know her own home even if this were it. Something odd has happened to her memory. Nothing seems to make sense. Where she is, who she is, why this all seems so utterly... wrong. Didn't she use to have another name? Cadeyna, ca-dey-ina, kaaadayyynaaa.

           A glass flute of water stands on a flat platform next to her bed and she reaches for it. The glass feels reassuringly solid within her grasp, the water cooling to her parched throat. She takes in her surroundings. This time her perceptions are sharper. She can see more clearly. Shapes and the indistinct forms of before are now objects and tangible angles of the room surrounding her.

           "Hey there," Max stands near the centre of the room, still wearing that odd skin-tight outfit, "back with us I see. Feeling ok?"

           Cadeyna nods uncertainly, watching his lips move without sound. Is she ok? How can she tell? She has nothing to compare her current state with. She remembers nothing of the time before she found herself here, knows nothing of what normality is. She knows this place, this room and the bizarre chubby faced Max, are not normality - far from it. But if this isn't normal, what is?

           "Still feeling disorientated huh? Amnesia's part of it. Don't worry, your memory will return."

           Beyond Max is the swathe of window. This time Cadeyna's eyesight must have greater depth. She can see more than just a bright white blanket of sky. Much more. Structures huge as skyscrapers climb into an auspiciously healthy blue sky, their form bulbous and uneven as water-worn stone. Cadeyna is reminded of lava rock formations, though how she makes this comparison is a mystery to her. Struggling to remember even her own name she wonders how she can pull something like that from the misty recesses of her brain. Has she lived somewhere near a volcano? She doesn't think so.

           "Come and take a seat," Max gestures to a semi-circle of comfortable looking seats arranged around a central column of gnarled tree-root. The column ends some two feet above the floor and under it rests some kind of circular table, itself only a foot tall. The gap between the two seems to shine with a dull light.

           She steps tentatively across the room, her legs surprisingly solid beneath her, and notices for the first time that she too wears a close fitting suit identical to Max's own. It moves with her body in a most harmonious way, soft as silk and completely unobtrusive. On Max she'd thought the garment looked tight and restricting. She now finds that the opposite is true.

           She sits down cautiously. The plump sofa billows up around her and she sinks in a most comfortable way. The shine below the central column is warming. She welcomes the warmth, realising just how chilly her bones feel.

           "I'm guessing that you have questions." Max smiles, taking a seat a reasonable distance from Cadeyna. "that you have questions. I'm here to answer them, though you should know it's important, for health reasons, that you don't try to overstretch your mind. You've been through something of a trauma and the stress on your body will assert itself if you try too much too soon."

           She nods vaguely but wonders - is she the kind to overstetch? It's possible... likely...? She doesn't really know. Cadeyna smoothes her hair with a distracted hand, the gesture pulling her gaze upwards, towards the windows.

           The sky is very blue, a cerulean expanse held in place by the airy bubble of what can't be glass. Too... light. More rounded wall than window, actually, and maaany bubbles. Great bony ridges seperate each from the other, a clever frame of fused... wishbones. Chicken wishbones.... clavicule... outstretched arms of a blisfully flying man... weeping branch whose trunk carries her down, down to the blue-green shape of Max, patiently waiting.

           For the space of heartbeats she looks at him as she looked at the ridges, then she rises, carefully. He is quite tall, sitting there in front of her, or perhaps she is small... Yes, more the last one. "Can I...?" she asks, her hands rising towards him.

           "Feel free." he says, but she has already stoped.

           Her fingernails are starkly black and quite horrible to her own eyes, particularly so close to the healthy shade of Max's perfect skin. It causes a shudder of uncertainty to frolic along her spine... She cocks her head to the side, looking down on him but focused on herself, "Nail polish?"

           "Hmm?" Max looks momentarily confused. "Sorry I didn't get that one." He follows her line of sight to her fingertips. "These? It's a side effect, nothing more than that really. Give it time and it'll pass."

           She shakes her head, amused. No, what she meant is, "Could - I - get - some - nail - polish?"

           "There it is again," Max squints, "translator keeps saying nail decoration. I'm sorry but I don't..." a look of realisation crosses his face, "ah - you want something cosmetic to cover those. I see. I have just the thing."

           He begins to rise but she shakes her head again, making him pause. "It's not very important." she tells him, smiling softly. "It can wait."

           Max looks somewhat bemused as he settles back into the whispering sofa. She moves her fingers closer, completing that long ago gesture and touching his chubby cheeks... It's strange but her hands only feel his solidity, not his living heat. The man's face is cold and reptilian - though it looks perfectly smooth - his skin too supple beneath her probing fingertips. Like a sculpture in molded wax... No, plastics. The thought is - it's.... surprisingly reassuring. Somehow Max's head is lighter, his proportions less foreign... Why should that be?

           "Are they all like you?" she asks, still touching but looking into his crystal blue eyes as she does so, searching for signs her actions might have offended. He just smiles and her touch slowly grows more inquisitive, softly searching for what the eye cannot see.

           "It depends what you mean by 'they', and I hope that doesn't confuse you. Not my intention." The curve of the jaw, the softness of the temple... none of that is present in Max. Everything is the same, the flesh uniformly supple and... boneless. Very strange. "It's just that questions like that one require careful consideration." He chuckles as her fingers trace invisible patterns on his head and she can't help but note the reassuring sensations she feels when he laughs. It's almost spooky. Is it something about his expression? The innocence in his eyes? When he smiles at her she just feels nothing can hurt her, nothing is really worth worrying about. Everything is fine. The effect is twofold when he laughs and...

           Something buzzes past, inches from her left ear. A fly? She flinches, alarmed by the bee-hum of the insect though the source - a small black dot - is anything but insectile. In a flash it's rounded the central pillar and disappeared from sight.

           "Don't worry about that, you'll get used to it. It's called a {unknown}, the place is full of them. They'll bother you for a while, at least until your {clothing} is fully recognised. You're a {newcomer} here so you should expect some interest from various quarters. It won't last... Now. I hope you're convinced that I'm really here, not just a figment of an overstretched imagination. Questions, I expect you have them. So shoot. I have answers to some stuff you probably require straight off, but remember not to go {insane} on the {q&a}. There's a lot to get used to after all." He grins, cheeks moving in perfect unison around the movement of his lips.

           For the first time Cadeyna notices his flawless teeth, like bright white stones set in two impossibly straight rows. A small smile comes to her lips and she can't help but look down, self-conscious for some reason. "Your reality wasn't... I just..."

           "...felt curious? Only natural. Curiosity will get you everywhere and then some, so by all means go with the flow... How about I start you off? A trigger if you like. Your name - Gianina Maria Donata Caprice Rovelli. Lovely name, though it's quite a mouthful in my opinion. But I guess that's only to be expected from a guy called Max. Just Max, nothing else." He chortles quietly.

           She blinks at him, feeling a bit lost. He is talking very fast all of a sudden. "I... I don't have any questions." Maybe she should invent some? It seems to be required... "Why... why don't you tell me about yourself?"

           "Oh?" This seems to surprise him. "Myself. Well, I'm not sure that's appropriate. Not at this time." He talks slowly, gently, "If I tell you about myself then I have to tell you about my life, where I'm from, that kind of thing. You're not ready for it. Not yet. Give it time and you'll know all there is to know. I'll spill the whole story. Just not yet."

           Frowning, Cadeyna resumes her seat on the sun-warmed sofa, closer to Max but not too close. "You already know the questions then? The ones I can ask and have answers?" It seems unfair. If he already knows, why ask her?

           "No," Max sighs gazing out across the sun blessed vista beyond the window, "only you know what you need to ask. I'm just here to help you through this. I won't tell you too much just yet. It's not good for the brain. Too much information puts a strain on the grey matter, especially when the grey matter's not been used for a while." He chuckles and taps his soft temple (her eyes are drawn to that odd circle of deeper pink just above the bridge of his nose) "bit like mine." He notes the serious expression and the frown. "That was a joke." he says and Cadeyna smiles, doing her best.

           A game, is what she's thinking behind the smile. Some sort of game. Guess right and win an answer. Guess wrong and... win another guess. It seems unbalanced to her... and not very exciting, but Max must know what he's doing... Maybe it's what she needs? "It's... important I get it back soon? My memory?" she doesn't sound very sure. "That's why I should be full of questions? Like on the soaps after a coma?" She's pretty sure she can manage that.

           "Popular entertainment?" Max looks perplexed but dismisses the misunderstanding. "There are no demands. Everything will come with time. If you have questions I'm here to answer them as best I can. If not, hey, don't worry about it. There's plenty of time." He grins all of a sudden, "There is one question you can answer for ME though. Nothing world shaking, I'll understand if you don't want to share such private details, but I'd like to know: are you hungry? Thirsty? We have a rather fine drink I think you might enjoy, {caffeine supplement} it's called. We tend to live on the stuff round here. I'll fix you some if you like." He points over his shoulder at the strange branch-like protuberance near the wall behind the sofa.

           She follows his pointing finger and spots the object, seems to recall seeing it before, the last time she awoke... Was it pointed out to her then too? She cannot remember, but she can make out one thing - she is thirsty. Her throat is dry and her stomach feels empty, in need of nourishment. Not solid food perhaps. No. Just a drink - that would be good, but maybe not a... {caffeine supplement}. "Some orange juice...? Please."

           "Ah, good choice." He bounds to his feet and makes his way over to the branch where he busies himself speaking into it, "Preset Maximillion server rejoove, two eight six six please and also preset four three one eight one." He looks back to her and explains, "my own preference. Crushed ice, tall glass, freshly squeezed. The name's just a tag, we all have one. I'm a big movie fan. Did you ever see the Black-Hole? Well, anyway it comes from that. I'm a big softy when it comes to the classics. Here we go."

           He turns back as the branch object hums softly but Max blocks her view of what happens exactly. She guesses some kind of vendor distributes the drink.

           He returns to the sofa, passes her a tall cool glass of orange juice. As promised, a jangling collection of crushed ice shares the glass with the juice. He carries his own {caffeine supplement} back to his chair. "If you want food or drink just say it to the machine. It'll know what you want. Don't worry about all those numbers, they're just my own personal shortcuts to perfection." He sips a little then his eyes widen slightly. He looks at her with a grin, "Well what do ya know. I just answered your question and not a brain was strained."

           When Cadeyna looks confused he goes on, "I told you about myself. That I like movies. Classics and sci-fi best. What about you? Can you remember what you like? I'm guessing you like fruit juice, but that one was easy. What about movies? Any favourites? Ever seen Starship Troopers? One of my favourites. Great movie, an absolute masterpiece of the late-space age. Some might say there's no accounting for taste, but you know what? I say everyone's entitled to their opinion, so long as everyone agrees that I'm right in the end."

           She doesn't laugh and so he smiles a small rueful smile, "That was another joke. Guess the humour goes the same way as the memory. Or maybe my jokes just suck."

           "Oh no! I'm sure it's the memory." She drops her hand back to her glass, staring into it with perhaps undue interest. Orange vivid with life, the ice slick and luminous, and the glass itself... it's all very beautiful. Except...

           "You're right! I almost forgot the fingernails." Max pops up and make for a section of the nearby wall. He doesn't appear to touch anything but an aperture opens all the same, a gash in the wall that slips apart like a mouth.

           Max reaches in and pulls out a small object that looks like a pen. He returns to the sofa, gestures to her nails, "Hold them out there. Now, don't be afraid of this. It won't actually change anything about your nails, just the..." he stops, "well, I'll not get technical, just trust me. Wouldn't be apt given your current state to worry with the hows and wheres of things like this." As he speaks he touches the nib of the silvery pen to each of her nails and with each touch the nail colours over a bright and quite spectacular pink.

           "Ah, not very becoming, is it? Let's tone it down a little." He touches each fingernail again and this time the nail colours over a soft flesh hue. "Better?"

           She ripples them in the light, smiling. "Much. Thank you, Max." The rest of her though... She smoothes a stray lock behind her ear, her eyes darting discretely about. Ah well, surely all she needs is around here somewhere. She'll just have to experiment when she gets the time. "Do women still use hand bags?" She'll need something to carry her silver pen (pens?).

           Max looks amused, "Of course. Well, in a manner of speaking. Not hand bags as such, not quite as you know the term. Fashion tends to move in mysterious circles, {religious connotation currently being refined} knows that. Women seem to move in mysterious circles too sometimes." Smiling, Max stands up, places his empty cup on a platform and walks around the sofa toward the window. "Thankfully my world doesn't revolve around trying to follow those circles, unlike some I could mention," he chortles to himself.

           She was halfway expecting him to fetch her one of those not-hand bags, but he seems more intent on gazing out at the city. Oh well. The glass is cool in her hand, the juice itself cool on her tongue, not too pulpy. She takes advantage of his distraction to drink it all in one pull. The forbidden feeling is familiar, nicely so. She's done something like this before, to another man she knew. Her... husband? Is she married? When her eyes turn back to where he was sitting she notices Max's cup is gone.

           She cradles her own glass with sudden unease. Every time she gets confortable... Something seems slightly awry in this place. She has nothing with which to compare her experiences, which is vaguely annoying to begin with, but something deep inside tells her: cups don't just vanish! Not unless they exist only in dreams. Dream things vanish and change as they wish. So is it possible this is only...

           But no. Why is she surprised to be surprised? She's on a... a trip. Isn't this why she wanted to come?

           Besides, she's curious. Reaching over, Cadeyna lays her glass on the platform and watches it closely. The glass seems to descend into the platform. No. Not descend: disintegrate! From the rim down to the base it slowly crumbles into the ether, each section vanishing, no sign of broken shards or cracks in the remaining glass. No sign of the ice either. In a second the whole is gone. Just like that! Very... impressive.

           "This," Max glances over his shoulder, dragging her wondering gaze to himself before directing it to the outside world by spreading his arms wide, as though preparing to embrace the awesome collection of soaring structures out there, "this place. It's not familiar to you. This is why your memory is having a hard time reasserting itself in it's proper position." He lowers his arms and shakes his head slightly. "The normal routine with amnessia, the condition you're experiencing, is a foggy memory that returns in parcels prompted or triggered by familiar events, scenery, smells, sights, words. Nothing here will do that for you because nothing here is familiar. Well, almost nothing."

           That is true enough, nods Cadeyna. The room itself... and the city... but the sofa is a sofa, the glass was very glassy (for a while at least), and Max himself is... fairly manish... and a bit alien. Mostly around the head... and the lips. She's feeling uneasy again.

           He steps back toward her and resumes his place on the sofa, then picks up the small silver pen-like object and points it at a nearby window pane. A light flickers on the glass which suddenly turns grey and opaque.

           The unexpected hole in the scenery is jarring. Are all the windows really screens that can be turned off? The room is smaller with that question, more confining. In the other segments, the sky is still just as blue, the clouds continue their procession... It all seems very real, very... present. Maybe the pen just colored the not-glass, like it did her nails? "What...?"

           Max looks at her, expression serious but no less gentle for it. "Tell me immediately if you feel unwell, if your emotions overwhelm you." (She notices the lips again. Maybe that's where the dream comes from, small reminder that he's not really here, not really speaking to her...) "I've set this up so I can show you something. When you see it, you'll probably have an experience of memory. What I said about triggers. This may trigger recall. Recall may cause you to feel unsettled, unsure of this room, of me and of yourself. But it should also link you to a small part of the memory that's missing from your thoughts and that's a good thing so don't be afraid of it. Emotion can be painful. But even painful emotions are beneficial."

           He aims the pen and something flickers across the window. No longer is it a flat plate of glass covered grey but a doorway into what appears to be a small eggshell white room. Within the room is a curious object, a tall tree like structure fashioned from steel. Some parts appear able to swing to and fro, mostly in the upper reaches, while the trunk has meshed cradles containing assorted metallic forms and shapes both pleasing to the eye and provoking to the senses. Other parts are rigid and solid, columns of heavy pipe or mashed up mechanical components moulded into shape without apparent meaning, purpose or definition.

           Cadeyna likes what she sees, but she has no idea what it is she sees. Another unknown object like the pen-thing or the tree limb? No. This object fits more readily in that deep part of her psyche which finds everything else disturbingly disconected.

           Her lips part slightly, breath caught behind her teeth. The room through the window starts to rotate, unseen lights playing on the facets of the turning object, some parts glittering metallically, others matt and unreflective. Within the object is a complex array of components and items there to be discovered, the outer layer of the piece simply a skin to be peeled away by curious hands. The inner pipe of the piece waits patiently to be explored, pulled apart and understood.

           The piece. Why does she think of it as that? Why does she long to reach into that room and touch the alluring surface of the piece, move it, alter it, play with it and discover it? What is it? Where did it come from?

           In her mind she hears the sizzle of something mechanical, sees orange sparks showering the air, seen through the tinted plastic screen of something that covers her face. She smells smouldering steel, alluminium and iron. She feels, beneath fingers, the smooth magnificence of polished chrome, the angular edges of nuts and bolts.

           The sensations are good. Important. But they reach into her like inquisitive fingers and tug at that deep down buried place within her brain, shifting things around. Like insects agitated from their nesting place memories start to flutter out of that deep down place, bothering her thoughts like moths bumping repeatedly against a light bulb.

           The memories invade one by one, visions and scenes that bring tears to her eyes... The top should be like this. Ah but then this will have to be more like this, and. Her date is looking at her strangely but she keeps on scribbling, noisy waiter be damned. "I'll buy the tablecloth! Now please be quiet, you'll make me loose it." Now where was she? Oh yes...

           "I'm an artist, aren't I?" The realisation is nothing like a bright burst. It's... it's like shining a light after a blackout and finding the couch still in place. It does look a bit odd and unfamiliar in this light, but it's supposed to be there... right?

           And so she finds herself - Polishing the myriad scales of a sharp-fanged fish. She can get a good price for this little one... Hard wooden bench, murmuring fellow students. Droning man with a dark beard, "The real question is how wind load affects..." Another man, younger and with greasy hands. Three of him, all speaking at the same time, "Fuel compression. Pumps. Artistic integrity. Coffee?" Sketching and sketching, endlessly. In the middle of it all there is a vast sky with a tiny church at the end. A seemingly endless brick plaza beaten by a relentless sun.... and there she is, wiping sweat off her brow, lost in the middle of her half-assembled statue. Why won't the piston work? How are the people-planets supposed to move without hydraulic pressure? And where is (the triplet?)? He should be here by now!

           "I... shape metal. Moving metal." She rises, closing on the tree with amazement, "Did I make this?" The setting is all wrong, but she could have... Maybe a contrast statement? The outside sterility of the white walls versus the community of gallery-goers gathered around inorganic life?

           The sight of the high "branches" bring with it another image, of her hanging sideways from a scafold, encased inside some spidery monstrosity up to her waist. The echoes of the banging is almost defeaning. There too is the memory of various times, burnt fingers on too hot metal, the roar of glue just after a welding spark fell in the pot, a hole in her gut as she feels something give way below her...

           "I'm... very active, aren't I?" No wonder her nails are so short... And back to the brick plaza, low to the ground, at the base. A plaque. Three words: "Cadeyna de Sangray". Network of blood, her interpretation of family. The first but not the last. She can see all the others, all bearing their own name and below, always, always... her own.

           Cadeyna smiles, then giggles. "It's my nom-de-plume!" she says to Max over her shoulder, hardly able to take her eyes off the tree. He doesn't understand. "Cadeyna. It's the name I took as an artiste. I even added it legally so I could use it on checks and such. Gianina Maria Donata Caprice Cadeyna Rovelli!" She giggles again before settling. "I must have a very big ego..." You find out the strangest thing about yourself....

           "Can we go see it? I'm sure it would help." To touch, to feel, to explore as the piece was meant to be explored.

           "Help? With your memory?" He smiles, "Yes, it probably would. I'm afraid it's not possible."

           Why ever not? says her whole body.

           Max gives the tree a sad look, "It doesn't actually exist. This is a projection taken from," he taps his temple, not for the first time, and looks at Cadeyna with sympathy in his eyes, "up here. Or rather up there to be more accurate," he points at her own head. "A memory given form... Can you understand that or am I taking things too far? You see, here, in this place, we have the capability to extract information from places only the mind knows. Your mind knows this," he looks back at the tree. "It is rather wonderful, in an odd sort of way. Reminiscent of Dubali, or Rokatrov. It's yours however, all yours. But it only ever was. I don't think you managed to finish this one." He points the pen and the window hums quietly.

           The room and its intriguing tree vanishes. The cityscape returns in full, looking more peculiar than it did before - a lot more peculiar... but Cadeyna ignores it, choosing to whirl on Max instead. Why did he take her tree away? She was just getting to know it!

           Max reclines a little more and sighs, "I know you're hungry for more - and there is more - but in that sense I must act the spoilsport and hold you back." He looks at her, a serious expression on his round face, "I think we should balance the... you from the tree with the you standing here now. That probably makes no sense at all but it will, I promise. Now I'd like to show you around Rejoove if you feel up to a short walk. There's someone I'd like you to meet. Someone who's very eager to meet you."

           Just like that: You'll understand later and then off to another game... before she's finished this one. It's... disconcerting. Ask but not this, look but don't touch. Is this really making her better?

           "I... I'd have to clean up." Quiet time in a quiet room. Time to twirl the remembered tree, to ponder what needs pondering... Max, mostly.

           The man in question grins, unflapingly cheerful. "A cleanse? Sure thing. I'll show you how it works then I'll leave you to it. I have to visit with somebody for a moment or two. When I come back we'll take that walk."

           She smiles and nods, "Sounds fine." Yes, do get out.

           "This way, please." Max shows her over to one of the curved walls of the room. As soon as they approach within a foot or two the wall slips open, like lips parting. No teeth, thank God, but the motion is very... disturbing when seen this close: Walls should NOT be able to swallow the tenants.

           Grabbing her courage, Cadeyna (Gianina?) peers inside the opening, suddenly less sure this will ressemble a relaxing experience.

            On the other side of the opening is another small chamber large enough to comfortably house three people but no more. The floor and ceiling are pocked with uniform rows of holes and various tangled root-like features climb the walls on all sides... Is that the whole bathroom?

           "Disrobe and enter the cubicle," Max explains, "then request out loud your choice of refreshment. I usually shower with {water soap} at 'bliss level'. Bliss level gives you tolerably hot water. If you prefer warm showers but not hot showers select 'relaxation level', there's also a cooling level which will give you a tolerably cold shower - good if you're hot after exercise or the like. The settings vary for each individual, but don't worry. The cubicle knows exactly the right temperature for your body. Now - the {soap} is in the water itself so you don't need to lather as you would normally do with seperate soap. If you'd like to perfume your {soap water} just request this, for example 'Please perfume my {soap water} with strawberry.' The cubicle is quite capable of mixing in any perfume you desire, it's range is quite extensive. Once you're showered you simply ask the water to stop and it will. Blowers will then dry your body. Your hair will remain wet so you can style it if you wish. A mirror can be requested, cosmetics if you wish them will be dispensed."

           Oh, good. She had wondered.

           He smiles reassuringly, "There are no {towels} however. You must dry yourself using the blowers inside the cubicle. When you emerge, dress in your suit immediately. It will warm you if you feel chilled. The suit cleanses itself everytime you remove it so when you put it back on it will feel nice and fresh." Max turns to leave, "If you have any problems at any time just say 'help' and you'll receive instructions on any question you ask after the word help, for example: help, how do I turn this {curse} thing on?" He laughs. "Have fun." He steps toward another wall which parts for him then closes on his retreating back.