Designations Congruent with Things: A Correspondence In Two Parts

Resist. Transmit. You must know you’re a machine.

Chapter warnings: Realistic depictions of neurological, physical, and bureaucratic trauma. War. Grief. Death. Mental illness. Regular illness. Panic attacks. 

Text iteration: Midnight.

Additional notes: None.

A Correspondence

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Is this the real life?

Yes or no?

-Mako

P.S. Where are you?

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a laaaandslide…you know how it goes.

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: No escape from reality

Hello? Where have you been?

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: READ THIS

Dear Newt,

What happened in the mess hall? Are you going to Tendo’s ‘Vodka and Victory’ party? I need to know. It won’t turn depressing if you’re there. It probably won’t turn depressing if you’re there. 

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: READ THIS AND RESPOND

Dear Newt,

Dr. Gottlieb came to see me this afternoon. I don’t feel comfortable discussing what he said in an email. Do you have time to speak with me? Why are you working in the infirmary? I tried to find you this afternoon, but I was told by offsite PPDC personnel that you were occupied. 

Since when do you have bouncers?

-Mako

To: Mako Mori
From: Newton Geiszler
Subject: OMG

I’m working, Mako. Working. Fancy stereotactic rigs don’t align themselves. You think science stops when the countdown clock does? Science never stops, kiddo. It’s like some kind of undead thing with a subpar nervous system. Always slowly coming for you. Speaking of which, tackle Dr. Gottlieb for me and give him a task; he’s getting in my hair, as always. No one needs Breach statistics anymore. (Yay!) 

-Newt

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: re: OMG

So you’re not dead. Marshal Hansen is preparing for a press conference the day after tomorrow. You should come to his briefing at fourteen hundred hours. We are all to be coached on “proper comportment.”

Speaking of proper comportment, I could use some support regarding my new hair color. Is there a time I can come see you?

-Mako

P.S. Raleigh says, “Tell Geiszler long time, no see in the mess hall.” Then he says, “Mako don’t type that.” Then he says, “Mako. Mako, no. No. Mako.” Then he says, “You’re making me sound like a Neanderthal.”  Then he says, “Mako. Mako, that’s not funny. Mako.”

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Hello?

Hi Newt,

You didn’t come to the briefing. I noticed you’re not on the schedule for tomorrow’s press conference. Neither is Dr. Gottlieb.

I went to the Medical Bay to talk to you and I was told you were “indisposed.” Are you working or are you a patient? Please let me know. Please do not write me an email about zombies. Please tell me clearly what is happening.

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: URGENT: PLEASE RESPOND

Newt, where are you? What’s happened?

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: URGENT!!! RESPONSE REQUIRED

Newt, can you please confirm that the letter of resignation we received from Dr. Gottlieb on your behalf is genuine? This doesn’t sound like you.

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: PLEASE RESPOND IMMEDIATELY

Newt,

This morning I attended a meeting in the company of Marshal Hansen. I believe Dr. Gottlieb is about to be criminally charged with your abduction. I expressed my opinion that such a thing would be out of character for him, but if you could contact us it would clear things up. 

Please email me or call me immediately. Immediately immediately. 

-Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: 

Dear Newt,

I don’t know if you’ll receive this. I don’t know if you’ve received any of my emails. I suspect you’re not checking your PPDC account. I understand your server access will soon be terminated. Marshal Hansen provided me with your forwarding email address. 

This morning I saw the report from the offsite physiologists you were working with. I can’t discuss its contents, but I wanted you to know that I saw it.

Raleigh and I are about to depart for a public relations tour.

I tried to call you.

I’m sitting at the Hong Kong Airport, wearing a scarf over my hair and sunglasses and no makeup and a dress that isn’t black. I don’t feel like myself. Raleigh is wearing a sweatshirt that says, “I came to Hong Kong and all I got was this shirt” in Chinese. We’re hoping not to be recognized. This morning I went out for coffee and couldn’t get away from the gathering crowd. I had to flag down a cab. People like to touch my hair.

I don’t like it when they touch my hair.

I can see the Shatterdome out the window.

Soon it will be time for us to board the plane.

I wish I could say what’s in my head. The Drift changes too much, and I was never eloquent. 

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: New York

Dear Newt,

We landed at JFK this morning. Raleigh slept through the flight but I stayed awake, thinking about people and about things that have happened. I thought about Raleigh’s fourteenth birthday when Yancy gave him a driving lesson in secret under a gray sky. I thought about my fourteenth birthday when we all went to karaoke at a bar called BAR with its green lights and its analog equipment that you called “legit.” I remember all the songs everyone sang because I wrote them down that same night in my white notebook with the butterfly on the cover.

Do you remember that notebook? While I was packing, Raleigh opened it like it was his.

After we landed, a security escort met us at the airport. It’s strange to be escorted from place to place. Is this what you pictured when you talked about being a rockstar? I was never sure if it was fame you meant, or just that there’s glamor in rocking intellectual boats. I can’t believe I never asked you about it. Either way, I don’t think this life fits me as well as it would fit you.

I’ve never been to New York City before, but from the back of a hired car it looks like the living monument to capitalism I’d always heard it was. Every surface holds an image: the sides of vehicles, the sides of buildings, the windows of stores, freestanding giant screens. I see the dead everywhere, interspersed with the living. Everywhere, I see myself, looking like a person I never was.

I read a newspaper article this morning that said you’d had a nervous breakdown. I read another article that said you’d been experimented on by the PPDC. I read a third article that said you were suffering from a severe neurologic condition. They all show the same picture. Maybe you’ve seen it by now? You and Dr. Gottlieb are walking through a hallway in the Hong Kong airport. Dr. Gottlieb is glaring at the person taking the picture. You’re wearing sunglasses. Your hair is a mess. You’ve got an arm over his shoulder and your other hand is out, like you’re about to fall.

You look terrible, Newt.

All three articles agree you went to San Francisco.

It would be nice to hear from you.

Love,
Mako

P.S. I don’t think our interview went very well. I’m too taciturn to make a good role model.

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Thinking

Dear Newt,

I’m in our hotel room watching the news. I’m addicted to it. The analysis, the retrospectives, the tributes. It’s satisfying. It hurts. Like losing my baby teeth.

I’ve been dreaming of losing my teeth. I dream they start falling out of my mouth while I’m being interviewed and Raleigh just looks at me with strange, impassive eyes. Then I realize that they’re my eyes, looking at me. I realize I’m Raleigh. So perhaps it’s Raleigh who dreams of losing his teeth?

I haven’t asked him about it. 

We had another interview this morning. It was long. They asked about you, about what you were like, about whether you were mentally stable, about what you’d done with that kaiju brain. I told them you were a rockstar. I told them that when I met you, you had green streaks in your hair. I told them you’d saved the world just as much as I had.

After they asked about you, they asked about the Marshal. They saved that for the end. They save it for the end every time. 

I hate interviews.

I wish you were here. I wish everyone was here. I wish it wasn’t just Raleigh and me. We’re terrible at cheering each other up. No one ever says anything stupid. No one starts singing in annoying falsetto and playing air guitar.

The Drift is strange. I steal miniature blueberry muffins from the complimentary breakfast tray the hotel sends up every morning. I hide them in a drawer, just to have a secret to keep. After our interview, Raleigh opened the drawer.

I cried for the first time since we shut the Breach.

Raleigh went for bagels.

Love,
Mako

P.S. I snapped a picture of the view from our hotel room. It’s in the attachment.

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Washington

Dear Newt,

I’m writing to you from a bench overlooking the Tidal Basin. The trees are bare. I snapped a picture for you, it’s attached to this email. 

Raleigh and I are incognito, me with a wide-brimmed hat, him with a pair of glasses he doesn’t need and a Superco^2 (nducting lliders) hooded sweatshirt he bought from a street vendor in NYC. You never said your band had merchandising!

Did you know I’m a fashion icon? 

I didn’t either, until Vogue called me and told me so. I’m doing a photo shoot for them next week before we leave America for Brasília. Raleigh will be doing one for GQ around the same time. He’s concerned he’ll have to wear a sport coat and jump off objects while looking excited. All I could say to that is: “I hope so.”

I saw on the news that Dr. Gottlieb will be giving a talk to UC Berkeley’s Mathematics and Physics departments. They say it’s closed to the public, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find a livestream. Will you be there?

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Manchego

Is a delicious cheese. 

I’m attaching a picture of the lunch provided by Vogue for the photoshoot. Everything comes in mouth-sized, artful pieces. I wonder if they always do that, or if it’s a nod to a Japanese aesthetic they think I favor. If so, they’re right. I’m so full. This seems counterproductive. I thought fashion icons weren’t supposed to eat cheese all afternoon. 

Vogue made me a replica of the Interface Suit Dr. Lightcap designed. It’s much less comfortable and much more flattering. They also gave me an ostrich feather dyed red to match my hair. When I said, “What do I do with this?” they said, “Anything you want,” but then they said, “Maybe not that, though.” After the photos were finished, they asked me if I had a contact number for you and whether I thought you’d be willing to pose without a shirt. I said I didn’t know.

Do you have a new phone number? I’ve tried to call you, but you haven’t picked up.

I like to picture you in skinny jeans and a neohipster peacoat walking along winding San Francisco streets. I like to think you spend your days learning to cook, rolling your eyes at the contents of local record stores, playing your guitar, while Dr. Gottlieb makes that face he makes especially for you. Sometimes I think, “Maybe he’s put green streaks back in his hair,” sometimes I think, “Maybe he has an eyebrow ring now.” Yesterday Raleigh said, “What do you think Geiszler does to go incognito, dress as a tennis prodigy?” That made me laugh a little bit. 

But you didn’t take anything when you left the PPDC. Not your clothes, not your guitar, not your (mostly) stolen garden, not your computer. I put it all in storage for you, except for the plants, which I gave to Tendo.

It’s hard for me to hold onto my vision of you when I locked half the things I picture in a dark room at the back of the Hong Kong Shatterdome.

It’s hard to be sad when everyone expects you to be happy.

Even if you are angry with me, could you write to me?

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: América del Sur

Dear Newt,

I haven’t written for a few days because Raleigh and I had some real work to do. This morning we gave a presentation on resource allocation to Brazil’s National Congress. It was mostly a courtesy. A way for the PPDC to show its gratitude for all the resources Brazil devoted to the Jaeger program and to the Wall of Life, especially since they aren’t a nation on the Pacific Rim.

We spent the afternoon traveling to a small town on the Atlantic Coast. I’m writing to you from a stone patio overlooking the water, waiting for my toenail polish to set. It’s red. I snapped a picture. It’s attached. My toes and the Atlantic.

Raleigh has a strange relationship with you now. I think he’s having trouble reconciling the neohipster nerd he met once in an elevator with the idea of you as a badass older brother. It’s complicated. He lost his own brother, did you know? He never speaks of Yancy, but he mentions you a lot.

Five minutes ago, he turned to me and said, “The ‘anonymous fan’ who gave you those rollerblades for your thirteenth birthday? It was Geiszler. It must have been.”

I can’t believe I never figured that out. 

It doesn’t seem fair that Raleigh Becket can solve the mysteries of Mako Mori’s past over Piña Coladas.

Thanks for the rollerblades. They irritated everyone so I should have known, even then, that they came from you. That was one of the better years.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: The Talk

Dear Newt,

This evening Raleigh and I watched Dr. Gottlieb’s talk over a bowl of moqueca capixaba and glasses of Brazilian Prosecco. It was very good (the talk and the meal). I noticed he included your slide on the neural interface. I also noticed that he confirmed you drifted with a kaiju. Not once, but twice.

Did you know that no one has yet said this directly?

The media will devour this information like sharks devouring little fish.

Remember when you watched Blue Planet with me? Once, and then eleven more times? I was an annoying child. I think about those little fish a lot. I always wanted to be a shark, but knew I wasn’t. Just a little fish.

I took a secret picture of Raleigh watching Dr. Gottlieb’s talk. He looks embarrassingly fascinated, like a nerd. It’s attached.

I emailed Dr. Gottlieb to let him know I watched the livestream. I’ve emailed him a few times, asking for updates. He hasn’t responded to any personal emails, only those I’ve sent in an official capacity. He hasn’t responded to Tendo either. I think he might not trust us. I think he might not trust any of us. That’s the explanation that seems most likely to me. He never mentions you. Maybe you don’t trust us either, not anymore.

I can’t blame you for that.

I hope it’s that you don’t trust me anymore.

How sad is it, to hope for that?

If I’d known, I would never have let them do what they did.

You should have told me.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I could stop them in the future. I know I could. I’m an icon now. I can do what I want. That’s what people keep telling me. I think it might be true. There’s one way to find out.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Tierra del Fuego

Dear Newt,

We’re here because Raleigh wanted to go to Antarctica and I said no, like a normal person. But then he gave me his sad eyes and I remembered how he and his brother had pretended to be polar explorers. We compromised on Tierra del Fuego. The nicest thing about this place is that no one recognizes us. We’re staying in Ushuaia for two days before we go to London. The seafood is delicious. I’d attach the picture I took of my dinner, but I don’t want to make you cry. I know how you feel about eating fish.

Raleigh wants me to meet his parents after this tour is over.

It’s strange because I already know his parents. It’s strange because I feel like I was the too-excited kid who dragged Yancy everywhere until I dragged him out of bed and to his death.

Even Raleigh knows that’s not the way it happened; I’m not sure why I said that.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: London

Dear Newt,

The city is hard, after Ushuaia. I’ve been wearing a scarf over my hair. It helps with being recognized. Maybe I should get a blonde wig? That would look ridiculous, but that would be the point.

Right now, it’s just me in front of an open window. (No balcony this time.) Raleigh is asleep. It’s late.

I talked to Tendo today. Did you know he resigned from the PPDC? He says it’s because he was offered a job at a premier German robotics company, but I think it’s because everyone is gone, except for Herc Hansen. Tendo says that he hasn’t heard from you or Dr. Gottlieb. I asked him what he’s going to do with your plants. He says he’ll hunt you down and hand-deliver them back to you.

I wish you’d answer your phone. Do you have a new phone? A new number? Do you need my number? Are you reading these emails? Are you okay? Are you angry with me? 

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: More London

Dear Newt,

Today Raleigh and I are doing a joint photo shoot. We’re taking a break while they mock up a faux stereotactic interface. My back is sore, because for some reason they thought it would look good if Raleigh stood opposite me and held my ankle while I arched my back and twisted to look at the camera. I’m not sure what this is supposed to convey. But, they said that they heard from Vogue that I liked manchego cheese so there was so much of it at lunch. This makes up for a lot, in my book.

Everyone’s been asking me about you. I think this is partially because The Daily Telegraph ran an article on how we’re secretly biological half-siblings. This is one hundred percent due to your guyliner phase in 2005. There’s a picture circulating from your first East Coast tour in which you almost look half Asian under dim lights. It’s a stretch, but the hair dye and eye makeup helps. It is the same picture I stole from you when I was twelve. I wonder where they found it.

When I was growing up, I never wished you were my brother, not even when we watched ocean documentaries or when you were teaching me to play the bass, because to wish that felt like a betrayal of my real family. My first family. I didn’t want to replace them with living people. Now I wish that I had more people than memories. 

Evangeline is playing on the overhead speakers as I type this.

Raleigh is surreptitiously humming along while eating little pastry shells full of delicious goo. I’ve attached a picture.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Even More London

Dear Newt,

I just saw the article in Wired. It looks like someone leaked Dr. Gottlieb’s correspondence with the top brass of the PPDC. It makes me wonder who reads these emails I’m sending. Are you reading them, or are they just being read by the IT department at the PPDC and by entrepreneurial journalists who have the means to intercept network traffic?

Maybe one day you and I will meet and we’ll walk out to the middle of an abandoned beach and you’ll tell me what happened to you, far away from any electronic devices.

Or maybe you never will.

I’m sure Wired got a few things wrong, but I think they got at least as many things right.

After Raleigh read the article, I threw away the magazine.

We went to breakfast and had mystery sausage and roasted tomatoes and eggs.

After breakfast, while Raleigh was shaving, I took the magazine out of the trash, tore out the article, and packed it in the lining of my suitcase.

I hope you’re not brain-damaged, Newt, like they say. You were fine after you drifted the first time, and the second time. I talked to you. I found you the morning after and made you your signature cocktail at eleven AM and then watched Dr. Gottlieb drink it. Everything was fine until the third day. Until the mess hall.

Wasn’t it?

Maybe it wasn’t.

The city is covered with fog today. We had planned to be tourists in the morning before our presentation at King’s College, but neither of us feels like being recognized. 

They’ll ask me about you today. I know they will. Maybe this time, they’ll save you until the end. 

Love, love, love, love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Paris

Finally, a city where we can be ourselves without getting mobbed. Raleigh and I are at a tiny café, drinking coffee and eating delicate pastries, being mostly ignored by the quiet clientele. I feel like I’m in a room full of cats. I always wanted a cat.

The day is sunny. This morning, Raleigh bought me an antique dagger from a small shop along the Seine. He said it reminded him of me because it was beautiful and lethal. 

Later, I bought him a pastry and said it reminded me of him because it was cute and sweet.

He laughed so hard that coffee came out his nose, which was a little scary, because I’m not that funny. 

I always wanted to be beautiful and lethal. Like a shark. I wonder if he said that because that’s what I am, or because he knows that’s what I wanted. Whenever I think of the Drift, and the tangle it’s made of my mind, I think of you.

The café has been playing a mix of American, South Korean, and French pop music. LHC by The Superconducting Supercolliders just came on. Raleigh is singing along under his breath. LHC is his favorite, mostly because he hates the idea of Syncope being his number one, just because it’s so popular. Secretly, he’s a little bit of a contrarian. My favorite song is the one about the girl who’s actually a robot but lying to herself about it. You know the one:

Resist, Transmit,
You must know you’re a machine.

It reminds me of Gipsy Danger.

I hate you so much sometimes.

Please write to me.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Sacré Cœur

We were sitting on the steps above Paris, watching the street vendors hassle tourists at sunset when Raleigh said, “I’d propose to you right now, Mako, if it didn’t feel so much like cheating.”

I didn’t say anything.

We watched the sunset together.

I took a picture. It’s attached.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Still Paris

Dear Newt,

The sun is warm this morning. I’m writing to you from our balcony, surrounded by rooftops and the sounds of pigeons. 

It feels strange to be so far from the sea. I can’t hear it, I can’t smell it, I feel like I’m too far from where I might be needed. But I’m not needed anymore. Not like I was. Now, I’m just an image on a strange page of human history.

The city motto here is fluctuat nec mergitur, which means: It is tossed by the waves, but does not sink. I love that.

Raleigh just interrupted me to say, “Are you still writing to that nerd?”

(Please note that he’s now wearing his Supercos sweatshirt in the privacy of our hotel room. Not for camouflage.)

Raleigh just interrupted me again to say, “Mako, I’m wearing this because it’s cold. Not because Geiszler is cool. Mako. No. Mako, don’t type that. Mako, no. Don’t type this either, Mako. Mako. Why do I do this to myself? I’m gonna take a shower.”

This is his punishment for reading over my shoulder. He knows I hate that.

I looked up the weather in San Francisco today. Partly cloudy.

I like to think that you’re getting the band back together. I like to think you’re songwriting in a neohipster coffee shop with framed vinyl on the walls and tables and chairs carved from found wood, drinking something fair trade and genetically modified with your sleeves rolled up and pointless fingerless gloves on your hands while you flash your body art at everyone who passes because you’re a tasteless provocateur. I like to think that you’ve got a draft of an NSF grant in shoulder bag to work on later. I’d like to think that Dr. Gottlieb is sitting at the next table trying to pretend he doesn’t know you and doing a terrible job, as usual.

You know you could always come with us. You could join our tour. You’d be on it, if you hadn’t left. If what you’d done hadn’t raised so many questions. I’d make them let you in. I’d make them.

Just say the word.

Any word.

Love,
Mako

To: Newton Geiszler
From: Mako Mori
Subject: Airports 

Even in France, are trying. 

I bought a wig and I’m wearing a pink sweatshirt with the Eiffel Tower on it that looks so terrible I have to shut my eyes when I see a reflective surface coming my way. I squinted and took a picture in the bathroom mirror. It’s attached.

Next time, we’ll accept the security escort. 

Raleigh can’t stop laughing at me. He’s started calling me “babe.”

Never again.

Ten percent of people we pass are wearing your glasses.

You’re on the cover of Rolling Stone, did you know? I’ve never seen the picture before. It’s a black and white photo of you, standing right at the edge of a stage, your hair a mess, your tie uselessly loose, your eyes shut. You look indecent, and not like you’re singing about particle accelerators and OCD robots that lie to themselves about their true natures. I bought five copies and almost blew my cover doing it.

I haven’t read the article yet. I hope they say nice things. The only text on the front of the magazine is in white, running right at the bottom of the page. It reads: The Reshaping of the American Science Scene. This seems promising.

Give me your address, and I’ll send you a copy.

Yesterday I read an article theorizing that a John Doe in a coma in UCSF’s Neurology Unit was you. I tried to rule it out from the picture, but the quality was poor.

I also read an article that I was a mid-level member in the Cult of the Kaiju, complete with crisp, photoshopped images of me in purple robes, so I guess it doesn’t really mean anything.

It’s only been a few weeks since we closed the Breach, but already the tributes to the fallen are ending and the images of the living outnumber the images of the dead.

It is a relief not to see his face everywhere.

When relief feels like betrayal, then it is not relief anymore.

I want to go home.

How about you?

Love,
Mako

 

In Two Parts

Dictation 1

Maks in socks! Wait, is this on? I don’t think I turned it on. Did you turn it on for me? That is, like, so nice of you, man. You’re being really, really nice. I don’t like that. It makes me suspicious.

Of what?

Of you.

How gratifying.

What was I doing?

I have no idea.

Could you guess maybe though?

I believe you were addressing Ms. Mori before you were apparently distracted by my kindness.

Yes. Mako. Right. I will solve this. No problem. Dear Ms. Mako Mori. I would like to make you aware of some certain things that have recently occurred. Number one is that I do not have vision anymore so I cannot work for you, I’m assuming you’re in charge now, my eyes have caved in, this is very serious, and I’m in dystopian prison because of this, having inadvertently dragged my colleague here as well. You’re very photogenic, and so you’ll have to pick up the torch of awesome, all the dropped torches of awesome, and carry them from here on out until you find other people to give them to, like in a relay. 

Newton, you cannot send this to Ms. Mori.

Mako, but no seriously. Please get us out of here. Hermann likes you a lot he just keeps it on the inside, he thinks you’re very smart. We’re having a little bit of a bad day and need to be rescued. Sincerely, Newt. Very sincerely. Also we’re—where are we?

Customs.

I don’t think that’s a place.

Yes, it most certainly is. Unfortunately.

Well I just don’t think so.

That’s because your brain isn’t working properly.

Yes, it is, actually, Hermann, for your information. Kind of it is, except for fine motor everything. The point is pretty much it is. Nothing is wrong with me, things are just wrong with the world. Subjective reality has been turned into objective reality by neuroscience. I’m always right. Mako, are you getting this? We’re at “Customs” if that’s even a thing. If it is, it looks like a German dystopia. Just put that into your phone. Dystopic Customs in Germany. Get directions. We will see you soon. No one’s trying to kill us though, so you could take a day off first, if you wanted. Maybe tomorrow. Anytime really. Can you turn this thing off for me? Send to Mako please.

That would be a singularly terrible idea, Newton.

Dictation 2

Letter to Mako. 

Hey Mako.

Dictation 3

Letter to Mako. 

So, Mako—

Dictation 4

Letter to Mako.

Nope.

Dictation 5

Letter to Mako.

Hey Maks, I’m really sorry about a lot of things.

Dictation 6

Letter to Mako.

Hey Mako, so you’d kill me, right? I mean, if I had to be killed? You’d kill me with a sword, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t let Captain Jawline McBecket just shoot me in the head, right? This is kind of important to me. Do you want to know a fun fact? Thanks to collective consciousness, I know, ah, know what it feels like to be killed with a sword. It feels awesome, actually. Counterintuitively, it feels really good. That’s probably because kaiju don’t feel pain the way humans feel pain. Super useful. For them. Less so for me, being a human, feeling pain. Feeling kind of a lot of pain right now, Mako, not gonna lie. This explains a lot about my preferred mode of death. In retrospect, this doesn’t make the most sense. It’s not weird to think about this. Is it? Nah—I’m pretty sure everyone—um, you know what? Yeah, I’m erasing this now.

Dictation 7

Letter to Mako. For reals.

Dear Mako, I’m in San Francisco now. Full disclosure, I kind of embarrassingly do not know what day it is. It’s a Sunday night. It’s late here. I’m on the balcony of our hotel room. It’s extremely picturesque, what with the starless fog and the crumbling cement and the nearby radioactive waste and the Wall that blocks the sea. I, too, look extremely poetic with my unwashed clothes and the too-cool-for-everyday-hygiene look I’m rocking at present. I think I have bilateral glaucoma or something, so I’m wearing sunglasses at night. Like the cool kids do. Hopefully it’s temporary. The faux glaucoma, I mean. Fauxcoma. I’m cool.

God, I can’t send this to you. Can I? Probably not, no.

Hermann is sleeping, if you can really call it that. He’s been having horrific nightmares for days now, maybe since the Drift.

Editing note to future me, redact that last, you ass.

Hermann’s giving a talk tomorrow to UC Berkeley’s Departments of Quantitative Splendor. I’m pretty sure this is the stupidest idea either one of us has had in days. There’s no way this will go well for him. I’m actually not sure why he’s doing this. I think it has something to do with me, and something to do with, like, honor? You’d think after sharing brains—

And redact that too. Think with your cortex, Geiszler. The top layer, even.

I should just trash this whole thing.

The Drift is weird, Mako, am I right? It’s even weirder when you do it wrong. Do it badly. Type in a voltage cheat code. I named the program Konami, because I’m secretly a nerd. You might not know this about me. Tell no one.

Anyway, I’m doing great. How are you? Are you famous? Hermann won’t let me watch the news, because—

Redact that.

I’m doing great. How are you? I’m sure you’re famous now. This morning I think you might have been on the news. I couldn’t really tell, because I can’t really see. Tragically. As I mentioned. I talked about the weird glaucoma-equivalent, right? It was in a diner. The news. Not the glaucoma. Long story. I met a waitress named Flow, except with a “w.” It’s like a waitress homonym thing she’s rocking. Homonym’d.

I got free breakfast because I looked like a guy who saved the world.

I’m really sorry about Marshal Pentecost. That whole thing.

Redact that.

I’m really sorry about what happened at the—

Redact that.

I’m really sorry about what happened last week. A few days ago. In the water.

Redact redact redact.

I’m going to erase this, kiddo. Sorry.

Dictation 8

Attention: care of Mako Mori.

Remember when you had a crush on Skye McLeod, the Improbably Dreamy Summer Student from MIT, back when we had money and interns and money for interns?

Remember when he left?

Remember when you cried about it?

Remember when I sang you a song to console you?

Don’t cry, don’t raise your eye,
It’s only teenage wasteland.

Remember when you kicked me in the shins?

Me neither. I don’t remember any of those times.

Dictation 9

Letter to Mako, attempt eight.

Maks, hey, sorry I haven’t contacted you. Funny story, I really can’t see at all, and Hermann is super traumatized about anything having to do with the PPDC right now, so I hate to ask him to check my email.

Wait, is this even on?

Yes?

No?

It would be helpful if I could see, like, y’know, anything. I’m pretty sure it’s not on. Trying again. One sec. Yes. Okay, yes it is on. And it was on, I think. How many Ph.D.s do you have, Dr. Geiszler? Too many. That’s the answer. Restarting. Letter to Mako Mori, attempt eight. Thousand.

Maks in socks, hey. What’s happening. Look, long story short, I can’t see all that well right now. I tried to get my phone to talk to me like it’s the future we’re living in, rather than one point five decades ago, but I may have dropped my phone, slightly, a little bit, kind of, into a glass of water, on purpose, after chemically waterproofing it as a proof of principle, last week or maybe two weeks ago? Before the world didn’t end. A guy’s gotta practice his skills if he wants to retain them, yeah he does, obviously, like, you know, martial arts? You practice those, right? Except this time, for me, it’s martial chemistry. Or just regular chemistry. Failed chemistry.

Look, the point is my phone won’t talk to me.

So I’ll just record this and maybe get Hermann to somehow make it into text that can then be emailed to you. Or, on the other hand, maybe I’ll just wait and do it later because Hermann gets really quiet and super conflicted when I mention the PPDC. That’s actually kind of his status most of the time now. Really quiet. Super conflicted. Not me, though. I’m fine. I get it. Like, cogs and stuff. Bureaucratic grinding. Small people. Communism, collective good. Spock and the reactor core. Kirk and the reactor core. You know what I’m saying. I get it. I’m not mad about the whole, “So you maybe have epilepsy now, no one knows, it’s mysterious,” thing.

Legit, I am not mad. Or even surprised, really.

You’re probably mad. You’re probably thinking, “Why has that loser not emailed me? I saved the world!”

And I say to you: “Yes, Mako, yes you did. But that doesn’t change the fact I can’t really see, let alone read.”

I’m sure you’re not thinking that, Maks.

I know what you’re thinking.

It’s four in the morning here. I hope you’re drinking stupidly expensive champagne out of your own designer shoe. I hope you’re taking all the material excess that society throws at you, packing it down, pouring water over it, and using it as a skating rink. 

Is Becket a good skater? What’s his deal? I bet he plays hockey. I bet he chops wood for fun. I bet I’m the better Portal player, though, and that’s the ultimate test of contemporary masculinity. So. Yeah. 

What’s new with you? I’m really into Descartes now. Descartes and all his friends. I think I’ll rederive calculus from first principles because I need a hobby. 

Mako, this is terrible.

I’m erasing this.

Dictation 10

Hey Mako,

I tried watching the news. It didn’t go well for me. 

Dictation 11

Letter to Mako, attempt whatever, none of this is usable. 

Dear Mako, sorry I’ve been out of touch for a while. Things haven’t been going so well. I realize I’ve missed eleven of your eleven calls, but I one hundred percent guarantee you I will short-circuit my brain if I pick up the phone. There won’t be any talking, there will just be me, sort of saying nothing and you sort of saying, “Newt” over and over and over again and everyone will be confused and some people might stop breathing and pass out.

Okay, yeah, great work, Dr. Geiszler, that’s a fantastic letter you’ve drafted, why don’t we just, oh, I don’t know, delete it.

Dictation 12

Letter to Mako. nth attempt. Very serious. One hundred percent business.

Dear Mako, I’m writing to you from a hotel room in San Francisco. Sorry I’ve been out of touch. If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t talked to anyone except for Hermann and my neurologist, Hypothetical Rain, aka Actual Coral. Coral is actually her name. She’s a surfer. 

I hope you’re doing well. You and that guy. What’s his name? Your drift partner that you majestically rescued from the anteverse?

I’m doing great. Right now I’m watching a Star Wars marathon. More like listening to it, truth be told. I’m on the balcony at the moment so I don’t have to hear Luke Skywalker brutally murder the Rancor in Return of the Jedi, because I’m not feeling that one today and I’m scoring ten out of ten on the Practical Foresight Scale.

It’s cloudy here, I think. My vision is returning a little bit, but I’m still on sunglassed probation. I can hear the seagulls calling in the distance. Whole flocks of them nest on the Wall.

I kinda want to eat them, a little bit.

Which is definitely weird. Redact that.

The Wall is ugly and an ecological disaster.

I kind of want to stand on top of it.

Kind of a lot.

Kind of so much that I think if I leave this room unchaperoned, I’ll end up there.

I haven’t told this to Hermann. 

And I’m not going to tell it to you either.

What a mess. I suck, Mako. But you already knew that.

Dictation 13

Hey Maks, sup?

Hermann and I are doing awesome, just thought I’d let you know. He forgot who he was for five minutes just now and earlier this morning I was a little worried I was going to bleed to death in the bathroom because I watched the news, panicked, and forgot who I was for a little while and then I was covered with blood but I have two shirts so that’s fine, it’s always such a relief when I figure out the blood is mine, it’s like my hindbrain took a lesson from The X-Files and whispers the word “demon” very softly on repeat until my prefrontal cortex catches up and starts the process of not crying. I met a very nice young lady from the housekeeping staff named Danielle who helped me with the blood problem I was having once I explained I had a lethal yet non-communicable disease, which might or might not be true. 

Wait for it, Maks.

Erase.

Dictation 14

Letter to Mako, dude. Get it together.

Dear Mako, I hope you’re not worried because I haven’t been in touch. Let me explain. First of all, I can’t see very well, so I haven’t been checking my email. Hermann glances at my account every so often to make sure I’m not, y’know, being charged with any crimes or anything. He said you’ve been sending me messages. He wouldn’t read them to me, because he felt that would be disrespectful to you. Between you and me, I think that’s true, but I also think that he’s got a lot of rage going on where the PPDC is concerned and he just doesn’t want to deal with any of it. Even you. Which isn't cool, but still, he’s had a rough week, and he did get charged (briefly) with my abduction, which he hasn’t said much about, but I think the whole situation is giving him an ulcer from repressed anxiety. And rage. Did I mention the rage? The dude is seriously pissed. At the machine, Maks. At the gears of bureaucracy. I’m pretty sure he’s not pissed directly at you. I’m not pissed at all. Just to be clear. Second of all, I haven’t been answering my phone because I just don’t think that’ll go so well, because I just—look, I can tell you right now how it’s going to go. You’ll say something normal, and I’ll freak out. Then I’ll say something stupid about Pentecost, and you’ll cry but you’ll pretend you’re not crying, and then I’ll cry and try to pretend I’m not crying but less well than you, so—this is better. Trust me.

Today, Hermann gave a job talk at UC Berkeley. I didn’t watch it, but he called me afterward sounding sort of primly pleased in a super restrained way, so it went awesome. They offered him a job. I told him he’d better go drinking. So he’s living it up with the Berkeley math guys right about now. I’ve been spending the day like the cultural connoisseur I am, making a study of science fiction archetypes and watching Star Wars and wishing secretly it was Dune.

What are you up to? Being famous, I hope. How’s Raleigh? Please tell me there’s more to that guy than his exterior suggests. I give him massive points for being drift-compatible with you, Maks, but I also detract massive points for his penchant for destruction sans inquiry. Destruction’s okay, as long as you learn something. Ideally though? One would avoid destruction altogether.

I just wanted to say, and it’s kind of not really forgivable that I didn’t say anything before, not when you came by the lab with the tequila and the coffee creamer and the Midori that should have been absinthe, because I knew what you were there for, but Hermann was also there, and I didn’t know how to do it, not exactly, and I also couldn’t drink because apparently alcohol can lower one’s seizure threshold, but I knew what you were there for and I’m just really sorry. 

You know, he never liked me. The Marshal. Marshal Pentecost. Your kind-of dad. I think it’s because he thought I was a bad influence on you. Which, yes, maybe, probably I was. I did, accidentally, buy you forbidden rollerblades. I did, accidentally, teach you American and German profanity. I did, accidentally, introduce you to Skye McLeod, the Improbably Dreamy and age-appropriate Summer Intern. I did, accidentally, leave you alone in the lab with Skye McLeod for forty-five minutes; I’m not sure what happened there, I don’t want to know. I did, accidentally, make you my eponymous cocktail for your seventeenth birthday, which the Marshal felt was about four years too early. Anyway, the fallout from all those accidents is probably all the stories I would have told you, if Hermann hadn’t given us both a lecture and stolen my alcohol.

Dr. Gottlieb has his charms, but well, y’know.

So yeah. My idea of consoling you about everyone who’s dead basically is just me telling you stories about your adopted father yelling at me.

I’m great.

Seriously Maks, I will actually write to you at some point. I’ll think of something better.

Any day now.

Dictation 15

Good morning, San Francisco! Hermann came back drunk from his math night, even after a ninety-minute cab ride around the bay. I wish I’d seen pre-cab-ride Hermann, I’m sure it would have been awesome.

I’m drunk on insomnia. 

God, Maks. Ever feel like you’re fighting a losing battle with everything you are, have been, and will be? I thought not.

Dictation 16

Actual letter to Mako.

Dear Mako, I’m sorry I haven’t written to you before now. I’ve been working on scraping my life out of the inside of a centrifuge accident. You know how it goes. Stripped screws, bent rotors, shattered test tubes, glass and blood everywhere. Good times.

Hermann and I are in San Francisco now. Well, technically Oakland. Hermann is going to be a math professor, and I’m going to be a guy who lives in his apartment.

Redact that. Redact all of that.

Dear Mako, I’m sorry I haven’t written to you yet, but things have been a little bit—

Redact that.

Dear Mako, I’m sorry I haven’t written to you yet. I’m an insensitive jerk, as we both know, and I can’t read yet. I hope you’re doing well. My eyes are improving. I saw your picture on the front page of the Times this morning, you looked good. I like the red hair. End one era, start a new.

Hermann and I went apartment hunting today. It’s our mission in life to perfectly recreate the sitcom The Odd Couple and so far we are killing it. Kind of. I actually really can’t stand picture frames that are askew, so I’m doing a bad job at being the slovenly one. I blame the Drift. Because—kaiju. Kaiju have OCD tendencies and are neat freaks. Who knew? Definitely this has nothing to do with Dr. Gottlieb. Or drifting with him. Which I did not do. 

Redact that.

Dear Mako, today I went apartment hunting with my colleague of nine years and he had to drag me out of the first place we saw because I panicked when I couldn’t look towards the Pacific, where the Breach used to be. I’m sure he had a great time. I know I did. Now we have a new realtor, and Dr. Geiszler does not go on apartment hunting trips.

Redact that.

Dear Mako, you know who rules? Descartes. Think about it. Geiszler out.

Dictation 17

Letter to Mako.

Mako! Yeah, I got nothing.

Dictation 18

Hi Mako, so, true story, I haven’t been able to read for weeks now. That’s why I haven’t checked my email. That’s lies, a little bit.

Dictation 19

Mako I won’t tell you I’m a little bit worried about certain things, like whether I might slip up one day and eat a seagull or a human. I won’t tell you I really want to clone a kaiju, I won’t tell you I think that if I did, it might fill the void in my head where a hivemind used to live, might soothe the anger of the things I’ve cut apart. I won’t tell you that I’m a weird little Prince of the Planet to formalin-fixed and disembodied brains I’ve been studying for a decade, I won’t tell you I haven’t slept in three days because that’s not the kind of relationship we have, kiddo. I give you rollerblades. You roll your eyes at me. I say I’m not sure about your boyfriend. You say he’s not my boyfriend.

Dictation 20

Letter to Maks.

Nope, not letter to Maks.

Letter to Newt.

Dear Newt, you’re caught in a subpar trajectory. Shift gears. Switch tracks. Go to sleep, maybe. Make a sandwich. Don’t stand outside, bleeding on Oakland.

Dictation 21

Hey Maks, how are you? I’m doing well, Hermann and I just moved into a furnished apartment. It’s a little weird, the aesthetic is off, the bookshelves have no lateral borders, but it faces the Wall. The Wall the wall. The apartment. Not the bookshelf, which is bolted into a different wall. Our apartment faces The Wall and it is made of walls. One of those walls has a bookshelf built into it. 

There ya go, champ, all right.

Hermann keeps buying me books. I can sort of read them now, not as much as he thinks I can, but my vision is improving. The computer is difficult though, backlit screens are backlit, it turns out. That’s why I haven’t read your emails yet, Maks. Hermann says you’ve been writing to me. He hasn’t opened the emails though. He says they’re titled with place names. He says you’re on a public relations tour right now, so I suppose you’re writing from all the places you’ve been. That’s nice of you, Maks. That’s really—

That’s really nice. I’ve been writing to you, too, I just haven’t been sending any of this because it’s a little depressing—no one wants that, not nowadays. Everything is great. Our civilization continues. We rule the planet. Sweet. You’re probably already—

You’re probably a little bit sad right now.

And by “a little bit sad” I mean—

You don’t need this kind of thing, Maks, I know you don’t. 

I’ve been having trouble sleeping. I think my brain chemistry was altered by the Drift, and this explains why Hermann can read my thoughts maybe and why I can’t use hashi all that well or play the guitar and some other things. I think the fine motor control will come back though, Maks, because I really need it. For science. And for music. And for everything.

Maybe I can use this letter.

But maybe I’ll erase it.

Dictation 22

Dear Mako,

Nope. Never mind. Not feeling it, kiddo.

Dictation 23

Dear Mako, good news, I’m not going to die of insomnia, at least not today, because Dr. Gottlieb spent seven hours reading to me while I was semi-conscious last night until I finally made it past stage one sleep. In related news, this morning I stepped on him, told him I hated him, then he left before he murdered me. How are things with you?

Dictation 24

Letter to Mako.

Dear Mako, how are you? Did you know that Hermann and I are living in Oakland now? We’ve been avoiding the media circus pretty effectively. San Fran is cool in that way—people are chill about the whole celebrity thing. We’ve been hanging out, doing a little science. Hermann just got hired by UC Berkeley. I’m shopping around at the moment, career-wise. Weighing my options. I’m not sure what I’ll do now that the world-saving gig is done. Maybe neuroscience? That seems to be where things are happening these days. I’ve spent this past week updating Hermann’s wardrobe for him, because good lord, he needed it.

How are you? Is that Becket guy still hanging around? What are you up to? Kicking ass and taking names, I bet.

I’ve been reading a lot of philosophy lately. It makes me feel like a teenager. I also got a dog whom I tried to name Leibniz, but who only responds to the name “Fire Truck.” Go figure. Leibniz and I go walking in the mornings around San Francisco. I’ll take up racquetball again soon, or whatever it is that’s popular out here. Squash, maybe?

I’ve been corresponding with pretty much everyone; weirdly I left you for last, not really sure why. Probably because you’re the best, don’t be mad. Tendo says hi. So does Chuck. He’s building furniture now. Aggressively chopping driftwood. The Wei triplets come around every now and then, when they feel like making me jealous of their pre-production beta version of Assassin’s Creed VII: The Delian League. Lightcap and I are collaborating on a project that will revolutionize the current interface between the brain and artificial limbs for patients at the UCSF Medical Center. Basically, everyone we’ve ever met is good, and they all say hi.

My parents say they can’t believe I actually know you. They’re moving in together now that my mom has settled down, it’s weird but nice. I’m happy for them, I suppose, in a sort of suavely distant way, because I’ve got my own stuff going now, and have for a while. 

Gotta go, Hermann is rolling his eyes at something in Nature Kaiju Science and I have to go defend my people against uppity mathematicians. 

Say hi to the Marshal for me, Maks. I’m sure I’ll see you really soon.

Dictation 25

Letter to Mako. 

Heya Maks, it’s been a few weeks. Sorry about that. Things have been a little hard on my end. It’s Hermann, really, who’s been having a tough time—

Dictation 26

Letter to Mako.

Hi Maks, sorry I've been out of touch. I’ll explain later.

I’m writing to you from San Francisco. Dr. Gottlieb and I just moved in together. You know us—two small town kids in the big city, trying to be good people and ignore the Call of the Wall. Right now I’m standing on our balcony. This is some fancy stuff, kiddo: flagstones made of compressed, post-fracked shale, railings made of something else that’s even more eco-conscious, designed by a neohipster named Blaze, who loves this radioactive bay that I’m staring at. It’s pretty, if you like hideous things.

I jest, I jest.

Kind of.

So? What’s going on? How’s Captain Sir Saves Everyone? When did your hair turn red? What’s the story there?

As for me, I’m doing pretty well. Driving Hermann out of his head in a genuinely literal way. Really upsetting him most of the time. Bleeding all over his stuff. Letting him cook me dinner and buy me things out of misplaced obligation. Not sleeping for four days, getting a little paranoid, and then screaming at him until I panic and he has to talk me down. Telling him I hate him for his cereal choices. Disappearing for hours without leaving a note. You know. Pretty standard. Prototypical Geiszler. The real classy stuff. You know how I roll.

Turns out he actually does like me. Kind of a lot.

So this sucks for him.

I like him a lot, so because it sucks for him it also sucks for me.

I always screw these things up so badly, Mako. I kind of have a significant other, now, y’know? This has never gone well for me. The lasting relationship thing. Maybe I should do something nice for the guy? Because he’s pretty much The Best and I am a pile of The Worst. Like, you know, should I get him a present? What’s something nice? A plant? A fish? Flowers from a plant?

Wait.

Yup, that’s me. Dr. Geiszler, ladies and gentlemen, reinventing romance from first principles in a glass half-empty kind of way. 

Maks—

Maks, I might never send you this letter.

Dictation 27

Hey Maks,

It’s late, and I’m recording this on my balcony in Oakland. I live next to a radioactive bay now, a villain in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. How are you these days? I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch. Things have been a little complicated lately. 

Tomorrow I’ll read your emails.

Tomorrow I will.