Salvage

[kaolinandbone]

"Would you care to explain to me why your door has only one side?"

Eva looks up from her phone. Great, another noble's daughter from some low-tech world: nobody sensible would willingly wear that many layers of silk. "Oh, that? It's a side-effect of the internal store dimension, don't worry about it."

"What."

"Just go with it. I expect you'll see a dozen stranger things by the end of today."

"No, I mean - Internal store dimension?"

Eva encompasses the shop's narrow aisles and bargain bins with an offhand wave. "Welcome to the OTC, multiversal junk shop extraordinaire. We sell the trash of a thousand worlds. Izzizyurfirstimeshoppingwivus? Yeah, obviously. Come here, I'll explain how inter-universal trade works."

The heiress steps over to Eva's glass-topped counter, an amused smile lingering on her lips. "Alright then, I suppose I can indulge you for a few minutes."


Nobles. Eva sighs under her breath, then starts going through her spiel, pointing through her glass countertop at a set of odd curios laid out on green velvet. "Okay. The black plaque with flowers on it, the one about the size of of a drink coaster? That's a Takkarash. It's an amount of pain roughly equal to a sharp bump on the head or stepping on a piece of Lego."

"Who or what is a Lego?"

"Not important, save that pieces of it are moderately uncomfortable to step on. Moving right along... the red crystal is a Ka. It embodies five years of healthy life."

"So if I buy a Ka, I'll live for five years longer?"

"Provided you die from old age, yes. But Ka are a currency, not a product."

"You literally deal in people's lives."

"Oh, not just lives. Also their memories, their desires, their time, their pain..." Eva makes a rolling motion with one hand. "Personally, I prefer to be paid in memories."

The heiress backs away. "What are you?"

Eva smiles. "Oh, nothing especially horrible. Just someone who wanted to go out and experience the world. I thought joining the OTC would let me experience things I'd never have the chance to. So far, mostly I've been having the experience of sitting behind a counter talking to clueless customers."

The heiress frowns, but steps back towards Eva. "I see. How exactly do you purchase memories? What's the going rate? How do you even value a memory
against a year of life or a desire?"

Eva offers her customer a pamphlet. "Here. This week's exchange rates. All our prices are in OTC - that's Oifeili Trade Currency - but we only take a one percent cut on currency conversions."

The heiress takes the pamphlet, glancing down at it absently. Apparently Ka fell this week: a year of life trades for a quarter-second of vital time or an hour of mental and physical energy.

Her brow furrows: she looks up at Eva again. "Incidentally, how old are you?"

"Do you mean chronologically, or...?"

"How else could I mean it?"

"Around three hundred years."

"Eighty."

Eva raises an eyebrow. "You certainly don't look it."

"Neither do you! Even I don't get three centuries, and you've spent your life doing what, standing behind a desk in a dimly lit shop?"

"True, true." Eva ducks her head, then offers her hand to shake. "I'm Eva."

"The Lady Isabella Katarina Markova, but you can call me Isabella. Charmed to meet you, I'm sure." She takes Eva's hand and curtsies over it.

Eva hides a smile. "So, Isabella. Is your apparent agelessness a common sort of thing in your world?"

"Sadly, no. It's a tremendous nuisance: I have to keep inheriting everything from myself every five years."

"Maybe you should join the OTC."

Isabella bites the inside of her cheek. "Tempting. But I don't think I'm ready to give up on my own universe just yet."

Eva shrugs. "Suit yourself. Anything else I can help you with?"

"No, thanks. I think I need to do some browsing before I have any more questions for you. Figuring out what I should do about a multiversal junk shop could take a while."

"Take your time, take your time. We're paused relative to your universe right now."

Isabella catches herself mid double-take. "Right. Crazy magic store."

"Yep, crazy magic store!" Eva grins.

Well then.

Isabella picks an aisle at random, wandering down it at a leisurely pace. Her pale hands investigate each item she passes, turning over their laminated lime-green tags.

What's this bottle of strange smooth material? It looks almost like bone, but it doesn't have the right off-white colour, or the shape she'd expect from something carved. Let's see the tag.

"Modafinil, bottle of forty tablets. Each tablet produces wakefulness for ten hours. 9.99 OTC." Well, that's certainly useful for people who sleep. She puts it back on the shelf.

How about this little brass scarab? She settles it in her palm, feeling its pointy legs dent her skin. "Scarab of sterilization. When touched to a surface, destroys all animalcules within a one-furlong radius. 119 OTC." She could use this in her practice: checking the pamphlet, it would only cost her a half a year's memories. Not a terrible deal. Maybe she'll come back to it.

Oh, look! A sealed glass cabinet! What would a shop like this want kept out of their customers' hands? She checks the label beneath a complex assembly of bronze gears and levers.

"A use of the Antikythera Oracle. One true, complete, useful and insightful answer to any question. 4,775 OTC."

Consulting the pamphlet, that's literally more than her life is worth. No wonder they have it behind glass. She moves on to a less expensive section.

Portable sunrise? She has more than enough sun in her life already. Dyes and inks in impossible colors? Interesting, but too eye-watering. Flatcat? She's never really been a pet person, and the label says they breed very quickly.

This gold dragonfly hairpin looks quite nice, though; and this laboratory-in-a-box contains interesting instruments she's never seen before. Apparently it runs on electricity.

She picks up the scarab on her way back to the counter, plunking it down along with the dragonfly hairpin and the lab-in-a-box.

"Alright, that comes to -"

"A year of my memories. I checked."

"Oh, good, you read the pamphlet. Just put your hand on this crystal and think of the period in your life you'd like to trade to us."

Isabella's hand moves towards the dodecahedral gem - then someone coughs behind her.

"Excuse me, but have you thought about what you're doing?"

Eva sighs. "Not this again, Realist. You know I appreciate your business, but do you really have to harangue every single one of my customers who wants to pay with their memories?"

The man standing behind Isabella wears small square glasses and a ragged labcoat, beads rattling in his purple hair. Pursing her lips, she stares him down - well, as 'down' as she can stare someone a head taller than her.

"I don't see how this is any of your affair."

He frowns. "So you see nothing wrong with giving away your memories in exchange for a few trinkets."

"No, not at all. Why do you see nothing wrong with accosting random shoppers?"

"Because so many of them don't realize they're trading away part of their identities. Your memories aren't just trinkets that you haul around: they're an essential part of what makes you who you are."

Isabella pinches her nose. "Consider me informed." She turns back to the counter.

Realist stops her with a hand on her shoulder. "Wait, you don't understand. You'll be a different person!"

Isabella shoves his hand away. "You have no right to tell me what parts of myself are worth keeping."

He scowls at her. "Trying to change your nature by such violent means is nothing but petty escapism. You can't hide from yourself."

"It's not my duty to turn every misfortune that ever happened to me into a virtue, and it's not your place to tell me to suffer nobly rather than forget. Now, will you let me get on with my purchase?"

He backs away, hands raised in a warding gesture. "Fine. But for the record, I still think this is a mistake."

Eva frowns at him. "I think it's best if you stop talking."

"Alright, alright. I'll be good. Please don't throw me out again."

"Only because you're such a good customer. Now let the lady make her purchases." Eva smiles apologetically at Isabella. "Ready?"

"Yes."

Isabella sets her hand on the crystal, closes her eyes, and lets out a breath. A spark of light kindles inside it, hovering in the translucent stone.

Eva smiles. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Isabella shakes her head. "Not at all. A pleasure doing business with you." She walks out the door with a parting wave, her purchases slung under one arm.

Eva looks over at Realist. "Go on, I can tell you're dying to say something."

He sighs. "I still think it's wrong to deal in memories. One noble heiress with a sharp tongue isn't going to change my stance on the matter."

"That's just how the business works. It was her choice to pay in memories."

"It was still the wrong choice. Besides, what could someone like her possibly have to run from?"

Eva looks at the flicker of light in the crystal.

Realist frowns. "Don't tell me you want to peek. You know the OTC's privacy regulations better than I do."

"Yes, I know, I know. I was just curious."

Realist tilts his head. "On the other hand... didn't you tell me that we learn from experience? I thought that was why you joined OTC."

Eva's hand creeps towards the stored memory. "A little peek probably wouldn't hurt."

"Probably."

"This will bug me forever if I don't find out. Look the other way for a second, would you?"

Realist turns away, and Eva lets her fingertips brush the surface of the crystal.

Cold. So cold. She doesn't breathe. Doesn't let her heart beat. Her sire wants her skin pale, like a doll's. Heavy perfume hangs in the air, chokingly thick: a spark of happiness runs down her spine as she realizes she doesn't have to smell it. Little rebellions.

The bed's silk sheets brush softly against her skin. She shudders: then, mechanically, she bends down to take off one of her shoes.

Eva pushes the memory away, her stomach churning.

Realist frowns at her. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine. What did you see?"

"Enough." Eva pulls out another memory stone, and concentrates: a spark kindles, and her stomach starts to settle. She pulls out a pair of lacquered-wood boxes, busying her hands with the familiar work of filing away memories.

"Now who's running?"

"They're not my secrets to keep."

"And yet you looked anyway."

"I shouldn't have."

"But you did."

"So?"

"So now you have two choices: ignore it, or act."

"It's not my job to fix everything wrong with the world."

"Then whose job is it?"

"I don't know."

"I see." Realist examines his nails. "You say that we learn about the world by experiencing it."

"Yes?"

"If we only experience good things, does that mean that we form a skewed view of the world?"

"I suppose it does."

"Something to think about."

"Something to think about."

Realist sighs. "Well, then. Here are my own purchases. I'll be paying in fatigue."

"Oh. Yes. Right." Eva rings him through.

When Realist finally shuffles through the door, Eva stands alone in the store.

She looks at the box that holds Isabella's year.

She slides off the lacquered cover with the smooth hiss of wood on wood.

She sighs.

She lets her hand fall.