The Field - Part 26

Six weeks later.

The ritual had become mechanical.

Zin knocked twice on the bookshelf door. Their signal—that she was coming in with food.

The black room had evolved again. Multiple screens now glowed in the corners. Cables snaked across the floor like digital veins.

Richard sat cross-legged in the center, wearing a modified BeeVision headset that flickered with streams of data she couldn't see.

"Richard," she said softly, setting the plate of pasta beside him. "You need to eat."

He didn't look up.

His fingers moved through holographic interfaces, manipulating code that danced in the air. Through the headset, she knew—he was connected. To River. To scientists in Berlin. Researchers in São Paulo. Hackers in Lagos.

A global resistance, operating in virtual space… While she remained locked out. Analog. Invisible.

She knelt beside him. Leaned in to kiss his neck. He tilted away slightly, not breaking focus.

"Richard," she whispered, trailing fingers along his shoulder.

"Hmm." His attention remained fixed on neural pathway data.

She kissed him properly then—hoping to pull him back to the physical world. To her. For a moment his lips responded. But his eyes never left the screens. His hands never stopped their work.

"I'm going out," she said finally.

"Okay," he murmured, already turning back to River's voice explaining temporal lobe activation patterns.

Zin stood in the doorway, waiting. For him to ask where. Or with whom. Or when she'd be back.

Nothing.

Just the soft glow of data streams and the quiet hum of cooling fans.

"David," she called upstairs. "Want to grab a drink?"

The bar was exactly what she needed—dim lighting, craft cocktails, enough noise to drown out the constant analysis running in her head.

David sat beside her, occasionally commenting on baseball, mostly just being present while she worked through her third bourbon.

"Excuse me, are you Zin Williamson?"

The woman approaching was attractive in that polished academic way—sharp eyes behind stylish glasses, confident posture, dark hair revealing elegant earrings. Early forties. Expensive casual clothes that suggested tenure and research grants.

"Maybe," Zin said carefully.

"Dr. Christine Fleet, UT neuroscience." She extended her hand. "I've followed your work since the early BeeVision papers. You and Richard were... are... my favorite love story in consciousness research."

David raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"Dr. Fleet," Zin shook her hand, noting how Christine's fingers lingered. "That's kind of you."

"Please, Christine. May I sit? I met Richard at the Vancouver conference before... well, before everything happened. He told me—not in so many words—that he built BeeVision because of an intimate encounter with you. That you were his muse for understanding how consciousness could be shared."

Christine slid into the booth, eyes never leaving Zin's face.

"The field," Zin said softly.

"Exactly. The way he described it... two minds touching without technology. Just through awareness and presence. It was beautiful." Christine leaned forward. "I can see why he was inspired."

The compliment hung weighted with more than academic admiration. Christine's gaze traveled across Zin's features, and Zin felt herself responding despite everything.

"I should probably—" David started to stand.

"Actually, maybe head out if you want," Zin said. "I'm fine."

David studied her face, then nodded. "Text me when you need a ride." He squeezed her shoulder and left.

Christine moved closer. "You know, I've always wondered what it would be like to experience consciousness the way you and Richard do. Without technology. Just... presence."

Her knee brushed against Zin's under the table.

"It's not something you can really explain," Zin said, but she didn't move away.

"Maybe you could show me."

The invitation was clear. Zin felt something awakening that had been dormant for weeks. Not just desire, but the need to be seen. To be wanted. To matter to someone in a way that didn't involve bringing food to a man lost in data streams.

"I've had quite a bit to drink," Zin said.

"So have I." Christine's smile was warm and mischievous. "Tequila shots seemed like a good idea an hour ago."

They looked at each other across the small table. Both slightly drunk. Both aware of the electricity building between them.

"My place is close," Zin said finally.

Christine was gentle and attentive in ways that reminded Zin painfully of how long it had been since someone had focused entirely on her pleasure. She wore her BeeVision headset while exploring Zin's body, mapping neural responses in real-time, creating technological intimacy that was both foreign and intoxicating.

"I can see the patterns," Christine whispered against Zin's skin. "The way pleasure builds in your mind, the connections forming..."

It was like being studied and worshipped simultaneously. Her consciousness made visible through technology while her body responded to very analog attention.

Afterward, they lay tangled in sheets that smelled like Richard's absence.

"That was extraordinary," Christine said, still wearing her headset, watching afterglow patterns in Zin's brain.

"Yeah," Zin agreed, though she wasn't sure if she meant the sex or the revelation that she'd been starving for attention.

The next evening, she brought Richard his dinner as usual. He was deep in conversation with River about temporal manipulation of perception filters.

"The Tulsa test results are promising," he murmured to voices only he could hear. "If we can maintain the cognitive dissonance for forty-eight hours instead of twelve…"

Zin watched him work. When her strategic mind had been essential. Now she was the woman who brought food. Who refused to wear headsets. Who lived in the real world.

"The media's calling me a drug kingpin," she said. "Did you know that?"

Richard's hands paused. "What?"

"Channel 6 ran a segment." She forced a smirk. "'The LSD Queen Behind the Consciousness Terrorist.' They used that photo from the conference. Made me look like some kind of criminal mastress."

He blinked. Finally looked at her.

"Zin, I'm sorry. I didn't—"

"You didn't watch. I know." She sat across from him, careful not to disturb cables. "Because you're saving the world in here… while mine falls apart out there."

The screens flickered—footage from Phoenix. Morrison supporters exposed to suppressed content. Families torn apart at detention centers. Environmental wreckage. Financial records linking policy to profit.

At first—shock. Then retreat. Back into comforting lies.

"Look at this," Richard said, pulling up brain scans. "When we show them evidence that contradicts their worldview, their amygdalas light up like Christmas trees. Fight-or-flight. The information becomes a threat to their survival."

River's voice crackled through speakers. "It's not just the tech. Teve tapped into something primal. The need to belong. To be right. Even when we break through… social pressure pulls them back."

Dr. Chen from Singapore: "We tested constitutional concepts—due process, equal protection. For brief moments… they understood. Then, within hours, they're back to chanting about making America great."

Richard zoomed in on neural pathways. "The greatness narrative… classic authoritarian psychology. Promises return to imagined glory. Justifies cruelty."

Zin's hands clenched. "So you're saying we can't change anyone's mind? They'll just keep following him?"

"Each exposure leaves cracks," River said. "But Teve counter-programs fast. Floods the brain—immigrants as threats, liberals as enemies, traditions under attack."

"Like trying to deprogram a cult while the cult leaders have megaphones," Dr. Chen added.

Richard grew animated discussing neural disruption, cognitive bias, strategic triggers. He'd found purpose. A crusade. But Zin felt more invisible than ever.

"I cheated on you," she said.

Silence.

Richard's hands froze. "…What?"

"Last night. When you ignored me trying to kiss you. Trying to connect." Her voice was calm, direct. "I went out. Met someone at a bar. A neuroscience professor."

"She wore BeeVision while she went down on me—"

"She?" Richard interrupted.

"—Mapped my neural responses while I came. Said it was extraordinary."

River's voice crackled: "Uh… should we disconnect?"

"No," Zin snapped. "You should all hear this. While you're fighting your digital war, people like me are getting destroyed in the real world. Walsh made me the villain. Morrison's base sees me as a drug dealer. People think I murdered River. Even progressives think I'm a radical extremist."

She stood, pacing. "And the worst part? You didn't even notice. You forgot why we started this. It wasn't about winning a data war. It was about protecting dignity. Preserving the right to think freely."

Richard pulled off his headset. He looked awake for the first time in weeks.

"Zin, I'm sorry. I didn't realize—"

"That I was disappearing? That I'd become irrelevant in my own life?" She laughed, bitter and sharp. "Walsh was right about one thing. The narrative is writing itself. And I'm the dangerous woman who needs to be erased."

Around them, screens kept glowing. Minds exposed. Then erased. Just like them.

But something was different in Richard's expression. Instead of hurt or anger, she saw something else. His pupils had dilated. His breathing had changed.

"Tell me about it," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Tell me what happened. How it felt."

What Zin couldn't see—Richard's vital signs spiking not with jealousy, but with arousal. The image of her with another woman, her pleasure mapped by technology, triggered something primal in his consciousness-obsessed mind.

"Richard—"

"Please," he said, voice carrying hunger she hadn't heard in weeks. "I want to understand. I want to see what you saw."

For the first time in months, she had his complete attention.

But it was too late.

"I want Walsh dead," she said, low and firm. "Not for strategy. Not for revolution. Because he's made me into his perfect villain."

Richard opened his mouth. She raised a hand.

"I'm not asking. David has contacts. I have a plan. You can stay in here. I'll handle the blood work."

She stepped toward the door. Paused.

"River—your hacks prove it. People believe the lies. They want to. But there's one truth they can't manipulate."

A pause. "…What's that?" River asked.

She turned her head. "Dead men don't tell lies."

Zin left him. Left the digital sanctuary. Screens still blinking. Data still streaming.

But Richard didn't move. Because he finally understood—

Some problems aren't solved by data. Or code. Or networks.

Some problems need older solutions.

The bookshelf door clicked shut behind her.

Inside, the speakers buzzed—Richard, fumbling to explain her outburst to his virtual team. They would analyze her words like data points. Map them. Model them.

And miss the most important truth of all:

A woman with nothing left to lose… is the most dangerous weapon of all.