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Before, you had flirted with death like a drunk at a bar, reckless and giddy but with no intention of following it home.
He wants to say, He knew me. He knew my name. I had a name. I have a name. I was someone before I was this.
“Who the hell,” he says, “is Bucky?”
For your next move, if I may, try a King’s Indian setup, with the attack on the black king side. The gamble being, of course, that the King’s Indian is not a specific sequence of moves, but rather a system that you permute at your discretion. Of course, if you insist on a Bird’s opening, I’ll return with a pawn to E-six. The D-five pawn is also playable, as is the C-five. You see what I mean?”
“The idea was that you’d put a chemical marker in your own memories—like a bookmark before and after something in your brain—and tell the drugs to wipe out what’s in between. Then you could go back in and wallpaper that empty space with false memories that weren’t linked to trauma.”
I don’t know who I am, he thinks. His heart clatters in his chest. Breath comes in sharp, erratic gasps. I have lived lives I do not remember.
Karpov waved a hand. “Without me, your life would have been small and unimportant. You would have been one more soldier who died on the front. One headstone among thousands. But you and I together, Soldier—we are making history. You are the first of a new kind.” “What if I don’t want to be?” “Then you should have died,”