This is one of those scenes where I wish it was TV, just to watch the plot unfold
Someone please let director Denis Villeneuve that the rights are available for a VERY reasonable price.
* * *
“Doesn’t seem terribly keen on House Kurita,” observed Dmitri.
“Pity. He’s the Draconis Combine scientific attaché,” said Lilith, sidling up behind Dmitri and resting her hand on the small of his back. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Quite,” he smiled. “Just saw the Sortek triplets, Janos, Theodore and Takashi, and I’ve been propositioned by at least four Natasha Kerenskys already.”
“Say yes to all four and claim you got confused,” she advised. “Anyway, don’t enjoy yourself too much. I need you more or less vertical, at least until we can find our friend.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Dmitri said amiably, grabbing a glass of something clear and fizzy from a passing waiter and downing it in a gulp.
Lilith sighed and rolled her eyes. “Keep looking. Must make nice with the Capellan delegation.”
As she walked away, Dmitri called after her, “Bonnie to my Clyde?”
She half-turned. “Better. But gunned down by the police. Bad omen. Keep thinking.”
Left alone again, Dmitri found himself drawn into a group composed of a Duncan Marik, a Hanse Davion and a pair of twins both dressed as Rhonda Snord.
“We’re wearing masks now, but we’re always wearing masks, you know?” Duncan was declaiming loudly to the Rhondas. “The way you are around your family is different from the way you are around your friends, your co-workers, strangers, enemies. There is no ‘real’ you. It’s all just different masks.”
“All identity is illusory?” Dmitri asked.
“Absolutely,” Duncan nodded vigorously. “Who you are is situational, you know? It’s just a story you tell yourself.”
“So if I told myself I was the First Prince of the Federated Suns?” Dmitri asked. From the corner of his eye, he saw Hanse Davion give a sudden start. Interesting.
“Okay, well, obviously in order to become Prince there’s genetics—”
“What if you genuinely believed you were the Prince?” Hanse broke in. “And you were an able ruler? Would the average citizen even know the difference?”
And now that Dmitri heard his voice, it was obvious.
“Maybe not, but no matter how good a ruler he was, there would be a revolt if anyone found out,” countered Duncan. “It matters because people think it matters.”
“So who you are is not so much a story you tell yourself, but a story others tell you,” Dmitri suggested.
“Well put,” agreed Hanse.
Leaving them to their philosophizing, Dmitri pushed through the crowd and found Lilith. Smiling his apologies to another pair of Natasha Kerenskys, he guided her to a far corner. “Success, my Duchess,” he whispered dramatically.
“And?” she asked expectantly. “Where’s Doctor Shaw, or Gregory, or whatever his name is now?”
“It appears our friend is not without a sense of humor,” Dmitri nodded in the direction of his recent conversation partners. “He’s here as Hanse Davion.”
Lilith patted his cheek. “Well done. I knew I liked you for a reason.”
“Other than gullibility?”
“Well mostly that, but not only.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully a moment. “Too public if I approach him directly. There’s a fountain at the south end of the gardens, a little more private. Convince him to take a walk, I’ll meet you there.”
“The fountain, right, no problem,” Dmitri nodded. “Easiest BattleMech I’ve ever earned. Only BattleMech I’ve ever earned, but still.” He straightened his jacket. “Cleopatra to my Caesar?”
She cocked her head. “Cleopatra is sweet, death by poison less so. You’re getting there, though.”
Dmitri snagged a pair of champagne flutes from a waiter and strolled over to find Shaw-as-Hanse-Davion waiting at the bar. Tried to remember what name the man was using now. So many identities. “Doctor Gregory?” he called, offering a glass of champagne. “Fascinating insights on the nature of personality back there.”
“Oh? Are you in the field?” Shaw asked with a smile, taking the glass. “I don’t think I recognize…”
Dmitri shook his head, self-deprecatingly. “Alas, no. My experience with the psychology of alternate identities has been somewhat circumstantial. But a fascinating subject. Would love to hear more. Perhaps outdoors where it’s a little less stuffy?” He waved in the direction of the gardens.
As they walked out the ballroom, one of the waiters bumped into Dmitri. Instead of apologizing, the man gave Dmitri a hard stare as he and Shaw walked past, down one of the garden paths.
They strolled a few minutes, sipping champagne, down paths lined with tall hedges, Dmitri struggling to make interesting-sounding noises as Shaw spoke at length of his work. A waiter passed them, coming the other way. The same waiter who’d bumped into him, he noted.
“Doctor Shaw,” a voice said behind them.
The waiter. Dmitri saw shock on Shaw’s face, hearing his real name. Dmitri started to turn. There was a high-pitched whine from somewhere behind him and he felt like a thousand nails were being pounded into his head.