Aya looked at the readout, frowning as she scanned the nav system’s list of repeated trips; it wasn’t hard to see which one was the place Lucky had been doing her sword training and hanging out with her “merc friends,” as she’d often labeled them. The only other locations with frequent stops were restaurants, stores, and Dr. Ladia’s clinic.
“Anything?” Bennet asked, skeptically eyeing Juliet’s bike and the deck in Aya’s hand. “She’s gonna be pissed if you broke the security—”
“She’s missing, Benny!” Aya stared daggers at him. “Besides, I didn’t break anything.”
Bennet folded his arms, sighing as he leaned against the rolling tool chest. They were in the Gunship’s hangar where they’d stowed most of their tools and parts, at least those that weren’t back on the Kowashi. “She told us she was going down planet-side. She told us she might be out of touch for a while.”
“Not almost a month! She thought it might only take a week or so!” Aya didn’t like that Bennet was a safe target for her frustration, but it was what it was.
“You know how her work can be. Don’t you think we’d have heard something if, you know . . .” He trailed off. Apparently, even his bravado wouldn’t allow him to say what they all were fearing.
She locked eyes with him for a moment, then turned back to the deck. “Anyway, I got an address. I’m going to go see if her mercenary friends know anything.” Aya unplugged the deck and carefully began closing up the access panel on Lucky’s bike.
“Can you wait until after the reactor inspection on the Kowashi? I have to be there to sign off, but I’ll come with you after—”
“Nope.” Aya tightened the last screw and gently wiped the shiny panel with a microfiber towel before re-enabling the bike’s security; she’d given herself access after using an exploit to bypass it. Of course, after doing that, she’d patched the exploit, so she saw the whole thing as a wash, morally. Besides, Lucky would have given her access if she’d asked. Right? “I’m leaving now. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you everything.”
“Well, keep a comm channel open. We don’t know what these people are like.”
“Bennet!” Aya stepped closer to him and gripped his too-big biceps. “They’re Lucky’s friends. They’ll be nice.” She gave him a quick squeeze and then hurried to the access door that would take her into the port.
“Be careful!” Bennet called once more as she slipped through and merged with the busy midday rush of people going to and from shuttle-access corridors. Twenty minutes later, she was riding in the back of a cab, nervously clutching her hands, idly tracing the knuckles of her cybernetic hand with the pointer finger of her natural one. Whenever she looked at the hand, she thought of Lucky, which sparked new pangs of worry.
She’d been staring at it and the beautiful paint on the Cherry Blossom when she’d finally thrown up her hands and decided to crack the security on the motorcycle. Three weeks late with no message wasn’t going to work. It wasn’t okay. It was time to get more proactive! With that thought giving her courage, Aya stepped out of the cab and looked up at the mirrored diamatex façade of the BizRes Tower Complex. She stepped into the lobby and then crossed the quiet, carpeted space to the occupant directory, swiping the screens from right to left, scanning the names for something that sounded familiar.
When nothing stood out, and she saw that about a quarter of the occupants were unlisted, Aya began to despair. “Oh, Lucky! Why’d you have to have so many secrets?”
She stood there, a few meters from the elevators, and stared at the directory while her mind ran through one crazy idea after another. Ideas ran through her mind, ranging from standing in the lobby with a sign to trying to contact every one of the nearly two thousand residents and businesses. She glanced at the camera by the elevators, and then the kernel of a crazy idea began to form in her mind. What if she got access to the footage? “I could look for Lucky, then track her through the elevator’s feed, then—”
“Miss Aya,” Hector, her PAI, said, his voice lovably stodgy, “I have to caution you against doing anything that might get you into trouble.”
“Hector! We have to help Lucky, and I can’t do that if I don’t have a clue where she is.” Aya frowned at a woman who walked by, staring a little too intently at her. She folded her arms over her chest and stared back until the redhead looked away and touched the call button. Aya usually spoke aloud to Hector, and it took a conscious effort to subvocalize. Still, after the woman’s reaction, she switched to subvocalizations. “All I need to do is find the security office for the building. What if I made up a story about a missing girl . . .” She let her words trail off as the redhead turned away from the elevator and took a tentative step toward her.
The woman was dressed smartly in a stylish pearl-grey skirt, a frilly, pale-yellow blouse, and heels that Aya wouldn’t know how to wear. She clutched a tall, steaming cup of coffee in one hand, and as she stepped closer, she smiled disarmingly. Her cheeks flushed a little at Aya’s glare, highlighting her freckles. Aya couldn’t help thinking she was pretty, especially when her bright green eyes twinkled with her smile. Her initial irritation at being stared at began to melt. “Um, can I help you?”
“I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but I swear I heard you say you wanted to help someone named Lucky. Is that right?” She had a friendly voice, and something about the hesitation in her tone made her seem nervous. Of course, that only made Aya want to reassure her.
“It’s okay, and yeah—my friend is missing.”
“You, um, you have a friend named Lucky?”
Aya sighed and waved her mechanical hand, her arms still crossed over her T-shirt’s chest. “Yeah, it’s just her handle. I know she came to this building a lot, but I don’t know where exactly.”
“Is that so?” The woman took a few steps closer, eyeing her up and down. When she stood just a half-meter away, she nodded slowly and then held out her hand. “Your name’s Aya, right? My name’s Frida, and you could say I’m friends with Lucky, too.”
#
After Kline escorted her back to her room, Juliet said she felt like a nap, hoping to get some quiet time to explain her deep dive into Kline’s mind to Angel. Kline had agreed that it was a good idea and let her know that her schedule was clear for the rest of the day. Juliet got him to promise to work on her list of requests before he left, and when he did, turning to go through the door, she swore she could feel the dread bleeding off him in waves. She knew why, of course, having caught a glimpse of his calendar—he had to meet with Montclair that afternoon.
She moved to the couch-bed and flopped down, letting the gel wrap around her body. Now that she had some memories back, she realized the bed almost reminded her of an acceleration couch. The gel had a similar feel. “Well,” she subvocalized, “are you ready to hear this?”
Yes!
So, Juliet told Angel about her deep dive into Kline. She told her about the creepy exec, Montclair, and his ultimatum to Kline. She described the listener and how it was a weird mix of Grave’s GIPEL tech and WBD-designed external hardware. Worse, she knew it was very good at doing precisely what the name implied: listening. When she told Angel about her eggs and about Montclair’s mention of an “Angel 3.0,” the only thing Angel said was, I’m so sorry, Juliet.
“How fast could they possibly grow them? He mentioned accelerated-growth protocols or something like that.”
Not all that fast. First of all, that sort of tech is illegal on human embryos. Obviously, that won’t stop them, but even so, it’s impossible, at least in published studies, to speed mammalian growth beyond a six-fold increase—not without massive defects.
This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
“So, they could be growing my kids into adults within a few years? Into children that they can brainwash and train in one?” Juliet felt furious tears pool in her eyes, and she turned to face the back of the couch, unwilling to let her enemies see her cry.
They’re not your kids, Juliet! Though it isn’t any better to imagine, they’ll likely try to cultivate the traits you have that make you valuable. They’ll try to isolate those genes, and it may take several generations before they—
“Stop. Please, Angel, just stop.” Juliet wanted to scream that they were her eggs, that everything those awful creeps were doing was somehow connected to her now. Instead, she closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. When she felt calm, she subvocalized, “I don’t want to know more. I’m just glad that whatever they’ve done couldn’t have progressed very far because I’m going to destroy it all.”
How? What are you going to do about the listener?
“Well, I don’t remember everything yet, but I remember getting blasted by Joshua Kyle. If this listener is set up to receive, I’m going to give him a little more than he asked for. I just need to confirm that I know how Kyle did what he did.”
We’ve speculated about that, Juliet. It must be related to the telekinesis, but you’ve never wanted to practice, fearing to harm your test subject.
“Yeah, I know, Angel. I don’t know if it’s the clarity of having a mind that’s half-empty, missing all those memories and the baggage that comes with them, but I had an idea almost immediately after I slipped out of the deep dive. Maybe it was the shock of learning what they did to me, but I didn’t feel disoriented when I came out of it. I was just angry, and, along with that anger, I knew what I had to do.”
Tell me!
“I believe Joshua Kyle was, as you said, pushing his telekinetic Energy out in a wave, raw and untuned. I think I’ve already gone beyond that. I think I know exactly how to do it, and I’ve been doing it, only with more nuance. Every time I ‘channel’ Lacy Blake or . . . I forget; I know I’ve channeled others, but I’m missing the memories. It’s not important. Every time I do that, I notice people reacting more than they should. They’re feeling what I’m sending out.”
You think . . . You think you already know how to do what Kyle did?
“Yeah, but better. I can send an emotion, a feeling. I can make people believe something. It’s like I push a feeling or intent so hard that their brain just accepts it. After my deep dive, I had a simple, clarifying thought: I don’t have to hurt someone to test this. I can send a nice feeling just as easily as I can send something awful. We’ll try it. I’ve got tonight and tomorrow to figure it out, and then, when the listener comes, I’ll be ready.”
You never cease to surprise me, Juliet. Even after what they did, you’re concerned about harming innocents. Even here, in the depths of a WBD installation, you believe there might be people deserving of mercy.
“Don’t go too far—I still want to burn this place down, but, yeah, seeing Kline’s mind for a minute, I was reminded that monsters are usually created by other monsters. I’m not saying he’s a good guy, but he definitely isn’t as bad as the people he answers to.” Juliet inhaled shakily, thinking about her visit to Kline’s mind and the things Montclair said. She reached down and, still facing the couch back, pressed her fingertips to her lower abdomen, running them outward toward her hips. “Do you think they took them all?”
Unequivocally, they did not. As soon as you mentioned what that monster said, I sent the nanites to investigate. You still have your ovaries and most of the ova you should have at your age. They must have been uncharacteristically reserved in their harvesting. It makes me wonder if more than one faction within WBD is involved with all of this. Montclair may have ordered the collection, but he may also have feared damaging you, at least at that time.
Juliet breathed in and out deeply, her eyes closed, letting Angel’s soothing words wash over her. She tried not to think about Montclair and his chilling meeting with Kline, but she couldn’t stop the other things she’d seen in Kline’s head from dancing through her mind’s eye. Factions? Why did she keep seeing a woman—perfect, platinum blonde hair, too-smooth, ageless face, piercing silver-blue irises that saw straight into her soul, all packaged in a stereotypical Western shirt and faded blue jeans—and why did she hear Kline’s voice in her head calling her the “old lady?”
When a chime woke her up, Juliet’s first thought was one of irritation with herself; she didn’t have time to sleep the day away. The chime sounded again, and she turned over, facing away from the couch, to see a green LED flashing above the opaque panel in the center of the door. She stood and padded over to it, subvocalizing, “Angel, you shouldn’t have let me go to sleep.”
It's good for you, and I think you’ll find fewer gaps in your memory! The nanites make better progress when you sleep.
As Juliet leaned toward the opaque view screen, wondering if there was a hidden button to activate something, it clarified to show an unassuming woman on the other side of the door. She wore a blue bodysuit, much like the ones Juliet had been given, but she had a white lab coat over the top. Her hair was brown and pulled back into a bun, exposing a face that instantly made Juliet think of a data-entry specialist or a filing clerk—someone who spent all day under artificial lights, staring at enhanced UI elements. She was very plain, very pale, and had dark circles under her eyes that hinted at too little sleep.
The woman spoke, and her voice came through, sounding a little tinny, “Hello, Juliet. I’m Harriet, one of the techs assigned to your case. I have your dinner if you’d like me to bring it in.”
Juliet backed away from the door, nodding. “Sure,” she said, confident the woman could hear her whether she spoke into the little view screen or not. The door beeped, clicked, and thunked before swinging outward to reveal Harriet and the cart beside her. Juliet looked into the space beyond and saw that little had changed since she’d passed through with Kline. The only difference she was sure of was a tablet-sized data deck on the single desk that hadn’t been there before.
Harriet pushed the cart forward, smiling. “I’m glad your meeting with Mr. Kline went well this morning. He’s given me the okay to deliver your meals without an escort, though that didn’t stop him from leaving guards lurking outside in the hallway.” She framed the statement as a positive, but Juliet was certain the woman was trying to let her know that guards were nearby without framing it as a threat. Was she scared? “Do you want the meal by the table or the couch?”
“Um, the table, I guess.” Juliet backed away, folding her hands before her, watching as Harriet wheeled the cart past the couch and over to the table. Seizing the unexpected opportunity, Juliet asked, “Will you sit with me while I eat?”
“Uh, I’m not really supposed to.” Harriet didn’t look her way as she parked the cart and turned back to the door.
“Please? I’m so . . . alone in here.” She tapped her temple. “I don’t even have a PAI. It’s so boring!”
Harriet turned to look at her, hands on hips, and shrugged. “I guess I could sit with you for a while. The protocols say to deliver the food and allow you an hour to finish before collecting the service cart. It doesn’t specify that I’m to leave you alone while you eat—”
“Perfect!” Juliet clapped her hands together and then hurried over to the cart. She lifted the aluminum tray top, revealing a single plate of food. She studied the french fries, a small, dry-looking hamburger, and a dish of mixed, syrupy fruit. Trying to remember that she was Juliet, the scrapyard worker, she smiled. “Wow! Is that a real burger?”
“Doubtful,” Harriet said, sitting down across from her. “If they use the same kitchens that service the cafeteria, it’s a textured legume patty.”
“Oh good!” Juliet turned her grin on Harriet. “Not sure I’d like real beef. Have you ever had it?” She unloaded the tray onto the table and sat down.
“Me? Only vat-grown. I liked it all right, but I’m just as happy with this kind of food. I’m simple.”
Juliet stuffed a fry in her mouth and chewed, noting the soggy interior and too-crisp exterior. Still, it was salty, and she was hungry, so she wolfed it down. “Thirsty?” she asked, standing and pointing at the food and drink dispenser.
“No, thank you. That would break the rules, I’m sure.”
“Ah.” Juliet nodded, selected cola, and then carried the fizzing cup back to the table. “So,” she asked, stuffing another couple of fries in her mouth and talking around them as she chewed, “how long have you worked for WBD?”
“Eleven years next month. I was pretty excited to be moved to your, um, case. I hope we can help you recover quickly.”
“Thank you!” Juliet picked up her burger and took a bite. It wasn’t bad if she thought of it as a sandwich. The sauce was good and made the dry patty and bun more than palatable. Of course, being hungry helped. She pushed her tray toward Harriet and mumbled, “Fry?” To her surprise, Harriet took one and nibbled on it. “Could you tell me a little about my schedule tomorrow? Kline said something about a, uh, counselor.”
As Harriet replied, going over the next day’s schedule, Juliet focused on her eyes, allowing her voice to become a background hum as she concentrated. This time, though, she wasn’t trying to pull any thoughts; she was pushing feelings of happiness and camaraderie. She’d come up with the idea as soon as she’d seen Harriet’s face through the view panel on the door. She didn’t want to alarm anyone or hurt someone who didn’t deserve it, so she tried to think of a feeling anyone would love to have, just as she'd told Angel she could.
Of course, Aya and Bennet came to mind. Were those newly recovered memories? She couldn’t remember thinking about them since waking up in her current predicament, and she had to guess it was simply because those memories had been blocked. They were there now, though, and what wonderful feelings to share! She loved them both, but her memories of long nights spent with Aya, watching vids, reading books, eating snacks, and laughing—lots and lots of laughing—were priceless to her. That was the feeling she was trying to push at Harriet, and Juliet’s smile grew wider and wider as she saw the effects.
Harriet’s eyes were aglow, and she spoke breathlessly about all sorts of things, her words rambling from topic to topic without prodding. She talked about her old position as a lab tech in the failing R&D department at a lesser-known WBD affiliate called Galaxy Medicine. She rambled on and on about a chief scientist she had a crush on, and then, when Juliet prompted her about her thoughts on Kline, she began to gush about how surprised she’d been when she’d seen how handsome and well-dressed he was. Juliet nodded along and kept pushing her “Aya feelings.”
They talked for well over an hour, and Harriet ended up eating half her fries and accepting a cola after just twenty minutes or so. By the time she left, she was promising to write a memo advocating for Juliet to be given permission to use an offline data deck. She insisted that she wanted to help curate a vid library for her on the device. “Good night, Juliet! I’m so glad I get to work with you! I hope you sleep well; tomorrow shouldn’t be a bad day. You’ll visit with Doctor Chen, get some time to exercise, and then have your regular meeting with Mr. Kline. I bet he’ll have all sorts of things for you!”
“Thank you, Harriet! I hope I’ll see you, too?”
“Yep! I’ll be on duty. See you in the morning.” She smiled, practically beaming, as she slowly pushed the door shut. Juliet turned as the locks engaged and lay on the couch, facing away from the door. She was going to shower and do some stretching before going to sleep, but first, she wanted to decompress and talk to Angel.
Angel had the same idea: Did you cause that? Her turnaround?
“Yep. Just like I told you, I can push feelings, Angel. I made her feel like I do when I’m hanging out with Aya.”
That’s incredible, Juliet! I knew there was more to the lattice, more to your “gut feelings” and ability to “channel” personas, but I didn’t realize you could do this. What will you “push” to the listener?
“Still thinking about that one, but . . .” Juliet let the thought hang for a minute while she considered. Was it the listener’s fault? She shook her head at the idea—no pulling punches. “Something horrifying, Angel. I’ll make touching my mind so horrible that they’ll lie and say everything’s fine.” In the silence following that declaration, Juliet added, “To do it right, I need to remember everything. Please keep working on my memories.”
I will, Juliet. I’m sorry you have to.
“Have to what?”
Remember everything, even the . . . unpleasant experiences.
“I need them, Angel. They make me who I am. If I don’t have the dark, scary memories, then men like Montclair can scare me. I need to remember everything so I can remind myself that he should be scared of me.”