Kline leaned wearily against the plasteel wall, his hand trembling near the elevator control panel. He drew in a series of deep breaths, his fingers instinctively seeking solace in his breast pocket, where the familiar shape of his Nikko-vape awaited. After a lingering moment, he withdrew his hand with a heavy sigh, his eyes refocusing on the panel.
To his surprise, Ruby spoke up, “I won’t tell, Kline.”
“Huh?” His eyes narrowed, instantly suspicious.
“I won’t tell. Go ahead. I know your nerves are shot.” She sounded almost sweet, unexpectedly gentle. He had to admit that she’d been more and more helpful—more and more . . . understanding of his plight.
“Don’t you have to?” The whole reason he’d been weaning himself off the nicotine was because Ruby had started snitching to the old lady about it.
“Well, I’m supposed to. I’m also supposed to look out for your mental well-being, and I’m worried about you. Today, I’ll weigh your sanity more heavily than Mrs. Gentry’s desire to know your vaping habits.”
Kline’s shaky hand reached for his pocket again, and he asked, almost tremulously, “You promise?”
“Promise, Kline.”
He sighed and pulled the vape out, taking a deep, double inhale, sucking the cherry-flavored vapor into the depths of his lungs. He could quit. He’d done it before, even without using a neurochemical modulator. Still, he liked it, and nothing helped him steady his nerves like his wonderful old habit. He tucked the vape cartridge back into his pocket and summoned the elevator. “Thanks, Ruby.”
“You’re welcome. I disapprove of the pressure Mr. Montclair is putting on you, and I want you to know that I’ve voiced my concerns in my reports.”
Kline nodded, stepped into the elevator, and rode it up to the A suites. Montclair might enjoy his dungeon office, but Mrs. Gentry had different tastes. The car stopped twice for security sweeps before rising from the lower levels. When he arrived on the correct level and stepped out, he was thoroughly scanned again before the tactical response unit let him pass. The corridors were carpeted in rich red synthetic fibers, the walls painted in modern updated WBD design motifs, and everything smelled new.
Mrs. Gentry’s office was at the end of the hall, her double doors wide open, and he could hear her speaking within. When he stopped at the threshold, looking in, he saw her standing with none other than Montclair and one of his counterparts, Bridget Corning. Kline only knew her name because he’d briefly met her, Montclair, and the other two in Phoenix. “Jesus Christ,” he subvocalized, almost whispered, if he were honest.
“Don’t freak out, Kline,” Ruby soothed, her voice hitting all the right notes to smooth out his jitters. “Those two are leaving; they have a meeting with Ark Industries.” Kline slowly exhaled, trying to send his stress out with the breath. Ark Industries was a recent WBD acquisition, and he could only imagine the pressure they were under; it likely made his situation seem relatively tame.
“Stop lurking, Kline,” Gentry drawled, waving him in. He stepped through the doorway, noting the sudden depth of the carpet pile. He padded toward the trio, glancing at the expansive viewscreen on the far wall, which was currently showing a panorama of the old-growth jungle on the Yucatan peninsula. The view made him feel hot—like he could feel that simmering, glowering sun as it cooked the jungle moisture into steamy humidity.
Montclair locked eyes with him for a moment, a corner of his mouth twitching, giving his dour expression a little bit of life. Kline looked away, eyes on the old lady, struggling to keep from glancing at her loosely buttoned cowboy shirt, which never failed to expose a little too much of her too-smooth chest. The other woman, Corning, didn’t even glance at him.
“Good,” Gentry said, reaching out to take Corning’s hand. “You’ll get to the bottom of it. Don’t let Montclair here give you any trouble.”
Montclair smirked and turned to leave. “We’re of the same mind on this.” It wasn’t lost on Kline that he didn’t wait to be dismissed nor hold out for a handshake of his own. The bastard was certainly confident. Kline stepped further into the room, studiously taking in the furnishings; the old lady had received another shipment of personal effects, if he wasn’t mistaken. He saw glass shelves of weird porcelain figurines, a display of cowboy hats, and, most disturbing of all, a high shelf holding seven taxidermied house cats. Their glossy, lifelike eyes seemed to track him as he waited for Mrs. Gentry to address him.
When the two VPs exited, the doors swung closed automatically, and she looked at him, her red lips curving into a slow smile. “You really don’t like them, do you, honey?” She often did that when they were alone—called him pet names in her slow drawl. He couldn’t tell if she just enjoyed it or if she was trying to put him off balance. He silently thanked Ruby for allowing the nicotine hit.
“Montclair is a world-class prick.” He didn’t see any point in beating around the bush; he was ninety-nine percent sure Ruby had shared the incident with her or, at the very least, her PAI.
“Tut, Alec. Can’t I have more than one favorite?” She moved to one of her soft, floral-print divans and sat down, patting the cushion beside her. “Favorite” was an interesting choice of words. He’d been on the chopping block—literally—for close to a year before they finally caught Juliet. Things had certainly turned around after that, though! “Come on, sugar, your first week’s half over. Let’s talk about what’s going well and what’s not. Are you missing that little assistant of yours as much as you thought you’d be?”
“Rachel?” Kline asked as he followed her instructions, sitting and folding his hands in his lap. When Mrs. Gentry didn’t respond, he understood that she thought it was a nonsense question; of course she meant Rachel. “I’m missing her, yeah, but you were right; there’s plenty of help here, and Ruby is amazing.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Mrs. Gentry winked, drawing his eyes to hers. She always wore sky-blue eye shadow, contrasting with the dark eyeliner but highlighting her bright blue irises. “Now, I don’t want you to worry about Montclair. I’ve taken him off your project, but you need to understand he’s got his project running in parallel.”
“The clones?”
“That’s right. Listen, honey, he’s not good at handling people like you, but he’s not wrong; we’re devoting a lot of resources to your gal, and if things don’t seem to be panning out, you’ve got to be ready to pull the plug. That decision will be mine, though, not Montclair’s or anyone else’s. Understood?”
Kline couldn’t believe the wave of relief washing over him as her words melted away the tension he’d been building up since his first meeting with Montclair. He honestly felt like weeping, and it was everything he could do just to hold himself steady and breathe normally for a few seconds. When Mrs. Gentry broke the spell by leaning forward to pick up her ice-filled glass of lemonade, he cleared his throat and nodded. “That’s fair. Thank you, Mrs. Gentry.”
“Want some lemonade, sugar?”
Kline licked his lips, noting how dry they’d become. “That would be nice.” To his surprise, she leaned forward and poured him a glass from the decanter rather than summoning one of her wait staff. “Will I still have access to Montclair’s listener?”
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
“Oh yes. He won’t be taking him anywhere. You’ve got your weekly slot, but remember, that’s one of the resources I mentioned; if you find you don’t need to use the listener, it’ll be better to take it off the schedule in a week or three, hmm?”
“So, the deadline Montclair gave me?”
She waved her hand. “I’ll be paying close attention. There aren’t any dates or deadlines. I’ll make a decision daily. If I think it's time, we’ll wrap things up, and I’ll get you onto something a little more productive.” Kline nodded, but his eyes likely reflected his reservations. No deadline also meant no guaranteed time. The old lady could cancel Juliet next week if she felt like it. “Put that long face away now and tell me what you think. I saw the footage of your meeting. You like her, don’t you?”
“Like? How could anyone tell? She’s missing her most recent memories. She could be a totally different person after the last couple of years.” He shrugged, and when Gentry didn’t stop staring at him, added, “She seems nice.”
“She’s got a certain quality, doesn’t she? She makes people want to like her. I saw Ruby’s report on that lab tech, Harriet. You sure it’s wise to keep her on the case?”
“She has two jobs—observe the client and make the client comfortable. I think if Juliet likes her and she’s friendly, that’s probably a plus. If not, though, if she seems to be getting conditioned, for lack of a better word, then we’ve got the Empathanil.”
“Give her a dose. Trust me. She’s too close, too fast.”
“All right.” Kline nodded; he knew how to pick his battles, and it already felt like he’d won in a big way—no more Montclair!
“Listen, sugar,” Mrs. Gentry said as he sipped his ice-cold, semi-sweet lemonade, “I’ve got another meeting, so I’ve got to cut this short. Things are busy out here, what with everything we’re planning. Don’t you worry, though, I’m going to be watching. I look forward to hearing about her first real session with Chen next week. We’ll talk after that.”
“Do I have a new direct-report? I mean, I can remove Montclair from my calendar, right?”
“We’ll go back to the old days when you reported directly to me. Might as well, since we’re both here, hmm?” She stood smoothly and gracefully, and, as usual, Kline had a hard time reconciling the “old lady” with her youthful movements. Of course, as far as he knew, her limbs were entirely cybernetic or synthetic. The thought reminded him of Rachel and how they’d spoken after her first meeting with Mrs. Gentry, making guesses about how much of the old lady was real.
That sort of behavior was a thing of the past now that Ruby was in his head, now that listeners were a thing. Kline felt his heart rate pick up as he had that thought. What the fuck was he doing? She could have a listener in the next room! He panicked, trying to think of something else, forcing himself to do mental math as he set his lemonade down and stood, following Mrs. Gentry over to the door, breaking out in a cold sweat as he caught himself looking at her ass in those ridiculous jeans.
“Kline, are you okay?” Ruby asked.
“Fine,” he subvocalized and cleared his throat. The doors swung open, and a man stood there, waiting to come in. He was tall and lean with close-cropped blonde hair. When he looked at Kline, his eyes cut like diamonds, and it felt like he read his life story with that quick stare. It didn’t help Kline’s nerves when he smiled warmly and switched his gaze to Mrs. Gentry.
“Ma’am.”
“Hello, sweetie. Go on in, and we’ll have a chat.” Mrs. Gentry looked at him in a way that Kline had foolishly thought was reserved for him; he’d never seen that twinkle in her eyes when she spoke to anyone else. The man nodded, then stalked past, moving like a panther on the prowl. He was clearly an operator, someone who did a lot more fieldwork than Kline.
Suddenly, she gripped the back of his arm, her hand like a clamp around his triceps, “Okay, Alec. You go get that girl straightened out. Check in on the techs; they have a report for you about the alpha chip. This time next week, I might have another surprise for you. I’m working on something to help her come around to our side.”
“Thank you—” His words stopped short as her grip tightened.
“You know why I value Montclair, don’t you? He might be a sociopath, but he’s damn smart. I know he upset you, but you must have known we were always going to take samples. We were always going to explore what makes her so compatible. It’s good we’ve got that pipeline in the works because if she doesn’t come around, you’ll have to liquidate. You earned a lot of leeway by getting her here, but we’ve got to have priorities. I know I said no deadlines, but you need to earn her trust and get her to wake up that little vixen of an AI. Do you hear me? If Montclair beats you to the punch. . .”
As she let her veiled threat hang between them, Kline nodded and steadied himself. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good. Go on, now. We’ll talk soon.” She squeezed his arm, gently this time, sending tingles up and down the nape of his neck. She released him, and Kline heard her walk back into her office. He turned, maybe to catch a glimpse of the operator or hear a snippet of conversation between the two, but her doors were already swinging shut. They clicked together with the finality of silence, leaving him standing there, suddenly less sure he’d won any sort of clemency by having Montclair off his case.
He turned back to the distant elevator where the squad of tactical corpo-sec officers lurked, and Ruby startled him as she said, “You should get some rest, Kline. You can speak to the techs in the morning; their department closed two hours ago.”
“Yeah. Yeah, Ruby. Some sleep sounds damn fine. I don’t suppose you’d let me get away with another hit—”
“Hush, Kline! Subvocalize if you want to talk about that! Let’s get going.” Much more softly, as he started walking, she added, “I’ll think about it.”
#
When Juliet woke, she glanced at the time on her new AUI; she’d kept the deck plugged in all night. According to the display, it was 0526 on Thursday morning. “Today’s the day, Angel,” she subvocalized.
“The day you face the listener. I wonder when they’ll do it. Do you think they’ll give you any sort of heads-up? Do you think they’ll move you or just put the listener out there with Harriet?” It felt good hearing Angel’s voice again, with all the proper pitch and depth. Her strange, echoey presence in her mind had been a comfort, but this felt better, more like normal.
“I see you got my implants working.”
“Everything’s working at some level, though full functionality will take me a few days of programming. Maybe it’ll take less than that; I’m getting faster as I build a code base and a new library.”
Juliet stretched and sat up on her couch. A shadow hung to her right, and she almost flinched but then remembered painting the big, black blob in the middle of the wall, using up the entire jar of paint Kline had given her. It was the wall where she was going to paint the Jovian System. Part of her had wanted to paint something other than what she’d seen in her true-dream, and the notion still tempted her. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see if she could purposefully change the “future” she’d seen? “If I unplug the deck, what will happen to you?”
“Nothing. I’m using the storage and processing, but I’m still in your head. However, if you unplug, all the daemons and programs I’ve been spinning up will cease operations, encrypt themselves, and hide behind a ‘false wall’ of sorts. The operating AI will keep them hidden.”
“And all my cybernetics will stop working?”
“Well, not exactly, but I’ll lose control of them. Your AUI will go away.”
“Got it.” Juliet stretched and then began her morning “routine.” She picked out a clean bodysuit and some undergarments and took a long shower, savoring the thought that Montclair might see it as a line item on his budget. When that was done, she ate a protein bar, drank some coffee, and waited for either her clock to read 0700 or for someone to come into her room.
When she’d glimpsed Kline’s schedule, the “listener” entry had been the first notation, and it was written on the 0730 timeslot. Of course, none of the other timeslots had lined up perfectly with her activities thus far, but she figured it would be early in the morning when it happened, so she wanted to be ready. Her clock read 0702 when she moved over to the couch and decided to lay down and get ready, doing some “listening” of her own. That’s when her door beeped.
She didn’t want to go through the charade of standing up and going over to it, so she just called, “Come in.”
The door made its noises, then swung open, revealing Kline. He walked in with an open cardboard box in his arms and grunted as he set it down on the white flooring in front of the couch. Inside, Juliet identified a handheld paint sprayer, three liter-sized cans of paint, and two more paperback books. They looked decidedly older than the one he’d brought her the day before. “I come bearing gifts.”
“Jeez, Kline!” Juliet smiled a little too genuinely for her tastes. She reached in and took the two books out. One was called “The Sheepfarmer’s Daughter” and featured a woman in the arms of a man with very bulbous muscles and long, flowing hair. The other featured a woman in a spacesuit and was called “Trading in Danger.”
“Uh, I think one of those is a romance.” Kline shrugged apologetically.
Juliet snorted a giggle and held up the cover with the shirtless man. “You think?”
“Well, pickings are slim around here!” He laughed, and Juliet thought the humor touched his eyes. He seemed different.
She said as much, “You seem more relaxed, Kline. It’s awfully early, but are you having a good day?”
“I am! Let’s just say someone I didn’t really enjoy working with has been reassigned. Things are looking up.” His eyes unfocused for a moment, and then he stood up. “Listen, I’ve gotta step out for a little while. Can you entertain yourself here for about an hour? I’ll escort you to your first WBD indoctrination session before your gym time.”
Juliet narrowed her eyes and looked at him skeptically. Had he misspoken? “Indoctrination?”
He laughed and smacked himself in the forehead with his palm. “I can’t believe I did that! That’s what we all call those vid lessons, where they tell you about the company's corporate culture and history. I mean, we say it jokingly, but it’s kind of true; they won’t tell you anything negative. We’ve all had to watch ‘em, so, yeah, it’s fun to joke around at the company’s expense.” He was chuckling, but when he saw Juliet’s skeptical expression, he sobered up and added, “Don’t take me seriously, all right? It’s just goofing.”
Juliet wanted to call him out. She could tell he was putting on a show, trying to make himself seem like he was more on her level, united against the corporate behemoth. She didn’t, though. Juliet, the scrap worker, didn’t like corporations, but she’d be impressed by a guy like Kline. She’d still be high off the thought of making real money, sleeping in a fancy “suite,” swimming in a fancy pool, receiving all sorts of individual attention for the “accident” she’d suffered. So, she just smiled and shrugged. “It’s no big deal. We all joked about the vids Fred made us watch to get insurance breaks.”
“Exactly! Same sort of deal.” He moved to the door. “Okay, see you in an hour or so.”
“Bye.” Juliet waved as she laid back on the couch, closing her eyes.
“That was strange,” Angel said.
“Nah, he’s trying to build rapport with me. That was an intentional slip. I’ll tell you what I learned, though—he’s pretty smooth when he wants to be.”
“Do you think the listener is coming?”
“I think the listener is here. I think Kline’s little performance was meant to expose certain thoughts in my head. Put that music on. I need to reach out and make sure the listener doesn’t become a talker.”