Even with her usual “zone-out” tracks playing their synth-pop beats, Juliet had to take several deep, cleansing breaths to still her mind. She focused on the darkness Angel was projecting into her retinal implants, allowing her to keep her eyes open while she worked. In that darkness, she reached out, imagining the thoughts of people nearby as wispy strands of cottony thread she could gather up and bring back into herself.
They came to her, and her weird mental image held firm as she pulled wisps of thought into her mind, catching snippets of Harriet’s voice and, unsurprisingly, Kline’s. She tuned out Harriet but pulled harder on Kline’s strand, listening: Please be normal. Give us a clear report, you creepy fuck. Jesus, I can’t take it. Coffee. I need coffee.
Juliet felt Kline’s stress and, along with it, an unbearable need to stick a nicotine vape in her mouth. It was almost physiological, and she had to push his frazzled mind away so she could refocus. It said a lot about his acting skills; he’d seemed utterly at ease when he came into her room. She’d seen through his little act, but she hadn’t realized just how on edge the man was. Juliet inhaled slowly through her nose, taking a long, deep breath, and stretched her mind, seeking the listener.
When she felt the groping tendrils of the listener’s thoughts, they sent shivers through her psyche. Where Kline’s and Harriet’s thoughts were drifting spider’s silk, the listener’s were wiry, fibrous fishing lines, pulling and tugging as soon as Juliet’s feathery mental touch found them. She resisted the pull and let her delicate, probing psionic sense trace them back to their origin.
A man’s voice came to her, strange, halting, almost stuttering as it rushed through her extra senses, a stream of consciousness unlike any mind she’d ever touched. H-hunting, probe, probing. Not thinking. Thinking about . . . me? S-slippery, st-static. H-hard to grasp. L-listen . . . listening? I . . . I am. I-I listen! M-my voice? Echo? Echoing? S-sad? I-I? I am? S-sad? Juliet immediately knew what was happening. The listener was listening to her, and she was listening to him, so his voice and emotions were returning to him, creating something almost like a feedback loop.
She briefly contemplated leaving it at that, continuing to listen until he stopped. A part of her resisted. A part of her wanted to push the horror she’d been preparing, wanted to teach this man a lesson about fishing around in her head. However, another part of her wanted to weep when she felt the depths of despair in that man’s mind. Despair that he didn’t even seem to understand was there. She could hear the confusion in his voice, his despair at hearing himself, and knew something was wrong. He was being used as a tool; he wasn’t malicious. They’d done something to him. Something in his mind was broken. Something was lost. Could she find it? Could she turn this tool against them?
Juliet knew the smart move would be to continue sending a feedback loop to the listener. She knew she should play it safe and take things slow. She could help the listener when she broke out. It could wait. The problem was that Juliet didn’t like to turn a blind eye when she saw suffering—when she felt suffering. Was she a victim of her own empathy? At that moment, lying on a comfortable couch in her prison cell, deep in the bowels of WBD’s secret installation, scrutinized in a hundred different ways, she was fed up with being passive.
Juliet exhaled that long, deep breath and rode out of herself, streaming through the ether, tracing the thoughts she was listening to, and dove into the listener's mind.
“L-009, when was the last time we serviced your halo?” the med tech asked.
“Seven days prior to my transit,” he replied, wondering at the twitch of irritation he felt.
The med tech must have seen the flicker of emotion. “That was a long trip, wasn’t it? I think you’re due for an injection, aren’t you?”
“It’s been thirteen days since my last one.” L-009 didn’t see any reason to dissemble.
“Ah, yes. You’ll be right as rain in a few minutes.” The med tech pulled an auto-injector from his cart. “After I administer this, I’ll service your halo, and then our watchdog over there will take you to Mr. Montclair. He’s eager to get you working.” The med tech chuckled at something, some inference or context L-009 didn’t or couldn’t grasp. He felt the cold nozzle of the injector against his neck, then heard it hiss and felt a wave of coldness spread outward.
Juliet pulled back, surprising herself with how easily she detached from the deep dive. Was she getting better, or was L-009’s mind easy to get in and out of? One thing was sure; she hadn’t seen what she wanted. She wanted to know who he was, what they’d done to him. She pushed harder, trying to go deeper. She could feel it, almost like having something on the tip of her tongue, a word she wanted to say but couldn’t quite find. She knew what she wanted was in there, buried in the listener’s mind, but something was in the way.
For the first time in a long while, Juliet concentrated on the “psionic energy” that clung to her lattice. The weird, not-electricity she used to manipulate objects with telekinesis. She was sure it was the same energy Kyle had blasted her and Polk with. Could she use it to force her way deeper into the listener’s mind? Something in her gut told her to try.
In her mind, when she grasped a person’s thoughts and listened, it was almost passive; she was mostly just receiving. When she performed a deep dive, it was different. She sent a piece of herself out, fishing around in another person’s memories and feelings. She knew it was real, that it was physical in a way because those memories and feelings affected her. They clung to her, and sometimes, if she got too deep, they lingered, making it hard to distinguish where she, Juliet, ended and the other began.
So, she pushed at whatever was keeping her out. She pushed with her usual mental nudge, adding some of that psionic energy to her tendrils of thought, trying to pierce the almost-palpable barrier in the listener’s mind. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but as the energy gathered, traveling down roads that seemed natural—pathways paved for its traversal—she felt the energy break through like water pressure shattering a dam into a thousand fragments. Juliet rode the wave, diving into the listener’s mind, using her uncanny ability to find what she wanted.
Arnold Grossman smiled, handing the receptionist his ID badge. She scanned it and said, “Here for the WRP opportunity?”
“Yes, ma’am. Seems like a good one, don’t you think? Flat percentage decrease in debt. For me, that’s a big deal!” He winked at her; she reminded him of his daughter. She wasn’t amused, or maybe she was just overworked. She handed him back his badge and gestured to the door on the left.
“Waiting area seven-A; you’re registered and have been given number ‘G44.’ Watch for your number and enter the door that lights up green when it’s displayed. If you take longer than three minutes, they’ll move to the next number, and you’ll have to come back to receive a new one.”
“Right. Um, thanks.” Arnold took his badge and walked through the door. He suddenly felt melancholy despite the opportunity. He hadn’t thought of his daughter in years. Why’d he say that? Why’d he wink? He wasn’t that kind of man. Oh, Jenny! “Gah!” he huffed, scrubbing his eye with the back of one deeply tanned hand as he stepped through the door.
The waiting area was enormous—maybe two hundred plastic seats bolted down in rows. Perhaps a third of the seats were empty, and he found his way to one with a decent view of the number display. It was currently lit with big, bold, red digits that read “E92.” Arnold sighed and folded his arms over his chest. He’d wait. He had fourteen hours before his next shift, and he needed the damn WRP. The company notice had said he’d get three percent knocked off his debt just for trying out, with the potential for total forgiveness if he made it through the test rounds.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Too good to pass up,” he said, humming nervously as he caught himself talking aloud. He missed his PAI but reminded himself that dinner on the table was worth more than a mental distraction machine. “Maybe after this,” he whispered, fantasizing about a life without the corporate debt eating away half his take-home every Friday.
With a tremendous effort, Juliet pulled herself out of the dive. It was much, much more challenging than the first time, like the weight of emotion and the depth of the memory was tar, clinging to her, pulling her back. She’d seen what she needed, though. Arnold was a victim, and there was no way she could live with herself if she blasted his mind. Instead, she focused her thoughts and, as clearly as she could, sent a question out, hoping he was still listening. Arnold, are you there?
Drifting through the ether, on the tendrils of their intertwined thought threads, she heard his tremulous reply: I-I am. I am here. What did they do to me?
Juliet felt a surge of panic, horror, and loss, transmitted along those thought threads, and almost reacted. She nearly jumped off her couch and screamed her frustration to anyone who could hear. She recognized the feelings for what they were—Arnold was remembering himself, and if she was about to react, so was he! She pushed down the panic, forcing herself to be calm. She imagined White, Jensen, Sergeant Polk, Barns—all the cool-under-pressure operators she’d ever seen. She grabbed onto that feeling, that ice-in-the-veins patient killer she’d seen lurking behind White’s eyes as he sighted down the barrel of his gauss rifle, and she pushed it to Arnold. Then she sent out more thoughts: You have to stay calm. They’ll kill us both if they know you remember.
These bastards! They—they made me forget! I remember, though! I know who I am! I’m not L-NINE! I’m ARNOLD GROSSMAN!
Juliet could feel him withdrawing, his thoughts slipping from her grasp, his tendrils whipping away from her mind. It was everything she could do to remain calm, to continue tapping her foot to the beat of her music. “I think I might have messed up,” she subvocalized.
“What happened?” Angel asked. Her voice, concerned and patient, was almost comically out of place after what Juliet had just felt from Arnold; he’d had murder on his mind.
#
Kline watched Juliet on the display, glancing from her reclined figure to the weird, cyborg monstrosity of the listener. The strange fellow sat in his automated mobility chair beside Harriet, eyes closed, doing whatever bizarre voodoo those guys did when they reached into a person's mind. The LEDs on his halo flashed red, indicating he was actively gathering thoughts.
Kline looked back to Juliet. She was listening to music if he were guessing. Her foot tapped to the beat, and her eyes, though open, were staring into nothing. He looked back to Harriet. “Scans normal?”
“Yes. Nothing out of the ordinary. Is she meditating? Her breathing is very controlled.”
“She’s got some goddamn high-end lungs. Who knows what all she got into; you’ve seen her body. Maybe she was doing yoga wherever she was hiding.”
“I don’t think yoga and meditation are the same—”
“You know what I mean,” Kline sighed. He switched to subvocalizations, “I’m on edge, Ruby. Can I please have a hit?”
“With Harriet and the listener here? You know, if the listener is in use, they’re going to save the footage from this room. Think, Kline!”
He groaned and pressed his palm into his forehead. He looked at the listener again. He was exactly the same as before, utterly expressionless. Kline paced back and forth a few times, then walked over to Harriet’s desk and sat on the edge, looking down at the lab tech. The listener was on her other side, and, out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the man’s hand twitch. He looked more closely, narrowing his eyes as he stared. Sure enough, a few seconds later, the man’s hand jerked left, then right.
“Is that normal?” he asked, mostly speaking to Ruby.
“I don’t know,” Harriet and Ruby both said, and the perfect unison brought a smile to Kline’s face.
Ruby said, “Don’t you dare tell her.” Of course, that made Kline laugh, and Harriet looked at him like he’d gone mad.
“What?”
“Nothing, nothing. Is he all right?” Kline peered at the listener’s face. Was he scowling? Was his upper lip twitching? He stood abruptly and looked at the viewscreen showing Juliet. She was unchanged, still reclining, foot tapping to the beat of her music. When Kline turned back, the listener’s eyes were open and bloodshot, and he was staring at him with tears rolling down his cheeks. Kline almost jumped out of his shoes. “Jesus!”
Harriet looked at the listener and recoiled, rolling her chair a couple of meters away from him. Kline stepped closer, peering at the man and the dozens of metal rods sticking out of his scalp. The halo was still flashing with red LEDs. “You okay, Nine?”
The listener stared for another couple of seconds, then nodded. “I’m feeling normal, sir. Don’t be alarmed by my appearance. Sometimes, when I concentrate, I don’t fully close my eyes, and they dry out. Everything checks out with the subject. For the most part, I heard her singing along to some music. She was thinking about food, the people she’s met here, and hoping things work out for her.” The listener touched the controls of his mobility chair and started toward the door. “Sir, I believe my halo needs servicing. Will that be all?”
“Yeah. Of course. Will you submit your report today?”
“Yes, sir. I have a job for Mr. Montclair, and then I’ll dictate my summary to my management AI.”
“Good.” Kline watched him wheel out and saw his personal security detail form up around him as he sped down the corridor. It was weird to think that guy, that priceless asset, used to be a factory worker in a soon-to-be decommissioned algae plant in Phoenix. He turned back to Harriet. “Well! That’s some good news. I bet if I cancel further appointments, it’ll buy us a little more clemency from the—” He almost said ‘old lady’ but just pointed to the ceiling.
Harriet rolled back to her spot at the desk. “Do you think that’s wise? I mean, don’t get me wrong, my skin was crawling when that guy rolled out of here. I swear, when I first looked into his eyes, I thought he was going to murder me. Still, what if, you know, something happens with our client?”
Kline frowned and rubbed his chin. The listener had been creepier than the others he’d seen in action. Those eyes . . . He shook his head, pushing the thought aside. “Harriet, believe me, I’d like to take as much caution as possible. If I could get away with it, I’d schedule a listener twice a week. My boss, who also happens to be your boss, dropped the hint that the listeners are in high demand and sort of encouraged me not to need one. Besides, if our client were planning something, that creepy bastard would have heard it today. Have you ever had one of them pointed at you?”
“No—”
“Well, I have. She peeled two of my deepest, darkest secrets out of here in just a few seconds.” Kline tapped the side of his head. Harriet’s eyes widened, and she nodded in appreciation. “Well, tell you what, Harriet. Let’s celebrate! I’ll go ahead and clear the path, so to speak, but why don’t you get Juliet ready and bring her to the lounge; we’ll have a proper breakfast today.”
“Oh, she’d like that! She’s often complaining about the protein bars and coffee in her room.” Harriet rolled her chair back and stood. She walked over to Juliet’s door but paused, turning to watch Kline.
“Oh, right! I’m not supposed to be here.” He walked to the other door but paused. “Hey.” He locked eyes with the lab tech; she looked almost excited at the prospect of bringing Juliet up to the lounge for breakfast. “I’m supposed to send you for a, uh, treatment. You know, the injection we spoke about? We can wait until after today’s shift, though.” He hated how her face fell, hated seeing the joy in her eyes flicker out. “See you in a few minutes.” He stepped into the hallway, pushing the feelings down with so many others.
#
Juliet exhaled and tried to keep the relief from her expression. “We’re good,” she subvocalized. “He covered for us, Angel. He told them we were acting normal. I don’t know how he did it, but he locked down his emotions.” As soon as the listener—Arnold—withdrew, Juliet had reached out and listened to Harriet and Kline, trying to determine how much trouble she was in. It seemed Arnold had other priorities or, perhaps, simply patience when it came to his vengeance.
It made Juliet think—he’d been so open, receiving her thoughts through that weird contraption WBD had implanted in his brain. Rather than simply calming him, helping him remain steady under stress, had her push impacted him more than she’d intended? Had she given him the mentality of a killer? She didn’t know if there was any way of saving Arnold from what had been done to him, but she hoped he didn’t get himself killed. “Harriet’s going to come in here and bring us to breakfast.”
“That’s good! I’m glad it didn’t last any longer. The intracranial cooling device has banked as much heat as possible, and your core temp is slowly rising. I’m sure they have a basic scanner array pointed your way that might have noticed.” Angel paused briefly, then asked, “Juliet, how did you do it? Bring his memories back?”
“I wish I knew. I pushed some of the, you know, psionic energy that collects on the lattice. I pushed it into his brain. I could feel where I wanted to go; I knew where the memories I wanted were, like always, but there was something in the way. The push was all it took.”
“Could it have been the same kind of block they put on you? But you destroyed it utterly? In seconds? Juliet . . . I don’t know what to make of the implications.”
“Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just hypnosis or something.” The door beeped, and Juliet cleared her throat and stood up. “Come in.” As the door went through its lengthy process of opening, she subvocalized, “I’m learning a lot, Angel. I think something has changed. Things seem easier with the lattice. I really think it has something to do with me waking up without my memories. I think I lost some of the hangups I had. Have you restored everything?”
“Yes, which is another thing we need to figure out. What will we do about the scan tomorrow?”
As she watched the door swing open, Juliet tapped the deck, snug against her wrist under the sleeve of her bodysuit. “Is Fido’s brother almost ready?”
“No! I need days and days of testing!”
“Okay, okay. Relax. I’ll have to do something, that’s all.”
Harriet stood in the doorway, hands clasped before her, wearing a smile that looked a little forced. “Hi, Juliet! Good morning.”
Juliet smiled warmly, pushing a little camaraderie. “Oh, hey! I thought it would be Kline. I think he’s supposed to take me to some kind of WBD lesson.”
Harriet’s smile brightened noticeably. “He’s going to meet us. Guess what?”
“What?” Juliet chuckled, hamming it up for the woman.
“We get to go up to the lounge for breakfast!”