“[…] With the rising demand for building resources such as sand, came forth a problem of inevitable shortage of it. That threat started already at the beginning of the twenty-first century. Places such as Persian Gulf, Vietnam’s Mekong Delta or Florida became primary victims of it.
And it wasn’t as if people could just stop with the sand mining. Considering the exorbitant growth of human populace at that time, housing was necessary. Concrete needed sand and there haven’t been any replacements such as foam-concrete invented yet. That is why worldwide organizations started to keep a blind eye to some of the practices done to acquire such important resource. Therefore, so-called ‘Sand Mafia’ was born. An organization that, somehow was able to stabilize the import and export of sand with shady practices, made it so governments didn’t need to worry about letting their citizens live on the streets or in decrepit buildings.
And surprisingly that group continues the practice to this day, even after the Human Reduction brought on by invention of perfect VR. This time, though, any major corporation such as the GUF likes to keep their hand in every cookie jar, including the sand business. The ‘Sand Mafia’ doesn’t like it and that is why the megacity like Nova York is a chessboard between the sand czars and the corporate greed. […]”
— Excerpt from an article titled “Sand Mafia: It’s Dynamic Influence and Constant Power” by J. Rider, the year 2485.
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Gabriel’s idea of ‘dress to impress’ involved a rigorous process of trying on a multitude of diverse clothing styles. From dresses to cargo pants, and heels for combat boots. In my opinion, at one point my fellow synth forgot what type of job I’ve taken on.
In the end, he suggested that I go in a tight-fitting emerald suit, which he had in his closet. It was tailored for him, but he insisted he would be able to pin it in all the right spots so it would fit me. I’ve never seen him wear anything that formal, that’s why that fact confused me. Although, I was quite certain he would look good in anything he wore. That’s just the type of figure he had.
When he gestured for me to try on a pair of oxford shoes because apparently they would work with the suit beautifully, I had to refuse. In the end, we reached a compromise that meant me still putting on a pair of his combat boots that had a bit more polish and heel than mine did. I really didn’t need to be taller. Not only did being tall make one more visible in a crowd, it also hindered fighting in smaller spaces. I’ve never understood why the engineers made me 5’9’’.
My final thought at the end of that strange moment was that it was technically possible for me to fight in the chosen outfit, but why would I hinder myself so much if there was clearly different clothing available? I even mentioned that to Gabriel, and he said that clothes can be repaired, a first impression cannot.
In the end I reluctantly agreed. He was the one lending me all these clothes and allowing me to take the car he was given some leeway with. He did so much for me that I shouldn’t really complain.
That would be unfair.
We also made sure to somehow conceal my Colt at my back. I wouldn't go out unarmed. That would be plain idiotic, but I also didn't want people and potential hostiles to know I had a gun. It was a worthy endeavor to not show your enemy what they'd be dealing with, unless the point was intimidation, of course.
After choosing the outfit, I spent the rest of the day training Gabriel. Even though he was no longer about to fight for money, I didn’t want him to be weak and vulnerable. He was still being harassed by his previous owner and if I left him at the fighting capability he was currently at, my core would beat me with waves of guilt.
On Friday, I left the HQ dressed in the outfit picked by Gabriel. With additional hair and makeup done also by my flatmate. I allowed him to do that because I concluded that arguing with him was pointless, and he seemed to enjoy dressing me up.
The car left to Gabriel by the Contractor named Sludgy was a bit strange. In a way that I was quite certain it was made from many other cars. For example, the car doors didn’t quite fit the main frame, the seats inside were squished together, and every single tire was a different size.
Despite all that, when I started to drive it I was pleasantly surprised at the quality of the machine. It seemed that one really shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.
The address the Issuer gave me indicated that I would arrive in a part of a city heavy with corporate presence. There would be cameras everywhere if I were to step out of the car. Thankfully, the dimmed windows of the vehicle obscured my features enough to not make me worry so much about being ambushed by Fran-Mili.
Also, I supposed that the way I was dressed would make me stand out less than if I was wearing full combat gear. Which would be a bit of an overkill considering this was a bodyguard job. Most of the time I would probably only stand around and look out for threats. Actually dealing with one wasn’t that probable. Still, I was ready for a confrontation if need be.
As Terra led me through the slightly busy and wide streets filled with tall glass buildings, I wondered why the Issuer hired a Contractor. It seemed like I was either going to be guarding a corporate gathering or something in a similar environment. At the thought of that, my core gave a warning tremble. If I sensed anything off, I would have to evacuate.
Hopefully, that wasn't going to happen. Tony said that the Issuer was to be trusted. I wondered who this Agatha Morrison was then.
The message she sent me specified an office building that, based on the various signage on it, was used by a multitude of corporations. I was supposed to give the person at the entrance a ‘code phrase’ and go to the 14th floor. There was also a brief mention that I can park in the underground lot, which entrance should be right around the corner.
And there it was. I drove the car underground and parked. From there, I was still supposed to go through the main entrance.
Even though the contract specified discretion, the instructions that I received pointed to a weak attempt at it. Depending on the Issuer’s personality, I might advise a more subtle and efficient way of subterfuge.
The parking lot was almost empty, besides a few expensive looking automobiles that were parked far away from each other. They probably belonged to the people that the Issuer invited. I deduced that I would be guarding some sort of gathering after all.
The walk to the main entrance was swift, even if I was still unused to such a peculiar style of clothing for myself. At the base, I’ve never needed to wear anything this impractical. Combat gear was all I knew.
But I supposed that I could learn to appreciate something more focused on aesthetics. Cece would definitely look good in a form-fitting dress or similar looking suit. And Gabriel always looked amazing. Even when I made him wear something more loose that he could train in.
Anyway, as I came closer to a massive pair of glass doors that greeted me with a chime and automatic opening, the person inside the massive hall looked at me with surprise. Surprise that quickly dwindled as I stepped near.
The hall itself was enormous, with chandeliers hanging from multiple places on the ceiling. There were some holo screens suspended there as well that showed directions to various offices and parts of the building.
At the far end I saw thick metal doors that I took to be the elevator.
Firstly though, I would need to talk to the man waiting for me impatiently near it.
I assessed him and was able to say that he would not be a threat to me in a confrontation. Although, the gun I scanned on his hip would damage me badly if shot from a point-blank range.
“What’s an apple called?” He asked me as I stepped closer.
“A bad choice.” I replied with the phrase I got in my message.
The man paused for a second and then nodded. What an expressionless person.
He let me go past him up to the elevators and when I tapped the nearby console, the doors opened.
Inside I was able to choose the 14th floor as the Issuer mentioned, and then I started to go up.
I've been to a couple of elevators in my time. Mostly ones that went only a few floors up. Never fourteen. None were definitely as lavish as this one. With plush walls and real wood panels that decorated certain parts of the space. It almost seemed like a little room, separated from the rest of the cold and sterile glass building.
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In the end, the ride was smooth and quick.
When I stepped onto the floor, a long corridor greeted me. It stretched far, and many closed doors lined its walls. Except for one pair at the far end of it.
There, the doors were open, and I felt a presence; a faint neutronium hum of a synthoid reached me as I took a step forward.
I instinctively tensed.
I strained my hearing and looked through various visions to assess potential danger but besides hearing a soft and rhythmic humming, I wasn't able to gain other information.
The walls near the open doors were lined with lead. How annoying.
I decided, just to be safe, to send a quick message to the Issuer; to inform her that I was already on the floor she mentioned.
After a couple of seconds, a person there moved. Through the open doors came out a woman. I zoomed on her, and she gestured for me to come closer. I started to walk.
She seemed harmless enough. Middle-aged, with a body that pointed to a sedentary lifestyle and no cybernetics except for a SDI.
It was the neutronium humming that made me suspicious, but so far, everything pointed to this being the right place and her being the right person.
“Hello.” She greeted me coolly and looked me over with, what I thought to be, an approving nod “Very punctual. I approve.” The woman said and stepped back inside the room. I followed cautiously.
“I assume you are Miss Morrison?” The woman walked with an easy grace.
“Yes. And you are Ripper.” She said, and I had to remember that was the name I was using as a Contractor.
Inside, I was able to tell it was a conference room. A long table with many chairs traveled through the elongated space. And in one such seat was a synthoid.
She looked at me and smiled. There was something off about it. She wasn't a SSU, I could tell that with some certainty. It was a strange feeling.
“Don't mind Maria. She's my secretary.” I must've been staring at the other synth quite intensely for her to say that to me.
“She won't mind, Agatha. Ripper, here, is also synthoid.” Miss Morrison whipped her head towards me with an incredible speed and I had to use my logic pathways to conclude why she had such a strong reaction.
“I'm a SSU. The Contractors and the GUF assessed as much. Here,“ I reached for my identification to show it to her.
She probably thought that I was sent by someone. It was a probable scare she might've had considering that the dress she wore looked elaborate and of high quality, and synthoid at her side; both things which were expensive. This was a woman of means and therefore enemies.
She took my identification and looked at it with focus. Her eyebrows were scrunched, and a displeased pout blossomed from her lips.
“Then I suppose it's fine.” She handed it back to me and said, “Sit.” She gestured to one of the empty chairs.
“The meeting starts in a couple of minutes on the floor above. I'll tell you what will be required of you.” She seemed to ponder for a second.
“You're dressed fine already. Mhm… Do you have any weapons?”
“I do.”
“Show me.” If she didn't greet me with a similar tone, I might've taken offense at such a blatant order instead of a request.
I took the Colt out from the back of my trousers and laid it down onto the table.
“Can you put it somewhere where it'd be visible? Like in the front.” She waved her hand in a strange gesture.
I got up and did as instructed.
“Perfect.” She and Maria stood up and I with them. The synthoid was dressed in a black skirt and a white blouse. It looked very corporate.
“Now, as to what I need you to do. Upstairs, there is a room exactly like this one. You'll be standing in the doorway, looking as intimidating as you can and if anything is suspicious to you. Anything, at all. Before you do something, you send a message to Maria. Do not send it to me. Is that understood?” Miss Morrison was picking up a couple of datapads that were scattered across the table. She then handed them to Maria and started to walk out of the room as I confirmed that yes, I did understand her.
They way Maria moved was purposeful, but quiet. A full step behind Miss Morrison. I walked like that with Jack when we were on base. The most I’ve seen of him was his back.
As we were walking to the elevator, I tried to pay more attention to the woman who contracted me. The Issuer. She looked and behaved as if everything was within her reach and control. I didn’t have many experience with people like that, but FERS has concluded that there was at least a couple of percentage of superiority present.
I had a small thought that maybe I’ve been relying on FERS less recently. It wouldn’t surprise me. Learning emotional expressions was possible.
When we stepped into the elevator, I found myself close to the other synthoid. There was something about her that’s been nagging at me. It was the neutronium resonance.
With Gabriel, I found myself apathetic to his signature. It was something that didn’t make a blip on my so-called ‘radar’. His energy fluctuations and surges were something that didn’t register to me as uncanny. More so, as something similar to what I was experiencing. It was almost like we were able to ignore each other’s resonances because they were so comparable. A good explanation would be to say that if a person spoke in your first language you wouldn’t pay it too much mind, but if suddenly someone appeared and started to speak in a language you didn’t understand, then that would definitely give you a pause. Simply because it was unfamiliar.
This should’ve been familiar, though. I’ve been like Maria before. Without independent thought and any emotion to speak of.
I was able to imitate emotions, understand how they affected thoughts and morals. That’s what emotional response circuits were for after all. But that was all kept sterile. In the back of my head all those simulations of human behavior would play, and I would in the end choose the most optimal one depending on a situation.
With Maria, the energy in her core did not fluctuate. It was very one-note.
Was it those neutronium surges that gave such indication as to the SSUs’ emotions? I wondered if there was more information about it on the web, or if Gabriel had similar experiences with non-sentient synthoids.
As the elevator stopped and opened its doors, Miss Morrison’s back straightened and something about her changed. I wasn’t sure exactly why I had that impression, but it was enough of a shift for me to notice.
Maria, on the other hand, had lost her pleasant little smile and instead became a blank canvas of pure apathy.
The way both of them walked was sure and quick, I had to step faster to keep up.
Above their heads, I saw another long corridor stretched out. This time instead the doors were closed, and three people stood near them and chatted. All of them were similarly dressed to Miss Morrison; in uncomfortable but expensive looking formal corporate wear.
I strained my hearing to check if they were talking about anything suspicious as I was in the role of a bodyguard right now. Cece would say I was playing a ‘muscle’. Like Jane.
Apparently, what such a person needed to do foremost was to look intimidating. Therefore, I stood even straighter and kept my expression emotionless. It wasn’t hard. I usually walked and acted like that most of the days, apparently.
“I hate when she makes us wait.” The man in the group grumbled and shifted on his feet.
“Well, we all do, but we still have to come to these things.” The taller of the women with graying hair spoke with a pout. She was clearly of Asian descent considering her features.
“We’re all Agatha’s bitches, so stop whining and just keep quiet. She’s coming.” The other woman who had dark blond hair and a suitcase in hand spoke hurriedly.
“Look, she brought another one.” The man quipped. He was dressed in white robes that contracted nicely against his darker skin tone.
“Wonder if this one will keep.” The taller woman mused, and I had to take a moment to check if I heard correctly. ‘Keep’? What did she mean by that?
“Shut up, Mai! It’s rude to say stuff like that.” The woman with a suitcase turned to greet Miss Morrison, who only looked between the three of her guests with what appeared to be a disapproving look.
“Maria, open the door.” She said and her secretary passed her.
“Not going to introduce us? Who is she?” The man asked Miss Morison and gave me a brief look. The smirk on his face made my core flare with irritation. My trigger finger moved on its own.
“She is not relevant. Go inside.” At her firm voice, the man, and the women briskly started to walk into the conference room.
And just as Miss Morrison said, I put myself in the threshold and tried to look intimidating.
The three people sat down at the table, with Miss Morrison standing at one end. Maria began handing those three the datapads she was holding.
“Let’s begin with a quick report. Kayden, you start with the Delta situation.” She instructed, and I began to notice how sweat started to gather on each of her supposed guests. With a bioscan I was able to assess they were all under immense stress. Were they Miss Morrison’s employees?
As the man named Kayden started speaking, I checked the name Agatha Morrison on the web. At first, there wasn’t anything that looked interesting or that would explain what this meeting was about. But then, I found that name mentioned in a publicly available court document.
It spoke of a minor case of some excavation and mining rights violation. Apparently, the company that Miss Morrison hired equipment from accused her of using their machinery in restricted and protected areas somewhere around the Sandy Hook Bay.
The case was dismissed in the end and I found no other mention of it.
It was all very intriguing.
As the people spoke one by one, I tried to make sense of what this meeting was actually about because most of what I heard so far was who spoke to who and the amount of something that was acquired. A very strange language that didn’t point me to the true nature of the subject at hand.
Then I received a message from Maria that read:
Miss Morrison forgot to mention, but she strongly suggests that you do not pay much mind to what is spoken here. She would be very displeased if any information about this meeting came out of a mouth that was not present here.
When I finished reading it, I wondered if I should put my hearing implants on hold. I looked at Miss Morrison, and the look she gave me made my core tremble in an uncomfortable manner. As if I were falling from somewhere tall and my antigravity field suddenly malfunctioned.
It was unease, I thought.