After the meeting had ended, I managed to get some information about general fertilization crammed into my head. It was just as boring and tedious as I had feared it would be. And then some.
That many, if not most, of the researchers loved to thousands of words to say nothing made it even more fun. Let’s be real, reading through nearly 300 years of research on a single topic is rarely a blast, but in this case… well after two virtual months of digging through everything I could find, and my results were summed up in three easy steps to create life:
1. The sperm penetrates the ovum.
2. A wizard does something
3. New life.
Oh sure, it was a bit more exhausting. We knew pretty well how the sperm gets through the membrane of the ovum, and we know what parts of the sperm cell get left behind. We knew how the ovum prevented multiple sperms going through its walls, and why it sometimes failed.
We knew how the 23 Chromosomes each of the ovum and the sperm arrange into a fully-fledged cell core.
And we knew that when all that had happened, the newly created zygote began to divide.
Unfortunately what neither I nor Warden, could find out was why it began to divide. The ultimate cause of it going from a combination of two mostly inert cells into a new life. The spark of life so to say.
This also meant we had no clue how Sanderson had managed to stop that tiny, vital function. What happened after the folly was that when the sperm was integrated into the ovum, and the acrosome reaction had gone through, when the spark of life should turn over, nothing happens anymore.
The combination of ovum and sperm remained an inert cell that could bear no life. That was what made Panacea hoarding their cloning tech so damning. It should be trivial to create a ‘clone’ that was a perfect combination of its parents. The rest of the process then is just the usual cloning process.
But Panacea had ruthlessly destroyed anybody who even tried to go that route and compete with them.
Needless to say, I was pretty exhausted when I surfaced from cyberspace. Mentally as well as physically. Despite doing it for nearly four years by that time, I was still always a bit surprised about how much just sitting still in a chair can exhaust a body.
During dinner, Michael informed me that the next morning, the Vandermeer delegation would arrive. Splendid. Simply splendid. Well, at least some of them were only temporary guests here.
The rest… well 24 would apparently remain permanent residents, as much as I loved that. Frick, I was just now slowly coming out of my shell with the others. 32-34 others… that might be too much for me.
But I had promised to do my best, and my best I would do. Still, my night was anything but restful, and I even woke up Ben a couple of times with my tossing. At least that was what I inferred from him asking if I was alright the next morning.
We had spent this night in my penthouse in the fortress. It might not be quite as comfortably furnished as Ben’s house, but it had other advantages, like for example the whirlpool. That meant that we had gotten into the routine of switching where we spent the night.
Though, to be honest, mostly I missed Ben’s amazing library when we were in the fortress. Who would have thought that just curling up into an overstuffed chair with a real book besides a holographic fire would be so… nice.
If I looked at how my night went, it was not very surprising that the next morning I felt as if I was run over by a stomper herd. Not even the nectar of the gods, also known as coffee, managed to bring me up to snuff.
When Ben had told me that he would stay the day here, I was just happy that I would not have to face those people alone.
And still, I was fretting every minute we were waiting for them to actually arrive. Unlike Ernest and the Drunken Owl which had brought me to NYC, Vandermeer was sending his people suborbital. That also meant that it took them only around two hours from start to landing, letting them arrive at La Guardia at 11:15. I had offered to send my skimmers, but had been notified that that was not necessary.
And so, while I was waiting for a message, Mark suddenly stormed into the mess hall.
“Have you seen it? Fuck, I would have never thought I would see one. Can you believe it? That is so fucking cool.”
Ben, nursing on a cup of coffee, shook his head and spoke:
“Calm down. And have we seen what?”
“So, you haven’t seen it! There is a fucking Carnotaurus that has landed in our parking lot.”
A… “A what?” I could not help myself.
Mark rolled his eyes and then spoke slowly as if I were a small child.
“A Kobashigawa Carnotaurus assault skimmer. Personnel carrier, ground assault, and close air support, all rolled into one heavily armored package. Only the ABAS Peregrine comes even close.”
Ben measuredly placed his cup back on the table and began standing up.
“It seems they are here. And they have brought their own skimmer.”
I sighed, took one last sip, and then followed Ben to the front door.
What I saw was not quite what I had expected. Yes, I had gotten from Mark that this Carnotaurus was probably a rather big skimmer. But I was not prepared for the sight of seeing this blocky thing three, maybe even four times the size of my ABAS 675.
And yes, I had expected some weapon mounts, but seriously, this thing was armed for bear. What I could see were dual heavy Gatling Gauss guns under the chin, a rail gun a bit larger than any of the Gauss, and no less than five laser emplacements. If I had to guess, there were an additional three lasers on the other side and a couple on the belly of this beast.
Clearly, the people leaving through the side-placed sliding door of the skimmer, past some sort of machine gun, came in three distinctive groups. The largest was, of course, the guard unit that Vandermeer had sent. 24 men and women, in combat armor, with some pretty big guns.
Another group, also in military uniform, but without the armor, consisted of three men and one woman. They looked less rigid than the guard unit. And finally, there was an apparently civilian group of three men and three women.
The way they were standing, I got the impression that the last group consisted of three couples, but naturally, I could not be sure. My ability to judge other people was after all still lacking.
With Ben at my side, and the rest of the people living in the fortress standing nearby I waited until the delegations sorted themselves and began moving toward us.
The smaller military group was the first to approach us. One of the men was showing what even I could identify as officer markings, though I had no clue what exactly those markings meant, stepped in front of the other three, and briefly saluted us. I could not judge his hair color, he had very short hair and a hat on, but he was somewhat tall for a pure, at around 200, maybe 210cm, and had cold grey eyes.
“Good morning. I am Major Charles Burke, Vandermeer Security Solutions. Those are Staff Sergeant César Pareja, Sergeant Savannah Chandler, and Specialist Clayton Skinner.
I was told that we would be housed in this building here while we are working with Enki. Is that still the case?”
He sounded at once polite, as well as condescending.
I could, barely, suppress a snort.
“Yes, that is still the case. I have a three-room suite for you, and a two-room suite for each of your subordinates. My name is Vivian DuClare, and I own this building. I am also the CTO of Enki.
Though you will mostly work with Colonel Naveen Upreti of our security force and Dr. Maynard Price, our chief scientist.”
I forced a, as I hoped, friendly smile, and offered my hand, which he ignored, and so after I had said my text, I just shrugged and retracted my hand. Instead, the corners of his mouth barely noticeably moved downward, and I could not help but interpret his opinion as disapproval.
“If you can wait while our other guests organize themselves, I will have you brought to the Enki-HQ.”
Burke nodded sharply and somehow managed to do so arrogantly before he harshly gestured for his crew to follow him when he moved to the side. Parjera smiled apologetically, and it seemed that Chandler could only just stop herself from rolling her eyes. Honestly, I was not particularly fond of this Major Burke, and it was clear that I was not the only one.
Ben meanwhile grabbed my shoulder and gave me a one-armed hug. He knew me well enough to know how I would react to the obvious disdain Major Burke had shown me.
In the parking lot, there was a short-lived competition for dominance, but the, as I guessed, leader of the guard unit shrugged and made a gesture to give the scientists preference.
The scientists looked a bit forlorn around for somebody to help them carry their luggage but decided to leave it with the skimmer for the time being and instead approach us.
When they got closer, I noticed that not one of them was much older than 30. Don’t get me wrong, I am the last one who would dismiss a scientist just for their apparent age. But it was somewhat strange that Vandermeer had sent three obvious couples in perfect childbearing age. I smelled a rat here.
The first to approach us, a man of middling Pure height with dark brown hair and brown eyes, walked directly to Ben and me and then offered Ben his hand.
“Hello. I am Dr. Aaron Wakefield. I… we, have been sent here to work with a Dr. DuClare. Can you tell me where we can find him?”
Ben, to his credit, took the hand and shook it, while he answered:
“Her. Dr. Vivian DuClare, and she is standing directly beside me.”
Wakefield coiled back in surprise, then looked closer at me.
“Oh, sorry. I… well I thought young doctors only happened in the Commonwealth.”
Ok, that was an excuse that I could let stand to some extent.
“Hello, Dr. Wakefield. And I am from the Commonwealth. I also sport a jack, and I am a K4.”
His face moved through the emotions, from embarrassment to confusion and lastly awe. Then back to confusion.
“I understand of course what you mean with being from the Commonwealth and being a K4, but what has sporting a jack to do with all of this?”
I shrugged. And I was pretty sure that he was purposefully not talking about my height.
“I assume you do most of your theoretical work in cyberspace via a diadem?”
When he nodded I continued:
“A jack is a vastly superior way to connect to cyberspace. You experienced a compression of 4:1. I had a compression of 40:1, and that was before I had a new, better jack. Now, 90:1 is well within my reach.”
Understanding bloomed on his face.
“Oh, so… you spent as much time working in a single year as I do in ten. I see where that is an advantage.”
One of his colleagues, a tall, even for Pure severe brunette, also with brown eyes, interjected:
“Yes, that is really a big advantage. But… don’t you fear CRS? Oh, and sorry, I am Dr. Sarah Vaughn.”
I chuckled.
“Vivian DuClare, as Ben here already told you. And it seems you missed that Enki has brought CRS-free cyberware to the market three months ago. There is no risk for CRS anymore.”
Dr. Vaughn narrowed her eyes and looked at me with some suspicion:
“You are not yanking my chain, are you? No… you really don’t look like you do. But… why did I not know about this?”
I shook my head.
“No, I am not yanking your chain. It is the whole truth. And I have no clue why you don’t know about it. As far as I know, we marketed to the Commonwealth as well.”
“You marketed to the Commonwealth?”
I smiled weakly.
“Yes, I am, for my sins the CTO of Enki. I had nothing to do with marketing though.”
The man having his arm around Dr. Vaughn’s waist tilted his head.
“So, if those new jacks are safe… is there a way to get them? I mean, that really sounds like a big advantage.”
I shrugged.
“Sure, but I have to find out at what price. I would guess that we would give you some rebate, but… well, we will see. And of course, there is the question of quality. The MSRP of our top-of-the-line jack is right now around Ȼ650k.” When they all winced, understandably considering that well-paid scientists made an average of Ȼ230k a year, I was quick to add: ”Of course, the most basic model can be gotten for around Ȼ260, but… that one is really basic.”
I smiled at him.
“But I’m sure that we can work something out.”
I mean, sure, if I could get Vandermeer to spring for their jacks, I would, but if necessary, I would provide them. I would eat replicator slop before I have my efficiency ruined by them working at a snail’s pace.
The third man, who was, for a Pure relatively short, or ‘only’ as tall as Ben, and had sandy blonde hair and piercing blue eyes, now spoke:
“To be honest… all this was a bit short notice. We were told Monday that we would be sent here for up to six months. Taken from our projects and simply told to pack. Can you tell us why?”
I sighed.
“I assume that you were working on Revitalize?”
When he nodded I continued:
“On Saturday, Nathan Vandermeer convinced me that I should try to work on the Folly.”
I shook my head.
“I told him that I am not good at biology, but he thinks just because I managed to create CRS-free cyberware and a new cloning technology I would manage it.”
When first confusion and then anger was shown on his face, I involuntarily made a step back. But he just ranted.
“Why the fuck did he think that? I mean, if you even tell us that you’re no good at biology… why send us to the other side of the continent? Have us working here? In Queens of all places? God damn it, and we were looking at a C3-placement! Fuck!”
Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.
Dr. Vaughn rolled her eyes.
“Olliver, how about you shut the fuck up and think for a moment, ok? First, this is for just six months. And we all have been guaranteed C3-spots for taking this assignment.
Second, did you not listen? She developed the CRS-free cyberware. And she developed some new cloning tech. She is a K4 for fucks sake. She might surprise you. Surprise us. And if she does, who knows what the future will bring.”
Olliver did not seem very convinced.
“You know that they already have a K4 working on it. A trained geneticist. For over a year, and nothing. What can one other K4 that is not trained in genetics do?”
Dr. Wakefield shook his head.
“Well, why don’t we ask her what she is trained in, what her doctorate is on?”
I blushed a bit for being pulled into this argument in that fashion.
“Uhm, well, my Ph. D.s are in computer science and nano-engineering.”
Olliver threw his hands in the air and snarled:
“There… she is not trained. Computer Science!” He said that as if it was a four-letter word. “Why the fuck were we send to assist a Computer Science-weenie?”
Ben cleared his throat and broke Olliver out of his diatribe.
“What she usually forgets to mention is that she has only two Ph. D.s because, after the second one, she did no longer bother to jump through the loops to get more. Tell us, Kitten, what disciplines could you get a Ph. D. in if you so bothered?”
I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath.
“Ok, I am trained in Math, Physics, Quantum Physics, Gravitics, Bioengineering, Medicine, Chemistry, Material Science, Mechanical Engineering, Electrical Engineering, and Structural Engineering.”
While I listed all the disciplines I had studied over the last three years, I felt myself heat up more and more, and so I finished with a “So, satisfied?” directed at Ben.
The jerk had the gall to look pleased, while the scientists were in varying states of shock. Though, I could not deny that seeing Olliver’s jaw nearly hitting the ground made me feel a bit better.
It was the woman at Dr. Wakefield’s side who was the first to recover… somewhat.
“You… you are trained in all that? How?”
“First, I am actually older than I look. Not by much but a bit. I will be 19 next week. I made my first Ph. D., the one in Computer Science, when I was barely 15, and immediately got a jack. After that, the lessons are virtual. If you can go 40:1… well you can get 40 years of schooling into one.”
Dr. Vaughn narrowed her eyes again, and looked a bit confused…
“Wait… if you had CRS-free cyberware then, why is it only coming out now?”
I sighed.
“I did not have CRS-free cyberware then. And… CRS did not really bother me then because, in all honesty, I did not expect to even get to the age of 18. I was stupid and simply did not care. It was when I… let’s say left that phase that I realized the danger of CRS, and began looking for a way to avoid it.”
I sighed.
“Sure, the easy way would have been simply to rip out the jack. But I liked having a jack and wanted to keep it. So I started learning medicine to understand what CRS actually is. And from there I worked on how to remove it.
What I have now is my second jack.”
Dr. Wakefield massaged his temples.
“How… you are saying that you are not good at biology. But you also said that you have learned Bioengineering. That is biology.”
“Yes, I know. And I don’t like it. I… needed it to finish protecting the cyberware, but unlike the rest… it is just not right for me.”
Dr. Vaughn shook her head.
“I think we should rest this topic for now. We can talk later when we have recovered from the travel.”
Oh, how thankful I was to her right then.
“That is a good idea.” I looked around and saw all my friends standing nearby, trying to look inconspicuous. I was tempted to let Jacky lead our guests to their rooms, but I had to include Burke in it, and… well Jacky was nice. I was pretty sure that somebody like Burke would see being nice as the same as being weak. And he would abuse it.
With a soft sigh, I turned towards Kate. Seriously, nobody even halfway sane would think of Kate as anything in the same county as weak.
“Kate, may I trouble you to guide our guests to their rooms?” When she nodded, somewhat surprised, I continued: ”I thought the other three suites on the fourth floor for this group, and you can give Major Burke and the technicians each a suite on the third floor.”
The confusion on her face cleared up when I mentioned Burke, and was replaced by a nearly unnoticeable, but quite an evil grin. Yeah, she had pegged him as a bully and would take some pleasure from subtly putting him into his place. And Burke could not do a single thing unless Kate became glaringly blatant in it.
After Kate had led the group into the fortress and a small army of house bots had fetched the luggage, the last group approached. Or more correctly, a part of the last group approached.
Four of them, three men and a woman came over, while the remaining 20 people remained around their baggage.
The man in the front, nearly the size of Kate in his unpowered armor, was clearly the leader. Again, with the short hair and a cap, I was unable to see what hair color he had. But he had startling blue, nearly white, eyes.
The second to approach me was the oldest of the people that had left the skimmer as far as I could tell. Yes, he was a Pure, and that made judging the age a tad difficult, but he looked as if he was around 50 to 60 years old. He also looked as if he had experienced many things he would not want to talk about, and his cold, nearly black eyes made sure that nobody would ask.
Behind him were a young man and an even younger woman. The man had a somewhat swarthy complexion, dark brown eyes, and again, the same problem of discerning hair color.
The woman on the other hand was nearly as pale as me, and I could see light blonde, nearly white hair styled in a severe bun under her cap, complimented by her strangely indigo eyes. Seriously, I’ve never seen somebody with such blue-green eyes.
The only problem was that none of them looked particularly pleased. While they were on the way to us, I softly spoke to Ben:
“I hope you are satisfied. I hate it when I have to talk to strangers about what I have studied.”
In response, Ben had the gall to chuckle.
“Yes, I am satisfied. It was necessary, Kitten. They need to work under you, and for that, they have to respect your abilities. Otherwise, you would have an endless series of problems. At least with this Olliver-fellow.”
I shook my head but remained silent. What could I have answered to that anyway? I knew that Ben was way better at reading people than I would ever be.
By the time the four people had arrived in front of us, and like Major Burke saluted, I had forced myself to push it aside.
The leader of the group then took on some stiff posture with his hands behind his back, quickly followed by the other three.
“I am Lieutenant Aidan Thomson, Vandermeer Security Service, Personal Protection detail. If I am not mistaken, you are Dr. Vivian DuClare, is that right?”
He sounded very strict, but I was by now at least somewhat used to that, and so I offered him my hand, answering:
“Yes, I am Vivian DuClare. And this is Ben Walker. Welcome to New York.”
After a moment of hesitation, he briefly grasped my hand, just to give it one shake, and placed his hands back behind his back.
“Thank you, Ma’am. We have been ordered to provide protection for you. I assume that this building behind you is where you are based?”
“Yes, this is my home. I have several rooms for you and your… platoon? I think that was what Vandermeer called it.”
He took a deep breath before he answered:
“Yes, platoon is correct Ma’am. Is there a place where we can store the Carnotaurus?”
I couldn’t help myself and had to blink. “Store the… you mean the skimmer will remain here?”
“That was what I have been told. Along with its crew, who are right now busy with their shutdown inspection.”
I rolled my eyes.
“Ok, that is new. I knew that you were coming, but nobody said anything about the skimmer… there might be room in the garage but it will be tight if it fits at all.”
Lieutenant Thomson moved his eyes to the building, and then back to me.
“The building seems quite big, Ma’am.”
I shrugged.
“It is. And most of it is offices, labs, living space, and of course, the atrium. The inner 75 by 75m square is filled with a pool and some artificial plants. Yes, there is a garage, with a workshop, and a heap of storage in the west wing. Unfortunately, it was also the most convenient place to put the two industrial fabber suites, along with my own, admittedly smaller, skimmers and ground vehicles.”
Thomson kept a straight face, but when he talked it was clear he was somewhat unhappy.
“I have to say, Ma’am that this is unfortunate. While the Carnotaurus can remain in the open for some time, it would mean increased maintenance.”
“Yes, I understand that. Unfortunately, neither the Carnotaurus, nor its crew were announced, or we might have looked into it sooner. I am sorry for the inconvenience, but either it fits, or it doesn’t.”
“I understand Ma’am. We will have to work with what we have. May I introduce my non-commissioned officers, Ma’am?”
Before I could answer, Ben intervened:
“One moment please, Lieutenant. I have the impression that you are not happy about being here.”
Thomson’s eyes narrowed briefly, but he remained in his rigid stance.
“With all respect, Sir, my troopers and I go where we are told to go. Personal happiness bears no influence on that.”
But Ben was not yet satisfied.
“I understand what you are saying, but I don’t agree with it. Your mission is to protect Vivian here. That is a mission that you are more a detriment to than an advantage if you are despising it. But Vivian’s safety is very important to me, and quite a few other people. So, are you willing to answer me, or do I have to send you back to Seattle?”
For the first time, Thomson showed some sort of emotion. And it was unfortunately anger.
“As you wish Sir. Yes, I am unhappy about being sent here. My boys and girls are some of the very best. We were the best not yet permanently assigned unit. We were the next in line to be permanently assigned to a Vandermeer executive as protection detail.
Instead, we were told Monday that we would be permanently assigned to some unimportant girl in this desolate ruin of a city. Everything we’ve worked for has been trashed on some whim.
But that does not mean that we won’t be doing our job. We are too much professionals to do otherwise.”
For a moment, Ben looked Thomson in the eye and then nodded.
“I see.” Then he pulled me a bit closer to him.
“I think we have to tell them, Kitten. They need to know.”
To my regret, it took me a few seconds to understand what Ben was talking about.
“Are you sure? It is… not something that I want to be known.”
Ben took a heavy breath, before he slowly nodded, while Thomson still stared above my head.
“Yes, I think it is necessary. They are here to protect you. They have the right to know why, and will do a better job if they know it.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose while I was thinking about it. On the one hand, barely anybody on the east coast knew of my family. Heck, right now, there were only two in this parking lot, including me. And I wanted to keep it that way.
But Ben was right. They had the right to know. And even I knew enough about people to know that such anger could fester, and destroy. Better to lance the boil early.
And so, I lowered my voice, to keep it from most of the others, who were a few meters away, happy that I had sent Kate to keep Burke in check.
“Fine. There is a reason why you were sent here, Lieutenant. And what I am telling you now is a secret. You can inform your platoon when you are secured, but otherwise, nobody has the need to know.
My Mother is Rebecca DuClare. Wife of Julian DuClare.”
When that brought no recognition to Thomson’s face, though the woman suddenly gasped, I sighed and continued:
“She was born Rebecca Vandermeer.”
That brought the expected reaction. Thomson suddenly stared at me directly, wide-eyed, and after a few seconds, he spoke, loudly and clearly shocked:
“Are you saying that you are…” he was stopped from blurting it out by the older man, who swiftly placed his hand over his mouth.
“Softly, Sir. Please don’t spill the secret within the first seconds. I would hate to have to shoot you.”
When Thomson got himself back under control, he nodded softly, and after the older man took away his hand, he spoke in a low voice:
“Yes, thank you, Sergeant. That would have been an epic blunder.”
Then he turned back to me, but spoke softly this time:
“Are you saying that all the rumors about the ‘missing heir’ were actually true? That you are the heir of Vandermeer?”
I looked him in the eye and nodded slowly. As a reaction, Thomson slumped a bit, no longer holding such a rigid stance.
“Fuck… that… that changes everything. I thought we somehow fucked up and this was a punishment detail… but…”
When he stopped, mostly because Ben placed his hand on his shoulder, the man at my side spoke, equally softly, to him:
“I trust you now see the importance of your assignment and why it is important for Vandermeer, right?”
Thomson shook his head minutely before he answered.
“Yes, Sir. This… yes, this is very important. Thank you for clearing that up. But we should get on with introducing my people. The sergeant who just now prevented me from being a stupid ass, again, is Staff Sergeant Christian Reynolds. Behind him, we have Corporal Noah Longobardi, in charge of first squad, and Corporal Svenja Ingridsdottir, in charge of second squad. Though as I see it, I think Corporal Ingridsdottir would be better placed as Dr. DuClare’s primary bodyguard.”
The two men saluted briefly, while Corporal Ingridsdottir literally bowed, while she said:
“I would be honored, Your Highness.”
Only Ben’s arm around my shoulder prevented me from falling backward in shock.
“What… what did you just call me?”
She had a sly smile when she answered:
“I called you Your Highness, Your Highness.”
I raised my eyebrow when I looked at Thomson, who turned red.
“Damnit, Svenja, why the fuck are you starting with this shit now? We told you again and again that Nathan Vandermeer is no fucking king. And that also means that Dr. DuClare is no princess. Do I make myself clear?”
She stubbornly shook her head and got a defiant expression on her face.
“You can tell me all you want, but look at the truth. The big corps have as much power, as much sovereignty as the old nations before the great war. They rule their people. And the big family-owned corporations are like a monarchy, a Kingdom. Like Vandermeer. That makes the chairman of the board The King.” I could practically hear the capitalization of the last two words.
“That makes Nathan Vandermeer a king in everything but name. And that makes his daughter and granddaughter princesses.”
I saw Reynolds rolling his eyes, Longbardi valiantly fighting against a grin and losing, and Thomson ready to explode. It was obvious that this was not a new argument.
And all that about something so stupid.
“If I might comment on that… Corporal, Nathan Vandermeer is missing a key attribute to be called king. The title. Does he have the authority and power? I think so, yes, but he never assumed the title. And the honorifics like ‘Your Majesty’ and ‘Your Highness’ go with the title, not the position or the power.”
Now Ingridsdottirs defiant gaze turned to me.
“That is so stupid. If that is all that is stopping his rightful position, then why did he never take the title? Why not any of your other ancestors?”
I had a sad smile.
“Because the title is a sign of arrogance and ‘superiority’ that none of my ancestors felt they needed, nothing more and nothing less.”
Sadly, that did little to sway her opinion.
“But they were superior. They were better. So is your grandfather. I don’t know you enough to say if you are as well, but except your mother, every single one of your ancestors since there were Pures was a better human. A better scientist. The best that humanity had to offer.”
“And that made it necessary for them to push their superiority into everybody’s faces? Made it so that they needed to be bowed to? Or is it not so that being humble, being approachable, and being mortal was instead a sign of them being better than the likes of the Knowles or Dalgons, who had to demonstrate their superiority on every occasion?”
I shook my head softly.
“Especially as corporations differ from a nation in some critical aspects. Mostly in that corporations need customers. And those customers are often heads of state or other corporate leaders. Demanding of them to call another corporate head ‘King’ and ‘Your Majesty’ would have significantly weakened the position of the corporation and as such the power of the CEO.”
Ingridsdottir frowned, and I saw that she desperately wanted to rebuff my arguments, but there simply was no counterargument.
“Think about it for a moment. If it were, in any way or fashion possible to take the title of king or emperor, don’t you think the Knowles would have done so decades ago? They need to make sure everybody acknowledges their superiority. They would love to be called ‘Your Majesty’. They don’t. Because they depend on the rest of the world as customers. As does Vandermeer.”
She waved her head from side to side, not quite a shake, and not a nod, but something in between.
“Yeah, ok. But it is not right. You have a claim to the title.”
I chuckled.
“I don’t want the title. I barely use my earned title of Doctor.”
Of course, Ben absolutely had to ruin the moment.
“Well said Kitten. I am proud of you.”
I rolled my eyes.
“That is another title I could do without.”
He laughed.
“Oh, come on, you like it. Admit it already.”
I sighed and shook my head, but secretly, he was beginning to be right. Well, I liked it when he used it. Unfortunately, it was not limited to him using it.
Though fortunately, by now most people used my name.
While I looked over the parking lot my view fell on the assault skimmer. With a sigh, I messaged Warden.
V: Warden, can we fit the assault skimmer into the garage?
W: Not with all that is in there right now.
I sighed inwardly.
V: What is necessary to fit in there?
W: At least four of the ground vehicles have to be removed.
Wait, the ground… the problem was that we had too many cars? 90% of which we never used, and which were mostly part of the landscape for now?
V: Can we keep the van, the good sedan, and the cabriolet?
W: Easily. I assume you want to remove the cars in increasing order of worth?
V: Yes, that is right. Can you take care of it?
W: Consider it done. Shall I stop when enough room for the Carnotaurus is freed or should I remove all unneeded ground vehicles?
I thought for a moment.
V: Stop when enough space for the skimmer is reached, including space to work on it.
W: Understood.
I shook my head, and turned back to Thomson:
“I have contacted Warden, and it seems we can make enough room for the assault skimmer. It will take a few…”
It was at this moment that the first of the cars, an at least 30-year-old collection of rust, peeled synth leather and bad combustion noisily rolled onto the parking lot, controlled by one of the androids.
Followed by six others in only marginally better condition. When I saw those barely mobile death traps, I wondered why I never had cleaned up the garage.
I mean, yes, there was enough room for my skimmers and the indy-fabs… but I never even looked at the scrapyards Frankel had amassed beyond selecting a couple of cars that I could use… before I got my T240.
“As usual, Warden is faster than I might think. Well, the good news is that there is now enough room for your skimmer, though I have no idea why you need it.”
Thomson looked at the small parade of car-like objects, shook his head, and turned his attention back to me.
“Why, to fly you around in of course. If we make sure you are safe it would be stupid to assume that you are safe on the streets or in the air.”
I looked at the monster and shook my head.
“You want me to fly in that? Nope, not happening.”
Thomson took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.
“I am sorry, Dr. DuClare, but we have to assume your safety. And there are very few vehicles out there that ensure an acceptable safety for the passengers.”
I scoffed.
“Yes, I know. That is why I’ve gotten a Mercedes-Benz T240 Executive Edition.”
That made Thomson open and close his mouth a few times, without saying anything, before he took another few deep breaths.
“A… T240? Executive Edition was the one for execs and national leaders, correct?”
When I nodded, he took a moment to think about it.
“Well, its security depends on what extras you took.”
I shrugged.
“Why, everything.”
Reynolds minutely shook his head, while Langobardi looked at the sky with a scrunched-up mouth.
Thomson sighed and shook his head.
“Everything? The Armor? The stealth system, the point defense system? The active and passive protection system?”
“Class V, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Also, the entertainment system, the full spectrum autopilot, the real leather seats, real wood paneling… if Mercedes offered it, I had them put it in the T240. I think that is safe enough. I mean, if hated dictators, heads of state, corporate leaders, bank execs, and whoever else trusts those things to keep them safe, I think we can do so as well. Don’t you?”
He took another deep breath.
“Yes, A T240 is sufficient.”
Ben interjected.
“Especially as it is not so obviously military. Let’s be real if somebody wanted to kill her in the Carnotaurus, they come with an anti-ship weapon. On the other hand, the Merc is insanely tough for how small it is.
Few people who don’t own one for themselves understand how protected it is. Especially with the Class V armor installed. I would guess it is as tough as your assault skimmer.”
“Nevertheless, you can tell the crew of the skimmer that they can park it in the garage. And I think we have stood in the October air long enough, don’t you think?”
I was indeed feeling a bit cold by then.