Cyber Dreams 2.26 - Intrusive Thoughts

Happy to hear your feedback on this chapter - Is the Gordon thing too much? Not enough? Does Juliet's stress come through? Appreciate any thoughts.

-Plum

Juliet was just stepping off the elevator to return to her room when the watchdog app began to blink, and before Angel could alert her, she selected it to see what was going on. A message was waiting for her:

Lydia Roman:

Tomorrow you are to report to the reception area on B20 at 1000 for further evaluations. The dress code is your daily active uniform.

Gray Vance

GARD Director of Special Projects

Grave Industries, Inc.

“Oh, brother!” Juliet sighed, increasing her pace in irritation. “I thought I’d get a day or two before they called me in.”

“At least you can take your time in the morning,” Angel said, her tone clearly aimed to soothe.

“Yeah. I need to work out some frustration; we’ll go to the gym.”

That night Juliet tried to sleep early; she ate, showered, washed her clothes, then climbed into bed and, with a heavy sigh, closed her eyes. Usually, she’d try to read or watch a show or even just chat with Angel before calling it a night and trying to drift off, but she was too tired for any of that, and she still felt a little funny—strange—in her head.

When she’d lain there for a few minutes, silently staring into the black behind her eyelids, though, she was met with thoughts that raced around and wouldn’t give her any peace: what was she going to do about this whole mess? Those people had put some kind of permanent structure into her brain! It wasn’t so much that there was something new in her head; she had enough implants not to be overly bothered about that. It was more the idea that they’d done it despite her objections. To put an ugly turn of phrase to the situation, they’d violated her.

“I want to say raped, but violated is probably more accurate,” she subvocalized, well aware that Kent was watching and listening.

“Are you dwelling on what they did to you on B20?” Angel asked.

“Of course I am!”

“It must be a horrible feeling having your autonomy removed. I’m used to being somewhat at the mercy of my host—you. I believe some acceptance of that is also built into my personality, but you don’t have that benefit. I’m sorry you had to go through that, Juliet.”

“I was laying here trying to sleep, and I found I was gritting my teeth and scowling. Angel, I couldn’t think of why I was so angry at first, but then I thought about what it felt like to be strapped into that bed, to have that drill penetrate my skull, and then to suffer that fucking terrible pain. I can’t forgive them. I can’t forgive Violet and Doctor Vance, but I can’t forgive Grave, either. I want to make them pay for this, and I want them to think twice about doing that sort of thing ever again.”

“Understood. We’ll think of something.”

“God, I’m so glad I have you. I’d be losing it right now if I was alone with just a simple PAI like Tig.”

“I’m glad I have you, too, Juliet.”

Having vented a little, and with Angel’s rather sweet words of support in mind, Juliet closed her eyes again and found herself drifting into sleep, and then, as if he were right next to her, she heard a man’s voice: Not again! Fucking hell, why is this fucking thing blinking again?

Juliet’s eyes shot open, and she rolled off her bed to the stiff, high-traffic carpeting of her apartment and crouched there, heart racing. “What’s the matter, Juliet?” Angel sounded genuinely puzzled.

“I just heard a man’s voice,” she subvocalized.

“Ms. Roman is aught amiss?” Kent asked.

“No, why?” She stood up and stretched, cracking her neck.

“I thought you seemed alarmed.”

“No, I’m just practicing some readiness drills. Don’t mind me.” Juliet looked around her apartment, from the kitchen to the window, then over into her little bathroom. Nothing was out of place, and she began to connect the dots. Somehow when she had started to relax into sleep, she “received” someone’s thoughts. She lay back down, an uneasy qualm in her gut, and pulled her sheet and thin blanket up to her chin, tucking her head deep into her pillow. “Zero lights, please, Kent.”

Kent didn’t respond, but the dim strips of nightlights that illuminated the baseboards near the bathroom winked out, and her window snapped into opacity, completely blocking out the city's lights. Juliet lay there, staring at the dark ceiling, now, in the darkened space, very cognizant of the LEDs glowing and blinking from the various electronics around the room. Still, when she closed her eyes, she was submerged in perfect black, and, once again, she started to drift into sleep.

How will I ever finish? I’ll be running drills all morning if Gordon asks for this report.

This time, the voice was feminine, and Juliet thought she might recognize it. Was it Delma? “God, poor thing,” she subvocalized. “I think Delma’s stuck with Gordon this week. Makes me less annoyed about reporting back to GARD tomorrow.”

“You heard another voice?” Angel asked, and her own voice was strained with concern. Did she think her host was losing her mind? Juliet would have laughed if she weren’t starting to feel a rising sense of panic—how would she ever get any sleep?

“I’m going to try to sleep again.” Juliet closed her eyes, focused on the darkness, and imagined herself floating out over the city, wondering where her imagination would take her, hoping she was conjuring a dream. In just a few seconds, she felt her heavy exhaustion pulling at her, and she drifted away.

Don’t look at it. Don’t look at it. Oh, God! Why again? Why are they sending me messages now? I haven’t had a night off in three goddamn weeks!

Juliet’s eyes snapped open, and she flipped over, putting her face into the pillow, and screamed. “I’m getting worried,” Angel said.

“You and me both.” Juliet jerked her covers off, hopped out of bed, and began to pace in the darkness; the LEDs from her charging station sufficiently illuminating the counter so she didn’t walk into it. “They’re probably watching me right now.”

“I can play a loop of you sleeping for the watchdog.”

“Not just the watchdog. Kent. I’m sure there are cameras and sensors in this room. I bet that prick has people watching me to see if there’s anything else going on with the GRIPEL thing.”

“GIPEL: Grave Industries Psionic . . .”

“Whatever!” Juliet snapped, her lack of sleep and a mounting fear that she’d never get a decent night’s rest again, having frayed her nerves beyond the point of polite conversation.

“I’m sorry, Juliet. You may be right, though. Perhaps you should avoid acting out in your frustration.”

Angel’s words, while spoken out of kindness and concern, only served to fuel her frustration; Juliet wanted to vent, wanted to rant, and wanted to repeat the words “avoid acting out” in a mocking tone, but nothing she did would go unnoticed. She balled up her fists and calmly walked into her bathroom, where she shut the door and then turned on the shower—cost be damned.

She stripped out of her underwear and tank top and climbed into the shower, standing under the hot spray, letting it drum down on her scalp as she repeatedly thumped her fist against the plastic tiles of the shower stall. To their credit, Grave had built the shower quite sturdily; whatever water-resistant backer they’d put up behind the tiles absorbed her blows nicely, and she could barely hear the thuds of her knuckles with each satisfying crunch.

After a while, she stopped punching and held her hand under the water, washing off a bit of blood where her middle knuckle had split. The sting helped to ground her, and she closed her eyes and began to breathe, taking in deep breaths and imagining her stress leaving her body with each long, slow exhalation. An idea came to her then, and she said, “Angel, put together a playlist of my top requested songs; the ones I listen to when I’m trying to relax or do some quiet work.”

“Done.”

“Put it on a loop—background volume.” Juliet turned off the shower, suddenly immersed in the soft strings and pleasant voice of a song, one of the ones she’d been turned onto by Hot Mustard. She dried off, pulled on her sleep clothes, then, listening to the gentle voice of a woman named Alice Tennant, she climbed back into bed, put her cheek to her pillow, and continued her breathing exercise.

Sleep must have claimed Juliet and stuck this time because the next thing she was aware of was Angel’s gentle alarm. When she looked at the clock on her AUI, it read 0730, and she smiled. “Thanks for letting me sleep in, Angel.”

“You don’t have to report until 1000, but I knew you wanted to get a workout in. I’m so glad you got to sleep, Juliet!”

“Yeah, it seems my mind needs a distraction to keep it from looking for other voices in the dark. I hope I can figure out how to control this thing better; otherwise, you and I are going to be looking for a brain doc to get this stuff out of my head.” Juliet was sure to subvocalize, imagining Kent holding his ear to her door, listening to her every word. She laughed at that—in her mind, Kent was an old English fellow with white hair and a butler’s uniform.

She continued to subvocalize as she walked into the bathroom, dragging her bed linens and stuffing them into the wash. “Send a message to Honey: Hey, Honey, I’m so sorry I haven’t gotten back to you sooner. I’m okay—just really, really, closely watched right now. I’m getting deep into this thing, and it’s stressing me big, like a cracking h-cell, ya know? I’ll figure things out, though. Thank you so much for the head’s up about what Temo heard. Don’t worry about me; there’s a corp with an unhealthy interest in me, but I’m working to stay a few steps ahead of them. The Luna job sounds . . . interesting and exciting. I hate to say it, but it also sounds suspicious. Please be extra, extra careful. Have Temo do some serious vetting of the client. Much, much love, J.”

“Done and sent via the encrypted channel.”

“Kent, order me a protein smoothie.” Juliet didn’t hear his reply as she brushed her teeth, the buzz of her sonic toothbrush drowning him out. She usually liked to brush after breakfast, but she figured she’d shower after the gym and brush again. She threw her workout clothes on, grabbed her paper cup of “fruit protein shake,” and hurried down to the main Grave gym, not the one where new Zeta units were put through hell.

It was busy, with many suits getting their workout in before their usual 0900 shift, but she found an empty rower and got to work, wringing the stress from her body with each tug of the chain. She lost herself in the activity, letting her mind wander to Honey and an imagined life on Luna.

Juliet had seen pictures of the domes and the houses and buildings that mainly existed underground up there, but she wondered what it was like in person. “Angel, when we finally leave, let’s fly to Luna first and book passage further out from there. Most of the big ships use Luna’s docks, anyway, right?”

“Yes, that’s correct. The size of the larger cruise, cargo, and industrial ships make landing and departing from Earth’s gravity well cost-prohibitive or outright impossible.”

Juliet finished her rowing, then did a quick circuit on the weight machines. She’d been pumped to get a workout in, but after going hard on the rower, her heart wasn’t in it for the weights. She went through the motions, though, trying for heavy weight and low reps just to speed things along.

When she finished on the bench, she lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, breathing in the unique odor of a weight room—rubber, sweat, metal, oil, almost the same as the welding shop, but lacking the scent of burning metal and gases. She flopped her arms listlessly to the sides, letting her fingers drag on the rubbery floor.

Juliet was glad she hadn’t run into anyone she knew. After the last day or two, she wasn’t in the mood for small talk or pretending—she’d have to do plenty of that when she got down to sublevel twenty. She wondered where Charlie Unit was. Did they have a fun assignment, or were they just training? What about her fellow recruits? “Do you think they’re all with Gordon? Did I really hear Delma thinking about him last night? God, I feel like I’m losing it, Angel.”

She lay there, wondering where her next assignment might be; the idea that she might get another round with Alpha Unit and Commander Gordon made her heart start to race, and a feeling of panic begin to surge in her gut. Why did she hate him so much? Juliet wondered at that. Did she hate him, or was it more like dread? With his image floating around in her mind and her stomach beginning to twist into a knot, she suddenly heard, plain as day, Gordon’s voice in her head: Goddamn, I’d like to plant my face between those cheeks.

“Ew!” she said aloud and almost fell off the bench as adrenaline pumped into her system. She recovered her balance, and sat up, her brain making the belated connection that she’d “heard” his thoughts—he wasn’t standing next to her. Juliet looked around the high-ceilinged, wide-open space of the gym, and that’s when she spotted Gordon on a treadmill. It wasn’t hard to see the object of his intrusive thought, either—a woman running in the next row of machines in front of him. “Angel,” she subvocalized, “I’d sure like to find a way to get him demoted or something before we leave this place.”

“Perhaps when we gain access to the secure networks, we’ll find the personnel files. There might be something we can use.”

“Add it to the list.” Juliet stood up and made her way out of the gym, careful not to let her mind wander to the commander; the thought of his voice in her head, regardless of what it was saying, was too much to bear. “I knew he was taking too much pleasure in all the extra pushups and pullups and situps he kept giving us—the way he’d stand over us, arms crossed, looking so superior and smug; people like that shouldn’t have authority over others.”

“What do you mean?” Angel asked.

“I ‘heard’ his thoughts just now; he’s creeping on that woman working out in front of him. I mean, sure, we all have urges, but he’s just so damn gross. If you heard him, you’d know what I mean.”

“Looking back over your time with Alpha Unit, it does seem that he initiated extra PT as punishment for the female recruits on a more than three-to-one ratio against similar treatment to the males.”

Juliet stepped into the elevator, wiping her forehead and face with her towel, and replied, “Okay, I didn’t need any more convincing. I know it’s petty, and he’s a small fry in the greater scheme of things, but I definitely want to figure something out to burn him.” The more she thought about it, the more she liked the idea, and Juliet started to wonder if there might be a way to kill two birds with one stone; if she were going to bring down the GIPEL project, maybe she could use a scapegoat.

The elevator dinged, interrupting her musing, and Juliet hurried to her apartment to get cleaned up. She showered, dressed, stuffed a couple of protein bars into her jacket pockets, and then carefully palmed her old trusty vibroblade, her personal short-bladed one. She stepped into the bathroom, tucked it into her waistband, and then made her way back to B20 and the reception area for GARD.

She was only a few minutes early, but after the receptionist—a young woman far more pleasant than Bernice—checked her in, she found herself still waiting twenty minutes past her appointment time. “Is everything all right?” she asked, standing up and approaching the window. A few of the other waiting Grave employees looked up, and one woman frowned in irritation.

“What do you mean?” the cheerful young woman asked, twirling a strand of her long, feathery brown hair.

“Oh, my appointment was twenty minutes ago.”

“They’re running a bit behind. Please be patient.”

“I’ve been here longer than you,” the woman sitting near the front, the one who’d frowned, said.

Juliet turned to her—took in her uniform, no different from her own, her long straight black hair and mirrored irises, her carefully precise lipstick, eyeliner, and manicured nails. She looked down her nose for a long while and then, without a word, went back to her seat. Juliet could tell it bothered the woman that she hadn’t reacted—she stole several quick glances over her shoulder when she thought Juliet wasn’t paying attention.

For the first time, Juliet felt the urge to try to listen to a person’s thoughts for purely petty reasons, and she had to sit back and take stock of the implications. “Angel, none of this seems real to me yet, but if it is, if I can really hear people’s active thoughts, I feel like . . . I feel like it’s too much! I’m only human! How am I going to resist being a creep? Taking advantage of people? This is freaking me out!”

“I’m not sure I’m equipped to advise you on this topic. I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. It feels almost synonymous with hacking another AI, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess so. Would you do something like that?”

“Only . . . only if it was to protect you or help you in your goals. I wouldn’t want to hurt another AI unless it was a malicious actor.”

“But who’s the judge of that? If I decided that woman was a bitch and I needed to ‘teach her a lesson,’ I could follow her around, trying to listen to her thoughts until I learned something I could use against her. It’s not right!”

“I begin to see why you wouldn’t want this tech to fall into the wrong hands.”

“Lydia?” Juliet hadn’t seen the door open, or the woman in the white coat step through. It wasn’t Violet; this woman had short red hair and was middle-aged. She squinted at Juliet over the top of some old-school, thick-framed glasses, and Juliet wondered at that. Were they just for show, fancy specs like Paul wore, or did she really need corrective lenses? Why wouldn’t she get retinal upgrades if her vision was bad?

“Here,” she said, standing up and walking toward the door, her introspection and burgeoning crisis of conscience simmering on the back burner.

“This way, Lydia.” The woman turned and started walking down the now-familiar corridor, and Juliet followed, taking a moment to turn and smile at the frowning woman, still seated in the front row. Her scowl deepened, but she didn’t say anything. “That was petty,” she subvocalized.

“If you know something’s petty, why do you do it?” Angel sounded genuinely curious.

“I don’t know,” Juliet sighed. When her long strides brought her close to the white-coated woman, she said, “I like your glasses,” fishing for an explanation.

“Oh, these?” the woman asked, turning and straightening the frames on her face, a smile turning up the corners of her mouth into her slightly pudgy cheeks. “Thank you! I like their style, and some of my colleagues tease me, but they work just as well as their sleek, boring executive specs.”

“Ah, so they’re for work?”

“Yes—they can magnify much more than my retinal implants, and they have a data processor that relieves my dear old Lenny.” She laughed for a second, then reached back and touched Juliet’s forearm in an almost too-friendly gesture, “He’s my PAI.”

“Ah.” Juliet smiled, then said, “So, what’s on the menu today? More tests?”

“Exactly! We’ve got half a dozen assessments lined up and a few interviews.”

“Interviews?”

“Yes, we need to capture your thoughts about what’s happening in here,” she, again, reached toward Juliet, but this time she tapped her on the side of the head, “while you’re doing the tests.”

“Lovely,” Juliet sighed, wondering how much she’d have to fake and, more importantly, how convincing she’d be.