Cyber Dreams 2.21 - A Visit to R&D

Okay, folks - we're about halfway through what I've planned for book 2. I think it's time to lift the veil a little and provide some tension through a bit of a revelation. There's a POV shift at the end of this chapter. Let me know what you think; does it work for you as a reader? Does it keep you interested? Is it too obvious? Would you rather be left in the dark (like Juliet)?

Thanks for your help :)

Plum

“And then they evacuated the rest of the site personnel?” Rachel’s face scrunched up as though she were trying to think of a follow-up question, but Juliet didn’t wait for her.

“That’s right. Then we flew back to Grave Tower, and I’ve spent the rest of the week training. I already got my assignment for next week, too, and it’s not with Charlie Unit. One lousy mission, then drill after drill after drill. PT every morning, quizzes in the afternoon; it’s almost as bad as the first week, except I got to train with Charlie Unit, and Sergeant Polk is pretty damn cool.”

“So, all in all, it was a better week, right? And you’re sending us some footage of the facility? I don’t know how you wrote that watchdog into such a tight box, but you’ll see our appreciation in your bonus.”

“Yeah, it was a better week,” Juliet sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the toilet; she was, once again, utilizing the single-occupant restroom at the coffee shop near Grave Tower to make her clandestine call. “Just the absence of Commander Gordon made it better.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about the modifications on those test subjects . . .”

“I’ve got a written report I’ll be sending along with the vid.” Juliet stood up and straightened her jacket. “I need to get out of here before someone gets suspicious, Rachel.”

“Hold on, January,” Rachel said quickly, as though she thought Juliet was about to cut off the vid call.

“Yes?”

“What’s your assignment for next week?”

“Oh, right. It’s weird; I’m supposed to report to sublevel twenty at 0800. I did a little digging, and that’s an R&D department. It doesn’t say I’ll be there the whole week, but there weren’t any other details on the assignment.”

While she spoke, Rachel’s eyes lit up, and she leaned forward, speaking quickly, “This could be big, January! If they’re going to try something new out, chances are the trial will be conducted through their research and development department.”

“Yay! Lucky me, the human guinea pig.” Juliet frowned; she wasn’t being professional, she knew, but she was exhausted and getting tired of living her fake life. She wanted to tell Rachel she was done, that she’d send over her report on the facility where the mutants had run rampant, and that was it—whatever pay she’d earned would be fine. On the other hand, she had this weird need to achieve, and some part of her was pleased to see Rachel excited.

“Come on, January. You can do this. You’re doing so much better than we’d hoped; there’s absolutely zero suspicion around you; we’re quite confident of it. Keep up the good work—this is all going to be worth it in the end.”

“Okay. Gotta go; look for my report.” Juliet cut the call as Rachel began to open her mouth and then stood up, flushing the toilet for effect and washing her hands. Two people were waiting when she opened the door, and she looked down, avoiding eye contact as she hurried past them.

Juliet stood in line for a coffee and added a generous pour of “plant cream,” something she’d avoid at all costs due to the name alone if there were another option at the self-serve counter. She sat by herself at a small window table and sipped at it, watching the people in predominantly dark clothing walk by outside. She was in a funk, had been for a while, and her shortness with Rachel hadn’t helped; rather, it had given her another thing to worry about. “Was I too unprofessional, Angel?”

“I don’t think so; you’re under a lot of stress, and Rachel will likely understand. You were right to end the call when you did; much longer, and your time in the restroom would have drawn attention.”

“Show me Honey’s message again, will you?” Juliet hadn’t made a direct call to any of her friends since she’d started the op, and the notes she’d been exchanging with Honey always helped to buoy her mood. She’d even gotten a couple of messages from Hot Mustard, which also helped. Juliet laughed at the thought—why did she still call him Hot Mustard in her head? “Guess it’s stuck,” she softly chuckled, sipping at her coffee. Then she read the message in the blinking window:

I wish you could tell me more about your job other than hinting at seeing “crazy shit” and telling me how much you hate your supervisor. Still, it’s good that you’re playing things safe. It’s good to be paranoid, even when you’re using encrypted messages like this. I’ve heard crazy stuff about the old AIs and what they could do with encrypted data. Do you really believe some of those big corps aren’t skirting just this side of bat-shit crazy when it comes to AI development?

Anyway, Charity’s been back to her usual bitchy self. She was cool for about two days after you kicked her ass, but she’s fully sure you’re never coming back and has to mention it to me almost every day. What’s the point? Sure, we’re friends, but she acts like it’s a condemnation of me that you’re not here. She’s radioactive, you know? Which brings me to another certain someone who seems to be missing you . . .

Can you believe Hot Mustard reached out to me to see if I’d heard from you? Did you leave him totally hanging? I think he’s got it pretty bad for you, J. He said he’d sent you two messages! I mean, I don’t know how long they were, but that’s a lot for a guy to stick himself out there these days, you know? I can’t remember the last time a guy sent me a second message after I ignored the first one. Why are they so dumb, J? LOL

Write me again soon! I miss you!

-H

Juliet smiled as she read the note, and when she stood up to throw her cup away, she felt lighter, like a bit of a dark cloud had dispersed from over her head, and the sun was peeking through. On her way back to the tower, she had Angel play her some of the songs from a playlist she’d generated based on the music Hot Mustard—Win—had played in his truck. It felt like a million years ago rather than a few weeks.

Her smile persisted as she walked through the crowds, and there was a definite spring in her step as she made her way to the elevators. The doors were just starting to close when a familiar, curly, red-headed figure slipped through them.

Addie looked at Juliet with a friendly smile and said, “Hey! Lydia!”

“Long time no see, Addie! How was your week?” Juliet asked, trying to mimic the friendly tone; the last time she’d been with Addie and the rest of her training unit, the petite woman had been decidedly cool toward her.

“Boring. Arnie and I followed Bravo Unit around while they did some readiness drills for a few of Grave’s subsidiaries. They hardly let us touch any gear and refused to let us carry live ammo on-site. We were walking around with red dummy mags like total idiots. It was humiliating.”

“Oh? That sounds . . . lame.” Juliet shrugged.

“What unit did you shadow?”

“Charlie. We had one response call, but the rest of the week was training and more training. The sergeants were really cool, though. I never laid eyes on the base commander.”

“Charlie Unit . . . isn’t Sergeant White in that unit?”

“Yep.”

“He’s kind of a legend; did you see him in action? I heard he’s got some pretty nice gear assigned to him.”

Juliet glanced at the numbers flashing by on the elevator display and then smiled at Addie, shrugging, “Not really. He led us in training most of the time, though; we did some live fire exercises, and he’s scary as hell with that mini-gun of his. He just got it outta the shop after melting some of the barrels off in a firefight. Can you imagine?”

“No shit? No one in Bravo has one of those, but Thibedeux has an auto shotgun.” The elevator dinged, and Addie waved. “See you tomorrow? I have a weird appointment on sublevel twenty; I don’t have to report until 0830.”

“Ah, really? I have the same thing but at 0800.”

“Well, maybe I’ll see you. Glad you made it through week two,” Addie said, and then she leaned in for a quick hug, and Juliet frowned over the top of her head—what was the deal with this woman? She patted Addie’s shoulder blades and then waved, forcing a bright smile as Addie backed out of the elevator. As the car surged and carried her the last few floors to her level, her smile turned into a frown.

“I don’t trust that girl,” she subvocalized to Angel.

“Noted.”

When she entered her apartment, Juliet asked Kent something she’d been wondering since she read her new assignment, “Kent, what’s my dress code for tomorrow’s assignment?”

“You’re to wear your standard uniform with no tactical gear. You will not need firearms or other weapons.”

“And my arrival time is 0800?”

“Correct.”

“Anything you can tell me about the assignment?”

“Only that you’ll be released by 1500 each day in order to facilitate your continued physical and tactical training. You will not be supervised but will have access to the company facilities on sublevels two through five.”

“Thanks . . .” Juliet said, drawing the word out as she moved around her apartment, setting out clean clothes for the next day and stripping down to throw her current clothes into the wash.

“You’re likely to wake much earlier than you need,” Angel said, and Juliet knew she was right; her eyes had been snapping open each day about five minutes before her alarm went off at 0500.

“Your point?” she subvocalized.

“You’ll have time for a workout before you have to report for duty . . .”

“Yeah,” Juliet nodded. “Kent? Is there any reason I can’t use the exercise facilities in the early morning?”

“No. You’ll find many of your comrades at Grave will be doing the same.”

“Right.” Juliet made herself comfortable, ate a package of beef-flavored protein and mushroom noodles, then settled into her bed, the pillows stacked up behind her, cradling a large drink canister filled with post-workout electrolytes, vitamins, proteins, and fat, all in a thick, berry-flavored, cold shake. “You sure I’m not going to get fat drinking these things every day?” she subvocalized.

“You’re barely maintaining maintenance levels with your caloric intake, Juliet. If it weren’t for the shakes, I’d fear you wouldn’t gain any muscle mass.”

“Well, they taste like dessert, so I’m not complaining. Did you put together the . . . package for Rachel?”

“Yes, shall I send it?”

“Yeah, and take a note for Win: Hey, Win, I’m sorry I haven’t replied yet; this gig is keeping me really busy. I’ve got a big day tomorrow, but when I see what it’s all about, I’ll send you a note. Hopefully, I’ll be done before too long.” Juliet smiled, thinking about Win sitting up, drinking alone, and receiving her message with a slow sardonic smile, “Send it at midnight, Angel, and sign it with just a J.”

“How . . . strange. Why, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I really don’t know; I’m being dumb. I had an image in my mind, and I just wanted to keep imagining it was real.” Juliet smiled as she subvocalized, then, aloud, because she didn’t care if Kent heard her and thought she should put on a bit of a show for him, “Play me something funny. I want to try to fall asleep early tonight.”

“Are you speaking to me, Ms. Roman? I can display a vid for you on the screen opposite your bed.”

“No, Kent. Thank you, but I was speaking to my PAI—I’ll watch the video on my AUI.” She wasn’t sure why she took the time to be polite or even to speak to the hospitality AI; she would have told the one at Helios to shut up, but something about Kent was different—he hardly ever spoke unless spoken to first, and he seemed to have decent guidance for her about her daily activities.

Kent had verbally directed her through the building to the maintenance techs when Juliet had returned from the bug hunt the other day and even smoothed things over with them when the lead tech had acted like she’d committed some kind of crime after he’d inspected her shotgun. His voice had come out of a nearby speaker and said something like, “E12 Tech DeForrest, you are charged with the immediate repair and refitting of all damaged Zeta Protocol gear. Will I need to contact Commander Redfield to explain this duty to you?”

After that, the tech had replaced the shotgun’s battery and exchanged her ballistics vest without another word. He’d also sent Juliet the specs for her helmet so she could order improved, aftermarket EMP shielding and a visor that would fit it, should she want to. Juliet chuckled at the memory, picturing how the tech’s face had grown pale when Kent spoke to him. A moment’s contemplation turned her smile into a frown, though.

One moment, the tech had been on a bit of a power trip, giving the new employee a hard time, but probably on his way to fixing her problems. The next moment, Kent was speaking to him, unbidden, from a speaker in the wall, and he’d gone white, completely clamming up. Juliet wondered if Kent logged such incidents; was a new file blinking on a supervisor’s console somewhere with a report of the technician’s behavior and near-reprimand from the tower’s AI?

As far as Juliet was concerned, it was another example of why she hated big corporations and their micromanagement of employee behavior. With that dark thought in the back of her mind, she opened the vid window Angel had prepared for her and expanded it so she felt like she was looking up at a giant screen. Moments later, a comedy she’d been watching featuring some spunky, unlicensed salvage harvesters based on Phoebos Station began to play. She made it through half an episode before she fell asleep, still cradling her—mostly empty—protein shake.

The next morning, Juliet went to the gymnasium on sub-level four, completed a round of body-weight exercises, and did twenty-five hundred meters on the rowing machine in five-hundred-meter sprints, resting between each. The workout took her just under an hour, and by the time she’d showered, washed her bedding and dirty clothes, and gotten dressed, she only had around forty-five minutes left to kill before her appointment.

“You’re getting much fitter, Juliet. A month ago, you would have struggled to complete that workout, even with many breaks along the way.”

“The new arm helps, especially with the pullups and pushups. It’s finally stopped hurting in my shoulder, and even when I crank it up, I don’t feel any strain—the synth muscles the doc added to reinforce my chest and back are finally settled in; they’re not sore at all, even after I push to exhaustion.”

“Even without the arm’s aid, I think you’d be surprised at how much you’ve improved.”

“Yeah, yeah. Quit buttering me up.” Juliet couldn’t hide her smile as she spent the next twenty minutes breaking down, cleaning, and reassembling her shotgun.

When she’d finished cleaning the gun, she pulled out her Grave-issued vibroblade, admiring the way the blade looked almost motionless, like a flat, gray steel composite, but if she squinted and peered close, she could see how the edge oscillated so quickly that it was blurry. The weapon made her nervous—if it slipped from her fingers and fell onto her thigh, for instance, she’d probably be in trouble. “A real gusher,” she said, imagining the mess.

Juliet flicked the power off, and when it had settled, she cleaned and oiled the blade, slipping it back into the sheath. That done, she put her weapons away and left, making her way to the elevators and then to sub-level twenty. When she stepped out, she was surprised that the elevator lobby differed from the other sub-levels she’d visited.

Rather than a single orange, metallic door that led to a concrete tunnel, glass doors opened onto a sitting area with a receptionist sitting at a window in the far wall. The floors were carpeted, the two dozen or so chairs looked comfortable, and there was art on the walls—horses, mountains, and a black and white cowgirl leaning on a lodge pole fence.

“Check in here,” the woman in the white coat said, motioning Juliet over to the window. Juliet scanned the room and saw three others waiting, eyes blank as they killed time with their AUIs. She didn’t recognize any of them, so she shrugged and strode up to the window.

“Roman. Lydia,” she said through the little screen in the glass.

“Right. You’re early, but they might call you after I check you in. Have a seat, dear,” the woman said, and Juliet gave her a second glance—curly gray hair, a few wrinkles around the eyes, and dull, pale green eyes that looked like marbles.

“Oh,” Juliet said before she could stop herself.

“Oh?”

“It’s nothing . . . I thought I recognized you.”

“Sure you did, sweetie. I met you at the job fair . . . in the restroom. You had a headache?”

“Oh! That’s it . . .” Juliet feigned relief; she’d known the instant she saw those eyes that this was the woman. On the one hand, she was glad she worked for Grave as she’d claimed; on the other, she was still weirded out by the lady.

“Hope you’re feeling okay today.” Again, the woman offered her a syrupy sweet smile, and Juliet felt something within her recoil. Something about the woman just seemed off to her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Sure.” Juliet nodded, forced a smile, and then moved to sit down. She’d just leaned back when the door leading out of the waiting room, situated in the wall next to the receptionist’s window, was violently flung open, and a familiar figure strode out.

“What a waste of a morning, Jesus Christ!” Houston said, striding purposefully away but slowing when he saw Juliet. “Roman? They got you doing this chickenshit duty, too?”

“Chickenshit?” Juliet asked, smiling at his choice of words. Houston was a pretty big guy and pretty damn handsome when he wasn’t hiding most of his face behind his combat helmet and visor. He was rugged looking, with heavy brows and wavy brown hair. His eyes were the color of honey, and his easy smile had given his weathered, tan skin lines that belied his age.

“Oh, lord, wait ‘til you see. They’ll have you trying to guess what color they're thinking of and doing blind taste tests before you know it.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Houston, please don’t speak about your experience! You signed an NDA!” the woman behind the glass called, and Juliet smirked.

“You’re gonna get another write-up.”

“Good! I’m running outta toilet paper.” Houston noisily cleared his throat and then stomped toward the glass doors leading to the elevators. “Good luck, rookie.”

#

When the video call ended, Rachel Dowdall refocused on her environment and the man sitting across from her desk. She smiled and said, “Everything seems to be going just fine, Mr. Kline.”

“Just fine?”

“Yes. I’d say your suspicions have borne fruit—January continues to bypass the watchdog with ease. She’s even captured video and audio from a secure location. From her description, we’ll get valuable intel on at least two different bio-engineering projects they’re working on.”

“Bio-engineering, hmm? I’ll admit I had my doubts about this whole thing, but I’m becoming a believer; we’re getting a lot more use out of the asset than we would have by holding her in a cell or putting her through clinical tests like we did Godric.”

“And with the success of this operation, you’ll be redeemed.”

“I don’t need redemption! My team, well, my team was decimated by that lunatic, but I wasn’t on the case back then. Still, when I figured out she was working as an operator—God, imagine it; from a scrap-yard rat to a respected operator, climbing the ranks faster than . . . well, faster than most highly talented, highly connected people could have done. The Angel project is proving more successful than we could have hoped. Imagine the data we’ll accumulate while this ‘operator’ keeps working for us.”

“You think she will?”

“Well, not for WBD, no, but for your “mysterious benefactor,” hah, I’d say so.” Kline lifted his Nikko-vape to his lips and pulled on it, the blue LED brightly flaring while he inhaled. “They don’t have a clue who she is, do they? Grave, I mean.”

“Not yet,” Rachel said, holding her breath while he exhaled, the fruit-scented cloud wafting into the room; she didn’t want his breath so blatantly in her lungs.

“She’s not going to break? I can’t believe she would, not after what she’s been through.”

“She seemed . . . brittle. I think the job is weighing on her; she didn’t say as much, but I believe she saw more action at that facility than she let on.”

“She trusts you, though?” Kline frowned, clearly bothered that Rachel felt Juliet might not be entirely forthcoming with her information.

“I think so, but . . . she was definitely holding back.” Rachel shrugged; she wanted to give Kline good news, but she also wanted him to have realistic expectations. He might be approving her budget, but she’d bounce back just fine if this project fell through—there were at least four other departments at WBD that wanted her on their teams.

“Really? We still need her in there, Rachel; Grave’s got something major up their sleeves. They’ve leveraged a metric ton of debt to buy the old Vykertech building. We need that intel, and, more importantly, we need Juliet to bring Angel home to roost. Well, home as far as she knows it.”

“What if she bolts? What if she finishes the job and decides she’s ready to leave Phoenix behind? Didn’t your intel, your asset, tell you she had plans to depart when her funds were sufficient?”

“No, no, no.” Kline shook his head and dragged on his vape again. The air around his head was already hazy, and Rachel had a strange feeling she was speaking through a vid screen even though he was right there in the room with her. “Let’s see . . . when she’s got the intel, and she’s ready to bail out of Grave, I’ll have our asset bring her in. She won’t want to leave without saying goodbye. I’m sure of it.”

“And? After this job? Are you going to try to use her again, or will you gather the data you can and cut your losses?”

“That depends on how things go. If we’re blown, if we have to bring her in forcefully, then yeah, we’ll just get what we can.” Kline frowned and then smacked a fist into his palm. “She’s done so damn well, though! She seems much more capable with the Angel implant than Godric was. It took me weeks to find her!”

“Well, let’s hope for the best. Maybe you’ll get more use out of her. Maybe she’ll come over to our side eventually. You never know.” Rachel forced another smile, hoping she was done with the meeting, hoping Kline would find a way to occupy himself until they got another report from January—Juliet, as Kline insisted on calling her.

“One way or another,” Kline said, nodding, his face wreathed in shadows and vape clouds.