Cyber Dreams 2.12 - Flying Colors (Patreon)

Okay, so I asked last time if "these tests and things are boring," and a few of you said it was fine, but not much more. Well . . . here's another chapter of it. Sorry! We'll get things moving along in 2.13, I promise.

Can anyone see the pun in my chapter title? I mean, after you read it . . . I'm in a weird mood today. Don't mind me.

-Plum

Juliet was on stage thirty-three of the problem-solving test when the clock finally ticked to zero before she could get one of her daemons through the barrier. She sighed, almost relieved. Her head was throbbing; her eyes felt bleary, and, in the back of her mind, she felt stressed about how much time she’d been sitting in the testing room. Juliet knew it was good that she was clearing stages, but she didn’t have anything to compare her progress to. Was she going fast or slow? Was it good that she’d reached level thirty-three?

Juliet also wondered if it would be evident that Angel was helping her. She’d done all the work—the adjustments and strategizing—but by the time she’d hit stage thirty-two, she’d had sixteen daemons, each with twelve slots for modifications and more than seventy different mods. On top of that, the defenses had been multi-layered and very complex. Angel had helped her keep track of all those moving parts and evaluated her strategies, saving her a lot of test runs.

When the screen cleared, a new message appeared: "Problem-Solving Evaluation Complete. Please remove your AR spectacles and make your way to the fifth floor. The next portion of your intake examination will be in the Madera conference room.”

“I’ll be sure to reintegrate your audio and visual stimuli gradually,” Angel said as Juliet scooted her chair back from the table.

Juliet removed her spec, pulled out the cable, and set them on the table. When she stood up and looked around, she found herself alone in the room save for Charles, who stood, glassy-eyed, at the front of the room, clearly absorbed in something on his AUI. When she walked back over the dotted yellow line, she heard a high-pitched whine in her ears, but Angel quickly squelched it. Charles finally noticed her movement and cleared his throat, shifting and focusing his gaze on her.

“All done?” His voice cracked a little, and he swallowed and grimaced—an amusing expression on a man with such a broad jaw.

“Yes, thanks,” Juliet said, rubbing at her temples. “That jamming field is overkill, don’t you think.”

“Yeah, it’s rough. They say it’s necessary, though. You have your next room assignment?”

“I do.” Juliet nodded, moved toward the door, and added, “Did I take too long, you think?”

“As long as you still had questions showing up, you were doing fine. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” As she stepped into the hallway, she noticed some color had come back to her vision and that the sound of her steps didn’t sound like they were coming from the bottom of a tin can any longer; Angel was being careful not to bombard her with sounds and colors after being in the jammer field. By the time she’d made her way back to the elevator and pressed the button for the fifth floor, she felt like the world looked and sounded normal again.

“Is there a way to counter jammer fields like that, Angel?” she subvocalized while the elevator carried her up.

“Yes. There are ways to harden your optics and audio, and other senses, for that matter. You won’t be completely immune to a field like that without wearing purpose-built shielding, though—a helmet or some such.”

“What about a counter-field?”

“Yes, many shielding products employ active techniques just as you suggest.”

The elevator dinged, and Juliet was confronted by another sign, “Welcome, Grave Industries Candidates! The Madera room is this way. The Patagonia room is this way.” As before, the words were accompanied by arrows, and Juliet followed the ones pointing toward the Madera room.

“Down to two rooms. What do you think, Angel?”

“We don’t know how many floors are being used for this intake process. There could be dozens of rooms on different floors.”

“Good point.” The walk to the Madera room was a short one; she saw it coming up on her left; double doors opened into a high, vaulted chamber, and a placard outside read, “Welcome, Grave Industries Candidates - Physical Assessment.”

“Here we go,” Juliet breathed, stepping into the green-carpeted room. The space yawned before her, the size of a gymnasium, and she could imagine it filled with booths or tables and swarming with people dressed in business suits. It didn’t look like that at the moment, though; four different, squishy gray mats were set up at each corner of the room, and a handful of people—probably candidates—were lined up at each.

Grave employees sat or stood around a table near each mat, and large, bold signs indicated that candidates were meant to approach the table separated by their last names. Juliet found the table for people with an “R” surname and walked that way. She looked around rather nervously as she approached it, noting that, at each mat, a person wearing heavy blue padding stood or sparred with one of the sharply dressed candidates.

“Really?” Juliet said aloud. “We have to fight in our . . . business clothes?”

“Not fight,” A young, red-haired woman with springy, curved, plasteel legs said, looking over her shoulder at Juliet. “They’ll explain when you get to the table, but I already heard them say it a few times. The blue man—that’s what they call the guy in the blue pads—will resist you, and you have to take him down and get him to tap out. That’s it. I’m Addie; it’s short for Adelaide.”

“Hey,” Juliet nodded. “I’m Lydia. So, he won’t attack? Just resist?”

“Yeah, watch this guy; he’s been struggling for about a minute already.” Addie pointed to the center of the mat, and Juliet watched as the tall, sharply dressed, lanky man with carefully combed, wavy black hair, tried to grab the blue man, only to have his hands slapped away.

“He’s not very aggressive,” Juliet said, frowning.

“Some people lie on their applications, I guess.” Addie shrugged and pointed to a big digital clock on the table. “He’s almost outta time.”

Juliet watched as the timer ticked down to zero, and a buzzer sounded. The blue man straightened and walked to the far corner, where he drank from a water bottle with a long, plastic straw. A woman at the table said, “Thank you, candidate Wilson. Please make your way to the third floor and the Wren conference room.”

“I could try again if you’d like. I think I know what I was doing wrong,” Wilson said, straightening up and walking toward the table.

“That won’t be necessary. Don’t worry, candidate; many non-confrontational positions are available at Grave.”

“But the program . . .”

“That will be all, candidate. We have a lot of people to get through today.” The woman’s voice didn’t brook any argument, and Juliet gave her a second look—tall, stocky, bright red slacks and a blue blouse that hugged her bulky shoulders and arms. She had short black hair, and something about her tanned face and slightly crooked nose told Juliet she wasn’t someone to be trifled with.

As the man, grumbling to himself, strode away, the tough-looking woman beckoned for Addie to step forward, and Juliet said, “Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Addie said with a wink, and then she strode onto the mat.

“Name?” the woman asked, ignoring the nametag on Addie's chest.

“Adelaide Hunter.”

“You have ninety seconds to take the blue man down and force him to submit. Do you have any questions?” The woman blinked as she spoke, and Juliet saw little flashes in her dark eyes, and she wondered if she were scanning Addie or something.

“No, ma’am.” Addie strode onto the mat, her long, curved, metal legs giving her a strange, springy gait. Juliet saw that the bottoms of the legs were padded with grippy-looking rubber.

“Those legs are built for speed, aren’t they, Angel?” Juliet subvocalized. She’d seen people running with legs like that on vids, and she was pretty sure they were meant to be faster than even some vehicles.

“Yes, Juliet. That model, in particular, is often purchased by city couriers; they allow for speedy transit while avoiding the need to obey traffic laws. However, Phoenix has a city ordinance outlawing speeds greater than twenty miles per hour for pedestrians.”

“Huh,” Juliet said and watched as Addie hopped side to side, covering a large section of the mat, and causing the blue man to stumble off balance with her quick reversal. She sprang around him and leaped on his back, trying to wrap her arms around his neck. The blue man fought her, grabbing at her much smaller arms and trying to throw her off. This went on for a while, and Juliet glanced at the clock, noting it had ticked down to fifty seconds.

No one had told Juliet to be quiet, so she stepped closer to the mat and called, “C’mon, Addie! Fight like you mean it! Get that arm around his throat!” The tough-looking Grave employee looked at Juliet, and though she didn’t look happy, she didn’t look angry, either, and she didn’t tell Juliet to be quiet. “Get pissed, Addie! Dig those legs in; pull him back!”

Juliet cheered as she would during a spar at the dojo, and it seemed to help—Addie growled and grunted, lifting her powerful cybernetic legs and driving them into the blue man’s sides. When he flinched and reached down to shove one of them away, she closed his neck in her arms, squeezing it in a bear hug—not the most effective choke Juliet had ever seen, but it seemed to do the trick. Addie pulled back, and the two fell to the mat with an “Oof!”

Addie held on, straining to squeeze the blue man’s neck, screaming in her high-pitched voice, and finally, the blue man slapped his hand a few times on the mat. Juliet whooped and looked at the cock—seven seconds remained. When Addie let go, the blue man hopped up, and Juliet knew he’d given it to her; clearly, they weren’t expecting people to really knock the guy out—just make a good enough showing to pass their criteria.

“Congratulations, candidate Hunter. Please make your way to the seventh floor and the Yucca conference room.”

Addie’s face was flushed pink with her exertion, and when she looked Juliet’s way, she was beaming. “Thanks, Lydia!” she said, her voice cracking with emotion, then she hurried off the mat. Juliet flashed her a thumbs up and stepped forward.

“Name?”

“Lydia Roman,” Juliet said.

“You have ninety seconds to take the blue man down and force him to submit. Do you have any questions?”

“None,” Juliet said, stepping out of her polished leather shoes.

“You don’t have . . .” the woman started to say but stopped as Juliet stepped onto the mat and gave a short bow to the blue man.

“Angel,” Juliet subvocalized, “turn my new arm augment on.”

“We spoke about this, Juliet; I’m worried about the tissue in your shoulder . . .”

“Fifty percent, then.” Juliet stepped forward, and, this close, she had a good look at the man’s armor; it was more than just the bulky blue pads—he had a cushioned, synthetic layer of material that covered every inch of him. A thin visor obscured even his eyes. He bent slightly at the knees and waist and spread his arms. “Angel? Is this guy a synth?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Okay,” Juliet breathed, circling him slowly. She feinted toward him a couple of times to gauge his reaction, well aware that she was being timed. He made minimal adjustments when she reached toward him, just pulled back a little. Juliet decided to just go for it, and she reached out, snatched the blue man’s wrist with her left hand, jerked him toward her, and stepped into his momentum, putting her right leg behind his left ankle and driving her right arm across his chest.

She kept driving, pushing him back and to the ground, and Juliet couldn’t help the surprised “Whoo!” that escaped her as she felt the new power in her arm. He collapsed onto his back with a thunderous smack, and Juliet kept hold of his arm, rotating on her butt to lock her legs around it, putting herself perpendicular to him and completing a perfect arm bar. She applied a tiny amount of force by lifting her hips, and the blue man frantically slapped the mat.

Juliet let go and hopped to her feet, reaching out a hand to help him up. However, the blue man ignored her, springing to his feet and moving to his corner without a word. “Congratulations,” the woman at the table said. “Candidate Roman, please make your way to the seventh floor and the Diamondback conference room.”

“Thank you,” Juliet said, turning to walk off the mat. She paused to slip her shoes on, and the woman said, “I’m Cherise Garza, candidate. I’ll keep an eye on you if you pass the screening. I like a team player.”

Juliet finished stuffing her left foot into her shoe and then quickly looked at the table where the woman—Cherise—sat. “Nice to meet you.” Juliet’s cheeks flushed with the praise, and she smiled, then quickly turned and walked toward the door, careful not to make eye contact with anyone else lest they see how excited she was. “Looks like I’m doing all right, Angel,” she subvocalized.

“Indeed. I wonder why you’re going to a different room than Adelaide. You both completed the evaluation.”

“I think it might have something to do with technique.” Juliet grinned and gently massaged her right shoulder; she hadn’t felt any pain during her takedown, but it ached slightly now. “Did I damage anything?”

“You strained the inflamed muscle fibers in your shoulder, Juliet; they’ll be fine.”

“Did you see how easily I flipped that big guy over?”

“Of course . . .”

“Angel, you know what I mean!”

“Yes, Juliet, though your near-perfect form would have allowed for similar results without your arm’s enhanced strength.” Despite Angel’s lack of enthusiasm, Juliet’s smile wouldn’t fade as she walked toward the elevators.

“I can’t wait until this arm is healed up, and I can try it at a hundred percent.”

After Juliet made her way to the seventh floor and followed the signs to the Diamondback room, she paused, looked around, and then walked past the closed door to the women’s restroom. Once inside and sure that she was alone, Juliet shook her hands out and ran in place for a few seconds, trying to get her blood flowing.

Her head was still slightly aching, so she leaned over one of the sinks, ready to splash some water on her face, but then she remembered her makeup and also noted that the sink was sani-spray only, and she groaned. She leaned there for a few minutes, breathing deeply through her nose and then out through her mouth, and when she heard the door open and close, she didn’t look up, waiting for whoever it was to go into one of the stalls.

Footsteps approached the sink to her left, though, not the toilets, and she forced herself to look. It was a Grave employee in a white coat. She glanced at Juliet and nodded, her feathered dark-brown hair obscuring one of her eyes, the other crinkled in a smile, a perfect, green orb without any sclera, iris, or pupil.

“Stress getting to you? Goodness, I remember my first corpo hiring fair. What a day! Hours and hours of tests. That was for a lab position, though. They’re hiring all sorts of people today.”

“I was sitting in a jammer field too long, I think. Headache.” Juliet smiled ruefully and stood up, taking another deep breath.

“Oh, that’s no fun! I’d give you something for it, but if you’re on this floor, they’re about to take blood samples. That’s a good sign, though, sweetie,” the woman said, brushing her hair back to reveal her other green marble of an eye. She was probably middle-aged, but her motherly tone seemed very natural; Juliet figured she must have kids.

“Thanks. I’ll be fine.” Juliet forced another smile and then turned toward the door. She suddenly felt a funny kind of nervous energy from the woman, and, in the periphery of her vision, she thought she saw her reach out toward her arm. Juliet, her neck shivering with goosebumps, stepped quickly to the door and out. She took several steps, glancing over her shoulder to be sure the woman hadn’t followed, and when she was well into the hallway, she paused to lean against the wall.

“Angel,” she subvocalized, “play back what I just experienced with that woman. Did she touch me?”

A window appeared in her AUI, and Juliet saw her own perspective as she walked out of the bathroom. There was a definite blur of motion from the woman’s arm as she walked away, but it was too distant to have touched her. “I believe she tried, Juliet. Your sudden departure seems to have caught her off guard.”

“What the fuck?” Juliet breathed, quickly walking down the hallway toward the Diamondback conference room.

“Perhaps she was trying to comfort you?”

“That wasn’t the feeling I got.” Juliet caught herself speaking aloud and started subvocalizing again, “Maybe it was a test. Maybe it was a plant, someone here to sabotage candidates, so their friend or a family member has a better chance. She might have been trying to dose me with something . . . maybe I’m just paranoid,” Juliet finished, thinking the whole thing seemed crazy. She stepped into the conference room and tried to calm her breathing.

She was surprised to find the room segmented into smaller spaces by modular paneling, and a big sign at the entrance read, “Welcome, Grave Industries Candidates - Biological Screening. Please sign in at the kiosk and wait to be called.” Juliet saw the indicated kiosk and walked toward it. She’d only take a couple of steps when Angel said, “I’ve signed you in, Juliet.”

“Right.” Juliet altered her course to sit in one of the chairs that lined the entry area. No other candidates were waiting.

She had just sat down and leaned back into the seat when a chime sounded from some hidden speaker, and a pleasant, feminine voice said, “Lydia Roman, please report to booth seven.” Juliet stood and started down the walkway between the paneled cubicles, noting that each had an opening obscured by a curtain, and all were numbered.

When she reached number seven, Juliet paused outside the closed curtain and cleared her throat. A pale, white plastic hand pulled the curtain back, and a fully synthetic person stood before her. The synth wasn’t attempting to pass for a human; its gender-neutral, plastic body was a uniform white, and its eyes sparkled at her—blue LEDs arranged in small circles. “Hello, please come within, and I’ll take your biological samples.”

“Oh, um, hello,” Juliet said, stepping into the cubicle. A phlebotomist chair sat against one wall, and a cabinet took up much of the rest of the space. It contained a small refrigerator and several racks of sample tubes.

“Please be seated and have your PAI confirm your identification with me.” The synth moved fluidly, but it still seemed strange to Juliet, like its needs for balance and to control momentum were different than those of a human. It seemed to move in little bursts, and when Juliet sat down, it approached her rapidly and said, “Thank you, Lydia. I will start by drawing several vials of blood so that Grave Industries can verify your health status. Do you have a preference about which arm I should take the samples from?”

Juliet rested her right arm on the elongated, wide armrest. “My right arm, please. Nurses always complain about the veins in the left one. Should I roll up my sleeve?”