Cyber Dreams 2.17 - Training Blues (Patreon)

Hi, everyone. Enjoy today's chapter :) I love getting feedback and suggestions, by the way. If I don't respond to each of you, it's not because I didn't read what you wrote or because I disagree.

Cheers,

Plum

“It’s just very frustrating, and I’m not sure what you’re expecting me to find out. So far, I’ve spent all my time doing PT, studying tactics, and getting screamed at during the practicals. I sure as hell am not seeing any new and exciting tech . . . other than this damn watchdog.” Juliet gently tapped her forehead against the bathroom wall, listening to the sound of the running faucet as Rachel replied.

“You’re doing well, January. This is what it’s like to be undercover for a long-term op; you’ve got to play the game and go with the flow until an opportunity arises. So far, you’ve done well enough that you haven’t been booted, and tomorrow you’re due a new assignment, right? Every week?”

“Yeah, every week. I hope it’s something new. I hope it’s with a different commander. Gordon is an absolute asshole.”

“And your team?”

“Most are all right, but Arnie rubs me the wrong way, and I think I got off on the wrong foot with Addie. It’s weird because I thought she’d be, like, my buddy in here.”

“I ask because you’ve got to keep your guard up all the time; don’t get too familiar with any of your teammates. If one of them were to suspect you, it wouldn’t be surprising to anyone in corpo culture for them to betray you in order to earn some credit with your supervisor.”

“Yeah, I know. Lydia doesn’t like to celebrate, doesn’t like to go out, works hard to correct her mistakes, and doesn’t often vent her frustrations. It’s hard as hell, by the way.” Juliet paused, took a deep breath, and adjusted her hair, collecting a loose strand and pulling it back into her bun. Rachel didn’t say anything, but her eyes narrowed in concern, and Juliet could see she was trying to think of the right words. “I’m at a coffee shop with Delma right now; I should go before she wonders if I’m sick in here.”

“Right—thanks for touching base. Encrypted text is fine, but now and then, if you can reach out like this, it would make us all feel a lot better.”

“Yep, I don’t want to make a voice call inside the Grave Tower, though. They have cameras all over the place, and I’m sure my room AI is spying. Okay, talk to you in a few days. Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Okay, January . . .” her words were cut off as Juliet cut the connection and turned the sink off. She unlocked the bathroom door and stepped out, glad to see there wasn’t a line of people waiting to use it. Delma was sitting by the window, sipping at her soy latte. Her eyes were distant, and Juliet was pretty sure she was watching something on her AUI.

“Hey, sorry—stomach’s been bothering me.” Juliet sat down and picked up her coffee, lifting it to her nose, savoring the aroma as much as she would the taste.

“No worries. I was watching the “game footage” of our building clear yesterday. God, Gordon’s a hardass!”

“Careful,” Juliet said, tapping her forefinger to her temple, the team’s signal to remind each other about the watchdog.

“Nah, I think Gordon would take that as a compliment.” Delma smiled and took another sip of her drink, licking the foam off her top lip with a grin. She’d shown herself to be resilient and tough, far more than Juliet would have guessed from such a small woman. Juliet had also grown to appreciate her biting sense of humor over the last week. Juliet liked her.

“Probably true,” Juliet said, the agreement already pushing things further than she wanted—Gordon did not seem to like her, and she didn’t want to give him any ammunition. “You nervous about tomorrow? Think we’ll get more of the same or something new?”

“Oh, I think something new. We’ll probably get our assignments sent out tonight, by the way, just like Cherise sent out the first ones last Monday. Remember?”

“Oh, I remember, but in my mind, it’s more like a year ago than a week. I have a feeling I’m going to get more PT, though. I’m still lagging behind everyone.”

“That’s not what they look at, though. Jensen told you this! All the graphs measure improvement, and your percentage is higher than anyone else's. Shit, Arnie was bitching about you doing it on purpose—starting all weak so you could post bigger gains.”

“He’s such an ass. Does he think I like getting screamed at constantly?” Juliet was venting, and she knew it was risky to do, giving Delma some ammunition should she decide to work against her, but that road went both ways, and Delma had vented plenty over the last few days. Her words were true, though; Juliet had made big gains.

Some were natural—she really was building muscle and endurance—but some were due to her deciding to use her augmented arm, allowing it to kick in when she was near failure, using it almost like a spotter to allow her to push past failure and get the reps in she needed to avoid punitive actions from Gordon. The man watched their watchdog readouts during PT like a hawk and had words for each of them every morning before sending them off on their assignments.

“He’s a strong flavor to stomach, that’s for sure,” Delma agreed. “Anyway, if we get different assignments next week, I’m going to miss these coffee dates. I definitely don’t want to go to happy hour like those knuckleheads.” She was referring to Arnie, Raul, and Addie, though Addie didn’t join the boys every time they went out. Jensen, well, Jensen kept to himself—rumor had it that he went to his room to read after they were dismissed each afternoon.

“Can you imagine going to PT with a hangover? I swear, I could smell something coming out of Raul’s pores this morning!”

“Maybe he has an augmented liver,” Delma snorted.

“Heh. Well, you made a good point earlier, though, and I need to keep it in mind—some of those guys have been serving in one corpo-sec unit after another for ten or more years.”

“Some of those ‘guys?’” Delma grinned and took another sip, “Don’t forget about me! I worked for Atlas for almost fifteen years.”

“Right.” Juliet shook her head. She’d known that; Delma had let it slip a few days ago, but she’d been so overwhelmed with new things and just trying to keep up her false front that it had slipped her mind. It was no wonder Delma wasn’t struggling with the basics they’d been going over all week, including the PT. “I keep forgetting. You don’t look like corpo-sec.”

“I don’t, huh? Well, I worked in loss prevention and internal investigations. Wore a suit most of the time, not a combat harness.”

“Why’d you leave Atlas? Did you already tell me that? Sheesh, I’m sorry if so!”

“Nah, I don’t think I did, and I don’t mind talking about it; I got grilled on this during the panel interview, so I know Grave has all the details. The main reason is that I felt like I’d hit a ceiling; my upward mobility was stalled out. Atlas only has so many supervisory positions for corpo-sec in the Phoenix area, and they kept hiring outside the company, like, four . . . no, five times I was up for promotion, and they hired someone from the outside for a ‘fresh perspective,’ or some other bullshit.”

“Oh? That’s . . . bullshit.” Juliet laughed as she repeated Delma’s perfectly descriptive word. “Did someone have something against you?” Juliet frowned, setting her paper cup on the table, watching as a series of low sedans whirred past outside, sending up sprays of misty water; it had rained a bit earlier.

“Nah,” Delma replied, conspicuously tapping her temple with her forefinger. “Just bad luck, I’m sure. Still, I heard Grave promotes almost exclusively from within, and the starting pay for this position isn’t bad. I wanted to see what I’d been missing, sticking with that big multinational for so long.”

“Right,” Juliet winked. “Makes sense. Well, whaddya say? Shall we head back to the tower? There’s no way I’m not getting a good sleep tonight.”

“Yeah, I’m beat. Meet you outside? I wanna buy one of those lemon bars we saw . . .”

“Oh gosh! Buy me one too? I’ll get you back.” Juliet grabbed their empty cups and went to the waste bin while Delma got in line. Then, she stepped outside; the hum of h-cells was heavy in the air, and the scent of rain was thick in her nose. She leaned against the side of the building and watched people while she waited.

“I’m glad Delma seems to be compatible with your personality, Juliet. For the record, I think you’re doing a good job with your teammates, maintaining professional distance while still attempting to be friendly. I also think you’ve been too hard on yourself. It’s true your PT scores were low to start, but Delma wasn’t lying about your improvement, and you’ve done as well or better than your teammates on tactics practicals.”

“Thanks,” Juliet said, smiling at the sound of Angel’s voice in her head. She’d have a much harder time with this assignment if she didn’t have the PAI to vent to every night. She flexed her shoulders back, wincing at the soreness in her lats and deltoids. She was sore everywhere, but those groups seemed the hardest hit. “Pull-ups,” she grunted softly.

She zoned out for a few minutes, enjoying the fresh air, and then the door chimed, and she turned to see Delma walking out. She handed Juliet a little paper sack and said, “I got you two.”

“Are you trying to sabotage me? Want me to be too fat for a sit-up?” Juliet laughed, taking the sack, “You know I won’t be able to leave one uneaten.”

“Don’t worry, I also got two. We’ll be fat together.”

Their return to the Grave Tower was uneventful; the coffee shop was only two blocks distant, and the sidewalks were well maintained and policed that close to downtown. It was just getting dark when Juliet said goodbye to Delma and made her way to the elevator, riding up to her apartment in silent contemplation.

Despite her laughter with Delma and the positive spin from Angel, she was starting to regret taking this job. She was only a week in, and she felt like quitting. She’d cried in the shower at least three times over the last week, and she didn’t like seeing herself like that. She didn’t like playing the role of a person who cared what an asshole, power-tripping corpo-suit thought of her. Juliet had wanted to tell Gordon to fuck off and walk out. Many times. “But that’s not how Lydia operates,” she breathed, walking quietly down the deserted corridor to her apartment.

“Remember to subvocalize when you’re speaking out of character,” Angel reminded her as she opened her apartment.

“Yeah,” Juliet sighed. She was being sloppy, and she was doing it on purpose. Half of her wanted to have her cover blown so she could bail, but the other half was pissed at herself. She’d worked hard, for weeks, to be where she was, and it would be dumb to throw it away so she could vent out loud to herself. She subvocalized, “I’m really dreading my assignment. What if I’m stuck with Gordon for another week? I’m sure I’ll have to keep doing PT and training, but I really hate him, Angel! I feel a knot in my stomach every time I’m heading down to B7.”

“You may regret wishing for a different assignment,” Angel said unhelpfully. “The devil you know . . .”

“Thanks. I really wanted to start imagining people worse than Gordon.” Juliet tossed her paper bag onto the counter and started stripping out of her uniform. They’d issued her three of them, but she carefully washed her clothes and sheets every morning, so she’d mostly been wearing the same two all week, just getting dressed out of the clothes washing machine before she started her new load.

After a quick shower, she crawled into bed with her lemon bars and had Angel start playing the videos of her practical assessments. She’d learned to clear buildings with a team, dispense suppressants on various types of fires, and administer first aid, including CPR. On top of all that, earlier that day, she’d been timed and taped, completing the maze for the fourth time—a kind of indoor obstacle course. “I hate watching these,” she grumbled.

“It’s helpful, though, don’t you think?” Angel pressed.

“Yeah. Of course. Look at how I’m climbing that wall! Oh my God, why am I putting my foot up there like that?”

“Juliet! Your watchdog icon!” Angel interrupted, pausing the video. Juliet saw the watchdog was blinking with a little red “1” hovering above it. She mentally selected the icon, and a message appeared:

Attention: Lydia Roman

Congratulations on completing your first full week of employment with Grave Industries, Inc. I’ve been closely monitoring your progress along with the progress of your teammates and have begun to rank you accordingly. I’ll continue my evaluation for the next three weeks before I select leaders among you. I’m impressed with your improvement so far, Lydia. Keep up the hard work!

Tomorrow at 0600, I’d like you to report to level B23. A representative from Zeta Unit Charlie will meet you at the elevators and bring you to your next assignment. You won’t be with your entire unit for this next week of training. Be sure to remember what I told you about following the orders of non-probationary Zeta operatives. I know you’re going to do your unit proud! Keep your chin up.

Sincerely,

Cherise Garza

Zeta Protocol Training Coordinator

Grave Industries, Inc.

“Thank you!” Juliet hissed between her teeth as she read the note. Then she subvocalized, “No more Gordon, at least for a week! He’s in charge of Alpha.”

“Yes. Congratulations, Juliet—it doesn’t seem that Mrs. Garza has taken any issue with your progress. Her letter sounds very upbeat. Do you think there is any subtext to her final imperative?”

“Imperative . . .” Juliet looked at the note again and subvocalized, “You mean about keeping my chin up?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe. Maybe she’s been checking the watchdog. Maybe she’s caught me bitching or, worse, crying. Angel, if you see me getting emotional, can you please make sure you’re blocking this damn thing?”

“I will, Juliet. I’ve been a bit lax while you were in the bathroom, but I’ll start taking precautions—I’ll create some randomized loop footage for your bathroom.”

“Thanks. Anyway, do you think I’ll be the only one from my unit with Charlie?”

“No way to tell; it seems unlikely, considering there are only four existing units, and your unit has six members.”

“Good point.” Juliet sighed, sank back into her pillow, and resumed watching her practical footage. She only made it through her third attempt at the maze when she felt her eyes begin to grow heavy. By the time she’d moved on to the building clearing, she was startled awake several times, realizing she’d missed entire sections of the vid. “Forget it. I’m going to sleep.”

Angel didn’t argue, but Kent said, “Good night, Ms. Roman.” Juliet almost jumped out of her sheets, but she just scowled and rolled to her side while the room AI dimmed the lights.

When Angel woke her at five the next morning, she saw a blinking tab that read, “Updated Data Sheet.” She groaned and selected it, humoring her AI friend:

“Really, Angel?” she subvocalized. “Do you have to show me this entire sheet to tell me I’m a little stronger and healthier than before?”

“Would you like me to break down your musculoskeletal ranking into individual muscle groups? I’m currently compiling an average, but you have stronger groups than others—it may help you to focus your exercise . . .”

“No!” Juliet groaned aloud, sitting up on the side of the bed. Angel was silent, and Juliet began to feel guilty, so she silently added, “Maybe someday. Right now, I’m just doing what I can, okay?”

“Understood.”

Juliet put her cup under the dispenser, punched the coffee with cream buttons, and then took a shower. When she’d dried off, she dressed in a clean uniform and threw the previous day’s clothes, towel and sheets into the washer. She sat at the little counter in the kitchen and drank her coffee, and ate a protein square, all the while wishing she’d saved one of her lemon bars for breakfast.

After she’d done her hair and brushed her teeth, it was 0540, and Juliet started toward the elevators. She’d just punched the down button when her watchdog icon lit up, and her vision became obscured by a vid call. A bald, middle-aged man with pale skin and razor-burned cheeks appeared in her vision, and he said, or, more precisely, barked, “Roman?”

Juliet knew better than to assume this man wasn’t her superior—the average corpo-drone wouldn’t be calling her through the watchdog. “Yes, sir?”

“Welcome to Zeta Unit Charlie—temporarily. Report to the roof, we caught a bug hunt. It’s your lucky day, rookie.” With that, the call cut out, and Juliet stood, open-mouthed, before the elevator as it dinged and opened.

“Bug hunt?” she asked the empty room, then stepped over to the call button and pushed the up arrow.

“From my initial research, it’s a term used to refer to hunting xenomorphs, infected civilians or test subjects, or misbehaving synthetics. It can also be used in reference to the investigation of myriad mysterious circumstances.”

“Uh,” Juliet said, then subvocalized, “Thanks, Angel, but I kinda wish you hadn’t said that.” The bell rang again, another elevator opened, and Juliet stepped into it. Before she pressed the highest button, she said, “Am I supposed to bring anything? Shouldn’t I get my gun?”

“No, Ms. Roman,” Kent’s voice said from the elevator speaker. “You will be equipped by your unit’s sergeant for today’s activities. Good luck on your second week of training.”