Cyber Dreams 2.28 - A Friend in Need (Patreon)

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-Plum

“So, you want me to try to get you to see what I’m looking at on this?” Juliet asked, glancing at the card she’d drawn from the deck, a sheep with fluffy black wool.

“That’s right,” Doctor Vance said. Juliet had been more than disappointed to see the man walk through her door—she’d had an almost visceral reaction to his appearance, a sense of nausea that reminded her very clearly of just how much he’d wronged her. She thought about that, about her conclusion that he’d wronged her. She knew she was right; even if whatever they did to her turned out to be a huge benefit to her in the long run, they didn’t have the right to force such a thing on her.

She’d already determined that she wouldn’t try to succeed on this test. “Alright,” she said, “Say when.”

“Begin,” Vance said, and he spoke loudly, projecting his voice to the camera array and tapping at his data pad.

“Angel,” Juliet subvocalized, “block out this card from my vision.” Angel complied, creating a square of blackness in her AUI that entirely obscured the card she was holding. Juliet stared at the black square and tried to concentrate, thinking about Vance—she wasn’t going to do his little test, but she wouldn’t mind seeing what the jerk was thinking.

Several seconds ticked by, and he cleared his throat and fidgeted but remained silent. He opened his mouth as though to speak, then closed it again, and then she heard him, clear as day: I’m never going to get my funding renewed. Charlotte’s going to leave me.

“Hmm,” he said aloud, “is it a barn?”

Juliet set the black sheep card on the table and said, “Sorry . . .” She almost did feel sorry for him—he looked so discouraged, especially after hearing his demoralized thought. Almost—all she had to do was remember how he and Violet had bound and drugged her and then drilled into her skull with experimental nanites to find her earlier lack of sympathy.

“No, no. You’re doing your best, I’m sure. Let’s keep going.”

“Okay,” Juliet pulled another card, a red car, and again stared at the black void Angel covered it with while she tried to hear Vance’s thoughts. God, nothing? At least Masingil made Violet’s head tingle.

“A red . . . crayon?” He enthusiastically nodded when Juliet put the card on the table. “Looks like I might have gotten an impression of the color, at least!”

“Yay!” Juliet smiled, but anyone who knew her would have seen the wickedness in her eyes; she felt like a cat toying with a mouse. She drew another card—a green car this time—and said, “Do you have a family, Doctor?”

“Please concentrate on the card, Lydia. Try to will me to see what you’re seeing!”

“Right, sorry,” Juliet said, staring at nothing and “listening.” Concentrate, you daft girl! How can you be so bad at this? Your lattice is three times as extensive as the next closest candidate!

Another voice came to her almost at the same time: When I get off, I’m going to load up a session with Faye the Fox, and I don’t care if Leonard sees it on our charge summary! A tingling pressure behind her eyes accompanied the second voice, and Juliet snapped her eyes open, purposefully immersing herself in the visual stimuli of the room, trying to “turn off” her reception of stray thoughts. The tingling faded, and she exhaled slowly, relieved.

“Your lattice spiked with activity for a moment, Juliet, and your temperature began to rise. It seems to have passed.” Angel’s voice was clinical, but Juliet could imagine some strain and worry behind the words.

Vance’s face was contorted with concentration, and a corner of Juliet’s mouth quirked up as she waited. Finally, he said, “I just received a message from my lab tech; I’m supposed to be noting my guesses on the tablet, not saying them aloud. Apparently, I can negatively impact your concentration if you see whether I’m getting them right or wrong.” He paused, rubbed at his chin, and then continued, “I’m not the one who normally administers these tests, but I’m running a bit short-staffed today. My apologies.”

“Oh. It’s all right, Dr. Vance.”

“In any case, I’ve blown this test. We’ll do a repeat in a day or two. Let’s pack it in for now. Please see yourself out through reception; we’ll message you when we’re ready for more assessments.”

“Do I need to report to any other department, or . . .”

“No, you’ve got the afternoon free as far as I’m concerned. Remain in the building, though; the watchdog still has you on closed perimeter duty until your direct commander meets with you and reassesses.” He didn’t wait for Juliet to reply or even to stand. She’d opened her mouth to ask a follow-up question, but he quickly walked toward the door, and she closed it, scooting her chair back instead.

By the time Juliet stood up, Vance was gone, and she had the distinct impression he’d cut the test short because he had fires to put out elsewhere. “I wish I could pick up thoughts faster; I would have liked to know what he was thinking when he stormed out of here,” she subvocalized as she opened the door and started on her way out.

“My daemon would have deleted the surveillance data a few minutes ago. Perhaps the gap was noticed, and he was alerted.” Juliet smiled, imagining the panic taking place in Vance’s mind.

“I hope that was it,” she subvocalized, no small part of her wanting to be responsible for Vance’s bad mood. She’d barely reached the elevator and was on her way up when her watchdog began to blink. “Ugh!” she groaned. “They can’t give me a break!” Her words reminded her of what she’d heard while trying to sleep—the man’s voice who’d been upset that something was “blinking again,” and suddenly she knew what he’d been thinking about. While the elevator surged upward, she selected the app and read the message:

Lydia Roman: Report to Commander Garza’s office #7690 ASAP.

Juliet wondered at the concise message and its lack of a signature. “Am I in trouble?” she subvocalized.

“I don’t know. I don’t see how they could suspect you of anything; we’ve deleted all evidence of your intrusion on sublevel twenty.”

“Huh,” Juliet said, and reached for the elevator controls, only to see that her destination had already been changed; she was fast approaching floor seventy-six. “Of course, they’d know I was in the elevator . . .” she said as the chime sounded and the doors opened. She peered into the elevator lobby, saw a few suits walking into another open elevator, and stepped out. Nothing happened; nobody assaulted her, no alarms went off, and, more importantly—to Juliet—she didn’t feel anything amiss.

“Angel, do you think I have good gut instincts? I feel like I’ve had a lot of false alarms, like when I almost walked out of Doc Murphy’s clinic . . .”

“I don’t know, Juliet; that sort of thing is beyond my scope of understanding, and I’m not sure you always tell me when you have a ‘gut feeling,’ as you often put it. If you can be sure to report such feelings to me, I can start to gather empirical data on your ‘gut’s’ accuracy.”

Juliet laughed and shook her head as she walked to the left, following the numbers toward the correct office. Several suits passed her in the hallways, but none of them gave her the time of day or even a second glance, serving to put her even more at ease by the time she came to the closed, faux-wood door with the nameplate reading, “Commander Cherise Garza - Training Coordinator.”

She stood in front of the door for a minute, hesitating. “What if this is the next shoe to drop? What if they arrest me in there?”

“Why not try to use your GIPEL?” Angel asked.

Juliet nodded, scrunching her eyes closed, but before she started to concentrate, she subvocalized, “Please don’t call it that. It sounds stupid.”

“What should I . . .”

“Do some brainstorming. For now, let me concentrate.” Juliet tried to blank her mind, concentrating on how she remembered Cherize Garza—her brightly colored slacks and blouse, her bulky shoulders and short black hair, the tweak in the bridge of her nose and darkly tanned skin . . .

The door opened, and Juliet popped her eyes open to see the woman she’d been trying to picture staring at her. “Are you going to stand out there all day, Roman?”

“Sorry! I have a headache and was trying to calm my nerves before coming in.”

“Another headache? I was just reading a report about the one you suffered yesterday.”

“Um, yeah, er, yes, ma’am. It started to come on a few minutes ago. I think I need to eat more.”

“Yes, I also read the report from this morning. You didn’t touch your lunch box?”

“Oh. Is that why I’m here? I didn’t realize I had to eat those . . .”

“No, that’s not why you’re here. Come in, and take a seat.” Cherise backed out of the doorway and walked back to her desk. Juliet followed, looking around, admiring the dozens of ancient paperback books with frayed bindings, colorful images, and fancy lettering that the commander had on display behind plastiglass shells. Were those fantasy novels? No, one of them depicted a woman in a spacesuit holding a massive rifle . . .

“Sit down, Roman.” Juliet jumped at the words, jerking her head away from the display cases and moving quickly to sit in one of the two faux-leather seats in front of Cherise’s desk. “Okay,” she paused, rubbed at the back of her neck, glanced over to the antique books, and said, “Sorry, let’s get through this. At our next meeting, I’ll schedule some time to tell you about my favorites; I love seeing others interested in quality fiction.”

“Oh, thank you, Commander.”

Cherise nodded, then said, “Seems GARD wants to keep you under their umbrella for a while, but they’re going to loosen their strings enough for me to put you through some more training. We’ve had to scrap our plans to create a new Zeta unit. We just don’t have the bodies right now—had a casualty on an operation a few nights ago, and two of your fellow recruits washed out.”

“Which . . .”

“Lopez and Foster.”

“Really? They seemed to be scoring the highest on all the practicals during our first week; Gordon loved those guys.”

“Commander Gordon.” Cherize frowned, her eyes going distant for a moment, then she continued, “Well, one of them lied on their application—fabricated some conflict records and . . . what am I doing? Roman, suffice to say that we’re down some personnel, and I’ll be placing you and your remaining comrades into active Zeta units after I’m satisfied with your training.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So, I’ve got you in here for a couple of reasons; I want to give you your next assignment, effective tomorrow at 0600, and I also wanted to hear from you. We haven’t spoken since week one, but I’ve been keeping close tabs. Tell me how you’re doing. Did those squints mess you up too much? Be careful, though—don’t forget your NDA.” She tapped her temple in the universal Grave signal meant to remind each other about the watchdog. Still, it was strange seeing it coming from her commander.

Juliet nodded and then said, “I’m doing well, ma’am. Week one was very stressful, but week two was actually a lot of fun—I like Charlie Unit a lot. This week has been . . . strange.” She shrugged as if to say she couldn’t go into it in detail.

“Right . . .” Cherize nodded as she said the word, dragging it out for the space of several heartbeats. “I’ve read good things in your reports, Roman. You’ve been hitting the PT hard, even when you’re not on direct orders. You’ve been to the range, and you handled yourself like a pro on that bug hunt Charlie was sent on.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Juliet didn’t have to fake her smile and couldn’t have faked the happy flush that lit up her face.

“No, thank you, recruit; when I have new hires perform the way you have been, it makes me look good. All of this brings me to your next assignment; I’m putting you back with Charlie Unit, and they have a priority one counterespionage raid tomorrow morning. Do you think you’re up for it?”

“I . . . yes, ma’am!” Juliet leaned forward excitedly.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Garza grinned, and the tendons on her neck jutted out, reminding Juliet that she might have broad shoulders, but she didn’t have an ounce of body fat. “Okay, now, back to your headaches, lack of sustenance, and general high stress—I’m ordering you to help out one of your co-recruits who’s been suffering similarly. You’re friendly with Granado, yes?”

“Delma? Yes! We get along great.”

“Good. Go pick her up from the wargame hub; I’m sending a note to Gordon to release her early. She’ll be joining you in Charlie Unit for the rest of the week. You two are ordered to get into civilian attire and enjoy a good dinner tonight. I want you both lights-out by 2030 hours, though. Lydia, try to get her to talk to you, hmm? We’re a little worried about her.”

“Anything, in particular, I should try to fish out of her?”

“No. Just be a friend, but keep this in mind.” Again, Garza tapped her temple.

“Um, okay,” Juliet straightened up and amended, “Yes, ma’am!”

“Alright, get out of here, and we’ll debrief after your operation tomorrow. I hope you and Delma do me proud.”

“Will do,” Juliet said, a smile still stretching her cheeks as she hurried out of the office. While she made her way to the elevator, she subvocalized, “If all suits were as cool as commander Garza, I’d have a much harder time with this job. I hope she’s not burned by anything I end up doing.”

“There will likely be some fallout for her; she hired you, after all.” Angel’s matter-of-fact reply threw ice water on Juliet’s brimming good mood, and her smile fell away as the blood drained from her face. She’d had some real wins that day, and now that Angel had some data on GARD and their program, she had a good idea where she might go with regard to dealing with them, but she sure wished there was a way for her to keep people like Garza out of the crosshairs.

The elevator dinged on B7, where Grave’s wargame VR studios were located, and Juliet stepped out. When she moved to the main hallway and saw the directory of different pods, she wondered how she was supposed to know where Delma was. “Oh,” she laughed, smacking herself on the forehead. “Kent, are you there?”

“Yes, Ms. Roman?” the familiar voice asked from a nearby speaker.

“I’m supposed to retrieve Delma Granado from this floor. What studio is she in?”

“You’ll find her in studio seven, pod C.”

“Thank you, Kent.”

“You’re quite welcome, Ms. Roman.” Juliet started walking, following the signs through the twisting concrete hallways. This level differed from some of the other “B” levels in that the walls were rounded, and the corners were curved rather than right angles. She wasn’t sure why, other than for some aesthetic of a long-forgotten engineer, but it was a nice change of pace every time she came down here.

The “wargame” pods were simply well-appointed VR chambers where Zeta protocol teams and Grave corpo-sec personnel were put through scenarios to test and practice various combat-oriented skills. Juliet had spent the most time in one of the pods running through room and building clearing drills. They were pretty cool, she had to admit, and she wouldn’t have minded one of her own someday to practice in or even just to relax, playing games.

Each pod had omni-tracking, moving floors, image-fabric walls that interfaced with a person’s PAI and retinal implants, and, of course, environmental conditioning—sounds, temperature, odor, and even weather, including wind, rain, and light snow simulation. Juliet hadn’t had any trouble immersing herself in the simulations; one time, when she’d been clearing a simulated tenement, she’d almost lost her lunch at some of the smells the pod had thrown at her.

“This is the one,” Angel said when Juliet almost walked by the door labeled “Simulation Studio Seven.” She pulled it open and walked down the short hallway to a round hub with three different closed doors—pods A, B, and C. Juliet walked over to pod C and tried the handle; it was locked, so she knocked on it. She waited a few seconds and then knocked again. “Kent,” she said, hopefully.

“Yes?”

“Is Delma still in this pod?”

“Yes—one moment while I interrupt her simulation.” The door clicked and opened a few seconds later, releasing hot, smoky air. Juliet stepped back, and a short, dark-haired woman stepped out. She thought it must be Delma but couldn’t be sure; she was wearing a full-face, darkly tinted respirator.

“Delma?”

The woman reached up, loosed the strap on her mask, and, with a grunt, lifted it over her head. “Hey, Lydia. What’s up?”

“Didn’t your watchdog alert you? I’m bailing you out of here.”

“Seriously?” Delma’s smile was huge. “I was pulling people out of a fire in there!” She jerked her thumb back to the pod and laughed. “I didn’t have time to notice this stupid, blinking app.”

“Easy,” Juliet said, tapping her temple.

“Yeah,” Delma sighed, shaking her head.

Juliet had a strange, almost queasy feeling in her gut, and she leaned forward for a second, taking a deep breath, wondering if she really was getting sick. Delma opened her mouth, presumably to ask her what was wrong, and then the door clicked open behind her. Juliet straightened up and turned to see Commander Gordon striding into the studio.

“What the hell is going on here, Granado? Did you come in here and interrupt my trainee’s sim, Roman?”

Juliet edged sideways, for some reason feeling like she should put herself between Gordon and Delma, and then she opened her mouth to reply, but the commander kept speaking, “I’m just messing with you, ladies.” He reached up to stroke his impeccably shaved chin and added, “Your operating commander just notified me that you’d be heading out on a special training assignment. She was light on the details, though; anything you can tell me?”

Juliet tapped her temple and said, “Sorry, Commander.”

“Mmhmm, mmhmm. Well, I’m sure you’ll be back in Alpha Unit for more training before they place you. You know, I’ve put in requests for both of you to join my unit. Here’s hoping the suits upstairs agree with me.” He winked, then, and offered a friendly smile as he stepped to the side, gesturing expansively toward the door as if to say, “After you.”

Juliet nodded to the commander and hurried past him to the door, opening and holding it while Delma walked through. She gave Gordon one last glance, saw he was still smiling, watching them go, and said, “Thanks, Commander.” He just nodded, and she stepped through, closing the door behind her. “C’mon,” she said to Delma, hurrying down the corridor. “I don’t care who’s listening; he gives me the creeps.”

“He’s . . . hard on us.” Delma nodded, almost breaking into a jog to keep pace with Juliet’s long-legged stride. When they arrived at the elevator bank, Juliet finally started to relax and willed herself to slow down, punching the call button.

“Did you read your watchdog yet?”

“Yes, Commander Garza said you would brief me on my new placement over dinner. So, like, we’re done with work for the day?”

“That’s right, D.” Juliet grinned at the smaller woman as they stepped into the elevator. “Let’s go get changed into some civvies, and then I’ll meet you in the lobby. Sound good?”

Delma agreed, and the two went their separate ways when the elevator stopped; they both had apartments on the same floor. As Juliet walked, Angel spoke up for the first time since she’d gone to retrieve Delma, “Do you think this would be a good time to extricate yourself from Grave?”

“Why now?”

“They’ve relaxed your watchdog restrictions and . . .”

“How does that matter? We can circumvent the watchdog anytime we want.” Juliet heard herself—her words and her tone—and she realized she was taking out her stress on Angel.

“That’s true, but . . .”

“I’m sorry I snapped, Angel. I know you’re just thinking aloud and that you wanted to put the idea out there. I know you just want me to be safe, but I think right now isn’t the best time. They’ve got eyes on us; I promise you, this dinner outing is some sort of test. We have permission to go, but you can bet people will be watching, Dr. Vance or some other GARD employee—Garza, at the very least. If I’m going to bolt, I should do it when people don’t expect it.”

“Your logic is sound.” Angel’s voice held a hint of satisfaction, and Juliet grinned as she stepped into her apartment.

“You’re proud of me.”

“I . . . of course I am, Juliet!” The PAI’s emphatic admission brought a palpable wave of emotion to Juliet, and she felt her throat getting tight and her eyes begin to water. She held a hand to her chest, marveling at how strange it was to feel something so profound from the words of an artificial intelligence. She knew it was more than that, though; she’d been so stressed and so worried over the last couple of days that her body and mind were seeking release, and some kind words from a trusted voice had hit her just right. Not only that, she admitted, she’d long ago stopped thinking of Angel as just an AI—she was a person.

“Thank you, Angel,” she sniffed, hurrying to her wardrobe to select an outfit. Thinking of clothes made her think of dinner, which brought Delma to mind, making her wonder what the other woman must be going through—double doses of Commander Gordon’s training and nobody like Angel in her head to help her through it. Worse, she knew the watchdog was always there, listening and observing her every move. Juliet couldn’t imagine it, and she wasn’t surprised that Delma needed a friend.