Cyber Dreams 2.29 - Into the Depths (Patreon)

Here's today's installment. Enjoy, and please share what you like/dislike :)

-Plum

“I would never have considered going out to eat at five PM before I got hired by Grave,” Delma said, looking around the restaurant. The place was called, simply, Mesquite, and Juliet’s nose told her why; the signature scent of the burning hardwood filled the air, though the “about us” section on the menu explained that they used “engineered briquets” and no trees were harmed in their ovens.

“Yeah, no doubt. Well, before I got hired, I really didn’t go out much—too busy scraping up the bits for rent, you know?” Juliet chuckled as she perused the menu. “On that note, do you figure we can expense this meal?”

“Oh, I can help you out if you . . .”

“No, Delma! I’m just messing around,” Juliet laughed. “I’m good. What do you think, though, can it really be good for us to eat food cooked with some kind of chemical odorant that makes their charcoal smell like mesquite?”

“I was wondering the same thing!” Delma laughed, reaching for her glass of wine; they’d ordered a bottle of cabernet when they sat down. “Want to just share one of their woodfired pizzas?”

“Sure!” Juliet nodded, closing the menu window on her AUI. “You decide on the toppings. My brain’s too tired. Don’t worry—I like almost everything.”

“You sure?” Delma peered into the space between them, clearly scrutinizing the menu more closely. “Even anchovies?”

Juliet shrugged, “I like ‘em. I like salty, savory, a little greasy . . . what’s not to love?”

“Um, the smell!”

“Hey, if you don’t like ‘em, just pick what you fancy. Seriously!” Juliet lifted her glass to her nose, breathing in the odors for a long moment before she sipped. She’d never been much of a wine drinker, but something about the way the dark wine smelled, mixed with the odors of the restaurant, and added to her mind deciding it could finally relax a little made it very appealing.

“Okay, I’ve got it—pesto sauce, garlic, green olives, and caramelized onions.”

Juliet raised an eyebrow and smirked, “Really putting my words to the test, aren’t you?”

“It’ll be good, trust me! Besides, I already sent the order in.” Delma grinned and waved a hand, closing the window on her AUI. She lifted her glass and said, “To new friends and not having to see Alpha Unit for at least a few days.”

“Cheers!” Juliet said, clinking her glass against Delma’s.

“So? Tell me what we’re getting into tomorrow!” Delma leaned forward, her deep brown eyes bright with excitement.

“This will be a short conversation,” Juliet said. “All I know is we’re going with Charlie Unit for the rest of the week, and tomorrow they have an early operation—counter espionage. I don’t know where, I don’t know who, and I don’t know what you and I will be expected to do.”

“Charlie Unit? You were with them for a week, right? What’s their commander like?” Juliet saw some of the excitement in Delma’s eyes dim, saw her mouth quirk downward for a moment, and she wondered what had just flashed through her mind. She thought about that for a second before she answered the question—if she really wanted to, she could try to see what Delma was thinking.

Something about snooping on a friend’s thoughts bothered her, but was Delma really a friend? She worked for Grave, and Juliet was here to steal information from Grave. Sooner or later, her sensibilities would come up against a hard choice. Right now wasn’t that time, though; she knew she could dig out more than Commander Garza expected by snooping around in Delma’s thoughts, but they’d know she’d done it—she was sure GARD and probably Garza were watching this whole outing through their watchdogs, and Juliet had told Angel not to mess with what her watchdog was seeing and hearing. Her record needed to match Delma’s.

“Honestly, I never met him in person; he seems fairly hands-off. The two unit sergeants pretty much run everything, and they’re both great. Sergeant Polk is tough and smart and really fair, and Sergeant White, well, he’s just a badass. He’s got a gauss rifle from the Cybergen war; I guess they don’t make ‘em like that anymore.”

Delma sat back smiling as Juliet spoke, and when she took a breath for air and sipped her drink, Delma said, “You sound like you could talk about them all day; I hope I have as much fun with their unit as you did.”

“Hah! It wasn’t all fun . . . but that’s a story for another dinner. Anyway, they’re great, Delma. You’ll like it a lot better than doing drills with Alpha Unit.” She tapped her temple, then said, “Commander Gordon . . . he’s tough.”

“Yeah.” Delma frowned again, but then she shook her head and continued, “It’s just a lot, you know? I know he means well; he’s trying to break us down and build us up, and all, like Jensen says, but, well, I just never get a break!” She echoed Juliet’s gesture, tapping her temple.

“You know what helps me sometimes? I know it’s dumb, but I stand in the shower—wasting my bits, of course—and just cry or cuss or punch the tiles; they’re remarkably resilient!” Juliet laughed, then said, “You gotta let your emotions out, or you’re gonna crack. When I don’t feel like standing in the shower, I hit the gym, and I hit it hard.”

“I was so close to quitting the other day . . .” She paused when Juliet made a face and furiously tapped her temple, but her frown deepened, and she kept speaking as though she was pushing through a barrier, “No, I don’t care who’s listening right now. I think the whole ‘push ‘em ‘til they break’ is bullshit. I almost broke, and what would Grave get from that? A bunch of wasted bits they spent training and recruiting me, that’s what. They need to have more than one damn speed, not just Gordon’s full-on drill sergeant routine.”

Juliet took a drink of her wine, eyes narrowing, worried about Delma’s outburst and worried about how she should respond. She was granted a short reprieve when a chrome-shelled synth delivered their pizza. The food looked and smelled delicious, and Juliet leaned forward to inhale its smoky odor as the synth asked, “Anything else I can bring you?”

“Crushed red peppers,” Juliet replied automatically.

The synth reached into its black apron and produced a few packets of pepper flakes, setting them on the table. “Anything else? More wine?”

“No thanks,” Delma replied. “We have an early morning.”

Juliet watched the synth walk away, and, perhaps because of the wine, she gave voice to the thought that had crossed her mind, “Why do you think some of them try to look human, and some are fine looking like machines?”

“I’ve always heard it has to do with what pseudo-AI chip they were manufactured with—some are . . . smarter than others, and some have more simulated emotions.” Delma shrugged.

Juliet frowned, watching the synth as it picked up another pizza to deliver to a different table, and then she shrugged and said, “Anyway, D. I know it sucks, and it’s hard, but we’re more than halfway through, and you’re doing great. Don’t give up, all right?”

“Well, it helps that you rescued me today.” Delma smiled again, her teeth slightly tinted red from the wine, and Juliet grinned in response.

“Actually, you can thank Commander Garza for that. I am but a messenger. If it makes you feel better, she was worried about me too; I’ve been having headaches, trouble sleeping, lack of appetite—the list goes on. I mean, I told you I cried in the shower . . .”

Delma laughed again and held up her glass, “To crying in the shower!”

The rest of their meal went by with less serious talk, and Juliet wondered if she’d truly gotten to the bottom of what was bothering Delma. Still, the other woman avoided talking about her stress or experiences with Alpha Unit, and Juliet finally just decided to enjoy the dinner. They were both pretty tipsy when they walked back to Grave Tower, but the air was fresh, and Juliet's brisk pace helped clear their heads by the time they arrived.

They rode the elevator up to floor seventy-three and parted with a hug, promising to meet at the elevators at 0545, so they could report to Charlie Unit together. Juliet took Commander Garza’s words to heart, crawling into bed early and commanding Kent to kill all the lights. She didn’t bother trying to sleep without music, certain she’d have to deal with other peoples’ thoughts intruding on her own if she didn’t have the distraction.

“Angel,” she subvocalized, turning to her side and letting the soft, gel mattress hug her shoulder and hip, “take out the song by Benetta—the beat’s too fast for me to sleep.”

“Done. Anything else, Juliet? I was going to suggest listening to an audiobook; it might work just as well as this music to keep your mind occupied until you’re asleep.”

“Let’s not fix what’s isn’t broken. At least not tonight—big day tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Juliet’s sleeping playlist started up, and she closed her eyes, letting the notes and lyrics help her mind to wander in the darkness. Sleep claimed her quickly, and for a long while, she must have slept without dreams, but sometime in the middle of the night, that changed.

Juliet found herself walking over some tarmac, bright lights on the runways leading off at right angles into the blackness. She saw a sleek passenger shuttle not far to her left and walked toward it, watching as steam vented from the idling h-drives. A passenger gangway was extended from a broad doorway in the shuttle’s hull, and a woman with red hair, a short blue skirt, and a stylish jacket stood at the top, waving hello to the passengers that were making their way from the terminal.

Juliet smiled, and started forward, pleased that she was having such a weird, vivid dream. She stopped in her tracks and said, “How weird to know I’m dreaming!” Everything was so real and . . . definitive—the lights were brilliant, and the sounds of the engines and the other jets and shuttles taking off were so authentic and visceral; she could feel their humming turbines rumbling in her chest. “Is this what drinking a few glasses of wine does to my imagination?”

She continued toward the shuttle, wanting to look inside. Having never been in one, she wanted to see what her imagination had cooked up. “Juliet!” she heard Angel as clear as a bell, and for a second, she laughed; she’d even put her PAI into her dream. “Juliet!” Angel said again, and Juliet shook her head.

“Not now, Angel; you’re giving me a headache.”

“Juliet, wake up!” Those words, and Angel’s desperate tone, gave Juliet further pause, and she reached up to rub at the back of her neck.

“What’s going on, Angel?”

“You need to wake up, Juliet!” Juliet shook her head again, wondering why Angel was screaming at her. The pain continued to mount, though, and she began to realize it wasn’t her PAI causing it. Suddenly Angel’s words registered, and she jerked her head around, looking from the jet, then back to the low, plasteel tube of the concourse and the people stepping out to make the walk over the tarmac to the private shuttle.

They were all sorts—a woman with an elegant white dress, a man in a high-end corpo-exec suit, another man wearing a brown duster with several obvious cybernetic augments, two women holding hands with a little train of three children. “What the hell? This is too real!” Suddenly the pain in her head surged, a throbbing pressure that began at the crown of her forehead and rushed downward toward the base of her neck.

Juliet fell to the warm, scratchy tarmac, writhing in pain, wanting to scream but afraid of the additional pain such an action might produce. She held her hands to her head, and when she opened her eyes, rolling to her back, expecting to see the black night and blazing lights of the spaceport, she saw her bedroom ceiling. Her lights had been turned on, and her watchdog was flashing in her peripheral vision.

“Are you all right, Ms. Roman?” Kent asked. “I’ve alerted your chain of command; you seemed to be in distress.”

“I’m . . .” Juliet winced at the throbbing behind her eyes. “I’m fine, Kent. A night terror or something. I’ve already forgotten it.” Very carefully, Juliet shifted on her pillows so her head was elevated slightly, and then she took one deep breath after another—in through her nose, slowly out through her mouth.

The pain didn’t fade completely, but it did decrease enough for her to focus on her AUI and select her watchdog.

You have five minutes to respond to this wellness check. If you do not, emergency personnel will be dispatched, and the expense will be deducted from your monthly payroll.

Time Remaining: 01:17

“Fuck,” Juliet breathed, then selected the “no assistance needed” button. “Kent, couldn’t you have canceled the watchdog alert since you’re the one that called for help?”

“No, Ms. Roman—I canceled my alert, but the watchdog did that on its own. You must have had some alarming vital signs. Are you certain you’re all right?”

“Yes, dammit!”

“I’m sorry, Juliet,” Angel said. “I could have stopped the watchdog, but I was worried! I thought you might have an aneurism or something, and when I couldn’t wake you, I allowed the watchdog to send out its alert.”

Juliet lay there, breathing slowly, careful not to move her head. She wanted to be mad at Angel but couldn’t find the energy for it. Besides, the PAI was right; something had been wrong with her. The lingering headache was evidence enough of that. “Kent, order me up an anti-inflammatory, please. My knee is swollen from training.”

“Yes, Ms. Roman. I can only provide OTC NSAIDs until you see one of the corporate physicians.”

“That’s fine.” Juliet carefully slid her feet and legs off the side of the bed, and then she subvocalized, “Angel, please make sure my watchdog thinks I’m sleeping soundly after I climb back into bed.”

“I will. Are you certain you’re all right?”

“No, but we don’t want GARD busting in here and dragging me down to an operating room, right?” Juliet stood, holding her head very still as she did so, afraid to bend her neck at all, knowing a surge of blood would be agonizing; already, her head was throbbing with pressure, and sweat was running down her brow.

“Right. You’ll be glad to know I blocked the watchdog from reporting the activity on your GIPEL . . . that is to say, your psionic lattice.”

“You what?” Juliet asked, Angel’s self-correction lost on her. She made her way around the counter, back straight as a board, neck rigid, as she approached the central dispensing chute. She could see the packet of foil-wrapped pills on the orange plastic countertop next to the water bottle she used at the gym.

“The activity on the lattice was spiking—higher than I’ve ever seen it. That’s when your intracranial temperature began climbing to very dangerous levels, and I attempted to wake you. At the same time, I caught the watchdog running a new script, trying to report the activity to GARD, but I blocked it and deleted the script. Your watchdog gets a lot of security updates every day, and I didn’t realize this function had been added. I’ve since carefully examined all of the previous patches, and there weren’t any other alarming functions.”

While Angel explained, Juliet unwrapped her NSAIDs and swallowed the three tiny pills with a sip from her water bottle. The leftover liquid inside was tangy and salty—enriched with electrolytes—and she drained it. “Thanks, Angel,” she murmured, figuring Kent couldn’t find it suspicious to simply thank a PAI. She walked over to her fridge, opened the small freezer section, and took out an icepack she’d bought for a sore ankle—the same one she’d sprained at the dojo.

When Juliet climbed back into bed, she said, “Thanks, Kent. Lights out, please.” Then she lay back, put the ice pack between her head and the pillow, and subvocalized, “Music, please, Angel.” Two minutes later, she was sound asleep, and the next thing she was aware of was Angel’s gentle alarm waking her to report for duty.

“How’s your head,” Angel asked tentatively while Juliet stood in the hot shower.

“It feels totally fine. Do you think this thing’s giving me brain damage every time it heats up?”

“Not every time, but last night I was worried . . .”

“What the hell do you think happened? I could have sworn I was standing on the tarmac at the spaceport. It’s not weird that I’d dream about that; I’ve always wanted to go there, to fly in a shuttle . . . It didn’t feel like a dream, though.”

“I will try to do some research, Juliet. I really don’t have any idea.”

“Okay, thanks. Start with examining the data we stole from Gard.” Juliet finished getting ready and then asked, “Kent, what equipment do I need for today’s assignment?”

“You’ll need your Grave-issued combat vest, helmet, and weapons.”

“Thanks,” Juliet said, pulling the gear out of the bottom of her wardrobe. “Where do I report?”

“Sublevel eighty at the elevator lobby. You are due in twenty-three minutes.”

“Sublevel eighty? I thought B20 was the lowest level!”

“No, Ms. Roman, B21 through B100 are housing and foundry levels.”

“Holy shit . . .” Juliet didn’t know if she should be so candid with the residential AI, but she couldn’t help herself, “I thought Grave did their manufacturing in buildings off-site.”

“Some of it, yes. Research as well, but the bulk of the weapons manufacturing takes place in the lower levels of this very tower.” Kent sounded like a tour guide, and Juliet figured he was used to the question. “There are ten residential levels for each foundry. Three shifts of employees are housed in this tower to maintain the foundries and operate the machinery. Nearly ten thousand Grave employees live in the lower sublevels.”

Juliet couldn’t think of a response other than sympathy for the poor bastards toiling away down there in the dark, so she zipped up her vest, buckled her belt, ensuring her Grave-issued vibroblade was secure, and then shouldered her electro-shotgun. She grabbed two protein bars on the way out, slipping one into a pocket on her vest and then peeling open the other.

Juliet had woken up very hungry and thirsty and had drunk nearly another quart of water before her shower. Still, she looked at the clock and thought there was time for her and Delma to stop for a real coffee at the kiosk in the lobby before they headed down.

Delma was waiting for her, pacing back and forth in front of the elevators in her own combat gear. “They gave you an SMG?” Juliet asked when she saw the compact weapon with its extended, thin magazine hanging from a strap on Delma’s shoulder.

“Yeah—week two with Bravo Unit; the commander didn’t think I should shoot anything bigger than nine mil.”

“What?” Juliet raised an eyebrow.

“I guess Gordon sent him some kind of report, and that was his decision. He wouldn’t discuss it.” She punched the call button, and while Juliet tried to think of a response, an elevator opened, and the moment was lost. “You feeling all right? Your face looks flushed.”

“Just a rough night’s sleep. I’m okay. Can we stop at the coffee stand in the lobby? I didn’t want to drink the stuff Kent squirts out.” Juliet grinned and said, “No offense, Kent.”

“None taken, Ms. Roman,” the elevator speaker said.

“Yeah, for sure,” Delma laughed and then paced back and forth as the elevator surged downward.

“Nervous?” Juliet asked, trying to offer her friend a reassuring smile.

“Yes! All I did during my week with Bravo was target practice and drills.”

“You’ll be fine. Sergeant Polk will take good care of you. Of us.” The elevator dinged, and Juliet glanced at the display—the lobby already. “Perks of getting up before dawn; no one else gets in the elevator!”

“Right!” Delma laughed, and then they hurried to the kiosk near the main doors. Juliet bought a latte and Delma a drip decaf—she’d already drunk two energy drinks—and then they were back in the elevator, zooming down to depths Juliet hadn’t realized existed before that morning.