by HD Smith
A security door off to the right opened, and a young-looking guy in an ill-fitting security uniform stepped through. He either didn’t notice me or didn’t care that I was standing around the empty lobby. He took a seat behind a small podium near the keyed access door he’d just exited and lazily swiped his Link.
I had two options. I could try asking the Peacekeepers to direct me to HR since my map wasn’t working, but that was something I had no desire to do; or I could talk to the security guard—a real person who looked as if he shouldn’t be bothered.
Glancing at the Peacekeepers, I shook my head. I’d take apathy over a mech any day of the week. I started toward the security desk.
The guard, a slim guy with a baby face sporting three House tats under his left eye, didn’t look up as I approached. Stopping in front of him, I cleared my throat to get his attention.
When that didn’t work, I said, “Excuse me.”
He took his time looking up. “Can I help you?” he finally asked.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m looking for Dr. Robert Monroe, but the access point isn’t letting me download the building’s floor plan.”
I decided to leave out the fact that I knew the problem was my crappy old Link. Maybe he had a trick that could force it to pull the data from the public stream.
He sighed, as if I were interrupting something important. Looking back at his Link, he said, “You're supposed to enter through the side entrance. This entrance is for executive staff only.”
Executive staff only? I glanced around again; there was no one here, and it didn’t look like anyone ever entered this way.
“Sorry,” I said, holding up my Link and pointing to get his attention. “My Link led me in through this door.”
He sighed again. Putting his Link down, he stared at me. “Your chip should have stopped you. This entrance is for executive staff only,” he said, as his eyes scanned my low-level scrubs. “But you see, even though they can use this entrance, no one ever does. They use the underground entrance, where all their fancy AutoDrives pick them up and drop them off, or the sky portal. Understand?”
Clearly this guy liked his no-real-work-to-do job, but I wasn’t lying. The Link had brought me here, so I just pointed to the Link.
He breathed in then out in another heavy sigh. I continued to smile.
Opening a drawer, he pulled out a ruggedized Link used for chip scanning. It was the same style the Peacekeepers carried when they arrested people.
“But clearly you think you’re special and don’t have to follow the rules,” he muttered. In his normal voice, he said, “Arm.”
I hesitated for a second, then stretched out my arm.
He positioned the device over my wrist and studied the screen.
After thirty seconds had passed, I realized he was frozen, as if someone had hit him with an immobilize spell.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
His mouth moved, but no sound came out. He closed his mouth, then tried to smile. Now he looked more like he was constipated.
The Link he was holding slipped from his hand, and clattered to the desk, sending a loud echo around the room.
Shaking his head, he finally spoke. “I’m sorry for the confusion, Ms. Harlow. Please let me see your Link.”
I handed him my Link, although now I wished I’d taken the time to search the stream for a description of the Product Overwatcher job. Obviously, there was more to it than I realized if it made this guy pull such an about face.
He grimaced when he got a look at my ancient device. Low-level employees like me were given a new, recycled Link every thirty-two months. My refresh wasn’t scheduled for another fourteen months, and then I’d just get another refurbished device that had been cutting edge five years ago.
“Your last tech guy must have been a dick,” he muttered, although I don’t think he meant to say that out loud. “Um, sorry. I mean, your device doesn’t have the necessary protocols to talk to the building. I’ll sort you out.” In a volume I almost missed, he added, “And notify wardrobe.”
I decided not to ask what he meant about wardrobe. Maybe I’d get an extra pair of scrubs because he was such an ass.
He reached down and pulled what looked like a brand new Link from his desk. He peeled away the protective packing sleeve and tossed the trash in the recycle bin. He swiped around on my Link until he brought up the sync screen. Waving his hand over the new Link, he gestured to activate the sync. Less than a minute later, the new Link flashed blue.
“Okay, all done,” he said, handing me the new Link. “I’ve switched out your device to something built this millennium. Whoever saddled you with this paperweight should be traded.”
I decided not to discuss the real reason I had the worst Link in the Known Worlds. “Thanks,” I said.
I checked the screen. The map was displayed, and I was being directed to the elevators.
The guard unceremoniously dropped my old Link in the recycle bin. I really hoped I wouldn’t need that back once they figured out I wasn’t qualified to be a Product Overwatcher.
Walking away, I didn’t say anything to the guard. He still looked shaken and not at all happy that he’d treated someone at my supposed level as a nobody. So I really needed to figure out what my new level was before I walked into HR and gave myself away.
Approaching the elevators, the doors opened. My new Link had interfaced with the building and summoned it before I’d arrived. How flipping amazing was that?
At least I’d used a Link similar to this one before. My old supervisor had last year’s model, and that was the device I’d used to submit paperwork on her behalf.
As the elevator climbed, I connected to the stream and ran a quick search for a description of Product Overwatcher.
I had to lean against the side of the lift as it raced toward my doom. A Product Overwatcher was listed as a grade thirteen, which was the bottom rung of the executive ladder. The position was almost always held by an elite, not some no-name Wanderer-born orphan from Canis.
The description of the work itself didn’t sound all that hard, but that was probably because it was meant for elites with little to no job experience. A way to get their foot in the door at a corporation that their family probably owned.
[Product Overwatcher - Grade 13 - Entry Level Executive
Manager or supervisor leading a division or lab of no more than 5 individuals.]
Okay, so I was just a glorified Lab Assistant. That was all. I could do this. I’ve been processing the K12 lab’s paperwork for months. How much harder could this job be?
The elevator doors opened on the 42nd floor. I checked my Link. The screen was directing me to the right. I’d thought my destination was on the 73rd floor, but it looked like I’d be taking a detour first. The Link sent me down a hallway and around another turn, before it led me to a service counter. A friendly-looking holographic receptionist was waiting patiently for someone to approach. Like the receptionist at the front desk, she wore the affectations of a real employee of House Cortez, minimal House tats and all.
Unlike mechs, holographics weren’t run by real people. They were pre-programed with an array of questions and answers based on their job function. It was similar to talking to an automated chat bot.
I was about to ask her why the Link had brought me here when the holographic activated.
“Please wait here one moment, Ms. Harlow. Your new work clothes are almost ready,” she said, her voice a pleasant tone with an Old Earth accent called Educated Londoner, the same accent that all House Cortez holographics used.
“Okay,” I said, somewhat shocked. Usually the assignment center just tossed me a new pair of scrubs as I got on the AutoBus. Then I remembered the security guy. Had he caused this, or did all new hires at this level get new provisions?
I didn’t have to wait long for my answer.
A smartly dressed attendant walked out of the back room. He was impeccably tailored in a three-piece suit, his tie a rich emerald g
reen that enhanced his eye color and forest green hair. He was wheeling a full rack of clothes with him.
This couldn’t be normal.
I surveyed the haul, but didn’t reach out to touch anything. There were scrubs—way nicer than my current ones—dress shirts and slacks, blouses made of something other than synthetic cotton. One or two skirts, sensible shoes, and a lab coat with my name laser-printed on the upper left-hand side.
“Um…” I said, not sure how to ask if these were all mine.
The attendant looked me up and down. “Oh, I get it now,” he said. “What happened? Lab accident destroy all your clothes?”
I blinked, then decided to play along. “Something like that,” I muttered noncommittally.
“You’re going into the lab, right?” he said, but didn’t wait for an answer. “You’ll need…” He flipped through the rack, selected a pair of scrubs, the lab coat, and a new pair of sneakers. “These.”
He handed the clothes over and pointed to a door across the hall. “You can change in there. Just toss those loaner scrubs in the recycle bin where they belong.” Pointing to the rack, he said, “I’ll have the other clothes forwarded to your address.”
He turned to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Do you have protective gloves?”
I probably shouldn’t have asked, especially since HR would eventually figure out I couldn’t have this job, but without those gloves, I ran the risk of touching something dangerous and winding up dead.
He raised one of his delicately plucked eyebrows. That was when I noticed that he was using make-up to cover his House tats, though he hadn’t done a great job. I could still see them.
Taking out his Link, he swiped the screen. “I don’t have the standard model your rank allows, but I do have a pair of level two dampening bracelets that were returned because the director wanted silver. The ones I have are white. I’ll have to dig them out of the recycle bin, but they’re yours if you want them.”
Hell yes, I thought. Dampening bracelets were used by elites to create a thin magical barrier between your hands and anything dangerous you might be handling. They were so much better than regular protective gloves. In a calm way, that totally hid my excitement, I said, “That will be acceptable. Thank you.”
He went back through the door with the rack of clothes and returned a minute later with two white bands. He handed them over. “They were worn for half a day. Still like new, but no one allowed to have level two bracelets wants used ones. I’ve had them in the precious metals recycle bin for a week. One more day and they’d have been gone.”
“It must be my lucky day.” I smiled, slipping the thin bracelets on my wrists.
A light burst of magic invisibly encased my hands in a thin barrier. It made it impossible for me to syphon magic with my hands, which meant I couldn’t accidentally activate a temporary tat by simply touching it.
“Hey,” the guy said, “what spell are you using to hide your House tats? I’ve tried all the ones Mage Ink makes, and they’re crap.”
I almost said I didn’t have any, but quickly realized that should be impossible. Luckily, I’d been with Mage Ink long enough to have a ridiculous understanding of the product line. I often thought, because I couldn’t use any of them and desperately wanted to, that my brain absorbed anything I ever heard about temporary tattoos. For example, most people didn’t realize you could overlap a tattoo and get a combined effect.
“You should try an under-eye concealer, combined with a dark circle remover, and a foundation with a yellow-toned base, under a second light powder finish with a rosy base. Buy an application enhancer to localize the products to the darkest pigments on your face, set the final result with a weekly or monthly glow lock, then apply your regular cosmetics as normal.”
“That will work?” he asked, but I could tell that he was skeptical.
“It’s not exactly what I do to cover mine, but it should work. If you go to one of the flagship beauty division stores and ask for a demonstration of the application enhancer wand, they should be able to help you tweak the combination for the best results.”
His mouth hung open.
“Good luck,” I said, then turned and headed toward the changing room.
As I approached the door, it clicked and opened. The Link interface was incredible; nothing like what I was used to. Of course it also had something to do with my new status. The executive position gave me access to all sorts of areas I’d been forbidden to enter before. Even this changing room would have been off limits to the real Genevieve Harlow.
I had a brief moment of panic when I realized just how different this job could make my life. When they found out—and they would eventually find out—I’d be bumped back down to a lower tier and never get this chance again. I glanced at the dampening bracelets and wondered why these weren’t just standard issue for someone with my magic condition. With this simple tech, it would be safe for me to do almost any job. Instead, I wasn’t allowed out of my station in life. My mental aptitude didn’t matter, because I wasn’t magic-enabled. It wasn’t fair, yet there was nothing I could do about it. For now I would just play the game and enjoy it as much as I could. What other option did I have? If I turned myself in now, I’d just get demoted back to test subject. No, I would give this my best shot and just play dumb if they discovered the truth. Maybe they’d see my potential and move me to a more interesting job.
As soon as I had on my new scrubs, shoes, and lab coat, I tossed the old scrubs in the recycle bin as instructed.
I left the changing room and headed back toward the elevators. The Link was once again directing me toward HR. This time the elevator stopped on the 73rd floor. I wiped my damp hands on my lab coat as the doors opened. I was nervous that I’d be discovered the minute they saw me.
My Link dinged with an incoming message.
I ignored it when I saw the holographic waiting to greet me. The projection in front of me was petite with straight dark hair cut in a bob with bangs, wearing a polka dot navy blue dress and navy blazer with sensible white pumps. She reminded me of Eleanor Delicious from the Mason Murdoch detective series. I’d never seen such a realistic life-sized holographic before.
“Good morning, Genevieve. Your meeting with HR has been postponed.”
The holographic froze mid-movement. From the neck up, she changed to a blonde woman with red horn-rimmed glasses.
The voice adjusted as the head proceeded to speak. “We’re so glad to have you with us, Ms. Harlow. I thought it would take weeks to fill the position, which is why I’m not there to meet you in person. You’ll meet Mr. Gregg in the lab. He’ll take you through your duties. If you need anything from our department, please send an interoffice request via the appropriate channels. Thank you, and welcome aboard.”
The holographic switched back to her previous operating appearance then unfroze from her position.
“Follow me please,” she said, turning to walk deeper into the building.
The automated holographic was incredibly life-like in the way that it moved. I’d never seen a holographic with this level of detail. Holographics were automated chat bots styled in a way to seem personable, but they didn’t usually walk around while doing it. And the programing only went so far. There was no small talk as we made our way through the building, which wasn’t surprising.
My Link was still giving directions as we continued through the building, which curved around as we headed toward the deck where the three buildings merged. Seeing a notification icon, I clicked to open the message, which was just a text version and vid-recording of what the holographic had already shown me.
Odd that the notification didn’t disappear once the holographic delivered the message. Perhaps the holographic was a prototype, and the message was their standard form of communication; or more likely it was House Cortez policy to communicate in written and verbal form with higher-level jobs.
I opened my mouth to ask the holographic a question, then stopped myself.
Could the holographic answer specific questions, or was it more general like a receptionist? It was advanced tech, so maybe its programming was sophisticated enough to carry on a conversation. Or at least the appearance of a conversation.
“Interface,” I said, using the standard greeting when activating a query response for a general purpose holographic, “what will my duties be?”
“Your employment is temporary. You will be replacing Miko Rosenblume, who was suspended from service for failure to comply with company policy 979.112, onsite drug use. His suspension will become permanent if he fails to complete the mandatory detoxification regimen proscribed by House Cortez physician Dr. Beverly Randal. If he is unable to complete the regimen, your position will become permanent. He has seven weeks to comply.”
That was interesting, and somewhat helpful, but way too personal. “Interface. Why did you share personal details about Miko Rosenblume?”
“My role is to relay data to my supervisor. I am not prohibited from sharing data marked personal.”
“Interface. Are you prohibited from sharing any types of data?”
“My role is to relay data to my supervisor. I am not prohibited from sharing any type of data.”
Okay, that seemed dangerous. “Interface. Are you allowed to change data?”
“My role is to relay data to my supervisor. I am not allowed to modify data.”
Her odd choice of wording and the way she repeated certain phrases made me think this experience was a prototype. Maybe this was a test, and eventually all House Cortez HR duties would be transitioned to holographic resources.
Of course, she’d said that her role was to relay data to her supervisor. Was that me? Or was that me for right now? Or was it a bug in her programming?
If this holographic was a prototype, I’d be obligated to report security flaws, and the release of personal information could be viewed as a security flaw.
“Interface. Are you a prototype?”
“Affirmative. I am prototype Holographic F1.95.3E.11.9A. My designation is Susan9.”