by HD Smith
“Access granted,” the voice said.
Jeff nodded his head toward the door. I stepped forward, placed my hand near the sensor, a click sounded, and the door slid open.
“Now that you’re in the system, all other doors you have access to will be available via chip scan.”
“Thanks.”
Jeff showed me around the lab. He pointed out Dougie’s area, where he processed test subject blood work, which they completed after each injection.
“What is X86?” I asked.
Susan9 had read the description to me from the patent, but I was curious what Jeff would say.
“It’s a serum that was developed to allow a user to manifest their own temporary tattoos. But no one has gotten it to work yet. Between you and me, I’ll be glad when the clock runs out, and we can all start working on another study.”
“You mean the patent deadline?” I asked.
“Yep. I’ve only been on this project for six months, but it’s so boring it feels like years. I think that’s why Rosenblume cracked.”
“The man I’m temping for?” I asked.
“Yeah. He totally lost it last week,” Jeff said. In a deeper voice, he waived his hands in the air and mock yelled, “The numbers aren’t adding up. The study is a lie. Live Ink is being sabotaged.”
“Wow, those sound like serious accusations.”
Jeff laughed. “Yeah. Of course, he was high as a kite on synth-h. So I’m sure it was all nonsense. I’m actually surprised he didn’t die.”
“I see. How long had he been working here?”
“Three weeks.”
“Three weeks?”
Jeff nodded.
Lucy-damn-hell, how did anyone go from normal employee to a synth-h junky in three weeks? Could they have missed his drug use in his last scan? As a bottom-rung member of House Cortez, I was required to take a drug test every six months, but maybe the elites weren’t required to.
“When was his last drug review?” I asked.
Jeff gave me an odd look. “He’d never had one. Why would he?”
Okay, so not required for the elites. “I see.”
“Have you had one?” Jeff asked.
“Of course not. I just assumed since he was using that maybe this wasn’t his first offense, and therefore they might be tracking it.”
“True; he’ll probably get a drug review every year now. But no, he’d never had any issues with drugs—that anyone knew about.”
Jeff directed me to a desk at the back of the lab.
“This is your desk.” Pausing for a moment, he grimaced at the state of the desk, which was littered with the detritus of a previous occupant. “It wasn’t cleared, sorry.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay, so I’ll leave you to get settled in.” Jeff pointed to a tablet on the end of the desk. “The tablet contains your onboarding documents. You’ll need to sign and submit the final page and then you’ll be issued your bonus. The docs explain your responsibilities and perks. Make sure you use the perks.”
“I will.”
“I’ll be back later to demo the processes we follow in the lab.”
“Thanks.”
Jeff left me at the desk, alone in the lab, without a clue what to do next. But I had a plan. I’d read everything there was to read. I’d know this study and the processes better than anyone else by the end of the day. And I’d figure out what made Miko Rosenblume lose his shit after three weeks on the job, because I couldn’t let that happen to me. Until they figured out who I was, I was going to be the best Lucy-damn Product Overwatcher there was.
An hour later, I was regretting my cavalier attitude.
The onboarding documents consisted of one page on the expectations for X86 Live Ink results as well as an overview of what Cortez Towers offered its residents, including information on my perks, which consisted of free lunch and an AutoDrive to and from the office.
The X86 Live Ink expectations were for the study to wind down in three weeks, with a final report submitted to the Mage Ink board for review and archiving.
If this was all Rosenblume was expected to do, why had he cracked?
I signed the final page and submitted the paperwork. I wasn’t sure what kind of bonus I’d be receiving, but since I’d never received a bonus before, I wouldn’t be disappointed. Elites had no clue how bad the lower ranks had it.
I checked the time. My desk was toward the back of the lab, but no one else had returned during the hour and a half I’d been here so far. I got the impression that no one worked when Dr. Monroe wasn’t in the building. Dougie’s desk was vacant, and Jeff hadn’t reappeared yet to show me the lab procedures.
I launched the internal stream app and looked for a way to request Susan9’s assistance. So far she’d been the most helpful. I found nothing. I searched the FAQ, but again, nothing. I found a technical support chat bot and proceeded to spend the next fifteen minutes messaging back and forth until I finally had the data needed to request Susan9, but that was only because I knew her designation. If I never heard the words “I do not understand your question. Please restate” again it would be too soon.
Almost instantly, Susan9 was standing in my office ready to help.
“Interface. Welcome back, Susan9,” I said.
“I am here to assist, Genevieve. How may I aid you?” Susan9 said.
“Interface. What was Miko Rosenblume’s directive?”
I decided something as simple as his directive might get me a copy of his onboarding paperwork, which might explain what went wrong, or confirm that his directive had been the same as mine.
“Miko Rosenblume was hired to analyze all X86 Live Ink data and form a hypothesis as to why the tests were inconclusive. Miko Rosenblume was hired by Marissa Cortez. He was a leader in his field. He graduated at the top if his class at Worlds University on Vale. He was an expert in data congruency and mathematical probability. He was twenty-nine years old.”
The last line seemed like an odd detail, then I realized that all of her statements had been past tense. “Interface. Is Miko Rosenblume dead?”
“Affirmative.”
A chill ran through my body. What the fuck? The data expert that the Head of House had brought in to determine why the study was failing to produce results was dead?
“Interface. When did Miko Rosenblume die?”
“Miko Rosenblume died approximately forty-five minutes ago from complications due to his comatose state, which occurred after his drug overdose from synth-h. Your employment is now permanent.”
Rosenblume died within hours of my employment because of complications from his coma, which he was in because the stress of this job caused him to use synth-h? Now I was in his position. Me, a nobody lower-level Wanderer-born with little magic, and my task was to wrap up the almost twenty-five year study that would force House Cortez to lose a patent. This couldn’t be real. How would HR let this happen? Then it hit me.
Does HR know who I am?
They had to. They were letting me stay in this job so they could blame me later. Marissa Cortez would review the study results. She’d ask questions. HR would point to me.
Okay, stop. You’re just being paranoid. Of course, if they wanted to blame someone, I’d be the perfect candidate.
“Interface. Does Human Resources know my identity, skill level, and magical ability?”
“Affirmative.”
Propping my elbows on the desk, I rested my head in my hands. I took several deep breaths to prevent myself from hyperventilating.
“Interface. Do they know how I got placed in the position?”
“Affirmative. HR is aware you assigned yourself to this role at the reassignment center.”
They were going to set me up to take the fall if Marissa Cortez was unhappy after reviewing the results. That had to be it; otherwise, why would they leave me in this position? HR had said they didn’t expect to fill the position right away, so they didn’t need me h
ere—which meant I was their scapegoat. I was sure of it.
“Interface. Who else knows?”
“I do not understand your question. Please restate,” Susan9 said.
“Interface. Does Dr. Robert Monroe know my employment status? Is he aware I’m technically unqualified?”
“Affirmative.”
“Interface. Do Jeff Gregg and Douglas Emerson know my employment status? Are they aware I’m unqualified?”
“Unknown.”
Okay, so maybe the entire lab wasn’t corrupt. Of course, Rosenblume had found something. His rant to Jeff proved that. Then mid-rant he was incapacitated because he’d overdosed on synth-h. It just didn’t make any sense. He was an expert in his field. He was handpicked by Head of House Marissa Cortez. Someone like that didn’t OD on synth-h after three weeks on the job.
Did someone at the lab have him killed? And if they did, why? Jeff had only been here a few months. Even if the study failed, how could that impact him? Why would he even care? Dr. Monroe was the lead scientist. Any failure under his watch would be an issue, but worst case, he wouldn’t get his bonus. Why would someone kill for that?
Unless the problem wasn’t the results, but the study itself.
Could someone be sabotaging it? If so, that meant someone at Mage Ink wanted the study to fail. If Rosenblume found an issue with the data and was able to tie it back to someone within House Cortez, that would have started an investigation, which could have led to that person being prosecuted and jailed.
And they knew I was a fraud.
I grabbed my Link. Was there a way to contact Marissa Cortez? Could I notify her that her expert had been killed and I had been hired—sort of—to cover up the failed study?
Okay, breathe. You don’t know for sure that’s what happened.
But what if it was?
Fuck. Think. What are my options?
I could possibly find Rosenblume’s analysis and write a report from that. I wasn’t at his level, and I’d not had his opportunities at university, but I was excellent at data analysis. That was one of the reasons my old supervisor let me do her paperwork for the lab. I had an eye for numbers and easily saw similarities in data results. If I could find enough information to make Rosenblume’s case, while staying under the bad guys’ radar by pretending to not have a Lucy-damn clue what I was doing, maybe I could finish the report Rosenblume had started, find a way to submit it to Marissa Cortez, and not wind up dead for my efforts.
Right. Easy. Nothing to it.
Or maybe I should take the AutoDrive back to my apartment, grab my things, and take the next jump off world. With my new job status and corporate bonus, I could easily acquire a boarding pass to any planet, then disappear on a new world. If I made it to Vale, I could petition to join House Vasili or one of the other lower-tier Houses. I didn’t have to stay with House Cortez.
Who was I kidding? Even with my new position, I’d still have to convince House Vasili to take a defector. They’d demand to know why I’d left House Cortez.
What would I tell them?
No, my only real option was to try to finish Rosenblume’s work. If I could discover what he’d found and write a report for Marissa Cortez, I had a chance to avoid being blamed. Maybe.
“Interface. Can you locate Miko Rosenblume’s data storage?”
“Affirmative.”
When Susan9 didn’t continue, I remembered I was dealing with a chat bot.
“Interface. Please locate Miko Rosenblume’s data storage and download it to my personal data store.”
“Genevieve, please verbally authorize data core access protocol A14.87B.”
I thought it odd that Susan9 needed my authorization to access Miko’s data core, but without his data I wouldn’t be able to discover what he’d found about the X86 study.
“I grant you full access,” I said.
With Link in hand, I waited.
A moment later, Susan9 said, “Done.”
That was fast; but nothing flashed on the Link. “Interface. Is the transfer complete?”
“Affirmative. His data core is now archived within your core.”
Was she joking? “Interface. I don’t have a data core.” Pointing to the Link in my hand, I said, “I wanted it on my data store.”
“I do not understand your question. Please restate,” Susan9 said.
“Interface. My data storage is on my Link.”
“Your Link is insufficient to store a data core. The archive was stored on your data core.”
She had to be mistaken. First, I didn’t want all the data tied to his personal data core. I only wanted his archived files from the work he was doing at the lab. Second, and possibly more importantly, I’d be dead if I had implanted tech. Data cores were basically tiny balls of enhanced silver, and I was highly allergic to silver. Also, only high-ranking elites had a personal data core. Most normal people couldn’t afford them.
“Interface. How do I access the data from my Link?” I asked, trying to determine where in fact the data had been stored.
My Link screen lit up, and a hyperlink appeared.
“I have provided access via your Link to your core,” Susan9 said.
I clicked the hyperlink, hoping to discover where on the internal House Cortez data stream she’d stored the data and copy the information I needed down to my Link.
There were hundreds of terabytes of data. More data than any Link could hold locally. I selected the top folder and accessed its drive specs. Oh-my-Lucy. The folder was sitting on a giant core, one thousand petabytes of available space. Was this the root folder of House Cortez’s complete data farm? How the hell did I have access to it?
I tried accessing the data one level up, but it was encrypted. I then noticed the name of the archive.
[Genevieve_Z_v1]
This was my data core. I had a data core.
How the hell do I have a data core?
Maybe it was shielded, like my chip; but who would have paid for that? My Wanderer parents were living on Canis when I was born. Canis had no tech trade at all. Hospitals there removed tech, they didn’t add it.
Did House Cortez add the data core? No, why would they have? I had no magical ability. I couldn’t even install a Virtual Field, which was probably why my Link saw the data above the Miko folder as encrypted.
“Interface. How did you access my data core?” There were security protocols in place. She shouldn’t have been able to drop Miko’s data core there without proper access.
“You authorized protocol A14.87B. You granted me full access. I have begun updating your security protocols. Access to your root drive will be limited until the process completes.”
I sat there dumbstruck for a moment, then laughed. I’d thought she meant Miko’s archive.
“Interface. Can you remove your access?”
“Negative. Security protocols must be upgraded before further permission changes are allowed.”
“Interface. Why did you copy all of Miko’s archive to my data core?”
“His data core was scheduled for release to the void. I released it to you instead.”
Of course it was about to be deleted. Wait—was she able to move anything off the servers? Did she have no limits?
“Interface. Do you have restrictions on the data you can move off the House Cortez data-farm servers?”
“Negative. I am allowed to move any data accessible to my programing.”
And all data was accessible. Whoever had created Susan9 was an idiot. She was a security breach nightmare. I was surprised she’d needed my permission to access my data core.
If she had access to all the data, which according to her she did, could she have been quietly moving House Cortez data off the server for years? Was she the reason the study was failing?
“Security update complete. You may now access your root drive.”
I refreshed my Link. I could now see the massive amount of data taking up space in my core. Without spending a lengthy amount of
time sifting through the raw data, I had no clue what was there. I didn’t even know where to start. For now I needed to find Rosenblume’s research; assuming Susan9 had not corrupted it, the rest could wait.
I heard the door at the front of the lab open.
“Interface,” I said. “Go invisible, but stay with me.”
I didn’t want to jump through chat bot hoops again to bring her back.
“Affirmative. Should I perform standby directives?” Susan9 said.
I didn’t have a clue what standby directives meant, but someone was coming. “Um, sure. Whatever,” I said quickly, and she disappeared.
I had a lot of questions about Susan9’s purpose, but she might have nothing to do with the failing study. For now I’d keep her close. She was a good resource, and I couldn’t afford to give up any advantage.
I smiled as Jeff walked toward my desk.
“Jeff, how are the test subjects?” I asked.
“They’re fine. Everything is getting ready for the final run of the study,” he said. “Hey, I thought I heard you talking.” He looked around.
I held up my Link. “Dictation,” I said. “I prefer a spoken interface.”
“I see.” Jeff studied the desk. Seeing the tablet, he picked it up. “Did you have any questions about the job requirements?”
“No, everything looks straightforward.”
“Good. I’ll drop this off for you.”
“That’s okay,” I said, taking the tablet from Jeff’s hand. “I need to stop by HR. I’ll drop it off myself.”
I’d already uploaded the signature page, and returning the device promptly wasn’t necessary. I’d prefer not to leave something with my personal data on it with Jeff.
“Okay, no problem. Do you need any help with the report? I’m very familiar with the study data.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll continue to review the existing data and start the report on my own. I’ll slot in the final test once it’s complete, before finishing it for the board. Or will it go directly to Marissa Cortez?”
“Umm,” he said, “I’m not sure.”
“No worries. It will be the same report either way. Are you here to show me the hypo-injector prep?”