Ill Wind

by Tal Turing

  Transom Industries is the future of New Berlyn and in all the domed cities

  Cyn turned away from the display. She felt shell shocked and intimidated, she had not seen anything like this in Techview. The other occupants of the vehicle watched without comment. If they were impressed, they did not show it. One officer, a tall man with stark white hair and a kindly yet older face was looking at her.

  She did not move when the man leaned in her direction and whispered one word to her. Oz. Then, without even a smirk, he leaned back and turned his attention back to the exterior as the vehicle slipped through the sentry arch and headed toward Transom House.

  She relaxed, calm now on the outside but she laughing on the inside. Oz! The man was right. This was all a lot of show. Whatever they said, whatever they claimed, New Berlyn was the smallest of all the domed cities and Transom New Berlyn was nothing compared to that of Techview, her adopted home.

  But her heart deflated a bit as well as she remembered that it was often the smaller dogs which bit.

  Inside Transom House

  As the vehicle approached Transom House, Cyn began to take better notice of the other passengers. Her natural omnaudience was limited when she was stressed our overly fixated on something and that described the entire shuttle ride up until now. Still, the words and phrases still hung about her short-term memory the way a song or a tune might persist with someone else. She reviewed them quickly, the conversations had been mostly idle chatter: talk of a Q-ball tournament, a birthday celebration, plans to bicycle around a track built at the edge of the dome. That last one interested her for non-professional reasons. It would be fun to run along the inner edge of Transom Dome, so close to the storm itself.

  Now, calmer, she placed her full concentration on the other seven passengers and what they were saying. But the door was opening and only two people were speaking. One man was giving a list of the amenities he expected to find in his room. Another was giving his friend a list of restaurant recommendations. Cyn did not recognize any of the names, not that she expected she would.

  Cynnamon watched as the employees disembarked and strolled into the large main entrance of Transom House. Her AI was already directing her a different way, around the side to the basement portal, the service entrance of course. Although a member of Transom Operations, she was still a human asset, she would be housed with the other assets.

  She skipped down the harsh stone steps, two at a time. The Oz comment had done her good. She was a direct report to 'Mother', the enigmatic leader of Transom Operations in Techview, certainly one of the most powerful members of the huge corporation. She would not be cowed by New Berlyn's theatrics or their bravado. She would do her job, complete her assignment and get the hell out.

  But the halls of the service wing seemed more narrow, darker and danker than she remembered. A man passed her on the left, in a hurry. Her AI flagged him as a security asset. Further down the hall, a woman, roughly Cyn's age, approached, a hospitality asset, her eyes were cast down. Cyn's enthusiasm waned, she might be that asset if they hadn't sent her to Techview all those years ago.

  Her AI located her quarters, one of many on the bottom floor, it unlocked the door and she stepped in, memories flooding her mind. It was not the same room in which she had lived so long ago but it was very similar. The room was narrow, about 3 meters across and 5 meters in length. There was a small desk on the left side and a bed chamber on the right, a closet along the back wall.

  Cyn immediately walked to the closet and opened it wide. It was empty, bare. Fine, she left it open. She checked the bedchamber, it was flush to the ground, nothing beneath and the linen seemed dingy yet clean. The chamber was claustrophobic with a low ceiling which made way for compartments above. They were also empty except for an extra pillow and an old blanket.

  She locked the door and placed her bag into the bed chamber in a specific orientation, then she puffed up the linens with two, pinched fingers, at particular points; if someone were to put weight onto the mattress or access the bag, she would be able to determine the tampering later.

  Then she changed into running shorts and swapped out her boots for a two year-old pair of leapers. Besides her AI units, the spectacular shoes were one of her few material investments. She was a good runner by nature but the leapers granted her a much longer stride and speeds up to 40 km-per-hour.

  She left the room, locked it, strode down the hall and bounded up the cement stairs, noticing a slight stench for the first time. She exited the side of Transom House and headed toward the front of the building, where the limousine had left her. She looked at the security building in the distance.

  Cynnamon raced along the weed-infested fields beneath the approach zone, the leapers helping her navigate the bumpy ground. She directed herself toward the large security arch, intending to head off the grounds and toward downtown. After that, she would inspect the farms in the outer ring, relocate the tunnel entrance and the other exit points.

  As she neared the sentry building, Cyn could see the movements of the black guards as they patrolled, but there was something strange about them. As she studied, she realized that their motions were repetitive, as if running in a continuous video loop. They were not real, more holograms, just another part of the Transom show.

  Her stride lengthened with determination as she ran toward the guard house where the Transom House grounds would end and the land would become more hostile before, eventually, turning into the ring of farmland and then the dome itself.

  She had never seen the farms close up, they were a recent development, a new style of cooperation between Transom and the villagers. The villagers worked the farms for Transom and split the yield. Villagers were excellent agrarians, but even they could not obtain the sheer area of farmland which could be provided by a dome.

  But as she approached the arch and the sentry house, two large, winged, black guards descended upon her from the sky. They existed only in virtual space but they startled her just the same. They bellowed ominously.

  Not allowed.

  Do NOT proceed.

  Cyn was so startled that she leapt accidentally and then, loath to interact with the phantoms, tried to stop too quickly and instead tumbled to the ground, her leg and arm scraping against soil and rock. She looked up at the figures as they continued their warnings, unconcerned about her condition. She scrambled to her knees and backed up, her face frustrated and pained. Why not just have a human security officer walk out and speak with her? Did they really use the virtual AI angels for such things?

  Cynnamon took a step forward, ignoring the trickle of blood which ran down her tanned knee. It was frustrating trying to speak with these things.

  “I request access outside the grounds. Process!” she instructed. She knew that sometimes privileges were not granted until one simply asked for them. That was the corporate world.

  Unauthorized request.

  Do NOT proceed.

  “This is silly. I am a member of Transom Operations, and that group does have access anywhere in this dome. Now process!”

  The two black specters were now circling her, berating her rather than informing.

  Do NOT proceed.

  Authentication successful.

  Cynnamon CC34F. Corporate Human Asset – New Berlyn. No groups. No memberships. No privileges. You are nothing.

  Do NOT proceed.

  Do NOT proceed.

  Her face frowned in disbelief as she backed up, watching the angels repeat their words and gestures until she retreated far enough, at which point the angry spirits rose back into the sky.

  Her plans for the day in shambles, Cyn limped toward Transom House until the pain in her knee subsided, then she jogged the rest of the way, her mind in thought.

  How could it be that she did not have permission to even leave the grounds? She recalled that she had been trapped in New Berlyn Station until a special call had been placed for her, perhaps that would be needed again.

  The basement hallw
ay smelled worse as she walked back down the steps to the service floor. Someone hurried past her; she envied them their purpose, their task.

  As she stood before the door of her quarters, her AI was pinged by more Transom propaganda.

  Training for Employee Entrance available, $39,999.

  AI Upgrade available.

  Cyn applied a temporary block on all non-critical messages as she opened the door. She needed time to think. But when the door slid open, she froze, her mouth fell open in disbelief. There would be no need to check her markers, her bag lay on the floor, the bed linens had been stripped, the mattress half pulled out of the sleeping chambers. But the strangest thing was that the closet doors, which she had specifically opened wide, had all been closed. It was as if someone had sent her a clear message:

  The hell with you, Cynnamon CC34F

  She stood, stunned, for almost a minute before finally walking into the room. She opened the closet doors again, the space beyond still empty. She fixed the mattress and linens and replaced her bag within. Finally she left in search of a shower.

  To her surprise, she found an open shower, it seemed clean and the water was warm. She could not help but think of Ann's comment about cold water. She turned the dial down and let the cold water rush over her for a minute until she felt her body shiver, then she turned it off.

  When she returned, her heart beat loud in her chest as the door opened, but the room was as she had left it...this time.

  She wanted to climb into her bed chamber, to curl up, to think, and plan. But she resisted those thoughts, she DID need to think about what was going on, but more importantly she needed to report to Operations, she needed to tell them she had arrived and she needed to find out what the hell they wanted from her. Thinking could wait, she needed to act.

  Refreshed and clean, but still a little stunned, Cyn dressed for the rest of the day. She chose a summer frock, bright with golds and greens and a pair of sandals. She needed every break she could get and if some hospie or officer was more inclined to help out a young asset in a dress, then it was fine with her. She locked the door and headed up the stairs to the lobby. But her AI spectacles, which she had removed upon dressing, remained on the desk.

  Transom Lobby

  The lobby of Transom House was grand and ostentatious, lined with large portraits of executives both current and past. The tall walls were decorated with large curtains, intricate murals and one wall held an ornamental but functional water fall. The melody of the Transom anthem played softly from ceiling speakers. The room was littered with corporate employees and their clients. And there were plenty of hospies to attend to the needs of all.

  There were multiple information kiosks decorated with large bouquets of flowers and stocked with refreshments. Some kiosks were marked for clients only, others were labeled for officers. In a corner, Cyn found a station for corporate human assets. Behind that desk was a young girl, of probably fifteen years or so. Her hair was a sandy blonde, her face plump beneath old AI glasses. In front of her were a variety of colorful cards, playing cards perhaps, each of which contained a rich, detailed drawing. Perhaps the girl was playing some sort of game to pass the time?

  “Hello Cynnamon C443,” the girl drawled as Cyn walked up. Those words were a relief, at least someone expected her.

  “Hello Pur” Cyn smiled, quickly reading the name tag. “How did you know who I was? I seem to have left my AI behind.”

  The girl moved her cards off to the side and looked up.

  “Seven visitors arriving today, all male except for you, your room has already been accessed so I knew you were in the building. And as I don't recognize your face...”

  “You could tell that my room was entered? You are sure it was me?”

  “I just assumed, there is no house-keeping on your floor, so you are the only one who can enter your room. Except Security of course.”

  “Well, yes I have just arrived but I don't know to whom I should report?”

  “You should have an itinerary, there is a standard all-employee dinner, so you would go to that.”

  “Got it,” Cyn said quickly. The word employee, when used in a common sense, included assets as well. She knew that. “But I should have an assignment as well, in Operations, I should have a handler, a direct report?”

  “I guess, but not for you, at least not today, maybe something is still being processed. You could check back tomorrow...”

  Cyn tried not to sigh, but moved on. “I have a second problem, my security seems to be limited to the grounds. I should at least be able to travel within Transom Dome right?”

  “Oh, I can't help you at all with that. You'll need to talk to someone in security. Have you met Barrett? He is the head of Security, and he lives here in Transom House so he is often around and he makes it a point to greet any emps coming in. I've heard he is pretty sneaky, that he will find you before you can find him. You probably need to speak with him.”

  “Pur, are you able to travel within the dome?” Cyn asked, wondering if the girl could run an errand for her.

  The girl looked back at her, not thoughtfully, but frankly, “I live in the villages, I take the shuttle straight to this building and then at 17:00, I get back on that shuttle and it takes me straight back. And there is a guard on the shuttle, an escort. Sorry, I promised my mother and so this is the only building I am allowed, I don't even walk in the gardens. Mostly I bring my lunch. I wanted this job to save some money...”

  “For what?” Cyn wondered.

  “I dunno, for a rainy day, I guess,” the girl replied, some of the formality gone.

  Cyn nodded, her eyes looking around for something that would help, when she looked again at the colorful cards laid out on the desk before Pur.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Oh, its just a village game, to pass the time.”

  “Really? Because I've played plenty of card games when I was a girl but we never had such expensive looking cards. Look at all the colors! And the detail?”

  “Well, it's called the Weather Tarot, like for telling one's future. My mom tells fortunes on the side. So I am practicing.”

  Cyn's mind was racing on, considering her next step. But she liked this girl and was curious about her.

  “Would you tell my future, Pur? It might help me out.”

  Pur looked at her apologetically.

  “I'd like to, but I'm still practicing, perhaps if you came back? I haven't told a fortune yet. I'll try to study quicker and maybe..”

  “I see,” Cyn replied. She was reluctant to leave and she had already caught a conversation in the hallway, one of the voices was familiar. “Tell me about this card?”

  It was a beautifully drawn picture-card, rich in textures and colors. The illustration depicted a green hill, an old man with three eyes perched on top. To his left, a campfire lofted a thin coil of smoke into the air, to his right the raging waves of the ocean lapped at the hillside and overhead was a dark cloud.

  “That is Pol,” Pur smiled, “also known as Pol the Paranoid.”

  “Okay,” Cyn spoke slowly, genuinely interested. She did not remember this game when she was young, but there were so many villages and hers was so far away. “What would it mean if I were to draw that card.”

  “Pol always has the same meaning, 'watch and be careful'” Pur laughed, relaxing.

  “Ooh, what about this one?” Cyn pointed to another card. Depicted there was a dark sky and a swirling mass of clouds that spun quickly, opening up a hole into the heavens at its center, and there, in the middle, was an eye.

  “That is Sauron Sign,” Pur whispered ominously, “and it means you should watch out because something bad is coming.”

  “Just like Pol, right?”

  “Oh, no. Pol is always worried, even when there is nothing wrong. But this dark eye, the evil eye? That means that something bad is definitely coming your way.”

  Patron

  Even as Cynnamon conversed with Pur, she had been lis
tening to a group of men at the edge of the lobby. They were waiting for someone, for the start of a meeting and they had mentioned Techview as well. That made two 'interesting' conversations within her earshot. The rest were minor and now she strained to pull in the remote discussion.

  As long as she could remember, Cynnamon was an adept omnaudient, she could follow multiple conversations at once, sometimes as many as four. Growing up, the other kids didn't understand her 'talent', they would tell her that everyone can hear more than one person at once. Yes, but hearing and understanding were different things. It was only when she arrived at the orphanage that she found that the Sisters encouraged such talents through 'listening drills'. Still, it was not a thing she discussed with her adult acquaintances. They seldom understood what she meant.

  So the only difficulty she had in both actively speaking to Pur and listening to the officers was that they were so far away and the room was already echoing the sounds of other voices and the waterfall as well.

  But now a new voice entered the second conversation, and she recognized him immediately as Paul Harilla, the head of Transom Operations, Mother's counterpart here in New Berlyn.

  He would know she had been called here, and he would know why. And, although it might be a slight breach of procedure, she could give her report directly to him. Perhaps Transom was already aware of Darren's scam but if they were not...

  “I have to go, Pur,” she called as she turned away. The group of men were moving quickly, out of the lobby and down a hallway which she recalled led to a series of meeting rooms.

  Cyn skipped through the lobby in pursuit, her athletic, toned legs making playful but very effective strides. She waved one slender, golden arm in an inane way, as if she knew one of those officers and wished them to wait, but her focus was on the new arrival.

  Patron was a large man with beefy hands, an oval face; straight, thinning, dark hair and skin that flushed easily when he was irritated. But he could be jovial and even charming when he felt the need.