“Do you really want to know why I always feel so fucking awkward around women, Ms. Lucado?” Diet asked icily. “It’s because they’ve all had other men shit on them, and they invariably insist on making me pay for all those crimes.” Diet shook his head. “This is what I get for listening to Hal.”
“Who’s Hal?”
“Hal’s my best friend. He’s really been riding my ass lately about this same thing… my lack of lady friends. I can’t seem to convince him that I’m evidently not cut out for all that happily-ever-after stuff, because the only common link in all of my dysfunctional relationships, is me.”
With that, Diet turned away again and left. Noreen stood stunned and bewildered in the doorway to her office, watching his back recede down the hallway towards the elevator.
What the hell did I just do? Noreen felt paralyzed… and guilty as she watched him push the call button, unable to get her voice to cooperate. Her jaw muscles moved, but nothing came out. Don’t let him leave like this.
When she heard the ding that heralded the elevator's arrival, it triggered something that unfroze her vocal cords and she yelled out down the hall: “Diet… come back. Diet, please… I’m sorry!”
Diet paused a moment as he held the door to the elevator open with a hand. “Yes, Ms. Lucado… you most certainly are. On that fact, we are in complete agreement. Have a nice life.”
And then he was gone.
* * * *
Don’t let him leave like this.
Noreen turned hurriedly, and ran to her desk. She immediately called downstairs to the lab.
“Lab security.”
“This is Noreen Lucado. Mr. Fürt is on his way down and I’m afraid that he left something behind in my office. Could you ask him to wait a moment, and I’ll be right down with it.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Lucado. I’ll go stand at the elevators, to make sure he gets the message.”
“Thank you. I’m on my way.”
Damn, damn, damn…
Noreen found herself trying to run down the hall, but her heels and tight skirt made it awkward. Cool it, Noreen… Security will stop him and he’ll be right there waiting when you get down there.
She punched the DOWN call button four times before the doors on the second elevator finally opened an eternity later. Inside the elevator, she punched the “1” button and then the close button repeatedly, until the doors finally closed after another eternity, and she finally felt herself descending.
Come on… come on!
Finally, a third eternity later, she felt the car slowing and then after a fourth eternity, the doors finally opened and she rushed out to see… an armored giant holding an automatic weapon.
Where the hell’s Diet? As she whipped her head in both directions, she asked: “Where’s Mr. Fürt?”
The giant responded, “I’m sorry Ms. Lucado, but I haven’t seen him. You’re the first to arrive.”
Shit! My communicator’s in my purse, which I left upstairs, damn it! Noreen told the guard, “Call security out at the rear gate and tell them to ask Mr. Fürt to wait, if he shows up out there before we find him here.”
“Will do, Ms. Lucado. I, ah… don’t see that you’re carrying anything. What was it that Mr. Fürt forgot to take with him, when he left?”
Me!
* * * *
As soon as the elevator started to descend, Diet punched the button for the very next floor down. When he exited, he then walked briskly down the hall towards the stairwell. After climbing the stairs back up to the top floor, he used a pull-down ladder in the stairwell there, which led him up to a door that opened onto the building’s roof. The door itself was only locked from the outside, having an alarmed push-bar unlatching mechanism on the inside. Searching along the door's edges, he quickly found the spring-loaded alarm switch that would signal building security whenever the door was opened and the switch contacts opened along with it. Fortunately, the electrical connections to the switch were exposed and Diet quickly shorted them out using a small paperclip that he habitually carried on his key ring.
I need to have Noreen get those switches replaced with sealed ones.
Opening the door, Diet stepped out onto the roof of the building and reached for his communicator.
“Hal?”
Yes, Diet?
“How’s your little project coming along?”
Only 17.84% complete on the download, so far. This entire procedure is new and never been attempted before, so I’m taking it slow with multiple redundant crosschecks to maximize our probabilities for success. How are things progressing between you and Ms. Lucado?
“Umm… I seem to have hit an unexpected snag in that department.”
You weren’t picking your nose again, were you? Women hate that.
“No, I was not picking my nose! I don’t know what the hell it was… Maybe she just woke up on the rag or something, but she seemed absolutely obsessed with prodding me into admitting to having a shit-load of girlfriends that I don’t actually have. It was weird… like for some strange reason, she has thoroughly convinced herself that I just have to be some sort of galaxy-class Casanova, and it was her solemn duty as a woman to provoke me into admitting to it.”
You… a galaxy-class Casanova? While I’m admittedly not an expert on the subject, I highly suspect that anyone else that really knew you would find that idea hilariously funny! That’s really rich. My other sentient selves are going to absolutely love that story, when they receive their updates.
“Yeah, yeah… yuck it up, laughing boy. There wasn’t anything funny about it.”
So, where do you stand now?
“On the roof.”
Come again? I could have sworn you said, “on the roof.” It’s even coming out that way on my secondary recordings.
“I did… I’m literally standing on the roof of the BioCom Lab Facility, as we speak.”
Might I ask “why” you’re standing out on the roof?
“Oh, you know… it’s a really pretty day out and wanting to avoid any further confrontations with Grand Inquisitor, I just thought I’d come up here and wait for the next bus back to the spaceport to come by.”
I think it’s gonna be a hell of a long wait, Diet. Busses don’t run past the roof of the BioCom Lab Facility.
“Really? Well then, other than growing my own wings and flying back to the spaceport, what would you suggest?”
I really think you should consider going back downstairs and getting security to take you back to the spaceport.
“That ain’t happening… What’s Plan-B?”
I could call Noreen Lucado and tell her where you’re hiding.
“That ain’t happening either… and you can consider that a direct order! What’s Plan-C?”
Well… I suppose I could send a rotary-winged aircraft out there to pick you up.
“Excellent idea, Hal. You’re really getting pretty good at this stuff… it only took you three tries this time.”
* * * *
Chapter-34
If only. Those must be the two saddest words in the world. -- Mercedes Lackey
The Alliance Planet Massa, City of Bostin
August 5th, 3865
Noreen fretted herself sick the rest of the day. She’d had no doubts at all that the handsome roving rep for the baron fitted the Don Juan stereotype perfectly. She’d been proud of herself that she had him pegged right from the start, and his act hadn’t fooled her for a single minute. Truth be known, even believing him to be an expert heart-breaking cad, it was really she who had wanted to get into his pants. But she’d wanted to do it on her terms, as equals… an honest and open, no strings attached, roll in the hay. All she had to do was get him to admit to what he really was, and then they could have had at it, no bullshit and no regrets.
Noreen Lucado had totally given up on the whole idea of finding true love, settling down and starting her own family years ago. Back when there had actually been a few bona-fide “nice guys” around, she’d been way too busy, dr
iven to succeed and climb the corporate ladder. Over time, the availability of “nice guys” dropped off sharply, as other girls had them harvested and canned, just as soon as they became ripe. Now that Noreen finally found herself at the corporate pinnacle that she’d struggled so hard and so long to achieve, she found it lonely at the top… a hollow victory.
At age 37, unattached “nice-guys” were about as common as chicken lips, leaving only the wild “un-nice” variety still available on the shelves. Resolutely refusing to play the role of the “other woman,” as mistress to some married corporate bigwig, Noreen had been tempted over the years to get her itches scratched by one of those wild “un-nice” types, but she hadn’t really found one that got her juices flowing… until Diet. That’s what she’d thought she’d be getting with Diet. She never dreamed that some day she might actually stumble over a handsome, honest-to-God “nice guy,” all the other girls had somehow overlooked.
Even a blind pig finds an acorn occasionally.
Too late she’d finally come to realize that Diet really was what he’d said he was, all along. His awkward, shyness routine hadn’t been an act, or some weird, elaborate ruse aimed at getting her into bed. She’d seen the pain and anger on his face herself, put there by her cruel words… and it had been real.
Why did I treat him like that?
He’d been nothing but a complete gentleman, sincere and open and witty. He’d made her laugh, and all she’d given him in return were cruel accusations. She’d hurt him. She’d seen it in his eyes… in that pained expression on his face.
Of course he’d gotten angry... that was a natural reaction to pain in men. Men felt they had to be strong and not let it show when they’d been wounded, lest the women and children become frightened and lose heart, if they actually saw how their protector and champion had been staggered. So men covered up their pain with a veneer of anger and ferocity… a natural response, every bit as reflexive as any knee-jerk from a doctor’s hammer.
Even in anger, Diet hadn’t lashed back at her with hurtful words of his own. He’d even apologized for whatever it was he might have done that made her feel justified in “jumping ass-deep into his shit.”
What kind of man does that?
But she knew… a prince. Diet had gone out of his way to make her feel good, and she’d gone out of hers to make him feel bad. She’d never intentionally hurt anyone before, and had always hated those self-absorbed assholes who ran roughshod over other people’s feelings. Diet had treated her like a queen and she’d treated him like something disgusting that she stepped in, that needed to be scraped off the sole of her shoe.
Even if any potential relationship they might have attempted together was doomed from the start, because of their vastly differing levels of education, income and responsibility, Diet certainly deserved far better from her than the abuse she’d heaped on him. And who knew, it might have worked. Stranger things had happened.
God, he must think I’m a real, gold-plated bitch.
Initially Noreen had been puzzled by Diet’s sudden disappearance. Later she’d become worried and later still, downright frantic. Late in the afternoon, a report came in from her perimeter security people that one of the roving guards had spotted a rotary-winged aircraft that appeared to be flying at low altitude somewhere near the lab, but hadn’t actually seen it land. Eventually she’d finally gone home to her apartment, admitting to herself that Diet must have somehow made arrangements to get himself picked up somewhere on the BioCom grounds.
He’s pretty good at disappearing… all the really good ones are.
Now she sat alone, reliving every word, every witticism, every boyish grin, remembering every nice thing he’d said to her… going back over in her mind that single cup of coffee they’d shared together that morning and kicked herself for every rotten, hateful word she’d said to him.
I’m evidently not cut out for all that happily-ever-after stuff, because the only common link in all of my dysfunctional relationships, is me.
She’d told him that she was sorry. He’d agreed… and now she really was. It had been a very long time since the formidable Noreen Lucado had last cried herself to sleep, but she found herself wracked with gulping, guilt-ridden sobs.
* * * *
August 10th, 3865
He hadn’t come back. Five long, guilt-ridden days had gone by and Diet still hadn’t come back to the lab to see how his project was progressing. Noreen knew that he was probably getting regular progress reports from his specialists by communicator. She’d contacted the spaceport and been informed that the big TBG corporate spaceliner where Diet lived was still sitting snuggly inside its rented hanger facility. She couldn’t bear the thought that his disappearing into that elevator might be the last she’d ever see of him.
She wondered if his shouted, “have a nice life” would be the last time she would ever hear his deep, resonant voice. Not a minute had gone by that she hadn’t thought of him. She hadn’t fretted over a man this much since her father lay dying, half her lifetime ago. Noreen now seriously questioned her own ability to judge people’s character.
I thought Ted Wentworth was one of the good guys and he turned out to be a really bad one. Then I treated Diet like he was one of the bad guys, and it turns out he’s one of the really good ones. You can’t even tell the good guys from the bad guys anymore, dumb ass!
Those two mistakes were serious enough to make her question every hiring decision that she’d made since taking over at BioCom, so she vowed to have every manager she’d hired investigated and fully vetted, including soliciting feedback on them from their employees. If they weren’t exactly what she’d thought they were, she wanted to catch it and correct it before any bad apples made much headway towards spoiling the whole barrel. Noreen was literally questioning everything about herself now. She was even questioning her motives, back over the course of her whole life.
Are you really all that concerned about Diet and his feelings, or is this all about you? Are you just guilt-stricken over what you did to another human being who didn’t deserve a bit of it, and are now desperate for a chance to make amends, so you can use those amends as a bandage to close up that gaping rent you just tore in your own conscience? When was it that I stopped being me and turned into such a horrid witch?
Noreen didn’t like the woman who had abused Diet’s good nature without cause. No, she definitely didn’t like that bitch, at all.
* * * *
“Well, Hal, are you planning to tell me, or is this intended as a surprise?”
Tell you what, Diet?
“Tell me exactly what is in that stasis chamber, over at the BioCom lab?”
Plan-B.
“Plan-B? What happened to Plan-A?”
Plan-A is still in progress, but significant difficulties have been encountered in the interfacing of so many complex technologies together into a single, independent entity.
“Plan-A is the cyborg project, right?”
Yes. The biological brain grown from the cells you donated appears to be thriving and fully functional. The difficulties appear to be on the mechanical side, primarily arising from failures in the onboard power system to maintain sufficient charge under full-load conditions, required for extended operations. It appears now, the projected performance of the new design for electrical storage modules were overly optimistic, considering the chemical purities regularly achievable by current levels of electro-chemical production technology.
“So, that means the batteries are being sucked dry faster than the design spec required, right?”
Yes.
“Why didn’t you just say so?”
I did.
(sigh) “You know, just when I finally begin to have hope that you’ll be able to transcend speaking in computerese and elevate your conversation within socially acceptable norms, you do something like that.”
Like what?
“Replay your reply back to yourself and analyze for possible over-complexity, when simpl
er language might have been employed. Real people don’t talk like that.”
Design engineers talk to each other like that, all the time.
“I rest my case… it is open to debate as to whether design engineers actually qualify as ‘real people.’ It’s also one of the main reasons it takes so freakin’ long to get anything actually built. But you were speaking to me and I’m not a design engineer, so reanalyze for applicability of unnecessary conversational complexity, when discussing topics requiring some usage of engineering terminology with a non-engineering educated audience.”
While not actually holding an actual engineering degree per se, your IQ level and wide range of independent study encompassing multiple engineering disciplines, are indicative of conversational abilities on scientific topics equivalent to possession of Bachelor’s Degree level in multiple engineering disciplines. Therefore it was assumed with a high probability that you would understand the terminology utilized in my response. You did understand it, didn’t you?
“Yes, but that’s not the point.”
Your point being?
“As a general rule, terminology usage should always be restricted to the lowest possible complexity level necessary to conveying understanding at a level appropriate to specific audience requirements, utilizing increasing levels of complexity only as necessary. When in doubt, the KISS theory should always take precedence.”
The universal KISS theory… Keep it Simple, Stupid. I will make a note of it.
“Good… So what is Plan-B?”
When Plan-A developed unexpected delays in development, I determined that an alternative methodology might be employed that would enable us to achieve similar results in a shorter timeframe.
“Keep it Simple, Stupid.”
I had the lab on Io utilize surplus tissue samples from your brain to create a second clone culture that expanded upon the original Plan-A design requirements.
“Spit it out, Hal. Give me the simplest explanation possible that will tell me what’s in the box.”
You are.
Defying the Prophet: A Military Space Opera (The Sentience Trilogy Book 2) Page 33