Crosstalk

by Connie Willis

  Thank goodness, Briddey thought, and couldn’t believe she was feeling that. The whole idea of having the EED had been to bring her and Trent closer together, and here she was doing everything she could to keep him away from her. Talk about unintended consequences.

  C.B. said, I told you the IED—

  —was a terrible idea. I know. What do you want?

  I did some more research.

  Did you find out if brain circuits can experience crosstalk?

  No, but I found some more stuff on auditory hallucinations. They usually don’t start with a voice. They begin with a knocking or the sound of rain falling or someone whispering, and the voices come later.

  And how is that supposed to help?

  I just thought you might have heard something like that, and didn’t realize it was a sign you were starting to connect. Have you?

  No. Now go away. I’m trying to connect with Trent.

  No, you’re not, he said. You were talking to your sister. I can read your mind, remember?

  Will you stop saying that? she snapped.

  So you weren’t talking to your sister?

  Yes, she admitted, but I intend to start connecting now. So go away.

  He did, but he was back within five minutes, saying, Auditory hallucinations also can start with a distinctive odor, like flowers or freshly baked bread. Have you smelled anything funny?

  No, she said. Go, and this time he actually went, and she was able (after turning off her phone) to focus on Trent as she took her shower, got ready for work, and drove to Commspan. But it had no appreciable effect. She didn’t receive any feelings from Trent on the way, and there weren’t any odd smells or rain patterings or scents of roses.

  And now she had to face Jill Quincy and Phillip and Charla and tell more lies. And hope Trent was right, and no one had discovered they’d had the EED, though it was almost impossible to keep anything secret from the inquisitive Suki, and Charla had seen her talking to C.B. in the garage. And now here she was with a huge bandage on her hand and a ridiculous story about cutting it while changing a tire, which, thanks to social media, had almost certainly already made the rounds. Getting to her office the morning after Trent asked her to have the EED had been bad. This was going to be much, much worse. And she didn’t care what C.B. said—she would have given anything to know where everyone was and what they were thinking.

  She parked, braced herself for the onslaught, and went inside. The hallway was empty, but she hadn’t gone ten steps before two secretaries emerged from the copy room, talking, and she heard one say to the other, “Have you heard…?”

  I knew Suki wouldn’t buy that barber story of Trent’s, Briddey thought, and turned to retreat, but Art Sampson was bearing down on her from the other direction. “Oh, you’re back. Good. Where were you yesterday?”

  “Offsite,” she said, remembering what C.B. had said about not explaining more than you had to.

  “Oh, then you probably haven’t heard either. Something’s going on, but I haven’t been able to find out what.”

  Oh, here we go.

  “You haven’t heard anything about them laying people off, have you?”

  “Laying people off?” she repeated blankly. “No.”

  “Oh, good. I was afraid Management had decided the new iPhone was going to do us in and were planning layoffs.”

  No, I think the gossip’s a bit more personal than that, Briddey thought, but when Lorraine came over to join them, she said, “I heard they think there’s a corporate spy here at Commspan, trying to steal whatever it is the Hermes Project’s working on.”

  “The Hermes Project?” Briddey said. “What’s that?”

  “It’s some new project of Hamilton’s. Rahul Deshnev thinks it’s something to do with our new phone and that they have something really good, because they’re taking all kinds of precautions to make sure there aren’t any leaks.”

  “Or else it’s a trick to flush out the spy,” Phillip said, coming up to them.

  “Or a diversion to keep us from realizing they don’t have anything to compete with Apple,” Art Sampson said gloomily, “and we’re all going to lose our jobs.”

  And by the time Briddey’d made it to her office a full half hour later, she’d heard that (1) there was definitely a spy at Commspan, but they hadn’t caught him yet, (2) that Commspan had gotten hold of the specs for the new iPhone (presumably because they had a corporate spy over at Apple) and Apple’s new phone was definitely going to do them in, (3) that Commspan was being sold to Apple and/or Motorola, (4) that Commspan was acquiring Motorola and/or Blu, and (5) that whatever the Hermes Project was working on would do Apple in.

  At this point, Briddey didn’t care which one it was. She was just grateful that everyone was focused on that and not on her and Trent. Not a single person seemed to have noticed her bandage, let alone asked about it. Including Charla, who greeted her before she even got in the door with “Do you know what the Hermes Project is?”

  “No,” Briddey said, sorting through her messages.

  “Oh. I hoped you would, with Trent being at the meeting and all.”

  “Has he called this morning?”

  “No.”

  Good, Briddey thought.

  “They had this big meeting yesterday that lasted all day and didn’t break up till after ten,” Charla was saying, “and nobody knows what it was about. But whatever it was, it’s top secret. Mega-security during the meeting, and nobody who was there is saying anything. Even Suki hasn’t been able to find out what it was about.”

  And that’s the first time that’s happened, Briddey thought.

  “She thinks they’ve come up with something that’ll create a complete paradigm shift and make the smartphone obsolete,” Charla said. “Like a smart ring.”

  “Or a smart tiara,” Briddey said sarcastically. “Or a tattoo.”

  “A tattoo? Really?”

  “No,” Briddey said. “That was a joke. I need you to tell Art Sampson I need to reschedule our meeting to tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow’s Saturday.”

  “To Monday, then. Did I have any other messages?”

  “Yes,” Charla said, consulting her tablet. “Your sister Mary Clare called and wanted to talk to you about whether she should serve wine at her book club meeting. She said book groups traditionally serve wine, but she read something about alcoholism among elementary school students being a growing problem.”

  Briddey rolled her eyes. But at least her call meant they hadn’t found out about the EED yet.

  “Your sister Kathleen wants you to call her,” Charla went on. “Something about online dating. And your niece Maeve called. She said she’s really mad at you. Now she can’t even read in peace, whatever that means.”

  “What?” Briddey said in mock surprise. “No message from my Aunt Oona?”

  “No,” Charla said. “She’s waiting in your office.”

  “If I’m the frying pan, then that out there is the fire.”

  —SYFY’S Alice

  “Aunt Oona’s in my office?” Briddey said. “What does she want?”

  “I don’t know,” Charla said. “All she said was she needed to talk to you, and when I told her you weren’t in yet, she said she’d wait.” Which could only mean one thing. Aunt Oona had somehow found out about her having had the EED.

  “I tried to get her to leave you a message,” Charla explained, “but she said it was a personal matter.”

  “It’s all right,” Briddey said, and went into her office, where Aunt Oona was sitting stolidly with her carpetbag in her lap. “What brings you here?” she asked brightly.

  “Maeve.” Aunt Oona shook her head sadly. “Poor bairn. ’Tis a worrying feeling I’ve had about her this last fortnight.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Aunt Oona, whatever Mary Clare’s been telling you, it’s not true. Maeve’s fine. She can take care of herself.”

  “Aye, that she can, in most situations. But if she were to find hersel
f in one where she couldn’t, I fear she’d not turn to her mother because of how Mary Clare—”

  “Completely overreacts to everything she’s told?”

  “Aye. ’Tis a dreadful thing to be in dire straits and not able to tell a soul, not even your nearest and dearest.”

  You’re right, Briddey thought. It is.

  “ ’Tis why I came to see you,” Aunt Oona went on. “Mary Clare told me you’re after taking Maeve to lunch on Saturday, and I’ve been thinking it would be a fine time to speak to the poor lamb and let her know she can pour out her heart to you and you’ll not tell another living soul.”

  “I’ll try, but—”

  “Aye, telling her’s one thing. ’Tis another to make her believe it. ’Tis the same with Kathleen.” She shook her head. “I’ve told her this internet foolery’s no way to find a good man. Fillin’ in questionnaires and looking at photographs! ‘Fine airs and fair faces are all very well,’ I said, ‘but ’tis a good Irish lad you should be wantin’.’ ”

  Like balding, still-lives-with-his-mother Sean O’Reilly? Briddey said silently.

  “But seemingly a lad with a kind heart isn’t good enough for her. It’s ‘compatible’ he’s got to be. Compatible!” Aunt Oona scoffed. “ ‘Kathleen,’ I said to her, ‘if there aren’t times when you’re wantin’ to break his head in, then ’tis not love you’re in, ’tis only a romantic dream.’ You lasses shouldn’t be wantin’ a man who’s ‘compatible,’ but one who’ll be there when you need him.”

  I don’t think ‘there when you need him’ is on the OKCupid questionnaire, Briddey said to herself.

  “ ‘Has he a generous heart?’ That’s what you should be askin’ yourselves,” Aunt Oona said. “ ‘Would he be willin’ to risk life and limb for me? And would I be willin’ to do the same for him?’ ” She shook her finger at Briddey. “And speakin’ of riskin’ life and limb, you’re not still set on having that foolish operation, are you? Never mind, I can see that you are. And all I have to say about that is—”

  Here we go, Briddey thought.

  “That when a leprechaun is after offering you a pot of gold, sure and there’s a trick in it somewhere.” She stood up. “I’ll be takin’ my leave of ye now.”

  Briddey was so surprised, she blurted, “Really?” and then could have kicked herself.

  “Aye,” Aunt Oona said, setting her carpetbag on Briddey’s desk and rummaging in it. “I’m to be givin’ Maeve’s science report to the kind lad who helped her with it.” She drew out a bright green folder. “C.D., his name is.”

  What? “You mean C.B.?”

  “Aye, that’s it. Where would his office be, then?”

  Briddey was trying to take this in. “Maeve knows C.B.?”

  Aunt Oona nodded. “He helped her with a project she was havin’ to do for school. On smartphones, it was. Got an A on her report, she did, and she wanted to show it to him.”

  The last thing she needed was for Aunt Oona to talk to C.B. He knew she didn’t want her family to know about the EED, but he wouldn’t have to tell her. All he had to do was mention the hospital or his driving her home, and she’d figure out the rest. And if he started talking about Saint Patrick hearing voices, or Joan of Arc—

  “I’ll see that he gets Maeve’s report,” Briddey said, reaching for the folder.

  “No, no, I’ll not be botherin’ you with it, busy as you are. Just tell me where this C.T. is.”

  “C.B., Aunt Oona,” Briddey said, and in case she was hoping he was a fine Irish lad, added: “C.B. Schwartz. He’s in a meeting right now. I’ll give Maeve’s report to him when he gets out.”

  And after some more clucking by Aunt Oona over Kathleen’s regrettable taste in dating methods and a suggestion that Briddey talk to Father O’Donnell before she did “something you’ll be repenting about this GED,” Briddey finally got Maeve’s report away from her, and Aunt Oona left.

  Briddey checked her email and then took the report out to Charla. “I need you to take this down to Mr. Schwartz. Tell him my aunt brought it, and it’s from Maeve.”

  Charla took it reluctantly.

  “He won’t bite, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not,” Charla said. “I was just wondering why she didn’t take it down herself.”

  “My aunt went down to see C.B.?”

  “Yeah. At least, she asked me where she could find him, and I told her he was down in the lab. She asked if I was sure, if he might not be in a meeting, and I told her he doesn’t go to meetings. And then she asked me how to get to the lab, and I told her. Shouldn’t I have done that?”

  No.

  “I warned her about him being kind of…you know,” Charla said, twirling a finger next to her head to indicate craziness. “Should I have tried to stop her?”

  Yes, Briddey thought. “No, of course not. If anyone calls, take a message.” She grabbed the folder back from Charla and took off for C.B.’s lab, calling, C.B., is my aunt down there with you?

  No answer.

  Don’t talk to her, she said, rounding the corner to the elevators. Tell her you have a meeting to go to. And ran straight into Phillip from Logistics.

  “Just the person I wanted to see,” he said. “What’s this about Commspan coming out with a smart tattoo?”

  That’s got to be some kind of land-speed rumor record, Briddey thought. It’s almost as fast as the news of my EED will travel if Aunt Oona—

  “Please tell me we’re not doing tattoos,” Phillip was saying. “I’m a phone designer, not a tattoo artist.”

  “I’m sure we’re not,” Briddey told him. “Listen, I’m late for a meeting—”

  “Well, we’d better not be, or I’ll be out of a job,” Phillip said, staring fixedly at the bandage on the back of her hand. “Are you sure you don’t know anything about this smart tattoo?”

  “Positive.” She resisted the impulse to put her hand behind her back. “Why don’t you ask Suki?” she said, and made her escape, calling, C.B., answer me. Is my aunt down there with you?

  Indeed she is, and we’re having a lovely bit of a chat.

  C.B.— she said, and heard Art Sampson’s voice say, “I’m fifty-nine. If I get laid off, I’ll never find another job.”

  I can’t afford to get waylaid by anybody else, Briddey thought, and ducked into the copy room to wait till he’d passed.

  She should have looked inside before she did. Jill Quincy was at the copier. “You’re just the person I wanted to see,” she said. “What are all these rumors about the Hermes Project? What’ve they come up with?”

  “I don’t know,” Briddey said, keeping an eye on the door so she could see when Art Sampson had gone by.

  “But Trent’s working on it, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, but it’s all classified.”

  “I know, but couples tell each other everything, classified or not.”

  Not always, Briddey thought.

  “Suki said they’ve come up with something that’ll change the idea of communication altogether, that’ll cause a complete paradigm shift.”

  Still no sign of Art Sampson. He must have gone the other way. And Briddey couldn’t wait any longer. She put her phone to her ear even though it hadn’t rung and said, “Phillip, no, I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be right there.”

  “Sorry,” she said to Jill, and hurried out and down to the elevator. C.B., answer me, she called as she reached it. I don’t want you talking to my aunt.

  No answer.

  She pushed the DOWN button. C.B., I mean it.

  The elevator door began to open. Behind her, she heard Art Sampson say, “…still six years till I can take my retirement,” and turned to see how close he was.

  “Briddey!” Trent stepped out of the elevator. “Thank God I found you! We need to talk.”

  Out of the frying pan, into the fire, Briddey thought, looking longingly at the closing elevator door. “Trent! What are you doing here? I thought we agreed we shouldn’t
be seen together, and I just heard Art Sampson—”

  “We’ve got bigger problems than Sampson. I still haven’t felt anything. Have you?”

  Yes, she thought. Apprehensiveness, frustration, despair, and, right now, panic. “No,” she said.

  “That’s what I was afraid of. We need to call Dr. Verrick.”

  “But it hasn’t been forty-eight hours yet,” Briddey said. And I’ve got to get downstairs before C.B. spills the beans to Aunt Oona.

  “I looked up EED connection times online,” Trent was saying. “The average was twenty-eight hours. Something’s wrong.” He pulled out his phone.

  “You can’t call him here,” Briddey said, looking anxiously down the hall. “Someone might overhear you.”

  “You’re right.” Trent pushed the button for the elevator. “We’ll call him from my office.”

  “But what about your secretary?”

  “She won’t say anything. She’s the soul of discretion.”

  “But I have a meeting I’ve got to—”

  “Reschedule it. This is more important.”

  “And I need to run this report down to Lorraine in Marketing,” she said, waving Maeve’s science report at him. “It can’t wait. I—”

  Trent plucked it neatly out of her hands. “I’ll have Ethel take it down to her. And I’ll have her reschedule your meeting.”

  And now it was no longer a case of out of the frying pan, into the fire. The frying pan had caught fire, too. “She can’t,” Briddey said desperately. “Having your secretary cancel my meeting would cause all sorts of gossip.”

  “Then she can call your assistant and have her cancel it,” Trent said, punching the button again.

  “No, that’s an even worse idea. Charla’s good friends with Suki. She’s bound to tell her. And if we’re seen going up to your office together…You go, and I’ll run this report to Lorraine and then come up.”

  The elevator door opened. Briddey grabbed the report back and quickly stepped inside. “Wait till I get there to call Dr. Verrick so we can talk to him together,” she said, pushing the CLOSE DOOR button.