The delicate light fell across Millicent’s brow. She fluttered her eyes open and adjusted her vision to take in the beautiful sunrise over the green fields. Bright yellow rays sliced through the deepening blue, meeting the horizon with fiery orange and pink. She inhaled deeply before stretching her arms wide.
“Good morning, Ms. Foster,” said a pleasant female voice localized in the bed area.
“The sun is bright this morning,” Millicent said sleepily.
“I do apologize, miss.” The intensity of the sunrise faded somewhat.
“Better.” Millicent swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stared for a moment, letting the beautiful tableau lighten her spirit.
“Transportation will arrive five minutes late, miss,” the computer said.
“What’s the delay?” She glanced at the green letters within the wall screen, reading 0636.
“Your craft has an extra passenger this morning, miss. They encountered a delay through the tech district. They apologize for the tardiness.”
“An extra passenger?” Millicent frowned as she got up and pulled open the glass door to her cleaning stall.
“Yes, miss. I was given no further information.”
Her frown was more pronounced when she entered the stall and closed the door. Millicent thought, On, and a blast of warm air pushed against her body from all sides, sweeping up her legs and stopping at her midriff. Three beeps had her closing her eyes and holding her breath. The air rushed up against her top half and face, disinfecting as it ran over her skin. She exhaled as the jets shut off and pulled back into their cavities in the wall.
“Is this a business person, or a government investor of some sort . . .” Millicent allowed for the application of lotion before exiting the stall. She stared out the computer-generated window for a moment, waiting.
“That information is classified, miss. I pushed the issue, but received no response.”
Millicent took the proffered suit from the extended mechanical arm, but then paused. Slowly, she replaced the clothing. “Give me a suit with more defensive capabilities.”
“Of course, miss. I apologize for not thinking of that.”
Millicent waited as the suit disappeared into a slit in the wall. Pictures of clothing options cycled across the wall screen until the feed finally stopped on a bright-pink suit with flared sleeves. The conglomerate’s insignia decorated the right breast.
“What else?” Millicent said.
More clothing choices cycled across the screen, pausing on various options that might fit the situation. Unfortunately, those in a darker color either had too much hardware or more complicated schematics than she wanted or were too light in both. The conglomerate wouldn’t knowingly put her in danger, but she’d nearly died on three occasions from their shortsightedness. She had no idea why this civilian was being allowed to ride with her in her private craft, but it was safe to say a precautionary wardrobe was entirely necessary.
But a bright-pink one?
She sighed heavily. “Go back to the first choice.”
The various attributes of the suit flashed across the screen as the horrendous item shot through the wall. Millicent squinted at the screen’s image before thinking, Enlarge. Labeled hardware flashed larger before revolving so she could familiarize herself with the needed commands.
In distaste, Millicent removed the suit. “Who chose this color?” A pair of boots shot through next.
“Aubrey, your AI clothing specialist, took the liberty of specially making that suit for you, miss. I believe it was commissioned last spring, 2546. That color was in the height of trend.”
Only half a year ago. It’d probably stay in trend for two more years. Colors that awful usually wouldn’t die.
Her mind turned back to the passenger approaching in her transportation. Her transportation. “Since when has my transportation become a conglomerate bus?” she asked. “I should’ve been asked.” She shook her head as she stepped into the suit. “At the very least, notified. This is appalling. I’ll be taking this up with my higher-up.”
“Of course, miss. I was assured that this was a rare circumstance. I do apologize.”
Millicent bit her lip, thinking this through. She didn’t like unexplained situations. They never turned out well within this conglomerate.
An hour later, she sat on her bench, looking out the window, waiting. Purple numbers flashed across her wrist screen, showing her the time. Ten minutes late.
“Update,” she said, trying to push down her irritation while completely ignoring her anxiety. If she was being punished for some reason, there was nothing she could do about it now. The passenger was on board. She’d have to take what came.
“Please brace yourself, miss. They are pulling up now. Have a safe journey. I’ll meet you at work.”
Millicent’s head jerked back toward her apartment. “You won’t be within the craft?”
“No, miss. No third-party AIs are permitted on today’s journey.”
The anxiety was a little harder to ignore as the glass wall parted down the middle. The image of a field with the sun climbing into the blue melted away into angry gray sky. Cold air rushed toward her, freezing her breath against her face. Across the chasm, another glass wall, smeared with rain, stood between her and the raging environment. A shuddering but sleek hovercraft slid into the protected bay before her, held tight to the side by guiding rails. It docked before its doors parted and a walkway extended, perfectly fitting into the groove of her landing area.
Her breath was shallow as she waited for the doors to open and the craft to stabilize, taking the few precious moments to judge what awaited her. A man in a gray bodysuit, with no conglomerate affiliation, sat near the front partition, perfectly straight backed. His eyes, a strange electric blue that looked like a breeding experiment gone wrong, flashed to her for a moment, roved her suit, and hovered on her sleeves before glancing behind her into her lodgings.
She stepped into the craft slowly, ready for any sudden movement. The usual two defensive guards who escorted her into her department each day sat as they always did, straight backed and eyes forward.
The door of the driverless vehicle slid shut behind her. Then the bay door opened, subjecting the vehicle to the travel ways of San Francisco.
As she sat, she glanced at the stranger. His right brow was a smidgen more arched than the other, and his lips seemed fuller than most men’s. That cleft in his chin was in no way common.
He was a natural born!
Confusion growing, she scanned his powerful body and noticed his calloused and scarred hands.
A natural born like she was, but one who was used to heavy physical exertion. Something was definitely amiss. No natural born would travel without their own security . . .
Not to mention she hadn’t had a passenger since her first day of work, half a decade ago or more.
It was then she noticed his hair. Loosely pulled back from his head, it formed a knot at the base of his skull. A rather messy knot!
Her fingers tingled, and a surge of adrenaline ran the length of her spine. Anyone employed and/or created by the conglomerate, in any department, had to adhere to a strict code of appearance as well as conduct. Long hair was to be properly maintained and styled or pulled into a tight bun. Short hair could be no more than four centimeters long and styled, or less than one centimeter and natural. Any staff member caught breaking the rules would be reprimanded and forced to fix it before he left his quarters.
She remembered the subjects she’d tested a week ago. Each had had longer hair than was routine, not cut because the men weren’t cared about.
A chill ran through her as she, once again, surveyed the strength and power inherent in this man’s body.
“Are we stopping anywhere on the way?” she asked no one in particular, hoping for a different answer than the one forming a knot in her gut.
The two guards turned their heads, each with mild expressions of astonishment. She’d spoken on the way to the department as many times as she’d had a passenger.
Annoyed with the continued silence, she quirked an eyebrow, a movement that had been perfected over time to eliminate the need for her to speak.
The left guard recovered quickest. “No, miss. We are en route as usual.”
Not as usual, or there wouldn’t be an unexplained stranger in their midst.
As if hearing her thought, the stranger’s head turned slowly until he stared at her. There was something untamed as well as unsavory in the depths of his glimmering eyes. Humor sparkled alongside a maniacal and violent light.
A ferocious powerhouse in incredibly confined quarters . . .
This couldn’t be the conglomerate’s answer to her demands about more thorough testing, could it?
A shiver of fear dumped adrenaline into her body. This being a test was the only logical explanation.
As if the man had heard her thoughts for the second time, his lips pulled into a smile with perfectly straight white teeth. His head turned back slowly until he was looking out the window again. Still smiling. Now at nothing.
Yes, they were testing her most recent update. It was obvious. The man was clearly deranged. Voices were probably sounding off in his head, and not from tech. He was a natural born gone wrong. She’d seen this before. The lottery ball of genes had dumped out a psychopath instead of revealing new traits that could be exploited by the conglomerates. And now he sat here, with no guards of his own, fighting against her new restrictive program.
Millicent tapped her fingers against her legs, seeing the stranger’s smile burn a little brighter. The brows of the guards quirked—they’d recognized something was amiss. Hard not to—the lunatic was sitting right there, smiling at nothing. Even an engineered, Curve-hugging moron could see what was going on.
A burst of perspiration erupted along her brow. She was thankful for the suit she’d chosen.
“I need access to the console in this craft,” she said primly, looking straight ahead at the plain gray partition.
The stranger started to chuckle, of all things.
“We are five minutes out, miss,” the left guard said, eyes wide with disbelief.
“I didn’t ask for an ETA. I told you I needed to access the console.”
“Yes, of course, miss. I apologize.” The left guard turned and palmed the screen next to the partition. He entered the code and then sat up straight again. “It’s ready to be moved over when you access the hologram.”
She nodded to show she’d taken in the info. Now she would stay unaffected until the worst case.
What is the worst case?
She eyed the smiling madman. His head sat higher than the guards, indicating he was taller and had a longer reach. With that breadth of shoulder and those arms stacked with muscle, his movements would be powerful. Fast? Probably. She had to assume the worst. A launch from those thick legs and he’d be in her lap before she knew it.
That was assuming her tech didn’t work.
Stupid assumption. It will.
She’d made the necessary fixes and increased the muscle-freezing power. Even a man as big as the one currently sitting much too close to her should be paralyzed by it. Regardless, it would take him time to break through the invisible bindings, and in that time, she’d stab him.
Her pulse throbbing, she took a deep breath and prepared for the worst. The soft shudder of the vessel docking startled her. She looked out the window in surprise, seeing the walkway into her department, eighty-four floors from the wasteland of the ground level. When she looked back, the stranger was staring at her.
She stood slowly and braced herself. And then almost threw up when he stood as well, easily. Without flexing.
The man was huge.
Was this some kind of joke by the conglomerate?
“Ma’am.” The stranger’s deep rumble was like an earthquake in his chest until the words worked out, coated in velvet. It sounded like a greeting, and an awfully civilized one considering his hairstyle.
She jumped when the vessel door opened behind her. The guards edged out of the opening, leaving her alone with the stranger as they took up their posts outside.
What the hell is going on?
“Ma’am?” He smiled again. Why was anyone’s guess.
The open door gaped at her back. Did she have this all wrong . . . ?
The man’s continued smile said he was reading her discomfort.
She must’ve had this all wrong.
Feeling sheepish and desperate not to show it, she said, “Of course,” in the most unaffected tone she could.
Wind whipped against her in the holding area. The stranger stepped up beside her, and the door closed behind them with a fuuuup.
“Long ride, huh, princess?” he asked in a tone she didn’t much care for.
The doors in front of them opened into a walkway that led along the side of the building, providing access to various departments. Staff could only get into a select few doors dictated by their pay grade. A ways in front of them was a grand entrance. Crystal-clear blue showed in the glass overhead—a delusion of fair weather. Usually she cherished the computer-generated model of Old Earth, but now it seemed like a mockery. The stranger and his enigma wouldn’t let her drift into the pleasant fiction of a time when a blue sky had been possible.
Against privacy protocol, she very nearly turned to ask the man about his involvement in her morning, but a shout drew her focus away and to the right. A woman screamed, and the pounding of running feet thundered through the hollow entranceway. A man tore around the bend of the building, his clothing nothing but rags and his face covered in slime. Something metal glimmered in his hand. When he saw her small group, determination hardened his features.
For the second time that morning, adrenaline dumped into her body. Maintaining calm, she thought, Heels.
One of her guards sprinted toward the intruder while the other crowded in close. He rose his wrist to his mouth and yelled for the craft to reenter the bay.
Heels! she thought again. Nothing happened. Arm stilts.
Metal pushed out from her sleeves and clicked into her hands. The intruder crashed into her first guard. His hand came up fast before jabbing twice in quick succession. She could barely see a knife at the end of his fist, now coated in blood. Her guard sank to the ground, his weapon unused, before being pushed out of the way.
She rammed her boot heels together, trying to jog the mechanics into working. Heels!
The intruder’s rags flared as he started to run again, revealing a black suit of decent quality. He wasn’t what he seemed. But then, she’d already cataloged that from how he worked that knife.
She leaned forward, prepared to take him out, when metal in his other hand swung into view. Her eyes opened at the same rate as her mouth. Fear choked her.
With a metallic whine of extending heels, she grew by eight centimeters.
The intruder, fifteen meters out, slowed and fell to one knee. A tube filled his hand and kept growing until it was one meter long and capable of destroying her day.
Her other guard banged on the bay door behind them, trying to shoulder it open. The craft hadn’t fully docked, though. They were stuck.
She’d brought metal batons and razor-spiked heels to a rocket- launcher fight. Her morning wasn’t going as planned.
Before she could switch weapons, a futile effort since nothing in her arsenal was even remotely able to handle this situation, a crowd of men and women in crisp blue suits ran out from behind the intruder.
Undeterred, he flicked a sight on the top and pushed forward a trigger guard. That model had no safety. He was hot and ready, but not altogether stable. It’d throw him back before the explosive left the barrel, which would make the explosive hit the ceiling above them.
“Let’s go—we have to move! Heels, disengage!” She stepped forward to run, forgetting to put that last command into thought, but she didn’t get very far. Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm. She whipped about and promptly bounced off a rock-hard body, staggering as her ankles bent and rolled, unbalanced on the damn boots.
The intruder’s finger turned white on the trigger. She tensed, waiting for the end.
Nothing happened.
The intruder looked at his rocket launcher in confusion.
Thank Holy, Millicent had chosen a suit that adequately recycled fluids, or she’d be uncomfortable in more ways than one.
A man in crisp blue dived, crashing into the back of the intruder. They spilled to the ground as more conglomerate security arrived at the scene.
Wind assaulted Millicent from behind, the guard finally getting the doors open.
Before she could process what was happening, a club smashed down onto the intruder’s head. The metal tube went clattering to the ground before rolling away. Then another strike, this one crushing his skull. Blood splattered upward before starting to pool under the quickly ended struggle.
“Why didn’t they use a gun?” she asked in a wispy voice.
“This way, miss!” Her remaining guard reached for her.
“That was a drill, cupcake.” The stranger turned to her guard. “You’re useless. You should be used for parts.”
“I . . . But . . .” The guard’s hand dropped in confusion.
“C’mon, time for work. You’re late.” The stranger, his grip still firm on her upper arm, marched her toward the entrance.
“How did you know that was a drill?” she asked. She noticed the first guard off to the side, his limbs splayed at uncomfortable-looking angles. She felt a twinge spread through her middle as she noticed the thick deep-red puddle of blood crawling along the cement. He’d been around for years, silently sitting in the craft or walking her to and from her work pod. And now . . .
She forced her features into smooth disinterest before abruptly facing front.
Her persona said she wasn’t affected by such carnage. And to an onlooker, she wasn’t. She designed the most heinous weapons the world had ever known. She’d seen the effects of some of her handiwork, and she’d borne it beautifully. At least, that’s what her reports said. They had to, or she’d be retired to some low-level department where they’d belittle and taunt her for being a failed natural born. She’d be beaten up by jealous bosses and starved, moved from her apartment into a tiny dark dwelling with a roommate. She couldn’t live like that.
They’d bred her with a job in mind, and she would do that job. No matter what it took.
She rose her chin in defiance of her discomfort. Getting back on track—and into the role intended for her—she thought, Heels—disengage.
Nothing happened.
“Sexy.” The rumble was like a deep drum.
“What’s sexy?” she asked as she stomped one boot, and then the other.
“The heels. Horribly inefficient, though.”
She could feel the severe glower on her face. Heels—DISENGAGE! “Flats are for running away. Heels are for running toward.”
“Not sure I follow, princess.”
“Stop calling me that.” She unclenched her fists. “Commenting on your sexual approval of my footwear is not permitted within this organization. Surely someone covered that with you . . .”
“Do you always go into your work pod armed?” he asked, the humor dripping away.
“That’s none of your concern.”
“Yes, it is. Answer the question.”
She scowled at his forceful tone as they neared the entranceway to her department. “I’m afraid that information is reserved for higher-level staff. Thanks for walking me, but now I must—”
“Good morning, Mr. Gunner,” a raspy male voice greeted the stranger beside her, reading his retinal scan.
If he could get into this part of the building, why wasn’t he wearing the conglomerate insignia?
“Good morning, Ms. Foster,” Millicent’s AI said.
“Since I can tell you won’t give me a straight answer, excuse me, I have work to do.” Mr. Gunner strode away without another glance.
She stared after him for a moment, mouth agape. He’d never answered her question regarding the drill, not that he was probably permitted to. But two men lay dead on the walk outside. Surely that deserved some kind of explanation. She felt like she was missing a large piece of the puzzle . . .
Or perhaps the entire puzzle.
She thought briefly of bringing it up with her superior, but tossed the idea away. The department gave her information as she needed it—if she made any such requests, she’d be asked why she was suddenly getting curious about matters that didn’t concern her.
She stripped anything not relevant to her daily tasks from her mind—it was safer that way. Easier, too. Shaking her head, she slipped into her work pod, twelve minutes late, and immediately focused.
She was the job. Nothing else mattered.
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