But if I couldn’t see them… “What happens if I run into them?”
“The kinesthetic function is turned on now, so it won’t let you run into them,” explained Kenny. “You’re guiding your body, but the system takes over your foot placements, even modifies what you see so that you don’t notice your body making the detours your kinesthetic system makes for you.”
I nodded. Of course I’d read all about it, but experiencing it was different.
In the distance, a robot walked by.
“Could you also set it to remove all robotics, I mean, unless they directly address me?” They still made me nervous. This gave me another idea. “And remove all couples holding hands as well.”
Perhaps this was too much to share with Kenny, but I said it without thinking. Kenny nodded, and I realized then that he was perhaps the closest thing that I had to a friend.
“All done,” he replied after a few seconds. “So this is the new pssi system that Cognix is going to release, huh?”
I had been busy enjoying myself, admiring my new neighborhood—Kenny’s innocent mention of Cognix brought me roughly back down to Earth. My nerves were frayed. “I don’t know, Kenny, but they’re going to be giving it away soon, so you’ll be able to play with it to your heart’s content. I’ll make sure you’re first in line.”
“Cool.” In an overlaid display space I could see him tuning into a media broadcast from Patricia Killiam.
8
New York could make you crazy, but if I’d ever had a bad day at work, this was the worst. I’d spent the past week almost sleeping at the office, preparing reams of new material for the Cognix launch. It was a simultaneous worldwide release, the biggest media campaign in the history of the world, and we were in a fever pitch trying to get everything ready.
Storms were sweeping up the eastern Pacific toward Atopia. Hurricanes by themselves were nothing unusual these days, and they weren’t really threatening the island-city, but Atopia had inexplicably begun moving itself much closer toward America. Too close, some were saying, and the Atopians weren’t offering any explanations for why.
We had to somehow spin it positively in addition to everything else going on.
Kenny had installed filters in my pssi so that Bertram and the floozies in the assistant pool were filtered out of my visual input unless they directly addressed me in some way. That was great to begin with, but as the days went by, the stress was piling on, and I’d been growing more and more frustrated with almost everyone.
The showstopper came at the end of the week.
“Olympia,” came the call from Roger, “could you come in here, please?”
It was the final decision on the last stage of the Cognix account and I was nervous. The old school and new school were facing down in the battle brewing between Bertram and me, and I felt my career hanging in the balance.
Flicking off a gossip-girl channel on Phuture News, I collected my Cognix materials and sent them over to the conference room, closing down my workspaces as I got up to leave. I ran a hand through my hair to straighten it out and absently brushed some lint off my shoulder as I looked out at the wall of the building facing my window, hardly ten feet away.
My reflected image hung thinly over the cold, chipped brick beyond. My God, is that me? I looked so old. My long blond hair, the pride of my youth, hung in a frazzled mess around my shoulders. Even from here, I could see the lines in my face. I’d always been slender, but my reflection looked gaunt. My heart thumped loudly in my chest, each contraction forcing the blood through my arteries, straining it into the smallest of vessels as the pressure built up.
I tried taking a deep breath, but there was nowhere for the air to go as my chest tightened. Sweat beaded on my forehead.
Shake it off, take the fight to them. A vision of that bum on the street crowded my mind and I looked down.
My heart began racing.
You’re a high-powered executive, a queen of New York. You have savings, you have important friends, you own your home, and you’ve even got Mr. Tweedles. I smiled at that. The doctor was right—the stress was getting to me.
Letting out a big sigh, I collected myself and made for the door. Everything would be fine.
I entered the conference room down the hallway and was surprised to find that projections of our Cognix customers—Patricia Killiam and the others—weren’t filling the holographic wall. Roger and Bertram were sitting down on the other side of the long table, looking at me.
Pulling up a chair opposite them, I leaned into the table, feeling my old friend anger begin to make an appearance.
“What’s up, guys?” I half-asked, half-challenged.
“Olympia, we’re glad you’re here,” Roger began, opening clasped hands that had been supporting his chin.
I let go an audible groan. “What’s up? Cut the bullshit. Did we lose the final phase?”
“No,” he announced with pronounced lack of enthusiasm. “Actually, we won.”
“So what’s the problem?”
“No problem at all. In fact, we want to use all of the materials you created. Great work!”
“Well, good then,” I replied carefully, relaxing my shoulders.
“But.… ”
“But what?”
“We’ve made, ah, our client wants.… ” Roger coughed and wiped a hand across his face. “We want Bertram to head the account. You’ll be working under him on this. But I’d like you to show him the ropes, you know, you’re the expert.”
He smiled at me weakly while Bertram beamed. The simmering pot inside me exploded.
“Are you out of your mind?” I barked back at them both.
Bertram shifted back in his chair, enjoying the spectacle, his grin floating disconnectedly in my red-shifted vision. My chest tightened. Gripping the table with white knuckles, my vision swam. “Does this have anything to do with me not wanting to use that kid Jimmy instead of Patricia?”
“Nothing like that,” said Bertram, smiling. I didn’t believe him.
“Olympia, look, I understand how you feel,” pleaded my boss, “but you could learn a lot from Bertram, too. Look how calm and collected he is.” He looked back at Bertram. “There is no rush on this. Why don’t you take next week off, paid leave, and think about everything?”
I stared down at the table, trying to get a grip.
“Fine,” I grumbled under my breath. This wasn’t a fight I could win right now. “Glad we won the contract, sir. I could actually use a little time off.”
“See,” said Roger, brightening, “now that’s the spirit. Take as much time as you need, Olympia, we need you here in top shape. This will be a big job.”
Yes, I thought, this will be a big job.
Taking off early, I got home quickly and was just into a second bottle of wine and curled up on my couch with Mr. Tweedles when night began to fall. It started raining outside, and through my large bay window I watched the wind drive the sudden downpour in the streets outside.
After polishing off the wine, I was having a hard time concentrating on a new romance novel I’d started. My mind was constantly shifting back to plotting the downfall of Bertram.
Mr. Tweedles started purring and rubbing up against me. I’d been enjoying cuddling with him, but he’d rolled over onto his back, inviting me to scratch his tummy. I’d obliged, and been rewarded with a nip for my efforts. I kicked the ungrateful little fuzzball off the couch.
Sighing, I washed a sleeping pill down with a mouthful of wine. Lighting up my last cigarette for the night, I called Kenny.