by N M Tatum
Sam had paced a rut in the floor of the dressing room. Her neck was beginning to ache. She forced her head forward, straining the muscles, intent on looking down and not catching a glance of the person pacing step in step beside her.
Looking down only forced her to look at the pants she was wearing. And the shoes. So impractical. Why? Why would anyone choose to wear these unless they were going undercover and needed to adopt the identity of someone too stupid to know better? The pants…weren’t that bad. They were surprisingly comfortable. Snug, yet flexible. And the color always made sense – black. Able to blend into the shadows if needed.
The further up her eyes crawled on that person in the mirror, the less things made sense. A suit jacket? Limited mobility. She couldn’t raise her arms over her head without the thing riding up and exposing her midsection. How was she supposed to swing a sword?
Her eyes climbed higher. There was no strap across her chest holding her sword on her back. No shield gauntlet on her forearm. No holster for blasters. And then her face. Her face made the least sense of all.
Her mask was gone. She was totally exposed. The smooth skin of her face there for all to see. The small scar on her chin, a paragraph in her history that few had ever read. Even she rarely saw her own face. But this was strategic. She repeated that herself. A strategic move.
You can’t blend into the crowd with that thing on your face.
The irony made her mouth twitch into a twisted smile. She’d used the mask as a way to hide for so long. Now, in order to hide, she needed to take it off.
Irony is stupid.
Sam had used the excuse that the mask helped her breathe. Now, with it off, she really was having a hard time breathing.
A knock on the door rattled her.
“How’s it going in there?” There was a subtle note of delight in Millie’s voice. She saw how uncomfortable it made Sam to shed her mercenary layer and get dolled up, and she hadn’t forgotten about that slap Sam had lain across her face.
“Fine,” Sam grumbled. She bent over, resting her elbows on her thighs in a squat position. She took several deep breaths. With each inhale, she reminded herself who she was.
Fearless mercenary.
Warrior.
Survivor.
With each exhale, she blew the worry out of her body.
It’s just a suit.
Only a mask.
Stop hiding.
She stood. Her head swam. When the world stopped moving, she looked at the mirror. At herself. Open and raw. Exposed. Powerful and strong.
“I’ve got a family now,” she said to the person in the mirror. “Family doesn’t hide from each other.” She took one more deep breath, growing as her lungs filled.
Millie pressed her ear to the door, stifling a giggle. “You okay, sweetheart?”
The door swung open, launching Millie like a catapult. Sam marched out and stepped over Millie.
“Are you?”
Reggie was just beginning to understand the mechanics of his suit. If he moved like this, then the jacket did this. If he squatted like this, then the pants climbed up his ass. If he stood still with his hands in his pockets, he looked just like his dad. He would rather fight his way out from inside the belly of a queen ShimVen.
The anxiety-inducing sight surprised Reggie. He admired his father. He thought any comparison between him and his father would have been flattering. But this was not. This made his heart pound against the inside of his chest and a cold sweat bead on his forehead.
Joel strutted around the room. “Am I really the only one enjoying this? You two look like you’re about to have heart attacks.”
Cody pulled at his collar. “I think this shirt is trying to kill me.”
Peppy followed at Joel’s side. He seemed to enjoy the strutting as much as Joel. But even he froze when Sam walked through the door.
The guys’ eyes locked on her. Heat danced across her skin as adrenaline shot through her veins. Her body kicked into fight mode. She tensed, trying to keep her muscles from acting on instinct and ninja kicking every face in the room.
Sam took a breath. She straightened her jacket. She met each of their stares with a steely, determined look. She would not back down. She never backed down.
She looked at Cody and Reggie. “Maybe you guys should wear a mask. You look like you’re going to puke.”
They laughed, and some color returned to their faces.
Millie entered behind Sam. She held a bowtie out to Joel. “I will allow your pet to wear this on the condition that you burn it afterward.”
Joel snatched it out of her hand. “Deal.”
Chapter Fifteen
“Welcome to the Proctor Conference Station,” the robotic voice said over Ragnarok’s comms. “Please present your invitation credentials.”
Joel and Reggie looked at each other with shocked expressions.
“Well, I guess this is our shortest job ever,” Joel said with a shrug.
Cody began furiously typing on the ship’s main console. “Maybe not. Dewayne should have taken care of this, but I can do it.” The screen flashed red for a second before being flooded with lines of code. “It’s a conference center, not the headquarters of one of the galaxy’s biggest and most advanced drug companies. They don’t house any sensitive data, so I’m sure they choose to spend their money on things that matter, like little plates and crab cakes.”
“Welcome!” the robotic voice said. “You will now receive your itinerary for the event as well as a parking pass and instructions. Please, enjoy your time aboard the Proctor Conference Station.”
Cody looked pleased with himself. The collar of his fancy shirt started to feel right, like he was the sort of man who wore ties. “Piece of cake.”
Joel clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done. Just one question.” He leaned in close. “Do you think they’ll really have crab cakes?”
Cody pushed him, and Joel fell into his seat.
The monitors on the bridge lit up. Displayed were pictures of each of them accompanied by names and information none of them recognized.
“Who is Roland Messina?” Reggie asked. “And why does he look like me from that VR tournament from a few years ago?”
“Because Roland Messina is you,” Cody said. “I had to pull pictures from social media.” He maximized Reggie’s fake profile on the monitor. “Roland Messina is an intern at Jasob. He just started at the beginning of the quarter. He’s taking this semester off from school because he doesn’t want to squander the opportunity to work for one of the biggest companies in the galaxy.”
“Roland?” Reggie echoed, unsure.
Cody looked annoyed. “I had to whip these identities up on the way over here. I kept them as close to the real thing as I could so we don’t need to worry about keeping the fakes straight from what’s real.” He brought back the profiles for himself, Joel and Sam. “We’re all new employees for Jasob, looking to learn the business and meet some of the players. We’re friends from school, so we all know each other. No one will look twice at us.”
Joel looked contemplatively at his profile. “Josh Cook?” He crinkled his mouth. “So bland.”
Sam smirked. “As close to the original as possible.”
Joel shot her a displeased look. “What about you, Sally?”
Sam’s smirk morphed into a frown. “I’m not happy about that name. But it’ll do. We won’t be here for long.”
“Glad everyone is on board and not complaining at all. You’re welcome, by the way, for creating fake IDs and hacking our way into this conference totally on the fly. No big deal.” Cody grumbled as he steered the ship into the station’s hangar bay.
“Get over it, Craig,” Joel said, using Cody’s fake name. As he and the others exited the bridge, he said to Reggie and Sam, “God, Craig used to be cool. When did he become such a whiner? Fucking Craig, man.”
Cody squeezed the yoke until his fingers ached.
The team huddled in the ready room onc
e they landed. Cody raised their persona profiles again for them all to scan one last time. “Commit them to memory. Become them. We are not IPC right now. We are not the Notches. We are lowly Jasob interns. Don’t get distracted by the hustle of the event or the free food. We’re here to gather intel and be on the lookout in case Layton tries anything. Not only is this our chance to get solid proof of Layton’s actions, but Dewayne is paying us a lot of money.”
The team seemed unsure what to do next. Normally they’d strap up with gear and weapons.
Joel straightened. “Let’s roll, Notches. Those crab cakes aren’t going to eat themselves.”
Cody sighed.
The hangar bay was a steady stream of people entering the event. The team fell in line with the crowd as they moved en masse toward a choke point where venue staff was checking credentials.
Joel fought the urge to moo as they shuffled along.
The crowd was intimidating. Not like the gala, where the people had been a cluster of the rich and powerful. But these people were all used to this sort of thing, gathering and talking about the industry. Mingling under a certain set of social rules.
The guys weren’t used to gatherings like this. Most of their gatherings now happened online. Groups of gamers chatting about stupid shit, sometimes going overboard and getting vile. There were no rules in that situation. People said whatever they wanted. They said things they would never say face to face. This was completely the opposite.
Sam had a little sense of the social rules for this sort of situation. She knew they existed, and she had a basic understanding, but she was far from fluent. In a way, this would be harder than the gala, which had been full of rich people whom she hated on principle. She hadn’t cared about blending in there.
Here, she needed to. The job depended on it. She couldn’t pull out her sword and threaten to lop off someone’s head. She didn’t even have her sword. She felt naked.
All who passed cast wary glances at Peppy, sitting at Joel’s side wearing his bowtie.
“I can’t believe you brought him,” Cody said to Joel.
“Believe it, because it’s happening.”
“We’re supposed to be blending in,” Cody said. “Being inconspicuous. You see any other dogs here?”
Joel brushed off the concern. “Don’t worry, I’ve cooked up a perfect cover story.” He gestured to the staff at the checkpoint ahead. “Watch.”
They approached the checkpoint. A woman checked the team’s credentials, matching their faces to the IDs in her system. Cody never flinched. He had complete confidence in his forged personas.
“Thank you, Mr. Boskins,” the staff member said to Cody. She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter.
After Cody joined Sam and Reggie on the other side of the checkpoint, the woman raised her hand to stop Joel.
“Excuse me, sir, there are no animals allowed in the conference center.”
To Cody’s amazement, Joel did not scoff or throw a fit. He remained calm, smiled even.
“I had a feeling this might happen,” Joel said. “There’s this new intern who just started in the office. Cody.” Joel leaned in to whisper to the woman. “Real moron. Don’t tell anyone I said that. I don’t want HR breathing down my neck.”
They both laughed. Joel rested his hand on the woman’s forearm. He squinted at her nametag.
“Listen, Pam, can I be honest? I feel like I can be honest with you. You deal with executives and middle management tyrants all day, coming in here to stuff their faces with crab cakes. I get it.” He pointed to Peppy. “This guy here belongs to one of those executives. He’s a drug-sniffing dog or something, I don’t know. My boss is going to use him in a demonstration later this afternoon. All I know is that if I don’t deliver him, my ass is fired.” Joel leaned in again. “Don’t let Cody ruin this for me. Please?”
Pam pursed her lips. Her eyes narrowed as they sized Joel up. Then they lightened. “I’ve got a Cody. His name is Doug. Always up my ass about miniscule shit, but never around when the real work needs to get done.”
Joel nodded and smiled. “Exactly. They’re just the absolute worst.”
Pam stepped aside. “You deliver that dog and tell your boss that Cody fucked up.”
Joel let out a soft whistle, signaling Peppy to walk through. “Thank you so much, Pam.”
“And if that dog shits on my floor…”
“I’ll ask for Doug.” Joel joined the others, his smile so big it almost weighed him down.
Cody and Reggie looked astonished, like they just witnessed a miracle, or a magic trick they couldn’t figure out.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” Reggie said.
“Of course he just did that,” Cody said. “He’s always doing stuff like that. I just can’t believe it worked.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever done that before,” Joel said, patting Peppy on the head.
“Charming your way past the rules,” Cody said. “Talking your way into getting what you want.” He sounded pouty, like a child at another kid’s birthday party.
“You just hack your way into getting what you want,” Joel said, sounding defensive.
Reggie stepped close to them, pulling Sam in with him to form a tight circle. “Enough. We don’t have time to bicker and get distracted. We’re working.”
“That’s how we work,” Joel reminded him.
“This job isn’t business as usual,” Reggie said. “We can’t blow anything up. We need to fly under the radar, be discreet. No fighting. No more stunts. We have to be smart.”
Joel grumbled. “That’s no fun.”
Cody appreciated the redirect. He wanted this job to be successful more than any other. He wanted to prove that Layton was behind this. He needed to. He didn’t know why, but admitting how invested he was in this had made it easier for him to focus.
“Where do we start?” Sam asked.
Cody scanned the room. “Mingle. Try to talk to people from Layton, see what you can learn about Dr. Suzz or their business strategy or rumors of impropriety. This is a gathering of bigwigs from the same industry, which means they’re all competitors. Use that to get people talking.”
“We’ll split up, see what we can find out, and meet back here in an hour.” Reggie put his hand in the circle. The others looked at him like he was an idiot.
“We’re not doing a ‘go team’ right now,” Joel said. “Or ever.”
They all went their separate ways.
Chapter Sixteen
The suit and tie made Reggie feel like he was dying. Not in the immediate sense. It made him feel old. And trapped. He looked like the manager of a cubicle farm, popping his head over cubicle walls to request reports.
But it was just a show. He was pretending. He just needed to embrace his inner Roland. He let this reminder run through his head. That he was playing a part. When the job was over, he’d return to his ship, his own business, his life that he’d built for himself. He wouldn’t be stuck in a cubicle. He wouldn’t need to make small talk about the weather. When asked how he was doing, he would never have to reply, “Well, it’s another Monday,” with a shrug of his shoulders.
He would still be free.
For now, he would play the part. And he would enjoy it, dipping his feet in this life he would never have to live.
“Hi.” Reggie extended his hand to a man whose nametag read “Dan.” “Roland Messina. Jasob.”
“Dan Milgram,” Dan said, accepting the handshake. Then he looked around, gesturing to the whole of the event. “These things, am I right?”
Reggie returned his laugh. “Tell me about it.” He made a gun with his finger and pretended to shoot himself.
Pure gold.
Dan waved another man over. Parker. Reggie knew instantly this was the sort of man who thrived in the environment Reggie despised. The cubicle farm where someone was always listening to you, ready to comment if your headphones were too loud or your midmorning snack was too pungent and would be be
tter enjoyed in the breakroom. He counted how long people spent at the copy machine and how many bathroom breaks they took.
Parker was an asshole.
“A new face,” Parker said, shaking Reggie’s hand. “I thought I knew everyone who came to these shindigs.”
Reggie gritted his teeth. This man was Reggie’s worst nightmare. He was a funhouse mirror. If forced to endure forty hours per week of office life—cupcakes on Deb’s birthday, grab bags at Christmas, meetings, conference calls, inspirational posters, discussions on productivity—this is who he’d become.
It sent a chill down his spine.
“I’m a new intern with Jasob,” Reggie said. “Still getting my feet wet. I heard this conference would be a good way to get to know the players.” He bumped Parker’s shoulder with his fist. “Size up the competition.”
They all laughed, and Reggie wanted to vomit.
“None from me,” Parker said, throwing up his hands and laughing some more. His eyes crawled over Reggie like ants, sizing him up. “But I’m sure there are some here who’d consider themselves a competitor. This is a cutthroat business.”
“That’s what I hear,” Reggie said. “Apparently, I chose the wrong time to intern at Jasob. What, with that incident at their station.”
Parker’s face lit up. He leaned in and spoke quietly. “Be careful who you mention that around. That can be a touchy subject.” He looked around, making sure no one could hear. “Of course, if you were to mention it around a certain group of investors, you might just get treated to an epic meltdown, the likes of which you have never seen.”
Parker tried to hide his hand as he pointed to a cluster of three suits huddled near the bar. “Word is those three lost everything when the Jasob station went kablooey. They’ve been trying to claw their way back ever since.”
“That so?” Reggie studied each of the men. He could tell even from a distance that they were drunk. They swayed like saplings in a stiff breeze. The conversation continued around him, but he tuned it out, his mind focused on what this information could mean for the job.
