by Sofia Grey
“No.”
He sucked in a breath, hissing through his teeth. “Can you prove that?”
“Donny.” Adele shook herself free. She sounded outraged. “Don’t you believe me?”
He ignored her. Focused on me. “Can you prove that?”
“Yes. Release me from this bench, give me access to the computer, and I’ll show you the report.”
My heart pounded so hard, I thought I’d bruise on the inside. Would he buy this?
Adele obviously thought so. She got right up in his face. “Are you going to listen to this fairy tale? I told you, he’s just messing with your head.”
Donny continued to ignore her. A long, tension-filled moment passed, before he gave me a short nod. “Okay. But try anything—any-fucking-thing at all—and you’ll be sorry.”
He released the restraint and stood back, watching as I pulled myself up. Dizzy again, I paused, and then managed to walk to the data screen. As calmly as if I’d been at work on a normal day, I drilled down through the various layers and folders, and pulled up a report.
“This is just the highlights. The full report isn’t stored here. We keep it out of the vault, for security reasons.”
“Jesus,” muttered Adele. She blew out a harsh breath. “It’s a freakin’ story. It’s gold-plated medal-winning bullshit. You’ll believe anything, won’t you?”
His fingers closed around the pistol grip. “Apparently.”
I opened the report. “The trials failed. In simple terms, the neural interfaces can’t cope with more than a single command. They burn out. And when that happens, the feedback loop takes out the entire network.” I tapped the inputs, and a video clip ran in the background. “In this trial, you can see the precise moment the interface fails.”
Donny’s attention was riveted on the display. A group of test subjects sat in a classroom, behaving normally, a little timer running along the bottom of the screen. “Here it comes, now.” As one, their heads all dropped, and they slumped over the desks. “At this point, the network has to be rebooted, before the subjects come back on line. Cellular degradation is almost certain.” I flicked back to the body of the report. “Look. You can see it for yourself.”
A large red stamp at the bottom of the page announced the result in no uncertain terms—Failed.
“Jesus.” Donny’s mouth twisted. “What a fuck up.” He blew out a breath and stepped away from the counter, tapping the pistol against his thigh as he went. He spun around and glared at Adele. “This was all your idea. And now we’ve got nothing to show for it.”
“You’re lying.” Adele’s screech of fury made my ears ring. “I don’t believe it. You know how to fix it. You can make it work.”
I shook my head. “I can’t.” Gesturing to the display, I allowed frustration to seep into my voice. “What I can’t believe is the lengths you went to, to try and access a piece of tech that’s never going to work. A project that’s been closed and archived.” I stared at the Failed notice. “You even blew up the fucking Mag-Line, and all for this?”
“We didn’t.” Donny was quick to reply. “You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Shut up. Shut up.” Adele shoved him, and he bumped against the counter.
Excitement rippled through me, together with a surge of icy resolve. “So… The way it looks right now, apart from a little coercion, you haven’t actually done anything. Not yet, anyway.” I ran my fingers across the touch screen, and the report disappeared. “I’m the one wanted by the police, according to the news.”
“And?” Donny snarled at me.
I folded my arms and straightened my shoulders, biting down on the pain. Not long now. “Get the fuck out of here. Leave the cleaning lady and go.” I stared hard at the data sticks. “And leave that behind. If you haven’t stolen anything, there’s no crime, right?”
Donny narrowed his eyes at me. I could almost see him calculating the odds in his head. The air jammed in my lungs, and adrenaline flooded my veins. Would he take the bait?
“Fuck it.” He leveled the pistol at me. “Don’t move an inch.” He swept the data sticks onto the floor and stamped on them, crushing them into shards. “No evidence.” Glancing at Adele, he jerked his head toward the door. “I’m outta here. Come or stay, I don’t care.”
Adele was white-faced, lines pinching her mouth. “You stupid fucker…” she began, but when he turned and ran for the door, she followed.
The second she cleared the door, I hit the emergency lockdown button under the counter. Every door in the facility sealed, and from the sound of Adele’s furious roars, they were trapped in the corridor. We were safely locked in the lab.
Safe.
My knees buckled, and I had to lean on the counter as I fought to stay upright. I was still the major suspect for the bomb, but right now, I had to call for help.
Chapter Twelve
Moments later, I spoke to my girlfriend. “It’s all over. The police are on the way. You’re going to be fine.”
Cradled in my arms, she nestled into my embrace. “You told them they could go free,” she whispered.
“I lied.”
“I’m glad.” She hesitated. “Do you know what happened? On the Mag-Line?”
I swept back another errant lock of hair from her face. “No. But I know I wouldn’t set a bomb. They may arrest me when they get here, but I’m not worried.” I lied about that too. There wasn’t even a glimmer in my head of what had happened prior to my waking in hospital. It would put me at a huge disadvantage when I tried to prove my innocence, and I pondered Donny’s cryptic comment. Wrong place, wrong time.
There were too many damn questions with no hope of answers. I held my girl close, and waited for help to arrive.
CyGes people were there minutes later, with emergency services close behind. I listened as the door seals were released, and waited for the security team to find me. They arrived in a flurry of sleek black uniforms and laser weapons, and quickly took charge.
I didn’t know whether it was the reaction following the adrenaline surge, or my own head injury demanding attention, but it was a struggle to explain what had happened. I had to search for the right words. They lurked on the tip of my tongue, but danced out of reach when I spoke. My head hurt like a bitch, and the black spots before my eyes were expanding by the minute.
Sweat broke out over my forehead, and every muscle protested, but I handed over the girl to the medics, and then managed to push myself to a standing position.
The last thing I remembered was face-planting the floor.
****
I hurried down the steps to the Mag-Line station. This late, the trains ran every thirty minutes, and I wanted to get to Beth’s apartment, not sit on a drafty platform. Even now, at almost midnight, the station was still busy. It looked as though a concert had just finished, and people swarmed through the upper levels, talking in loud voices. I pushed through the crowd, and made it to my platform as the just-arrived train was emptying.
Stepping into the rapidly filling carriage, I made eye contact with a guy who was leaving. Our paths crossed in the doorway, and I claimed his seat, only to see he’d left something behind. A small brown package lay forlornly under the seat he’d just vacated.
I picked it up and took the two steps to the still-open door. “Hey,” I called. “This is yours.”
He turned, smiled, and gestured at the platform. The doors beeped a warning they were about to close, and so I placed the package on the platform, and then returned to my seat.
The whole thing had taken seconds. I switched on my earphones, to go through the series of voice messages that had accumulated on my phone, and thought about Beth.
I’d done it.
I’d issued the formal notices that the wetware project was closed. The single piece of work that had been my primary focus for the past two years was now consigned to history. It both pleased and unsettled me. It meant I could have a real relationship with Beth, and not just
snatched moments when I remembered to leave my office.
Was that what she wanted too? I’d messed up so badly with Dorothy, I never wanted that humiliation again.
The first thing I felt was heat. A sensation of immense pressure that constricted my lungs and squeezed me from head to toe. I felt weightless and as heavy as lead, at the same time. Something plucked the Mag-Line carriage from the track, turned it over and over, and shook the contents like pills in a bottle. My head smashed into the sides, the seat, even the roof.
Hell had followed me onto the Mag-Line in a tsunami of screams, blackness and pain.
****
The beeping was insistent. And annoying.
I forced sticky eyelids open, and closed them again when I saw how bright it was. This smelled like the hospital, and that sounded like a heart monitor. Was it a dream? My chest tightened, and the beeping sped up.
Somebody squeezed my fingers. “Scott?”
Beth? I opened my eyes again, halfway, and this time I waited until I could cope with the light. “It’s too bright,” I tried to say, but it came out slurred, as though I’d been drinking. I tried again. “Beth,” I mumbled.
“I’m here.”
I couldn’t focus on her face, but the blurry version of Beth was as beautiful as the usual one. Her brown eyes were damp, but she smiled as she rubbed at them with her free hand.
“Why are you crying?”
“I was scared you wouldn’t wake up. You had emergency surgery a few hours ago.” Her smile wobbled, and then returned.
Perhaps it had all been a dream? “What happened?”
“You collapsed when the security team arrived.” Okay, not a dream. Her grip tightened on my fingers. “You developed a subdural hematoma. They’d been running scans on you, when Adele persuaded you to leave the hospital.”
Bleeding in the brain. That made sense. I blinked, and Beth’s smile became a little clearer. “Are you okay? Donny hit you with his pistol.” I searched her face for signs of injury, and saw a graze across her left temple. I wanted to make him bleed for that alone.
“I’m fine. Just a mild concussion.”
“When can I go home?”
Her smile broke into a short laugh. “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”
My yawn took me by surprise. “Okay. Will you debrief me?”
“Tomorrow.” Beth leaned over and brushed her lips over mine. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Please don’t leave with anyone else this time.”
Chapter Thirteen
Daily Herald – News As It Happens
You think you’re having a bad day?
In a bizarre twist of fate, renowned CyGes bio-scientist Scott Crowe managed to survive a terrorist bombing on the Mag-Line, only to be kidnapped from his hospital bed.
Former CyGes intern, Adele Pace, targeted Crowe for his knowledge of one of the company’s top secret projects. With a European buyer waiting for information, and a new life planned on the other side of the world, Pace admitted to stalking Crowe, while she waited for the right moment to abduct him. His being in the hospital—and suffering from temporary amnesia—was an opportunity she couldn’t miss. Taking advantage of his confusion, she removed him from the hospital and whisked him away to a nearby CyGes subsidiary, with the help of her accomplice, Donny Jerez.
Luckily for Crowe, his girlfriend, Beth Williams, was just a short distance behind, having seen him leave his sick bed. Williams, another CyGes employee, fooled the kidnappers into thinking she was part of the cleaning crew, and helped with their takedown.
All credit goes to Crowe. Even while suffering a debilitating head injury, he didn’t give away any corporate secrets, and raised the alarm, enabling Pace and Jerez to be taken into custody.
Crowe was also—briefly—identified as a possible suspect in the Mag-Line atrocity, until security camera footage clearing him was recovered.
****
I dropped the tablet in disgust. It lay between us on the quilt, the news page still mocking me. “This story is riddled with errors. I should have insisted Morgana from CyGes Media handled the press releases. She would have gotten her facts straight.”
Beth leaned over my shoulder, her warm breath tickling my neck. “How bad is it?”
“Well, for one, you’re my fiancée and not my girlfriend.”
“Only just.” She dropped a delicate kiss on my bare shoulder. “You only proposed yesterday.”
I huffed out a breath. “And I was not confused. I was suffering from retrograde amnesia. There’s a big difference.”
Her chuckle softened my mood. “Not to the layman. It’s a good picture of you, though. And I don’t care about that story. I’m more interested in our own.”
Beth picked up the tablet and tapped away at the keypad, before turning it around to show me.
Scott Crowe and Beth Williams are in love and getting married.
I caught her hand and held it up, admiring the delicate sapphire ring we’d chosen together. “Are you sure about Lionheart playing at the reception? I’d rather keep it low key.”
“You’re kidding me?” Her outrage was tempered with amusement. “This is my chance to meet Quinn Blaydes. And you said he offered to play, to say thank you for the referral. With your help, he now has a perfect synth hand.”
“Am I going to be upstaged at my own wedding?” I rolled over, pinning her down in the bed, the tablet no longer important. “Hmmm, I think I’m suffering from a relapse. Maybe you need to remind me who you are?” I stole a kiss. “And I’m warning you, it may take a while before it all sinks in...”
Epilogue
Beth. Two months later
I checked my phone again. Nothing. Where was he?
It was normal for Scott to lose track of time, especially when he was working on a new project, but to vanish today of all days? We were getting married in a few hours. I needed him to be here.
Every time I set foot outside my hotel room, I ran into more people I knew. It was crazy. I’d wanted a small wedding, just close friends and family, but the guest list kept growing. And when I knew Lionheart would be playing at our reception, there were even more who I knew would love to attend, and it wasn’t fair to leave them out. Now it seemed as though half the local CyGes office would be here, along with far too many reporters for my liking.
Okay. I took a deep breath. I’d give Scott another thirty minutes, and then I’d go looking for him. It wouldn’t take me long to get ready. Unlike most brides I hated the idea of getting dressed up. I’d chosen an elegant and simple gown, and had reluctantly agreed that my girlfriends could do my hair and make-up, but they weren’t due for ages.
The gown hung on the outside of the closet door and I gazed at it again. Scott would love it. He’d especially like the lingerie I’d chosen for underneath it, or at least, I hoped he would. Fancy underwear was a new departure for me.
I checked my phone again. I’d already sent five messages, so sending another was pointless. Knowing Scott, he’d read them all at once. If he had his phone.
A thread of concern wormed its way into my mind. Had something happened again? Adele and her boyfriend were both locked up, so they were no longer a threat to him, but maybe there was another problem? I paced up and down the room and tried to untangle my fears.
Wherever Scott was, whatever he was doing, he would have just become absorbed in his task, and oblivious to the time. Nothing new. So why didn’t I head out to his lab and check for myself? I’d try to find him first. I called the CyGes office, but it went to voicemail. I tried our apartment, phoned his groomsmen, his parents, and even his boss, but nobody had seen him.
There was only one person I hadn’t asked yet, the one I shied away from approaching. Dorothy.
My girlfriends had thought it weird that we invited Scott’s ex to the wedding, but she was so close to his family and friends, it would have been rude not to. And she was an ex for a reason. I’d nothing to fear from her.
Even so, asking her if she’d any id
ea where I might find my fiancé was silly. There was no other option. I’d have to go and look for him myself.
Of course, the first person I saw when I emerged from my room, was Dorothy. We’d never actually been introduced, but I’d seen her from a distance, when she was still with Scott. Could I slip past without her noticing? She stood with a guy, trying to open a room a few doors down from mine.
“You sure this is the right room?” He sounded amused.
“Yes, of course. Oh hell. Maybe this is a sign we shouldn’t have come, Ben. I’m freaking out as it is.”
I had a choice. I could stop and help—the electronic keys were finicky to use—or I could walk past as though I hadn’t noticed their struggle. Good manners won. “Um, these keys are tricky. You have to swipe them in just the right place.” I stepped forward and held out my hand for the passcard. “May I?”
“Oh.” Close up, Dorothy was pretty. Really pretty. Her eyes were huge, and her hair soft and silky looking, and right now she was staring at me like the fabled rabbit in the headlights. “Aren’t you Beth? I’m Dorothy, and this is Ben.”
“Hi, and yes.” Christ. What was the etiquette for meeting your partner’s ex? An ex who publicly humiliated him at another wedding. Scott sure was generous to agree to her being invited. I swiped the passcard, the lock beeped, and the door clicked open. “There you are.”
“Thank you.” Ben smiled at me, and wrapped his arm around Dorothy’s waist. “And thanks for the invitation. I guess this is a bit awkward, huh?” He was cute, with a sweet smile, and that made me relax a little. She was no threat to me. She’d had her chance with Scott, and not taken it.
“Yes, thank you.” Dorothy held out her hand to me, a pink blush staining her cheeks. “I was so nervous about meeting you.”
I felt my lips tugging upward. “Me too, but it’s a pleasure. Enjoy the wedding.” We shook hands briefly, before I slipped free. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Scott anywhere have you?”
