The next day, Jess ignores the entrees for the school lunch and gets a plate full of tater tots. Emma eyes Jess’ lunch and rolls her eyes, and then gives Jess a fresh apple from her bag lunch. Bells gives her half of his peanut butter jelly sandwich from home, too.
It’s not that the food is completely inedible at school—but the government isn’t spending tons of money on the public high school lunch program. There are a lot of important things, like, running the country and making sure that there’s going to be enough food and power for everyone. And stuff like defense isn’t cheap either; having a strong military is important in case something like the Disasters ever happens again.
Idly scrolling through her messages on her DED display, Jess munches on the crispy potato bites. There are a few funny holos from Bells of cats wearing cute sweaters that she saw already and a whole bunch of notifications from the Captain Orion Fan Club. She’s set up for an alert for anything new about her hero, but usually what she gets is either something she’s already seen or the group discussing stuff.
Jess deletes one message after another, and then she blinks, startled. “Hey, I got an interview!”
Bells looks up from his sketchpad. “For what?”
“This paid internship I applied for at Monroe Industries!”
“Whoa, really? I didn’t even know they took high school interns. Is it like, super-competitive? Did you have to write like, five essays?” Emma asks. “Are you going to be working with the robots?”
A MonRobot flies by and picks up some trash. The school’s able to afford some of last year’s models. This one is sleek and efficient, chirping a greeting at the three of them as it passes by.
Jess laughs. “No, I applied for this office position that was pretty vague, but I don’t think they’ll let me anywhere near the technical stuff. Probably just boring work, like filing or getting coffee, but a job’s a job, and I bet any college will look at Monroe Industries and be impressed, right? That’s if I get it, though.”
“I bet you will,” Bells says.
“Thanks.”
Jess types a response, fingers flying through the projected mini-keyboard, to let them know when she’s available after school this week for an interview. By the end of lunch, she has an official message from M that says they want to fill the position as soon as possible and suggesting that, if she can’t come into the office today, they can do a video interview.
Jess high-fives Emma and Bells and confirms for five o’clock.
Jess gets home from school just as her mother returns from picking up Brendan from the college campus downtown.
“Dad home today?” Jess asks. “I wanna use his office for a backdrop. I have a job interview via holo, and I need it to look really professional.”
“Yeah, he’s out doing—” Mom casts a furtive look to see if any neighbors are listening in. “—the work, you know.”
“Right,” Jess says as she goes inside. “I’m sure helping old ladies cross the street is a great purpose. Maybe one day the Mischiefs will show up again. I hope they do. Dad has been so weird about finding hero stuff to do.”
They’re lucky they live in Andover, where the biggest thing to worry about is Master Mischief stealing all the oranges again or Mistress Mischief turning all the street signs upside down. The Mischiefs aren’t A-class villains; they have C-class powers, just like her parents. They’ve never harmed anyone, not like Dynamite, the cruel and heinous villain in New Bright City. Dynamite was responsible for that awful explosion in that shopping center. If Captain Orion hadn’t been there, the bomb could have destroyed half the region.
But without the Mischiefs to stir up trouble, there isn’t much for a superhero to do: no switcheroos at the art museum, no thefts from local factories, no industrial supplies gone missing, not even strange robots playing pranks on people.
The Mischiefs are just gone, without warning, or notice, and that’s strange for a couple known for their loud and dramatic stunts. Since they’ve disappeared, Smasher and Shockwave have no hero work to do, and Li Hua and Victor Tran have had to adapt.
Jess’ dad has been acting really weird. He goes out of his way to do good deeds, until the mayor asked him to stop helping people cross the street. Jess’ mom, on the other hand, really happy about having extra time to work on her novel, has adapted very well to the lack of hero work. She’s even put in actual hours at her real estate “job.”
It’s not Jess’ problem. But she does wish Dad would listen to Mom about maybe doing more at his “job,” or picking up a hobby.
Jess, heart hammering, bounds up the stairs, two at a time. She drops her backpack and rushes back downstairs to the study. With a desk on one wall and a whole shelf of trophies, it’s a trophy room as much as an office, and Jess loves it, loves her parents’ personalities reflected on the walls and the knickknacks on the shelves, how it’s a mix of her mother’s love of bright colors and her father’s fastidious organization. She chuckles at all the static projections from the Gazette, holos of her parents as Smasher and Shockwave saving the day, and repositions the one of her mother lifting a car. That accidentally activates the news-holo clip. Jess takes a moment to watch her mother set the car aside and retrieve an injured cat. Wilton Lysander steps into the frame; his image flickers on the edge of the projection. “And Smasher once again shows that big muscles also come with a big heart—”
Jess switches it off, and the holo freezes again on her mother’s determined face and on her biceps bulging in the sleeves of her Smasher outfit. As Jess tidies the room she looks at all the memorabilia and the special desktop with the League logo on it.
Jess taps a numeric pattern on a hidden keypad on the shelf. The bookshelf beeps and revolves, hiding all the superhero memorabilia. The new bookshelf displays holos of the Trans on various vacations. There’s one holo of a young Claudia carrying a five-year-old Jess on her back, and the projection is frozen on the two of them laughing. Jess flicks it; the image comes to life: Claudia racing forward, holding Jess by the knees. “C’mon, Jessie Bessie, let’s fly!” the miniature Claudia giggles.
A bitter pang sweeps through Jess, but she takes a deep breath. No time for feeling sorry about her powers now; she’s got a job interview.
Jess syncs her DED to the desktop projector and brings up the video application. She checks to make sure everything looks good: the background, the lighting, and fiddles with the camera to get the best angle and distance. Jess looks at the T-shirt she threw on this morning, a hilarious graphic tee that reads “Master Mischief Was Right About the Cheese.” The shirt references an incident a few years ago when the villain drove her parents round the bend by stealing all the cheese products from every single Andover grocery store. A video of her dad ranting about what an awful crime this was went viral, but it turned out the cheese had been infected by a strain of mold that was deadly. Mischief had done something kind of heroic.
Jess shakes off the thoughts of the weirdness of hero-villain dynamics when the boopbeepboopbeep sound announces her video call from Monroe Industries.
Jess waves at accept call on the display and stands in front of the bookshelf, smiling. “Hello?”
The screen is dark.
A distorted electronic voice speaks. “Applicant number eighty-seven, Jessica Tran. High school junior, no listed talents or extracurricular activities.”
“Excuse me,” Jess says.
She can make out a blurry distortion, like someone moving in front of the camera; possibly a silhouette of a person sitting, but she can’t be sure.
The electronic voice warbles. What’s with this company? They’re supposed to be a leader in the technology and they can’t seem to get their holocam to work. Well, the noise does sound like laughter. Maybe it’s a good sign?
“I like your shirt,” the figure says.
“Um, thank you.” Jess pulls on her shirt. She should have changed, but she wasted too much time messing with the camera and the background. It seems to be okay, though, if the interviewer likes the slogan.
“All right, I decided, I’m hiring you,” the figure says.
“Wait, what?”
“Yes, good.”
The questions spill out of Jess’ mouth. “What’s your name? What division will I be working for? Will I get to see the robots? I should tell you, the job description was super-vague and that I am probably not at all qualified to do any technical stuff. I made something explode in chemistry last year.”
There’s some electronic whizzing in the background, and Jess thinks she sees a spark or two as the person—robot? Person controlling a robot? An android with a new type of artificial intelligence? “You can call me M, for a start.”
“Only if I get to be Bond,” Jess says with a snort, and then realizes she’s not supposed to know who Bond is. Referring to contraband vintage media is definitely not the way to look professional. Fortunately, the figure doesn’t respond or react, and Jess exhales in relief. “M it is,” she says quickly.
“Regarding the other questions, the division you’ll be working for is going to require the utmost discretion. I will tell you more, but you need to sign a non-disclosure agreement first,” M says. “You may have heard that Monroe Industries has had some financial setbacks recently.”
Jess knows some trade weirdness is going on in New Bright City, but mostly the news has been about Captain Orion’s recent battle with Dynamite. Her mom and dad couldn’t stop watching the newsholos for a week, keeping an eye on the ongoing conflict. It was the talk of the town. There was even a running commentary on Captain Orion’s outfit and hairstyle and how every day she’d come to the battle with a new look.
“That why you’re hiring high school students?”
“Maybe. But you are very qualified! You didn’t have any typos in your resume,” M says. “And you didn’t freak out with the…”
There’s a blurry gesture that Jess takes to mean the Darth Vader thing they’ve got going on.
She interrupts. “… totally weird interview setup? You know it’s odd, considering you’re a multi-billion credit industry.”
“Yeah, well, it was at your convenience! So you didn’t have to come into the office. We’re downtown; it can be difficult for a high school student. We don’t discriminate based on whether or not you have reliable transportation,” M says. “Okay, well, if you want to think about it, or if you want to visit me at the office, I’ll answer any questions you want.” M gives a downtown address and Jess makes a show of dutifully writing it down.
Something electronic sparks behind M, and M topples over with a metallic clank. Jess can hear some cursing and then the call ends.
Jess snorts and then turns off the desktop projector, unsyncing her DED. She goes back to her room, shaking her head. A job would have been cool, but this seems like a joke.
Maybe she should just apply to that sandwich shop downtown. At least she’ll get discounted sandwiches. And it wouldn’t really be that impressive on her college resume, but maybe if she got to be like a manager. If she worked steady hours, wouldn’t that show she was responsible?
Jess starts works on an outline for her history paper on the causes of the third world war. She opens a new browser to look up more information about the nuclear meltdown sites and possibly some images, and then mooches around on the Net and reads up on the latest comic book news. Her bedroom wall is covered in projections—Jess’ outline, her history notes from class, articles about the Disasters—but most of the holos are images of Captain Orion and Jess’ favorite excerpts from the latest comic.
Her DED chimes with a new message notification.
To: Jessica Tran
From: M, Monroe Industries
Please disregard the interruption during our video interview; we had an electronic malfunction. Our company would be pleased to hire you for our office intern position. We are located at 3529 Seventh Street. Pay starts at twenty-five credits an hour, starting Monday.
-M
Attached is a short list of office duties, not much more detailed than in the job listing: filing, sorting, answering phone calls, organizing. There’s also an “as needed” clause for “various office duties.”
Jess rereads the email. Her heart skips a beat when she sees the pay rate. That’s way more than double minimum wage. And Jess thought getting nine credits an hour at the sandwich shop would have been great.
Looking up Monroe Industries again, she searches “experimental divisions” and then blinks. She finds many holopages; apparently there’s a whole bunch of archiving for old projects that needs to be done, and there’s a list of other mundane duties that anyone can do.
“Strange,” Jess mutters. She swears they didn’t have this section of the site yesterday. Maybe she just didn’t see it before.
Still, the job is worth checking out, and M did say they would answer any questions. Showing up for the first day isn’t committing to anything if she hasn’t signed any paperwork. Jess just wants to see what this is about.
Jess sets down her stylus, shuts the textbook browser, and closes the outline for her paper. She yawns, and then notices a new message blinking.
From: Emma 8:42pm
hey how’d the interview go?
To: Emma 8:43pm
got the job! it’s kinda weird tho? the interviewer didn’t show their face
From Emma 8:45pm
bad hair day
Jess laughs; that’s not really a reasonable explanation. But they are a tech company. Maybe they were testing something. She chats with Emma and her worry lifts as Emma makes a joke out of the entire thing. She’s doesn’t think it’s that weird that the interviewer wasn’t visible on the video call. Emma has a good idea about asking Jess’ mom to investigate Monroe Industries.
Li Hua Chen, now Tran, had been a journalist before she took on real estate as her “official cover.” Apparently when the Heroes’ League of Heroes signed her on as Smasher there were already enough people using “journalist” as a cover. Jess thinks it was a waste; her mother is a great writer and definitely still has the investigative chops to figure out if M is using Monroe Industries as a front.
“Hey, Mom?” Jess finds her mom in the study, where she’s got a communication link set up on her DED, and is apparently talking to Victor while he’s out on patrol.
“All right, see you soon,” Li Hua says into her wrist with a note of exasperation in her voice.
“Dad find something to do?” Jess asks.
Her mother shakes her head. “Apparently he tried to stop a robbery, but it was actually the owners of the house who had locked themselves out.”
Jess can picture it: her dad, in full Shockwave gear, giving the supposed robbers a speech on honesty and integrity.
“Is he really embarrassed?”
“He’s having a moment. Flying over to the other side of town, buying your favorite sponge cake. I think he feels bad for being too hard on you at dinner the other day, too.” Li Hua’s eyes soften a bit, and she stands up to pat Jess on the shoulder. They don’t touch much; her family isn’t big on physical affection. Li Hua’s voice is sincere and even, as if she’s thought about how to say this for a while. “We don’t mean to come off that way, and we just want the best for you. And your brother doesn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, Mom.” Jess pats her hand, wondering if her mother would be weirded out by a hug. She settles for an appreciative nod.
Her mother nods back, and Jess impulsively goes for the hug.
Li Hua strokes Jess’ hair. “You know, if you don’t get—”
“I applied for a job, and I actually got hired, but I wanted to see if you knew anything about the experimental divisions of Monroe Industries. It seemed kind of odd.” Jess explains about the video interview and how strange the interview had been.
“Oh! That could have been the electronic firewall we have around the house. To prevent villains from hacking into our servers, you know. It’s such a nice thing that the Associated League does for us, to protect our secret identities…”
Jess nods and listens for a while about the heroic agency and how amazing it is, and finally is able to duck free and head back to her room. Flashing lights shine from under Brendan’s bedroom door, and Jess considers asking about them, but keeps walking.
An hour later into homework, her mom knocks on her door and pokes her head in before Jess can say anything. “Hey, Mei-Mei.”
Jess bristles at the nickname. Her parents use it a lot, and she’s the only one of their children that actually gets called the childhood nickname. She’s not even the youngest—they didn’t stop using it when Brendan was born, but he got to be Bren-Bren, so it’s not that bad.
“I’m so proud of you for getting this internship, and with Monroe Industries too! The company does so well, nationally and overseas. It’s a great start to be around all those amazing and talented people. The experimental division checks out, definitely. They’ve had a few projects in Crystal Springs and apparently now they’re here.” Li Hua smiles, her eyes alight.
“Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate it.”
“Do you want me to take you shopping for work clothes?”
“Ah, they want me to start on Monday? And I have some clothes from debate team last year that still fit. I’ll just wear one of those outfits.” Jess smiles at her mother, who nods back and ducks out of her room, closing the door behind her.
The weekend is slow; her parents are called away to Las Vegas for an Associated League of Heroes meeting Saturday, and they expect it will run late. Jess is supposed to be watching Brendan; she wastes time flicking through the Net and idling through her homework, listening for any explosions from his room.
It’s not until Jess looks up and notices that the sky outside her window is dark that everything seems to catch up to her, especially that sharp, aching hunger that comes from forgetting to eat. Brendan must hungry too; lunch was so long ago. Ugh, it’s almost eight o’clock.
She sighs and goes to Brendan’s room. “Hey, what do you want to do for food? There’s some frozen dumplings I can make. Or some leftover rice from lunch that I can fry with eggs.”
Wearing a pair of safety goggles on his head, Brendan opens the door. He scrunches his face. “Mom and Dad leave you any credits?”
“For an emergency,” Jess says, rolling her eyes. There’s plenty of food in the house.
Brendan raises his eyebrows. “What about Bells’ restaurant? I like the food there.”
Jess’ stomach grumbles; Creole food does sound amazing right now. She hasn’t eaten since lunch and was too focused on her research to snack. It’s a great idea, and wouldn’t cost too much. Bells is on shift today, and the Broussards love her. And seeing Brendan flail over Bells is always entertaining.
Jess conjures up that image and snickers. “Okay. Do you need like, an hour to change?”
Two spots of color appear high on Brendan’s cheeks. “What? No. I’m ready, just—”
Grumbling, he closes the door, and Jess laughs to herself. She flicks through her notifications on her DED until the door opens again. Brendan has changed into a clean T-shirt and jeans, and there’s some gunk in his hair. It takes a moment for Jess to realize it’s a temporary hair product, and there are clunky red streaks in his hair.
She grins but doesn’t say anything.
The minivan takes forever to boot up as usual, and it also tells them, “You have arrived at your destination,” when they’re still two blocks away from the Broussard family restaurant. Jess and Brendan get out of the car and walk; it’s not as bad as the time the car almost took them to Las Vegas when they just wanted to go to the Andover Mall.
The Broussard’s restaurant, Home Away from Home, is in an historical building, Art Deco reminiscent of twenty-first century roadside-diner architecture. The inside, however, is a riot of warm, friendly color, lush oranges and reds, a nod to the Broussard family’s roots in Louisiana before they moved west after the Disasters.
Jess’ stomach grumbles as a waitress passes by carrying a steaming plate of jambalaya; the rich aroma of the spices wafts decadently.
Brendan pulls her to a table in Bells’ section, and it isn’t long before Bells appears, with his bright hair—blue and orange today—tied neatly in a little ponytail at the back, and wearing an apron over his tank top and jeans.
“Hey,” Jess says. “Little bro was hungry. Thought we’d come by and say hi.”
“Of course,” Bells says with a wink.
Brendan makes a high-pitched noise that could be a greeting.
“Like your hair, dude.” Bells smiles at Brendan and then flicks off the holo projected on the table. “The usual?”
“Yes, please,” Jess says in the wake of Brendan’s stunned stupor. She and Bells share amused looks and Bells heads off, chuckling to himself.
“Shut up,” Brendan mutters.
“Didn’t say anything.”
Their food arrives quickly: the jambalaya special for Jess and red beans and rice topped with a heap of green onions for Brendan. Bells comes back with a generous chunk of cornbread for them to share and sits down, knocking Jess’ shoulder companionably before he has to get up and fetch things for other tables.
Jess savors the way the textures and flavors come together on her tongue: the crunch of the green peppers and the vibrant flavor of the soft rice contrasting with the eggplant and zucchini. She drinks a sip of water and dives back in for more of the delicious spicy dish. The Broussards have their own way of spicing the protein that makes their “sausage,” and it tastes good, almost passes for meat.
The vegetables are fresh and delicious, and Jess settles back in her seat with a happy sigh. She waves at the open window to the kitchen where she can see Bells’ older brother Simon working at the grill, and he gives her a jaunty wave.
“How’s everything tasting?” Simon calls.
“Delicious, as always,” Jess says back.
“Home grown and organic, can’t go wrong with that,” Simon says, waving a pair of tongs at her. The Broussards have their own greenhouse where they grow all their produce despite the Collective guarantee that crops are stable and will continue to be stable. Bells’ great-grandparents survived the Disasters because a combination of paranoia and self-sufficiency led them to stockpile supplies. They’re still quite suspicious about the government. Bells and his siblings think that their dad’s rants about privacy and government meddling in farm management are silly, but they work the greenhouse and the restaurant anyway.
“I like having fresh vegetables,” Bells said the first time Jess asked about it. “I don’t believe in all the theories my dad has about the government, but everybody’s got to have a hobby, right?”
And all of Andover adores the Broussards’ “hobby.” Home Away from Home has been a beloved restaurant for years and was even featured in a newsholo feature in New Bright City.
Brendan polishes off his dish with a happy sigh, stuffs a chunk of cornbread in his mouth, and mumbles something about winning prizes before he ambles over to the crane game machine in the corner.
Jess watches him as he keeps swiping his DED for attempt after attempt at winning a stuffed animal.
The dinner rush is over; they’re the only ones left in the restaurant. Bells sits down next to her, chuckling. “You wanna tell him that machine hasn’t given up a prize for anyone in ten years?”
Jess leans back. “Nah.” She pokes Bells’ shoulders playfully, surprised at the firmness of the muscle. “You’ve been working out?”
“Huh? Yeah, my brother was complaining that he didn’t have anyone to do weights with.” Bells shrugs.
Something else is different, too, something that Jess can’t quite place. His tank top is well-fitted, stretched over his chest—
“Oh, dude,” Jess says, nudging him with her hip. “It’s really late. You’ve been wearing your binder all day. Feeling okay?”
Bells blinks. “Oh. Yeah, I’m good. Took a break after school.” He steals a bite of cornbread, talking as he chews. “Hey, first day of your new job is tomorrow, right? Downtown?”
“Mmm.”
“Not really a nice area. Are you driving?”
“Bus from school, and then walking,” Jess says. “Monroe Industries is in the industrial part. It’s not that bad, really.”
Bells furrows his eyebrows.
“Don’t worry,” Jess says. “It’ll be fine.”
Monday after school, Jess takes the school bus to Old Andover and transfers to a city bus. Bells gives her a new canister of pepper spray, just in case. It might be overkill, especially with her dad flying around looking for any excuse to help anyone, but she takes it.
The bus is crowded, but Jess manages to get a seat next to a window. The glass pane vibrates as she leans against it and the bus rumbles as it moves through the colorful streets of Andover. From an advertisement on a wall for Eversparkle Teeth Whitening, Captain Orion’s gleaming smile beams at the bus riders. A video projection at the front of the bus shows a news-holo from New Bright City. Apparently the Heroes’ League has had another success: They found a Villain’s Guild base and destroyed it.
When Jess transfers to go downtown, the new bus is so crowded with people on their way home from work, she has to stand. Everyone is in business attire and looking pointedly at their DEDS or talking to each other about things like stocks and portfolios and quarterly returns. Jess is painfully aware of how young she is. Her shirtsleeves don’t quite extend to her wrists; after a growth spurt last summer, her debate clothes don’t fit as well as she thought. She feels as if she’s playing dress-up.
Jess sways as the bus turns and almost misses her stop. She jerks to attention when she sees the Monroe building at the end of the block.
She holds the straps of her backpack so it doesn’t bounce as she strides quickly—she’s going to need to reschedule with M in the future if taking the bus from school is going to take this long.
A bunch of people loiter about the street; some of them look unsavory. It’s not that this area is bad, but downtown is where a lot of people end up. Even though World War III was long ago, there are always conflicts abroad that involve the Collective. Jess doesn’t know too much except that there are always veterans on the streets without many resources. There are a lot of drugs moving in this area, too, but no one ever talks about that.
Jess is almost there when she’s taken aback by a headful of long, flowing red-gold curls next to her, almost the color of Abby’s hair, but too bright to be realistic.
The woman walking alongside her is incredibly tall, with a long aquiline nose and wearing a sleek green dress. She smiles at Jess and slows her pace to match Jess’ own, and Jess nods, somewhat reassured by the kindness.
“There is a man following you,” the woman says, and Jess starts.
“Oh.”
“I can walk with you. Where are you going?”
“Just to the end of the block,” Jess says.
They fall into stride. The woman is imposing, and familiar, but she can’t place how. Jess is struck by her blue, blue eyes; a crystal color that she didn’t think was possible.
At the Monroe building, Jess nods at the woman. “Thank you.” The woman nods back, smiles, and strides down the street, her striking copper curls bouncing.
Jess watches her and then kicks herself for not asking whether her hair was natural or dyed. That was the kind of thing Bells would appreciate.
She shakes herself and straightens her shirt collar and turns to face the towering height of the office building. It stretches to the sky, large and imposing, shining in the afternoon sun. On the top floor, Jess can make out the huge letters spelling out MONROE. Shadows bustle about, and she can see the whizzing of elevators through the glass walls as people go about their business.
Jess squares her shoulders and pushes open the door. The air conditioning is cool against her skin. The reception area is bare, except for a potted bird of paradise plant in the corner and some leather chairs. An empty desk bars the way to a long hallway. Beyond that, a few employees walk around in a central lobby, presumably heading for elevators and their own workspaces.
“Hello?” Jess asks. She brushes down her now slightly wrinkled slacks and the prim button up that’s a little too tight around the shoulders. Looking nervously at her reflection in the sleek surface of the wall, she fiddles with the collar a bit more. At least she didn’t attempt to wear heels; that would have been a nightmare. Jess has no sense of balance whatsoever.
“Welcome to Monroe Industries. How can I help you?” A gleaming silver orb hovers in front of Jess. Its front panel scans Jess’ face. “Tours are over for the day. If you like, I can provide you a list of times they will be available this week.”
The smooth, electronic voice is the same one installed in all vehicle computers. Jess rolls her eyes. She likes the old-school MonRobots, from before they started talking. This one seems to have an attitude.
“Actually, I’m here for an internship—”
A sharp clack of heels echoes from down the hall, and then Abby Jones skids across the tiled floor and stumbles over her feet as she dashes into the entryway. “It’s all right, I’ll take it from here,” she says, and presses something into the robot’s back panel.
The orb cheeps and goes back to the desk, hovering in standby.
Unlike Jess, who is more than a bit rumpled after that bus ride, Abby looks impeccable in a black blazer, blouse, and pencil skirt combo. She’s even wearing a bit of makeup; her pink lips stand out against her skin, and her bright red hair is swept up in a glamorous French roll.
“Jess Tran!” Abby says. She smiles, holding her hand out. “Hi, I’m Abigail, but call me Abby, everyone does. We go to the same high school, but I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Hi, yeah, um, yeah, I know you,” Jess says. “You work here too?” She cringes at the question, but at least her self-preservation kicked in before she asked you know my name? Then again, if Abby works here, she must have been expecting Jess, so that look of recognition wasn’t about knowing Jess from school; it was work.
Jess has never so much as talked to Abby before, but Emma, who is on the junior varsity volleyball team, hardly ever stops talking about the varsity members she admires and, of course, their team captain. Abby led the volleyball team on a winning streak last year and so far is continuing that this year. In AP English, the one class Jess shares with her, Abby has no problem mouthing off to Ms. Rhinehart, and she earns nothing more than an amused laugh.
She was on student council last year, and was supposedly a shoo-in for president this year, but apparently she quit the student council for some reason.
“Yup, I’m in the same experimental division as you,” Abby says, tucking an errant strand of red hair behind her ear. “They told me to see if you were here this afternoon. Weren’t sure if you’d be here or not.”
“Ah. Well, I wasn’t sure if the department was an actual part of the company, because the internship seemed made up, but apparently my mo—the Net seems to think you guys are a real thing.”
“Definitely real,” Abby says with a smile. She hands Jess a folder. “Here’s all the paperwork you’ll need for tax purposes and to make it official. I’ll show you to the lab where we’ll be working and then I’ll go get M for you.”
She leads Jess down the hallway; her pencil skirt rustles, and Jess blushes and tries to ignore how well it fits her. Jess tries to remember if she saw Abby wearing that outfit at school today. She must have changed into it before she started work. She probably hadn’t taken the bus, either. Jess has seen Abby’s sleek driver-operated Mercedes, which Abby used to give Emma and the other girls rides home after volleyball practice. Emma did mention at lunch today that Abby quit the team; Jess wonders if she quit to make more time for her internship.
Abby’s stylish black button-up and skirt combination makes Jess’ work outfit look dull, and she hopes that M or whoever else works here isn’t going to judge her on her lack of style.
They pass by a few other employees, but the lobby is mostly populated by MonRobots flying or whizzing around the floor. They’re variations that Jess hasn’t seen, models that probably aren’t out yet.
Abby waves her hand at a clear glass elevator and the doors open. Jess stares at the numerous buttons for all thirty-eight floors and an official looking keypad at the top; it must be motion activated because Abby just waves her hand and a small button labeled “B7” lights up.
The elevator doors close, and Jess tries not to be nervous, being in a small, enclosed space with her crush. Oh gosh, her hair looks especially nice. Are we going to work together? Jess isn’t sure she can handle it.
Abby smells nice too, like warm cinnamon and sugar on a cold winter’s day. That’s not even a smell. Abby smells like a cookie fresh out of the oven, made with a dash of nutmeg. Or maybe like gingerbread.
Great, now she’s hungry.
Jess notices they’re dropping floors at an alarmingly fast pace. She wants to ask about the experimental division and what’s expected of her, but she’s too tongue-tied.
Finally the elevator comes to a stop, and Abby presses a combination onto the keypad before the doors open again.
“Okay, here we are!”
The floor is well lit, but it lacks the hustle and bustle of people and robots moving everywhere as on the floors they passed. Jess’ first impression is that the place is a mess. A single white reception desk is emblazoned with the luminous text: EXPERIMENTAL DIVISION. The desk and the chair behind it are the same sleek, modern furniture as in the lobby, but everything else is haphazardly thrown together: tables and benches and pieces of scrap metal.
Behind the reception area, Jess can see a huge open space filled with boxes and electronic paraphernalia. There’s a dedicated area for computer consoles and a raised table covered in tools. In the distance is the sound of drilling, and desktop projectors are scattered everywhere, projecting different holos intermittently.
Abby leads her down a hallway to the right, and Jess peers at the line of doors, wondering who else works here. They stop at an open door at the end, and Abby gestures inside with a hopeful smile. The office also has modern furniture, which contrasts with the heaps of dusty boxes overflowing with paper files.
“Sorry about the mess,” Abby says. “We just relocated from New Bright City. Here, sit down. M will be with you in a minute.” Abby’s heels tap out a quick beat as she dashes down the hallway.
What’s the rush, Jess wonders, as she gazes around the office. It’s not decorated, and everything appears to have been placed in a hurry, as if they haven’t had time to move in properly.
A new desktop projector hums on the glass desk. A few DED chips are laid out, but other than that, everything seems to be dated. Paper files were almost obsolete even in the twenty-first century. Is it a security thing? Paper isn’t hackable, Jess muses.
Jess can’t hear any other people on the floor. Maybe this room is soundproofed. No, she definitely heard Abby walk down the hallway.
The boxes are labeled in an untidy scrawl with various—codes? One is labeled “January attempts and failures”; there are more of those for each month, and also a very slim file labeled “successes” and it’s just for the year.
Jess flips open one of the files from the “successes” folder.
What?
This doesn’t look like a financial report or like anything she would expect from a robotics manufacturer. There aren’t designs or anything MonRobot-related. This looks like headlines reporting a string of robberies, all for—
Jess gasps. “Master Mischief.”
“I hope that won’t be a problem,” comes the electronic voice, and why, why hadn’t Jess put it together earlier?