The hum of reporters gathered outside, in front of CyberCorp Tower, filled my ears and shocked my pulse to accelerate.
I straightened my fitted white blouse and tailored jeans for the third time. I looked fine. It was a great outfit, casual yet professional, not trying to be something it wasn’t. Not trying to be something I wasn’t.
My mother’s assistant, Missy, fussed over me with a critical eye. “Really, Lena.” She buttoned the neck of my blouse. “We could have found something more formal for your first presser.”
Meeting her eyes dead on, I unhooked the button so I could breathe. I didn’t have a lot of leeway these days as CyberCorp’s newest owner and spokesperson, but I drew the line at people dressing me.
The two of us stood just behind a raised platform in the circular drive of gleaming CyberCorp Tower. Behind us, the building’s sleek rose stone and glass exterior towered seventy-two stories into the sky, a testament to innovation and progress. Engraved above the entrance was the iconic CyberCorp logo in blocky red letters.
A crowd of reporters and onlookers had gathered on the other side of the platform, a sea of people peppered with floating drones armed with cameras recording every move.
Missy licked her hand and reached out to slick a stray curl that had escaped my hairband.
I ducked. “No. Absolutely not.”
With my robotic left hand, I pulled the hairband from my hair until it popped and let my wild dark curls fly free. The wind whipped it against my face, and I grinned at Missy’s scowl.
Lena Hayes—score one.
Missy Matherson—zero.
Okay, that was a lie. She’d scored more than her fair share of blows over the past month since I’d risen to this role.
“At least wear the blazer your mother picked.” She held out a royal-purple jacket that, if I was honest, I might have picked myself if given a choice of business wear.
I slipped my arms into the sleeves and kept my tongue in my mouth. This was my life now—compromising for the good of everyone. Representing CyberCorp was bigger than me.
Missy Matherson—score one hundred.
She froze, then held up a finger and tapped the micro-comm stuck behind her ear. “Marissa, what can I—” She nodded at whatever my mother was saying into her ear.
A call from my mom ten seconds before my first press conference could only be bad news. Tension started in my toes and squirmed upward.
“Marissa, I’m sure Lena—” More nodding. To me, she whispered, “She’s canceling your computer-brain interface test.”
“She can’t do that!” The tension clawed up my calves and burrowed in my knees.
“If you could just allow her to—” Missy’s nodding had reached a velocity where her head might shoot off her neck.
“What’s she saying?” I asked when the tension reached my big fat mouth. “Did you tell her she can’t do that?”
Missy shook her head and pointed at her micro, as if I couldn’t see she was on a call.
“Give her to me,” I said. When Missy didn’t react, I repeated, “Transfer the call.”
“Marissa,” she said. “Lena wants to talk.” She tapped her micro and swiped in the direction of my own, which, like hers, was stuck to the side of my head.
A second later, my mother was in my ear. “Lena, you don’t have time to chat. Never make the press wait without a good reason.”
“You can’t cancel my test. I don’t need the board’s funds. It’s my decision.”
“I cannot allow you to be the first test subject for a technology that links into the brain.”
“How can we create positive change if we let the board tie our hands? The whole point of going public was to generate public trust, and the board wants to throw that away by putting money above the public good.”
“The public cares about money, Lena. More importantly, though, it’s too dangerous. I wouldn’t allow you to test that thing on yourself even if the board okayed it.”
“Why can’t I just—”
“I see you from my window, and your reporters are losing interest. This is the job. I’m sorry.”
The audience was indeed getting restless. Their murmurs grew louder by the second.
“This isn’t over,” I said.
“Have a good press conference, dear.” She disconnected.
My tension had locked into every joint, so I closed my eyes and inhaled for six seconds, opened my eyes, and exhaled for eight more. It didn’t relax me, but at least my fists uncurled.
I started toward the platform to meet the reporters.
Missy clasped my arm. “Stick to the script. Your mother trusts you.”
I fidgeted with the edge of my blazer as Missy went over the rules—again.
“Read the speech they’re streaming to your EyeNet connection. When reporters ask questions, talk about CyberCorp’s reorganization, not the legal troubles. Focus on the Model Two androids, not the recalled Model Ones. Play up the new micro-comm implants, but steer clear of research projects still in limbo.” She paused for a breath.
I didn’t object. If I didn’t get on that stage in the next ten seconds, the nervous simmer in my stomach might come to a boil.
“Say nothing negative about CyberCorp’s new governing board. You know—”
“I got it. I’ll be a good little soldier.”
She searched my face and then released my arm. “You’ve got this.”
The moment I stepped onto the platform, the sea of faces stunned me to freezing. Sunlight glinted off my cybernetic arm. A camera flashed and left me blinking spots before everything slammed back into focus.
I closed my eyes for a long second to activate my EyeNet connection. Most people needed specialized lenses to see virtual objects in the net, but my interface was a chip embedded at the base of my skull. It connected my left arm to my brain and allowed me to access the EyeNet at will.
When I opened my eyes, the words of my speech floated in front of me.
“Thank you all for coming to see CyberCorp Technology reborn as a public company worthy of the public trust.” I cleared my throat. “As of last month, I own twenty-five percent of CyberCorp. My mother, Marissa Hayes, and I together retain fifty percent ownership. The other half belongs to others, members of the public who will work with us to direct the company toward a high-tech future that will benefit us all.”
The words were carefully crafted, polished to a shine, but lacking raw honesty, lacking heart.
“Technology isn’t going away. It’s here to stay, so we must guide it, leverage it into a future that works for the common good.” My voice steadied, and the little remaining chatter in the audience subsided.
I delivered the rest of the speech with my head high and my tone confident, buoyed by the respectful silence. “Any questions?” I finished.
A reporter, a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-worn jacket, raised his hand. “Can you say anything about the recall of Model One androids? It’s been months. When do you expect to re-release them?”
Missy’s gaze snared me as I sidestepped the question. “Our focus is now on the Model Twos, which have shown impeccable promise in their learning capabilities and obedience.”
I tried to keep my voice steady despite the unease gnawing at me. This wasn’t the transparency I wanted to bring to CyberCorp, but I had to play the game.
Another reporter spoke up next, a woman with vibrant red hair and an emerald-green blouse that stood out against the sea of muted colors. “What new products are coming soon?”
This was a softball question, and I gave it the expected answer. “Our new micro-comm implants will revolutionize communications.”
A massive, three-dimensional hologram of the device appeared above our heads.
In real life, the micro-comm implant was mere millimeters in size, but the hologram extended six feet on each side. A night-black rectangular device held a reflective etching of the CyberCorp logo. The device shrank, and a human head appeared. The device disappeared into the side of the head just behind the ear.
The crowd oohed and ahed.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
“Just like our external micros,” I continued, “these facilitate a seamless audio connection. These, however, are embedded under the skin to make them even more convenient. No more chargers. No more losing them. You are connected anywhere, everywhere, anytime. You can hold a conversation as if that other person is right in the room with you, without carrying or wearing a device.”
To my left, Missy beamed. Before now, I had only seen that look on her face when she spoke to my mother.
My smile faltered. I didn’t want her looking at me that way. I didn’t want to be my mother.
More words spilled out. “In the near future, I also hope to release my computer-brain interface.”
Missy stiffened.
“Like our micro update, it will be an implant.” My voice grew stronger. “It will render all other interface devices obsolete. No more micro-comms, no more EyeNet lenses. The computer-brain interface seamlessly connects you to any adaptable device. More importantly”—I sucked in a breath—“the human brain is the most important device we have, and my interface can connect it to the body.”
A hush fell over the audience. Anticipation sizzled through me like an electric shock.
“My interface can reconnect people to paralyzed limbs. Its potential for healing the human body is boundless. This is what technology is about—helping humanity.”
The words poured from me, and I felt alive, authentic. As the reporters nodded, I dared to hope that the world might believe in my invention too.
Missy covered her face with her hands. She was probably thinking about how to explain this to my mother.
I’d have to answer for it too—but not right now. Right now, I was floating.
“Miss Hayes,” shouted a man near the front of the crowd, “when will the interface be ready?” His words knocked me back to Earth.
“I’m honestly not sure. The board hesitates to invest in a new project of this size, so I’ll need to find test subjects without using CyberCorp funds.”
Without my mother’s support, the board would never back my invention. And without a successful test, I’d never get her support. I wasn’t prepared to give up hope, but this project could be in limbo indefinitely.
If I could convince the public, maybe I could get her on my side …
A beat-up car screeched to a halt at the curb of CyberCorp Tower, its rusted exterior a stark contrast to the gleaming building behind me. The side door slid upward with a metallic whine, and a teenage girl tumbled out of the passenger seat as if shoved. A boy sprang from the backseat and helped her up.
Lean, sullen, and dark-skinned, the boy slouched his shoulders as if trying to disappear. His closely cropped black hair framed a face with sharp cheekbones. A faded black T-shirt hung loosely on his frame.
He wiped dirt off the girl’s clothing. She straightened up, and her long brown locs tumbled down her back.
“The interface will …” I tried to win back my audience, but every gaze locked on the odd pair.
The car’s door slammed down, and it peeled away from the curb with a screech that left black marks on the white pavement.
My metal fingers balled at my side. This was my audience.
The girl shouted curses after the car until the boy tapped her shoulder and jerked his head toward the crowd. She shut up.
He cleared his throat and gestured toward me as if returning my audience. “Sorry.”
I cleared my throat. “With testing, I believe … this technology …”
I’d lost them. The reporters mumbled among themselves.
“That’s it,” I snapped out.
A few reporters squinted at me, but others still gawked at the new arrivals or pointed fingers at the hologram.
“Thank you for coming,” I added in a more measured tone, transitioning back to the business version of me. “We look forward to your continued support.”
As the confused press dispersed, I waited for a clear path.
When one appeared, I hopped off the dais and strode to the curb. The two teens watched me with wide, nervous eyes like prey waiting for the inevitable. The girl shifted behind her brother as I barreled down on them.
“What the hell was that?” When two departing reporters looked my way, I lowered my voice. “This was an important press conference.”
“Your first one,” the boy said.
I blinked, unsure whether to be irritated or pleased that he followed my news.
He stuck out his right hand. “I’m Harlan Mercer. This is my sister. She had the idea to …” He glanced at her. “It was Gia’s idea, so I’ll let her tell you.”
Gia stared at me through suspicious, slitted eyes while her brother clasped and pumped my hand. Since he seemed in no hurry to release my right hand, I extended my left to the girl.
The metal prosthetic, a gift from a car accident that had been partly my fault and partly the fault of tech gone awry—mostly my fault—extended from fingertips to shoulder. The silver metal glittered under the bright sun. Gia stared at it like it was a poisonous snake.
I sighed, extracted my right hand from her brother, and extended it to Gia. She shook it.
“What can I do for you?” I said in a tone that still had wisps of irritation beneath its professional facade. I missed the days when I could throw a temper tantrum when things didn’t go my way.
Harlan grabbed his sister’s shoulder and pushed her forward.
“We want to be your test subjects,” she said, looking at him instead of me. “We don’t trust you, but our options are limited.”
“That’s not helping.” He shoved her aside. “For your computer-brain interface. We volunteer.”
“You understand that it’s an experimental technology that will directly interact with your brain?” I tapped my temple. “You would have an untested device inside your head.”
He nodded.
“Why?” I turned to the girl. “Especially since you don’t trust me?”
The original plan was to test the interface on myself. Then eventually, I’d test it on someone already on the verge of death, someone who could afford to risk their life because their cause was already lost.
But this? No way was I drafting some kids—only a year or two younger than myself, by my best guess.
“Why?” I asked again, this time posing it as a demand.
“Our backup plan is the meat market,” Gia said. “Our stepmother expects us to support the household because our dad is … He can’t and … and …” She shot wide eyes at her brother.
Harlan finished for her. “A friend of ours died at the meat market. If we’re going to risk our lives, we’d rather do it for something useful.”
So it was life or death, after all. “Come with me.”