Complete Atopia Chronicles

Perhaps this was a little too much information to share with Kenny, but he just shrugged and nodded.

“All done. So this is the new pssi system that Cognix is going to release, huh?” asked Kenny.

I was busy enjoying myself, looking around and admiring my new neighborhood, but felt some irritation creep back in. Kenny was always looking to pick under the edges.

“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, okay?”

“Cool,” he replied.

In an overlaid display space I could see him tuning into a media broadcast from Patricia Killiam. Our marketing program really did seem to be working.

8

NEW YORK CAN 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 of all time, and we were in a fever pitch trying to get everything ready.

Storms were sweeping up the Eastern Pacific towards Atopia. Hurricanes by themselves were nothing unusual, and these weren’t close to threatening the island city, but Atopia had begun inexplicably moving itself much closer towards America. Without any explanation from them we had to somehow cover and spin this positively in addition to everything else going on.

Kenny had managed to install filters in my own pssi system so that Bertram the jerk, and the floosies in the assistant pool, were filtered out of my visual input unless they directly addressed me in some way. That had been great to begin with, but as the days went by, I’d started getting more and more frustrated with almost everyone.

The show stopper had come at the end of the week.

“Olympia,” came the call from my boss, “could you come in here please?”

This was the final decision on the final stage of the Cognix account, and I was nervous. The old school and the new school were facing down, and I felt the future of my career suddenly hanging in the balance.

Flicking off some Phuture News gossip girls, I collected my Cognix materials and sent them over to the conference room, closing down my workstation 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 heart thumped loudly in my chest, each contraction pushing blood tensely through my arteries, forcing it down into my veins, 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.

Sweat beaded upon my forehead.

Shake it off, take the fight to them, I thought to myself. A vision of that bum on the street suddenly crowded my mind, and I looked down and away. “We’ll be seeing you soon,” was what he’d said. What did he mean by that? That will never be me.

My heart began racing.

Why are you thinking like this? 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 must have been right—the stress was getting to me. I just didn’t feel like myself.

Letting out a big sigh, I collected myself and made for the door. Everything would be fine.

Down the hallway I entered the conference room, and was surprised that projections of our Cognix customers weren’t filling the holographic wall. My boss and Bertram were sitting down on the other side of the long table, looking at me like they were waiting for my arrival.

I pulled up a chair opposite them, taking an aggressive stance as I sat down. I leaned into the table, feeling my old friend anger begin to make an appearance.

“What’s up guys?” I half asked, half challenged. I’d had enough of them already this week.

“Olympia, we’re glad you’re here,” began my boss stupidly, opening clasped hands that had been supporting his weak chin as if about to accept an award for incompetence.

I let go an audible groan.

“Roger, what’s up? Cut the bullshit. Did we lose the final phase of the account?”

“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, softening up my seated posture.

“But…”

“But what?” I growled, leaning back into the table.

“We’ve made, ah, our client wants, ah, well, we want Bertram here to head the account. You’ll be working underneath him on this. I’d like you to show him the ropes, you know, you’re the expert.”

He smiled at me weakly while Bertram beamed enthusiastically. Worm. I smiled as I mentally uncapped the pot simmering inside me, feeling it boil over to explode through my temples.