Page 9 of Sublime Target
She’d long since overcome that irrational fear, but even now, shooting through a confined space without any view of the outside had her feeling a little tense.
If only she could catch a nap like that guy over there, but she’d never been able to sleep on the train. The only place she felt perfectly comfortable was in her apartment. On the 14th floor of a towering complex constructed a couple of centuries ago, it had a precious view of the surrounding neighborhood, which was leafy and peaceful despite the fact that it was ultra-high density.
It was her sanctuary; her nest.
Her very own slice of the world. A year after she landed her first salaried job, Clarissa didn’t hesitate to put down a deposit and buy the apartment. Sure, she was chained to a mortgage—the price of real estate in this city was horrendously high—but at least it was hers. No intrusive landlords, no threat of being evicted.
If there was one thing she valued in this life, it was her independence, and she was getting ever closer to paying down her astronomical debt.
Stars knew Garner paid her handsomely enough. The end-of-year bonuses certainly helped, even if Garner used them like a carrot and stick to demand absolute perfection from her.
She knew what he was doing. She just pretended to be a little bit naive because things went easier that way.
All she had to do was put her head down and do her job. Eventually, she’d be debt-free.
Then she’d have the freedom to find a different job—or even to go out on her own.
One day.
The train stopped again and again. One, two, three, four stops before it finally arrived at hers.
“Eastwood Station,” an expressionless female voice announced over the speakers.
She got off and walked through the empty station, her heels clicking on the polished floors. The bright lights strained her weary eyes, so she fished around in her handbag and found her sunglasses.
God, she was tired.
Her feet ached. Her entire body felt weary. Fortunately, home was just a five-minute walk away—part of the reason why she’d bought this particular apartment.
Ignoring her sore feet, she walked faster, up the escalator, out into the brightly lit street, where delivery bots whizzed past and people strolled by on late-night walks. The discomfort was a minor inconvenience compared to the many hours she spent on her feet at work.
This evening had been no exception. Garner was supposed to sign off on some documents before she left for the day, but he’d decided to go and have a rock-climbing session in his private rooftop gym, so she’d had to wait until he was finished.
“And since you’re going to be paid generously for your overtime, you can prepare another briefing for me about the aliens. I want you to scan the Network Databases for information on the power players within the Kordolian network. Those that hold any amount of influence. Make me a list and a chart, and have it in my inbox by tomorrow. I want to know the hierarchy; who sits at the top, who can and can’t be influenced…”
Clarissa sighed as she reached the entrance to her apartment. The facial recognition activated at once, releasing the sliding doors that led to the entrance foyer.
On the far wall, there was a row of lockboxes. Hers popped open as she passed, revealing a metallic heat-seal bag containing her dinner and a small, flat package.
Thank god she’d remembered to order food that afternoon.
She couldn’t remember what the package was about. Something she’d ordered during a late-night shopping session, probably.
Clarissa gathered her items. The lockbox’s door slid shut. She entered the elevator.
Moments later, she was walking through her front door. The lights and heating were already on. She kicked off her shoes, threw her bag on the counter, grabbed the heat-seal bag and a fork from the drawer, and flopped onto her blue velvet sofa in front of the holo-display.
She unzipped the bag and inhaled the comforting scent of jasmine rice and a fragrant Thai green curry.
Her life was predictable, packaged convenience, but there were benefits to that, too…
Right?
Placing her dinner on the coffee table, she shoveled food into her mouth. She’d been ordering food from this Thai place down the road—The Golden Crown—for years, and it never disappointed.
“Arista,” she said between mouthfuls. “Can you pick up where we left off and show me the draft of the hierarchy?”
“Certainly,” Arista replied, in the same unflappable tone of voice that every single AI on the planet seemed to use.