Page 32 of Mile High With the Bikers
My roomin the clubhouse is fine, though I’d rather stay in one of the guys’ apartments. At least they have windows. All I have is the basics: a bathroom, a bed, a kitchenette with a table, and a sitting area with a big screen TV where Bull and Diesel have a basketball game on in the background while they’re playing chess. It’s basically a dorm crossed with a studio apartment. There’s a basic ceiling light, and the walls are a soft, masculine brown.
I clear off the kitchen table so I can use it as a desk. The folding chairs it came with would suck to sit in for a full day at the keyboard, but it’ll work for what I need it to for now. Someone came to help me set up the Wi-Fi, and if I can find an HDMI cable, I can probably use the TV as a second monitor if I feel like it. The best part of the whole thing is that I finally have some of my own clothes again and I could change into shorts and a new shirt.
I turn on my phone after letting it charge for a while. It’s the first time since the crash, and just as I expected, there’s a slew of worried messages from Mason, Dad’s bodyguard,and then a few from Dad. Not a whole lot else. There are a few headhunting emails, including one from Watchsmart, Mary Haney’s company. I tag it for later. The timing seems odd, but when this is over I can check to see if I was targeted specifically or if everyone in the R&D department got one.
Could I switch jobs?
A year ago I wouldn’t have considered the idea, but maybe it’s dumb not to look into it. The Hermes project was fun when we were figuring out if it was even possible. I love the problem solving part of my job, but nothing has been the same since our first successful test. Dad transferred almost everyone off the team to keep information from leaking, and I’ve been feeling dirtier and dirtier ever since I went to him with my concerns and he told me he understood, but thought the ultimate goal was more important.
I pull out my laptop and set it up. Sitting cross-legged on the folding chair, I stare at the screen until I work up the courage to type ‘Howard Westminster’ into the search bar. The first hit is an article about his suicide attempt. It feels morbid to have it there in black and white, but there were too many witnesses to his jump to keep it quiet. The third result is an update.
Howard C. Westminster passed away this morning, surrounded by family. Please respect their privacy in this trying time.
Did I kill him? Not directly. Is it my fault? Definitely partially.
I didn’t make him funnel company funds into his private account. I’m not the one that told him to store sex videos of him and his business partner on the work servers. He was the one that chose all of the things that made him decide it was easierto check out than to try and repair his life. But I’m the one that designed the system that made that information public, even if I didn’t know he existed until it was too late.
“If all information is available, none of it has power!” Dad's weird brand of capitalistic idealism makes him impossible to reason with. He truly believes that this is the future. That all secrets should be exposed for the good of mankind, but he also sees nothing wrong with stuffing his wallet on the disruption it will cause in the meantime. To the victor go the spoils.
I don't want this responsibility.
I glance over at Bull and Diesel, who are totally absorbed in their game. They don’t pay any attention when I go to my backpack and pull out a small circuit board with a USB plug on the end. Dad doesn’t know it, but with this one tiny dongle, I can—at least temporarily—stop the entire project.
At the risk of my career, my relationship with my father, and after this demonstration, the anger of very dangerous people.
A persondiedafter our first official demonstration.
I need to move. Slamming the laptop shut, I stand up and shove the dongle back in my bag. “I'm going to the common room for a drink. I need a little change of scenery.” When Bull starts to get up, I put a hand on his shoulder. “It's fine. I’m not a prisoner, right? Watch your game. Shrapnel said he’d be there.”
He looks up at me with a scowl. “You don’t go wandering, and you don’t leave the building.”
“Yes, sir.” I salute.
“I like how you’re following our orders already.” Diesel grins, his blue eyes glittering with amusement.
“Yeah, that’s going to last.” Bull chuckles.
“I promise to behave. Just getting a soda and doing some biker watching.” I squeeze his shoulder, surprised at how solid the muscle is under there. “Jeeze, do you keep rocks under your shirt or something?”
“No, just in his head,” Diesel says. “When you get there, find Shrapnel first.”
Someone does a sports thing on the TV and the boys get distracted, pointing excitedly.
“Got it.” I close the door behind me, leaving them to it.
The common room seems to be gearing up for a party. I've gotten the impression the Screaming Eagles throw a lot of those, with or without a specific reason. The music isn't super loud yet, and people are just filtering in, a couple at a time, so for a biker hangout, it's still relatively quiet. Not that there isn't action. Someone's put porn on the big screen TV in the back, and if I'm not mistaken, that's Jasmine's bare back I see as she grinds on top of a guy with a bright red mullet while they both watch.
The whole place feels like an erotic amusement park, so it’s hard to feel shocked at any one thing. I’m more like a tourist from a small town on their first trip to a big city, marveling at all the tall buildings, or in this case, men.
A purple-haired woman is manning the bar together with Chef. She bumps her hip playfully into his as she moves past him. When he grumbles, “What the fuck, Jewel?” she just smiles.
She spots me and comes over as I slide onto one of the stools. “Hey there. I don't think we've met yet. You must be Rory.” Putting her forearms down on the bar, she leans over and looksat me with perfect smoky eyes. “You look like you need a drink. Are the boys treating you right? If not, just whisper in my ear and I’ll find you some new volunteers. A pretty new face like you would have plenty to choose from.”
“Thanks, but they’re fine. It’s just a heavy situation.” The sluts said Jewel was nice, and I see what they mean. She seems perfectly comfortable here, without anything to prove.
“You want to talk about it? Sometimes someone who's not involved can be a good sounding board.”
I shake my head and hope my smile doesn't look too tired. “Thanks, but I just want a soda, if that's okay. Have you seen Shrapnel?”
