Addie Lacoe: Mona

“What makes you think that?” He sounded incredulous.

“Just look at the roster: a few misfits and troublemakers, but also several managers who’ve reached their level of incompetence but can’t be demoted, and all the protected whistle-blowers, plus some others—mostly moved onto the list within the last week—who’ve had unfortunate personal run-ins with certain people in power.”

“And how did you manage to get lumped in with them?”

“It’s complicated,” she said. “The point is, these are mostly loyal people. They don’t deserve this sort of treatment. That fiche shows how they’ve been working together, without any support, trying to land the job they were given to bid on, even though they knew management wanted it to fall through to justify their firing.”

“And have they succeeded?”

“We’ll know tomorrow,” Mona said, “but even if they do get the contract, the twelve million might still be forfeited, just to get rid of them.”

“I couldn’t allow that. If we win a bid, we always follow through.”

“Or they could still be fired for exceeding their job specifications.” Was she making any headway? She couldn’t tell. “I doubt you’d be able to find anybody with the same expertise as Mr. Stone to fulfill the contract.”

“Ah. Stone put you up to this.” He said the name with a chuckle, as if dismissing her story as trivial.

“I’m telling you the truth.”

“And who does Stone say is behind this alleged plot?”

“Alleged?” Enrique sounded incensed. She was glad he was there, but she wished he wouldn’t keep barking comments in her ear.

“You signed the orders that created the department,” she said. “I assume Mr. Tingley drew them up?”

“He could have. I don’t remember. I sign so many things.”

“He’s the one who initiated the transfers, assigned the department this improbable job, and then denied them any funding or technical staff.”

“Stone’s done the preliminary studies with his own money?”

Was he starting to believe her? “I can document everything.”

“With that fiche?”

“I have another copy.”

There was a long pause. She hoped he was thinking about the twelve million. “What’s the project number?” he asked.

Mona took the scanner from her purse, punched in a few commands, and received the report from her computer’s voice simulator just as Enrique provided the same information. “JL79644,” she repeated aloud for Mr. Bartlett.

She could hear the scratch of his old-fashioned pen on paper. “I need to make a couple of calls to verify the facts before I can take any action.” He opened the door, and the car swayed as he stepped out. “I’m locking you in, Ms. Klein; you’ll be safe here.”

The last time somebody’d said she’d be safe, the roof caved in on her life. She heard the door slam and Mr. Bartlett’s footsteps retreat into the evening.

“What’s he doing?” Enrique asked.

“I expect he wants to phone his computer in private,” Mona said. Couldn’t Enrique guess that from what he’d heard?

“Not Mr. Bartlett. Tingley.”

“He’s back so soon?”

“He was headed your way before Mr. Bartlett got out of the car. Then he ducked into the shadow of the building.” Enrique sounded on edge. “I don’t like the way he looked. Check your doors, again.”

Mona checked. “Locked tight.” She felt a twinge of fear.

“I can see Mr. Bartlett from here, but I don’t think he can see you or Tingley.” Enrique’s voice took on an urgent note. “Tingley’s moving in your direction. Don’t let him in. I’m coming.”

She had already detected the movement. Why was he running? “Mr. Bartlett!” But the car’s soundproofing swallowed her cry.

Tingley pulled at the door, rocking the chassis. When it didn’t yield, he banged on the window.

Mona squeezed herself into the opposite corner. “Get away,” she ordered. She touched her watch, paging the police. He was starting to go out of focus.

Tingley’s insistent pounding rattled her bones.

“No!” she shouted. Her telemetry was fading away. The police would take too long to get there.

“Hold on. I’m coming.” Enrique’s voice was like a bugle sounding just over the hill.

She squeezed her scanner, her only contact with him, as if she were clutching his living flesh.

The rear window shattered, showering her with pebbles of glass.

Mona shrieked. Her telemetry had given her no warning at all. It was as if the sky had fallen in on her. She hadn’t felt this disconnected since she was a child.

Tingley’s lingers were tangled in her hair. She was being dragged out of her seat, her back raked by the debris. She screamed. “Enrique!” He didn’t answer. Her artificial senses were dead.

She locked her knees onto the car’s rear window casement and felt Tingley’s hot breath in her face, as he reached over her to pry her loose. She didn’t think twice; she struck when he least expected her to.

Tingley howled in pain and dropped her against the trunk, leaving her hanging by her knees from the car’s window. His animal cries rang in her ears, but she was free. She struggled to right herself, scrambling back to the car’s interior, not knowing whether she was safe now or trapped.

Then she heard Enrique shouting at Tingley, the grunts of men struggling, flesh pummeling flesh, the sickening crunch of a body hitting the pavement.

Mr. Bartlett was there, too, unlocking the door, calling her name. “Ms. Klein, are you all right? Ms. Klein.”

“Here,” she panted. “Here.” She groped for him, found a hand and let him help her out of the car.

“What did Al do to you?”

She took a deep breath. She was scratched and shaken, and her implant had malfunctioned, but she wasn’t seriously hurt.

“The question is, what did you do to Tingley?” It was Enrique, kneeling beside her in the open door.

Tingley groaned and Mona cringed.

“I hit him in the face with this.” Her hand was still frozen around her scanner, with its star-shaped knobs, now smashed and sticky with blood.

“Good for you,” Mr. Bartlett said, “and I’ll see to it that Al never works in engineering again.”

Enrique laid his jacket across Mona’s shoulders. “It’s all right.” He laid her hand on his arm.

The jacket was hot and damp with his sweat. She was ashamed to let him feel her shivering, and not from the chill night air.

The police arrived a few minutes later. They loaded Tingley into an ambulance, but Mona didn’t want to go to the hospital for the sake of a few scratches. She dreaded hospitals, which was why she’d avoided upgrading her equipment. But with her scanner clogged with Tingley’s clotting blood, she felt vulnerable and angry. “I depend on my implant to do my job,” she said. “I don’t know how soon I can arrange for repairs.”

“Please, Ms. Klein,” Mr. Bartlett said. “After what you’ve been through, take all the time you need. And I’ll see to it that you’re off probation.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bartlett.” That was good news. Why didn’t she feel happier?

“If you’ll allow me, sir,” Enrique offered, “I’ll drive Ms. Klein the rest of the way home.”

Mona sighed. So she was “Ms. Klein,” again. She thought of how Enrique had rushed to her defense and hadn’t left her side for a minute since. Then she reminded herself that the only reason he’d sought her out was so she could save his job. She removed her hand from his arm. She shouldn’t still be touching him when they weren’t walking. “I’m not such an invalid that I can’t page a cab.”

There was a long, disorienting silence, in which Mona felt isolated and rejected.