back in his chair.
“Why?”
Valentina chuckled. “Are you worried it might reveal your
blood-alcohol levels?”
“How is this
possible?” Brynja asked, now approaching curiously, though she was
careful not to make physical contact with the spheres.
“ I scanned
Matthew Moxon’s fingerprint,” London said, “and I was able
to determine his identity. I then took a sample of his DNA and made
a surface-level assessment, detailing his primary medical
issues.”
Chandler
gestured for everyone to return to their seats. “I just invited her
so she – it – could give you guys a tour. Show you around
the place and explain it. Things. With words. It’s better with the
words than I am.” He used his rag to dab the perspiration from his
forehead before squeezing back behind the wheel of the
transport.
Once we were
seated and properly buckled, Chandler drove us to the west wing,
using a voice command to raise the massive transparent blast door
that separated the hall from the main lobby. London followed along,
floating and rotating above our heads as it cheerfully guided us
through the fortress.
“ If you’ll
look to your left,” London chirped, “you’ll notice that the
exterior walls are reinforced with iridium plating, an alloy which
can only be found inside of meteorites. While expensive and
incredibly rare, the brilliant Cameron Frost purchased two thousand
acres of land here in North-Western Alberta when he discovered that
there was an abundance of the material in the area. A large meteor
had escaped NASA’s detection and fallen into a remote forest region
in November of 2033. Mister Frost, in his infinite wisdom, mined
the iridium and began construction on this very spot.”
“Brilliant?”
Brynja scoffed. “Infinite wisdom? Was London dating Cameron Frost
at one point?”
“Um, it’s old
programming,” Chandler explained. “Frost was sort of...well, he was
very proud of himself and his – what he accomplished. He has the
fortress AI include random compliments whenever possible during
speaking...speech.”
We continued
touring the complex level by level. The nine above-ground floors
were primarily for living quarters and amenities, each dedicated to
a specific purpose: bedrooms on levels one through three, fitness
on level four, media and communications on level five, kitchens and
dining on level six, and additional storage, equipment and supplies
on levels seven through nine. There were accommodations for five
hundred people – I suppose Frost was expecting a lot of guests in
the future.
We’d
periodically pass by a staff member while on our tour. Men and
women wearing the same navy blue flight suit with white ‘FC’ emblem
on the chest – identical to Chandler’s. They avoided eye contact
for the most part, pretending not to notice us as they went about
their duties, but a few of them shot me a sidelong glance as we
zipped past in our transport. The look was one I was all-too
familiar with: disdain. As a middle-class citizen, I’d experienced
that icy glare more than my share of times while traveling to
Manhattan. Simply walking the streets in a pair of faded jeans and
a comic book t-shirt was enough to draw contemptuous glares from
the elite – the upper-class who had purchased, renovated and
occupied every piece of real estate in the affluent borough. Some
of the nicer-dressed Manhattanites even crossed the street to avoid
me as I approached. It was as if abject poverty was an airborne
disease, and being in close proximity to someone as lowborn as
myself could have infected them.
At least while
I was in The City I knew exactly why people hated me. It was
the same reason why they hated every peasant from The Fringe or The
Dark Zone. Here, I wasn’t sure if Cameron Frost’s existing staff
despised me because I was now their boss (which was reason enough,
I suppose) or if it was because the last time they’d seen their
previous employer, it was during Arena Mode...right before
“Why?”
Valentina chuckled. “Are you worried it might reveal your
blood-alcohol levels?”
“How is this
possible?” Brynja asked, now approaching curiously, though she was
careful not to make physical contact with the spheres.
“ I scanned
Matthew Moxon’s fingerprint,” London said, “and I was able
to determine his identity. I then took a sample of his DNA and made
a surface-level assessment, detailing his primary medical
issues.”
Chandler
gestured for everyone to return to their seats. “I just invited her
so she – it – could give you guys a tour. Show you around
the place and explain it. Things. With words. It’s better with the
words than I am.” He used his rag to dab the perspiration from his
forehead before squeezing back behind the wheel of the
transport.
Once we were
seated and properly buckled, Chandler drove us to the west wing,
using a voice command to raise the massive transparent blast door
that separated the hall from the main lobby. London followed along,
floating and rotating above our heads as it cheerfully guided us
through the fortress.
“ If you’ll
look to your left,” London chirped, “you’ll notice that the
exterior walls are reinforced with iridium plating, an alloy which
can only be found inside of meteorites. While expensive and
incredibly rare, the brilliant Cameron Frost purchased two thousand
acres of land here in North-Western Alberta when he discovered that
there was an abundance of the material in the area. A large meteor
had escaped NASA’s detection and fallen into a remote forest region
in November of 2033. Mister Frost, in his infinite wisdom, mined
the iridium and began construction on this very spot.”
“Brilliant?”
Brynja scoffed. “Infinite wisdom? Was London dating Cameron Frost
at one point?”
“Um, it’s old
programming,” Chandler explained. “Frost was sort of...well, he was
very proud of himself and his – what he accomplished. He has the
fortress AI include random compliments whenever possible during
speaking...speech.”
We continued
touring the complex level by level. The nine above-ground floors
were primarily for living quarters and amenities, each dedicated to
a specific purpose: bedrooms on levels one through three, fitness
on level four, media and communications on level five, kitchens and
dining on level six, and additional storage, equipment and supplies
on levels seven through nine. There were accommodations for five
hundred people – I suppose Frost was expecting a lot of guests in
the future.
We’d
periodically pass by a staff member while on our tour. Men and
women wearing the same navy blue flight suit with white ‘FC’ emblem
on the chest – identical to Chandler’s. They avoided eye contact
for the most part, pretending not to notice us as they went about
their duties, but a few of them shot me a sidelong glance as we
zipped past in our transport. The look was one I was all-too
familiar with: disdain. As a middle-class citizen, I’d experienced
that icy glare more than my share of times while traveling to
Manhattan. Simply walking the streets in a pair of faded jeans and
a comic book t-shirt was enough to draw contemptuous glares from
the elite – the upper-class who had purchased, renovated and
occupied every piece of real estate in the affluent borough. Some
of the nicer-dressed Manhattanites even crossed the street to avoid
me as I approached. It was as if abject poverty was an airborne
disease, and being in close proximity to someone as lowborn as
myself could have infected them.
At least while
I was in The City I knew exactly why people hated me. It was
the same reason why they hated every peasant from The Fringe or The
Dark Zone. Here, I wasn’t sure if Cameron Frost’s existing staff
despised me because I was now their boss (which was reason enough,
I suppose) or if it was because the last time they’d seen their
previous employer, it was during Arena Mode...right before
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