The War for the Waking World by Wayne Thomas Batson

signed document into his briefcase. “And, if I may say so, it is quite kind of you to create a fund for her. She’ll never want for another thing in her life.”
    â€œIt’s the least I can do,” Kara said, turning to leave the conference room. She paused at the door. “And, Frederick?”
    â€œYes, Ms. Windchil?”
    â€œOnce the ownership portfolio has been ratified by the board of directors, please send me a few copies.”
    â€œI’ll have them delivered within the hour,” he said. “Where will you be?”
    â€œI have . . . a few errands to run,” she replied cryptically. “Send the digital files to my tablet; put the master copies in my personal vault.”
    Kara didn’t wait for his answer but waltzed to the lobby and slapped the fleet elevator’s down button. If she’d stayed, Frederick might have given her an earful about taking orders. They’d had a business relationship for some time, longer than most suspected, but that didn’t mean he liked being bossed around.
    Tapping her feet impatiently, Kara glared at the floor symbols and willed the fleet elevator to get to her floor faster. She looked at her watch, and then nibbled on her bottom lip. The meeting with Frederick had gone overlong, and time was running short for her errands .
    The doors opened at last. Kara stepped in, sighed, and decided she needn’t be worried about the time. After all, Dream Inc. operated according to her schedule—not the other way around. Moments later, the fleet elevator came to a stop at the medical clinic. She didn’t smile or wave at any of the employees. She quickly bypassed the public section, stopped to punch in a door code at her private suite, and then rushed inside.
    The pressure-sealed door closed behind her, and she was talking before she was halfway down the corridor. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said, “but it couldn’t be helped. And, no, I don’t want to reschedule. I’m worn-out. And I need a recharge.”
    Something flashed from around the corner as a being transported itself into the room. It was followed by a gleam of chrome . . . and a voice. “Things do not always go as we have planned,” it said. “For the queen of the world has many demands, but fortunately for you, Kara, your wish is my command.”

    An hour later, feeling completely refreshed and energized, Kara left the medical clinic. She checked her tablet computer, saw the message waiting, and read that her ownership documents had been approved, of course. As per her instructions, Frederick had attached the digital files and put the master documents in her private vault. He’d even had the presence of mind to make a copy and sent it via—
    â€œCourier for Ms. Windchil,” said the young man who’d just appeared at her side. He wore the gray Dream Inc. uniform and held out a translucent plastic mailing tube.
    â€œThank you,” Kara said, taking the mailing tube. She eyed the courier for a moment. He must have been in his mid-twenties. How happy he looked. How content. Not to mention efficient. She glanced at his name tag. “Hartsfield, is it?”
    â€œYes, ma’am.”
    â€œWell, Hartsfield,” she said, “you didn’t disturb me with this delivery but made sure I received it the moment I left the clinic. Consider your salary doubled.”
    The courier’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Ms. Windchil. Thank you. And if I may say, you’re a joy to work for. I mean, it doesn’t feel like a job at all but—”
    Kara held up a hand. “Duly noted,” she said, turning her back on the courier and heading for the fleet elevator. She stepped inside and hurriedly typed a code into the keypad.
    â€œFloor please?” an automated voice demanded.
    â€œBeneath,” Kara said, tearing open the mailing tube.
    â€œFloor restriction,” the voice replied,