2
Carefully taking one bright paper napkin from the black conference room table, I wiped the sweat from the nape of my neck. I was nervous. Patricia Killiam, the famous godmother of synthetic reality, had decided to personally attend the marketing meeting we had planned today, or at least her bio-simulation proxxi had.
This was much the same thing to Atopians.
The new Cognix account was the biggest to ever come through our office, and I’d been named as the lead for closing the deal. By winning it, I could finally step out from the shadows and take center stage. The pressure was intense.
I’d had to rush to get there, sprinting the last yards from the elevators, but I’d made it just in time. They’d immediately jumped me into my presentation to the Cognix people. My pitch was a mess––the incident with the robot and my blank-out in the cab had really thrown me—and my timing was off.
Well, at least my part was done. I sat back and watched my colleague Bertram finish the presentation.
I was thinking of my fight with Alex. It wasn’t just about living together. He was always on me to spend more time with his family, his brothers and sisters, but they always seemed to ready to critique me. It was a constant source of friction between us, made worse when he kept insisting that it was just my own insecurities. Raised in a big family, he wanted kids, but I had no idea how anyone could want to bring a child into this world. It was falling apart.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an incoming email from the Washington Heights orphanage I was working with. Maybe I didn’t want to have a kid with Alex, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. I understood what it was like to be left alone. But that was my business. I erased the message before anyone else could see it.
I looked back up at Bertram. After the endless overtime I’d put into this account, I couldn’t believe my boss had almost given Bertram the lead on closing it. Floppy mop of brown hair, pantomiming away in that ridiculous multi-phasic suit, laughing at his own jokes. Judging from the way everyone was reacting to his end of the pitch, however, whatever he was doing was working. I could almost feel my career slipping away.
I needed a smoke.
Maybe I was getting too old for this. Kids nowadays had AIs running around doing most of their jobs for them. I had a hard time keeping up with it all. Thinking about kids made me think about Alex again. Had I made a terrible mistake? My stomach lurched.
“Cognix, making tomorrow your today!” gushed Bertram as he finished up, sweeping his hand into the distance with a flourish.
There was a smattering of applause.
Wait a minute. That’s my tagline. What was he doing presenting that today? I was supposed to be using it tomorrow. I thought we’d agreed.
My boss glanced at me. “Something wrong, Olympia?” The epitome of middle-management, Roger always had a coffee cup in hand and a seemingly unending supply of ill-fitting suits and cheap ties. “Do you have anything to add?” He lifted his coffee to take a sip. Everyone turned to look at me.
My God, it’s stuffy in here.
“I, uh, I…,” I stammered, but I couldn’t get anything out.
It seemed as if all the air in the room evacuated, and a crushing pain tightened my chest like a vise. Wrenching myself up from the table I fled through the door in search of air.
“Someone call a doctor!” I heard Roger yelling behind me. My vision faded and blackness descended.