earlier about the operation. Is it true you did it single-handedly?” She waited raptly.
Yes might encourage her to do something that would get her killed. No was a lie. “I’m part of a field team. We do everything together.”
She frowned and checked her tablet. “That’s odd. I don’t see you having field status. It says here you’re chief of operations in BSI Analysis. Must be a mistake.”
No mistake. A promotion. And a message. “I need to know what hotel I can stay at. Something a step up from a Big 8.”
Asking where I could butcher a cat would have gotten a better response. She glanced around as if looking for backup, then shook her head. “You’ll have to share an apartment, but we wouldn’t dream of you being out on the streets. It’s not safe out there.”
“And it’s safe for you?”
She shook her head. “They aren’t finding my face painted in blood, or finding my name scribbled at the sight of massacres. I have an ex-boyfriend in field ops. He says yesterday a corpse spoke to him. Said two words. Your name.”
She handed me a plastic key like a hotel door card. My badge holder had a slot for it. I hadn’t known they kept apartments, though now it made sense. Finding a room wasn’t my number one priority. “I need to talk to someone from Personal Resources. About a private matter.”
“Are you pregnant? I can get a test to confirm if you are worried, and you’ll want to see Dr. Iridian on twenty. She’s real nice.”
“I am not pregnant, not that it’s any business of yours. Get me a Personal Resources representative. I’ll wait here until you do.”
She shook her head and left.
The minutes crawled by, becoming half hours, and then hours. And the man I’d wanted to see when I came down came in, the green button on his chest identifying him as Personal Resources. I’d never understood why the department existed. The employee introduction video drilled us over and over: You went to Personal Resources anytime you needed help.
In private conversations, every new employee learned what wasn’t in the video. Personal Resources could get you anything you wanted. Want to get high? They could arrange that. Need companionship for the night? They knew who could be trusted. Legal, illegal, personal, or mental, the men and women with a green dot could get it all, do it all.
Now that I’d seen the Re-Animus, I knew why Personal Resources existed. To keep BSI employees from going someplace else, where the Re-Animus might provide everything, in return for favors.
“I assure you nothing said in here will leave this room,” he said, the best introduction a Personal Resources manager could ever offer. “I’m Jarvis Harrington, and I’d be pleased to assist you, Ms. Roberts. Is this in regards to a sexual harassment incident with Mr. Carson?”
I shook my head.
“Would you like to discuss the matter with a confidential counselor? Again, I will sooner die and not be cremated than reveal the nature of your problem.” He spoke the truth. It was Personal Resources who put me in touch with my daughter’s care facility in the first place, finding a way to make it almost work on my meager salary.
“I have a lot of money. That’s what people tell me. And no, I don’t need financial counseling. I need you to make arrangements for me. My daughter’s in an invalid care facility in Portland. You can get the name from the records.”
“Records?” He raised an eyebrow.
“My last visit to Personal Resources.”
He shook his head. “To maintain your absolute confidence, I’m certain we don’t keep such records. Certainly not in computers. Perhaps in the head of the person who assisted you, but I’ve worked hard to make my memory not what it used to be.”
I wrote down the number. And the name. “I want to know my daughter will be somewhere absolutely safe. I want to make sure no one else knows where she is. That number is a woman I trust to care for her.”
He tucked the paper into his vest pocket and nodded. “I’ll take care of this immediately. It was a pleasure serving you. Please understand that if we see each other in passing—”
“You don’t know me. I owe you.”
He shook his head, and left without answer.
I took the elevator up to my apartment. Three floors below Brynner’s, and probably nowhere near as swank. Though tonight, he wouldn’t know or care about the plush carpet or silk sheets.
I wanted to