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2023-12-31
Helen would think back and laugh on it, as would Special Agent Wade, eventually.
Wade had made the first move, back when everything was just stories, theories, a
game. DEIMOS had been a fantasy. Wade's action both created the honey trap and
triggered it, instantly and permanently changing the nature of the game.
--
Helen was drunk alone, a welcome change after the events of the exhausting two months that precipitated her move to a "luxury" apartment in Santa Clara. Fake luxury. Cheap appliances dressed up with brushed aluminum, minimalist industrial design. Thin walls. Neighbors packed like sardines into their tiny fake luxury boxes, speaking in various languages. Helen could hear everything, more than she could understand anyway.
At least she was alone, a stroke of luck, or "payday—the first of many for a team of rock stars," Wes would constantly remind her and everyone in his wake. Of course that worked well for him, being the chief rock star, with visions of Lambos and yachts close on the horizon, just out of reach. Helen and her team had moved to the heart of Silicon Valley as was customary after a tech acquisition of such import.
Helen sighed and put down her cold glass of Maker's. She looked up, between moving blades, into yet another brushed aluminum veneer, this one hiding her ceiling fan's motor assembly. Determined, she stared through into nothingness, and then she thought, reminded with a pang of displeasure that no amount of drinking could stop her from thinking.
Helen missed Johnny and Judith back in Santa Cruz, missed the ocean air and the barking sea lions. Wes wanted to get rich. Helen didn't want to get rich. She hated everything about the deal, except the money was good. She hated it here. Maybe she even hated herself. Helen was briefly intrigued by the thought, but that one was complicated. Per Occam's razor it was more likely she was just bored. Helen closed her eyes.
She awoke to two sharp knocks on her apartment door.