Claire, page 17
“CLR”
“Patrice?” She called out to her admin, who appeared at her door moments later. “Patrice, where did these come from?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. They were delivered while you were in the meeting.”
“Did you notice who delivered them? The company?”
“Oh, it wasn’t a florist. A Drone brought them in.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah, quiet little thing. Wore a weird mask. She put ‘em on your desk. I don’t think they programmed her very well. She just stood there for ages before she left.”
Lisette frowned. “Some of the new ones can be quite impulsive. Thanks, Pat.” She turned back to the bouquet and silently contemplated it as she tapped her fingers on the desk. Lis was more dismayed than angry, fearful that Claire had put herself at risk to pull this little prank. She was definitely going to get a talking-to when she got home. Then Lisette stopped tapping, stopped frowning, and leaned in to smell the roses.
- Ͼ -
Across town, Niall was sitting in the food court contemplating his meatloaf when his phone began to buzz across the table. He took his time answering it. Niall got few calls, and most of those were from peddlers of timeshare vacations and male-enhancement drugs. Wanting neither, it was almost a minute of thoughtful chewing before he picked up the angrily-buzzing rectangle and glanced unenthusiastically at the screen. A moment later his meal was sent scattering as he leaped out of his chair and ran back to his office, eyes bulging at his phone with its map of downtown displaying a tiny, pulsing crosshair and the letters “Missing CLR”.
- Ͼ -
Claire was thrilled. She was doing all she could not to skip and jump down the sidewalk. Her plan had gone perfectly! The flowers had been delivered to the house in less than an hour. She had walked the distance to Lisette’s office, the wrapped arrangement in her hands, in the measured pace of a Drone making a delivery. Her cadence and the bouquet she held before her reminded her of a bridal procession, a public declaration of her feelings, walking in front of everyone to be with her beloved. But she doubted they made wedding dresses for Drones, and her nervousness at being so exposed dampened her spirits on the trip to the office.
She was relieved that Lisette was in a meeting when she arrived. She wasn’t sure how Lis would react to her being out, even though she was Registered and seemingly performing a task for her owner. Claire lingered a little too long in Lis’ office. She had never been there, and wanted to take in this new dimension of her existence. Her laugh at how tidy Lisette’s office was in comparison to her study at home was covered by her respirator. But the man at the desk outside was starting to notice, and so she silently made her retreat before he could say anything.
The whole caper was exciting her. Out of the house after being cooped up so long and surprising Lis with the flowers was certainly a big part of it. But there was another reason unexpectedly thrilling her. She was anonymous. She could go anywhere and not be challenged, not even noticed by most people. There was a strange freedom to being a Drone, and she was surprised to find that she liked it.
Barely had she begun the return journey when the skies let forth a gentle rain. It seemed to catch most passers-by unawares and sent them scurrying for shelter. But for Claire it felt more a cleansing, a baptism. She stood in place for minutes, head raised to the sky, uncaring of the curious glances of the few passers-by or the danger of discovery. She reached up and removed her respirator, let the rain run across her face, breathed in the fresh air. That transcendent moment was all too fleeting. Soon enough she felt the rain ease off, saw the skies brighten. Her bliss gave over to wistfulness as she replaced her respirator with a contented sigh and resumed her journey.
Unseen by Claire as she walked away, a nearby alcove sheltered a blue-haired Drone who had observed this tableau in its entirety. She stepped out from the shadow and stood a long moment watching Claire depart before blinking once and looking up at the grey skies, from which she felt a single drop anoint her forehead.
- Ͼ -
Niall heard the rumble of thunder and ran even harder. He knew their tracking system had been designed for short-range, indoor use in factories and such. It was spotty over long distances and was total crap in the rain. He was back at his desk and sending a priority alert to Security when the crosshair on his phone began to wink on and off, finally going out and replaced with “CONTACT LOST” in red. With a shout of frustration he finally got hold of Security and told them to send all available cars to the Financial District and check every CLR in the area. Hanging up, he sat back and grumbled. She’s still in town! And we almost had her! They won’t find her, I know it. She’ll melt into the fog. It’s her town as well, she knows the layout. Probably using the sewers for all I know. Ach, you sound like an old movie. She was downtown. Why? To see her lawyer? A reporter? Maybe she was getting into a car. Doesn’t matter, I didn’t get a read on where she was going. Why only show up that once? She’s been somewhere with shielding. ECM, or maybe an Umbrella. That explains her being downtown, all those big firms use it. She could hide anywhere down there. Damn. He tapped out some quick notes and prepared to go see Bigelow with his report.
- Ͼ -
Claire’s delight infused her all the way back to Lisette’s house. As she was walking towards the front door a voice called out from nearby. A familiar voice.
“You there, wait!”
Claire stopped dead in her tracks and stood stock-still, awaiting orders. A few moments later the voice called again. “Come here.” She turned, to see Ethel Pritchard coming down her steps. Oh, shit. Claire approached in the measured pace of a Drone, doing her best to keep her composure.
Ethel was eyeing her curiously. She seemed fascinated but confused. “Is your Mistress at home?” Claire silently and slowly shook her head.
“Have you been out running an errand for her?” Claire nodded her assent. Aren’t you the nosy one, she frowned behind her respirator.
“Will she be back soon?” Nod.
Now Ethel had a look of…what, longing? Envy? She almost whispered, “Do you like how she has treated you so far? Is she a good Mistress?” Claire had no idea how to answer that. Does a Drone even know the difference? Are they allowed to make such judgments? Not knowing what else to do, she nodded in the affirmative.
Ethel scrutinized Claire for a long moment, then of all things pouted. “You lucky duck.” Without another word she turned and walked into her house, leaving a perplexed Claire to stand and watch as she threw a final, envious glance before slamming the door shut.
What the hell was that? Claire tried to make sense of the encounter as she retrieved the key from under the door mat and walked inside.
Inside her own house, Ethel sat weeping on the stairs as her two Drones stood silently in the hallway.
- Ͼ -
Niall entered Bigelow’s office to an unusual silence. Its emptiness was atypical, the lack of activity a novelty. He was unsure what to do, considered going back out to the foyer. But Bigelow’s secretary, ever the gatekeeper, had waved him in with a smile. He shifted nervously on the balls of his feet for a moment in expectation of his employer making a dramatic entrance that did not occur.
His eyes wandered over the rather sparse décor, coming to rest on the large antique Eames desk that occupied center stage. Its few contents were neatly arranged – an expensive pen, a small stack of papers, the ornate poignard Bigelow employed as a letter opener. Finally he took note of the picture frame presenting its backside to him. He had never been close to this desk, much less behind it. Curiosity got the better of Niall as he walked around for a peek.
The picture within the frame was that of a younger and much thinner Bigelow in the company of a rather attractive young woman. Both wore lab coats, and both were smiling. He recognized her from the official Capriccio histories as Mrs. Bigelow, his wife. They had together founded the company that became Capriccio and produced the first Drone Series before she had fallen ill and died, leaving the young widower to -
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Niall was startled to attention by the words Bigelow quietly spoke from the doorway. He struggled to say something as he moved back to his usual standing place but Bigelow waved him silent and walked behind his desk, pausing for a moment to smile at the picture before sitting. “I miss her every day. But you didn’t come here to hear old stories, did you, Mr. Harris?”
“Uh, no, sir. I’m here to update you on the CLR situation. Less than an hour ago I received a positive on its location. It’s still in town. The signal only lasted a few minutes, but it placed the Drone in the financial district.”
“I see. And what steps have you taken in response?”
“I’ve sent a half-dozen of our security men in cars to search for her, and advised the Monitors to be on the lookout. But, given the location is rife with Umbrellas and that the weather is rather foul I have to admit my doubts they will locate it.”
Bigelow made a mirthful face. “Umbrellas in the rain, Mr. Harris?”
Niall took a moment to understand what had happened. Had Bigelow made a joke? He cleared his head with a shake. “Sorry, sir, that was unintentional.”
“The best ones usually are. Nonetheless, I have to agree. She will slip past us today. But let us take our victories where we find them. We now know she is still in the vicinity, and given her location is both the financial and legal epicenter of the city we might assume she has succeeded in gaining both shelter and legal counsel. I expect we will be hearing from her representatives in short order. I shall have to brief the Board on the inevitable.” Bigelow sighed in what to Niall seemed relief. “Thank you, Mister Harris. Continue in your efforts to locate her.”
Niall returned to his office in silent contemplation not of the missing Drone, but of the bits of puzzle Mr. Big had lately revealed of himself.
- Ͼ -
Lisette wandered a bit through the center of the city under breaking clouds after once again leaving work early with a headache. The breeze and walk were helping a lot, leaving her free to wonder about Claire’s little prank. It’s a good sign, I guess. She’s comfortable enough to venture out of the house on her own now. I only hope she’s home when I get there. Really, what’s to worry? If she were stopped again the Monitors will see she’s in the Registry and let her go on her way. Right? Thoughts of alternatives were pushed aside as they made her tremble and sigh. Maybe I should call home, check on her. No, I’ll be there soon enough. I wonder if that suit of hers has a tracker in it? It must. Maybe there’s a way to watch her on my tabula. Yeah, that’s not creepy. She sighed. I’m such a fraud. She thinks I’m her friend, and I truly want to be that for her. But every time I see her, I want to hold her, tell her I’m sorry for September, beg her to take me back. She doesn’t need that in her life. It’s too complicated as-is. She needs a friend, and that’s what I’ll be. I have to be, for her.
Once again her mind focused on the pod and its protocols. What the hell do I do about that? I can’t call and have it removed. They’ll have too many questions. I suppose I could have the firm’s white hat look at it, but what if he screws something up, makes it worse? This isn’t a toaster we’re talking about. Besides, he’s bound to gab about it. No, we have to work with the pod, work around it. I need to reach her, reach the real Claire. She’s still her on the inside, and I want her to stay that way.
But she knew that the machine, even at its lowest settings, would continue to whisper to her subconscious at night, slowly eroding her will. There had to be some way to adjust it, remove that feature from the pod, but she needed to do something in the interim to let Claire see they were equals, that she was the same. Good luck with that, she thought with frustration. She’ll never see you that way as long as she’s stuck in that suit. She’s a Drone, and you’re her owner, and that’s that. Unless… A idea came to Lis. OK, that’s completely insane, she smiled to herself, and it’s just crazy enough to work. She remembered a shop that might have what she needed and quickened her pace.
A few minutes later she stood outside a boutique off the main drag. Heidi’s, the sign announced in large, florid script, and in smaller words below, Where dreams are made real. Lisette had heard a lot about this place, passed by a few times but never been in. She took a breath and then took the plunge.
The door opened with a musical chime. Lisette entered and took stock of the showroom. The walls were covered in a dusty rose damask that glowed warm in the reflection from the copper ceiling and polished wood floor. Here and there a single item of clothing was on display amidst gilt-framed artworks and seating of an antique French style. It seemed more a salon than a shop.
She walked over to one of the items on display, a long-sleeved, knee-length dress in a scintillating jade. The entire piece was made in latex, even the delicate lace panel above the breasts. It was the kind of outfit one bought before finding the right event at which to wear it.
A woman appeared from behind a screen. Her black hair, long and sleek and dressed in the Danish style, complimented well her elegant comportment, while her cocktail dress of shimmering sapphire latex accented her curvaceous physique.
She smiled politely as she approached Lisette. “Good afternoon. I am Heidi, the proprietress. How may I serve you?”
Lisette was unused to such formality. “Oh, uh, well, I wanted to see if you might carry a, uh, rather unique item of clothing.”
“Madame, rest assured that everything we sell is unique. You will not see another in all your travels. Was there a particular item or style that interests you?”
There was, and Lisette told her what she needed.
Heidi barely blinked. “Ah, yes. That is not an item we get much call for, but we have sold a few in the past. They are typically made to measure and can take several weeks to craft, but…” She looked Lisette up and down. “We do have a display piece, and I daresay it may be in your size. Certainly we could offer it at a reduced amount if it is to your liking. I have no appointments for the next hour or so. Would you have time now for a fitting?”
Lisette felt a thrill at the thought of it. Here we go. “I do.”
“Excellent.” Heidi locked the door and placed a sign in the window: “By Appointment Only.” She walked back to the screen from behind which she had emerged. “Let’s go to the fitting room. This way.” An hour later Lisette exited the shop with a large bag in hand, nervous and excited. I hope this works, she thought, for both our sakes.
- Ͼ -
The upstairs room in Ethel’s house reverberated with the incessant thump-thump-thump of music from her exercise vid. She was contorting herself in mimicry of the several persons on the screen as they lead her through another session of Blast Your Butt In 30 Days (Volume 3: Advanced). It had been well past 30 days since she had started on this one, having gone through Volumes 1 and 2 with great impatience, irked she could not do both at once.
The results of her intensive workout regimen were striking. Ethel, in short, was jacked. But she hid her light under a bushel. The physique sculpted by this and the many other routines through which she rotated regularly were often concealed by the baggy and shapeless street wear to which she was partial. It didn’t matter to her what anyone else (except, of course, Lisette) thought of her physique. Her goal was not one of health, or beauty, or the approval of society. No, her goal was ever to be, as she called it, Drone fit.
She was sweating up a storm in one of her many all-black exercise ensembles. Ethel favored shiny materials, and liked to wear leg warmers because she could imagine them as the boots of a Drone uniform. If they could exercise, she had reasoned, they would dress like this. So she did as well.
The video routine ended. Panting hard, her ponytail still bouncing as she wound down, Ethel examined herself in the full-length mirror that occupied one end of her workout room. She had to squint a bit without her glasses. She no longer wore them when working out as they kept flying off. She hated her glasses. Drones don’t wear them, why should I? Ethel had laser eye surgery on her to-do list for that one reason.
Her exacting search for any bulge, sag or dimple real or imagined was fruitless. This allowed her a modicum of relief from the angst that so often plagued her, a feeling that had grown immensely now that she knew Lisette had changed her stance on Drone ownership. And what a change! The scene that had played out in Lisette’s garden was teasing Ethel with endless notions of what could be.
As she made her way to the bathroom she also thought of their meeting in the café. She was kinda stand-offish. But we were near her work – was someone listening in? Oh, I didn’t even think of that! No, she would have said something. She was just nervous, that’s all. I caught her off guard. Damn, does she think I was spying on her? I wasn’t! Well, not before we talked. And I was just brushing my teeth! She had reached the bathroom window and could not help but glance into Lisette’s garden. There again was the Drone, that CLR, working in the dirt. Ethel lingered a while, admiring the grime-covered form before her. Envying it.
She has a Drone now. And she likes to play with it. With it, but not me. She caught herself pouting and turned away. Ethel got back to business and stripped off her sweaty togs. She opened the door to the extra-wide shower stall. It had been built large enough for three to stand inside at once. Two were already there, silently waiting for their mistress to enter. She did, and as the water came on they began a well-learned routine of cleansing and massage. Ethel relaxed as the hot deluge streamed over her while rubber-coated hands slipped and slid upon her. The sensations soothed her. Still, her mind turned again to Lisette.
I need to tell her how I feel. What I want. I need to find a way to let her know that two Drones are better than one. She smiled at the thought, then gasped and arched as the female of the pair began to apply the soap.
