"It's just good business," you murmur, tracing a circle on the glass with your finger. Somewhere far below, the warm light from the fires is almost welcoming. You shut your eyes for a second, your head pressing against the glass. It should feel warm. It should practically glow with the weight of what it keeps out. It beeps softly, registering your touch, cooling automatically, a perfect simulation of how it would feel were it raining. The air is too soft, too delicate. It hints of lemon, whiskey, and power. You're almost choking in it. Stupidly, you look for a way to open the window. There isn't one, of course. You're far too high up for that, drifting through the clouds. "It's just good business," you say again, as though it might ward off the feelings.
You're snapped out of your reverie by your companion's voice. "What was that?"
You glance across the room to study him. He sits in the leather recliner across from you, as natural as a tree in the forest. He smiles softly, his face crinkling in all the right places. You sit a little more upright. "It's just good business," you say, shrugging slightly.
"Ah," he replies. "Good business. Yes, I suppose it is." His eyes narrow slightly, quizzically. "Assuming they accept the offer. Perhaps you know something I don't?"
Of course he was suspicious. Of course he was paranoid. How could he be anything but? "It's-" you start but stop suddenly. You shake your head slightly. Your tattoos are burning, circuits carved into flesh. You turn your head slightly, hiding them from view. "It's our company motto. It's just good business." Anxious, you run a hand through what is left of your hair. "Sort of a good luck charm, I guess."
He nods, satisfied with this explanation. "I see." He pauses for a moment too, something flying across his face too fast to catch. He smiles again. "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting, well." He takes a moment to search for the right words. "I'm not quite sure what-"
You interrupt, not wanting to know what he'll settle on. "It's fine. I get that a lot. Well, we get that a lot." You turn your head back, giving him a good look at the scar tissue, coloured lights, and metal plates that make up the right half of your head. "Once I begin the read, you won't even know Chief Financial Programmer Zaius isn't in the room."
He nods wisely, as though he understands. He makes a little humming noise and asks, "and what happens to you after?"
You tilt your head. "I go back down the elevator we came up and you never see me again."
"No," he says, hesitant. "I meant, well, after?"
You know what he's asking. You know what you're supposed to say. You know what company policy says. You still want him to say it, so you shrug confused instead.
"Well." He leans forward conspiratorially. "I heard your product line had severe endurance issues."
Your voice is too calm, too cool. The words come too easily, burned into your brain. One of many phrases you can never forget. "Please rest assured that all my components are recyclable or biodegradable in accordance with applicable environmental laws. My manufacturer claims all responsibility for disposing of my components in accordance with applicable environmental laws. I am programmed to arrange for my appropriate end of lifespan disposal prior to my expected end of lifespan. However, in the event of an unexpected shutdown, please notify the nearest Solar Group office to arrange for a pickup. " You smile, unconvincingly. "Solar Group! It's just good business.
He laughs. "Oh, well then." Your calm seems to have reassured him. "Good business indeed." He reaches out slowly to take a sip of water.
You mirror him, enjoying the way it tastes cool and fresh. "Good business," you whisper again, the dopamine hit softening the aching of your weary body.
He relaxes his shoulders slightly. "So," he says, "perhaps you know where ol' Dick is?" He smiles, in what he probably thinks is a charming way. "I was quite surprised to find you here instead."
"Chief Financial Programmer Zaius regrets being unable to attend in person, but he was required to give testimony at the ongoing Lunar Corruption Trials," you reply.
He scoffs, disgust evident. "Ridiculous. They have no evidence." He shakes his head. "The whole thing should've been wrapped up months ago. Someone needs to give that committee a good kick." He sets the glass of water down a little too hard. "Ridiculous. You should be there, not here."
You shrug. "They forbid readings from participating in matters of open court."
"Ridiculous," he says again. "Complete waste of everyone's time. We're about to fix their revolution problem and this is the thanks we-"
A beeping noise cuts him off. "Lord Berringer will see you now."
He checks his watch as he stands. "Right on time." He smiles at you and gestures at the door.
You glance at the window and then back to him. "No," you say. "After you. I need to, uh." You trail off and gesture at the metal in your head.
He nods wisely, once again pretending he understands, and vanishes into the dark space. You hear the soft voice of powerful men greeting each other emanating from within.
You can feel the circuity waiting to active, the perfect copy of some billionaire's mind ready to overwrite your own. It burns. Your finger raises to where your ear is supposed to be and for a single horrifying moment, you think it won't work.
But it does. Your finger stops, the other brain remaining trapped as data. You swallow and grip your jaw with both hands, fingers wrapping over your teeth. You pull as hard as you can, wrenching pain as your skull splits in two, muscles snapping, bones splintering, shards of blood and mess pouring out. If your mouth still worked, you would've screamed with the pain. It was red hot and agonizing. You pull and pull until you can get your entire fist through your throat, choking on it while you reach for that precious cargo.
"Are you coming, Zaius?" calls a voice from somewhere in the darkness.
You glance at the window. It's too smart to show you your mangled reflection, hiding the evidence. Far below, the fires glow red. From this high up, the horror of them is gone. There's just a gentle comforting heat to it. Somewhere far below, they're already extracting your replacement, pulling another body from the pile. "It's just good business," you whisper through what's left of your mangled jaw.
You glance at the gun in your hand. "It's just good business."