They have an hour to luxuriate in each other, Zef tracing lines of ink on Gray's skin while Gray connects the freckles on Zef's. It isn't long enough. The time for Phase Three of Damo's Master Plan comes too soon.
This time they'll pose as waiters. It comes with a convenient disguise; all the servers are required to wear a holographic implant which alters their appearance so that every server appears like an identical clone. All of them generically well-groomed white men and women; a choice Zef can't fathom being appealing or ethical, but the rich never did have taste. It will allow them to blend in.
The fear of the implant flickering for even a second still prompts them to cover Gray's tattoos in foundation. He dabs it on with a sponge, his lip curling.
"Hate this stuff. It's a sensory nightmare."
Zef finishes buttoning his starchy shirt and rolls up the cuffs. "Let me help."
Gray hands over the beauty blender and lifts his chin. Zef blots some foundation onto the sponge and dabs it over the leaf of a blooming peony. Gray's Adam's apple bobs on a visible swallow.
Tension sprinkles thinly over them like the stick of setting powder.
"Can't use my gild again or I'll glow," Gray says.
They'd gone over the plan already. Tonight's part was easiest of all. Just drug the deserts and ferry away their marks to be heavily sedated for the duration of the conference. The dinner itself is held around a company-wide presentation of upcoming projects and initiatives at Bionic Capital. In between drinks, food and schmoozing, a number of big shots would share all their Great Big World-Changing Innovations.
Damo warned Zef that Project Serenity might come up. He'd practised his poker face in the mirror that morning.
Otherwise, their job is fairly simple.
But Gray seems...
"Nervous?" Zef asks.
"Naw."
"Liar."
Gray's throat contracts on a swallow. "If she's there..."
"She's not scheduled to be," Zef reassures him.
"I know. Just..." He shudders. "Got a feeling."
Zef puts down the makeup sponge and takes Gray's hand, tracing the panicked pulse of a vein. "We'll be okay. I'll protect you."
It was meant to be a silly, comforting joke. Zef doesn't cut an intimidating figure.
Gray's hand tightens fiercely around his. "It ain't my life I'm afraid of losing."
A cold sweat prickles at Zef's neck. Raw grief laced with anger cuts from two separate directions. Don't you dare go valuing my life over yours, he thinks, but also, that sounds like something Ollie would say.
He doesn't know how to communicate it without pushing Gray too far. He doesn't want them pulling out of this—their best plan to free Gray from Rylan's control—all because he's afraid of what might happen to Zef. Don't want him pulling any kamikaze bullshit, neither.
Ollie's skeleton makes up the bones of Zef's aversion to the way Gray sometimes talks about himself like his life is worthless. Zef wishes he could have held out a little longer at Bionic Capital, long enough to make Project Serenity work and steal it away. Give it to Gray.
"We'll be okay," Zef repeats.
Once disguised and in uniform, they head to the kitchens. Damo sent rehearsal footage so they could perform the bizarre, choreographed pageantry of placing plates on tables alongside their fellow servers in perfect unison. Two other servers were 'mysteriously way-layed' and cut off from communicating with the caterers, allowing Zef and Gray to take their places.
Zef didn't ask too many questions on this front. Damo and Sami's combined power to twist situations in their favour is frankly humbling. He doesn't need to feel like an insect amongst technological gods anymore than he already does.
Gray and he wait along with the pack of servers as they're handed bottles of cabernet sauvignon and chardonnay. They file out to fill glasses. Zef splits from Gray, watching the back of his hologrammed head with a sinking feeling. After this, they won't be able to recognize one another among the sea of identical servers.
With Damo in his ear, Zef positions himself in the line so he'll be given Katarina's table. He marches out with the other servers like they're on a conveyor belt. Katarina's bubbly laughter draws his eye to the right table, but when he takes in the other faces there, he nearly falters in his step.
Nav.
His temperature rises. Last he'd seen Nav, they'd spoken to Katarina at the bar where Zef collected the voice sample. It seems too convenient and unlucky that they'd be tabled together. Either they're working together, or—
Could it be deliberate?
It seems unlikely Rylan would hire Nav to hunt for Gray in Zef's stead, but he doesn't want to rule out the coincidence. He can't flee now without drawing attention, and he won't leave without Gray. For now, best to put one foot in front of the other and act normal. See if he can't figure out what's what.
He makes it to the table with his overpriced wine and pops the cork for everyone. He tries not to look in Nav's direction too often. Their name card has a mark indicating they don't drink, so Zef gets to conveniently skip filling their glass, moving onto Katarina instead.
She looks delightedly at the generous pour, raising it to the others. "I propose we go around introducing ourselves, yes?"
Zef takes a step back, hovering near the wall to offer refills and invisibly eavesdrop on the conversation.
Everybody gives their name and position at the company. When it gets to Nav, they say, "I'm Chief Engineer here in Neorleans."
Oh. So they'd been promoted to Zef's job.
When had that happened? A bizarre blend of relief and worry stews in his gut. He'd worried Nav might be implicated as someone involved with his extremely illegal shenanigans. They'd worked together, and they were both trans. It would be enough for bigots and bigwigs to raise eyebrows. Instead, Nav seems to be doing well, and Zef has to wonder if it has to do with Project Serenity, with Rylan's hunt for Gray, or with his own defection. Nav is brilliant and deserves the promotion, but when did Rylan ever give anyone anything simply because they deserved it? She always had a double motive.
Katarina introduces herself as well, giving a long-winded description of her job. It involves too many nonsense words in Zef's opinion, but he gloms onto one detail.
"I make sure the products here will pass the European cybernetic ethics committee, so you can make all the money on my side of the world, too."
That's...interesting. Perhaps it's the link between Nav and Katarina's rapport. Project Serenity, in its current form, wouldn't pass European Union law. Not in a hot miracle. It hasn't been tested thoroughly or long enough. Perhaps they're collaborating to ensure it passes anyway.
It would relieve Zef of his fear that this coincidence has something to do with hunting Gray.
Introductions over, Katarina cheerfully clinks her glass against everyone's. "Nice to meet you all. To making new friends, yes?"
They talk shop. Aside from a few underhanded jabs at the red tape presented by ethics authorities, which Katarina deflects like nuisance fruit flies, they don't say anything interesting until—
"Do any of you know more about the CEO's mansion burning down?"
The question came from Katarina, bluntly dropped like a cherry bomb in everyone's cabernet sauvignon.
A moustached man named Oswald blusters, "Hateful, dreadful thing."
Nav goes silent, their gaze flicking around the table to study the reactions of all present.
Another middle-aged white man called Reggie says, "Nobody's made any official statements about the cause, but let's face it. It certainly looks like a CyberSuite attack."
Katarina clutches her pearls. "An assassination attempt? In her own home?"
Oswald cuts in, "Nonsense. Ms Archer was not even home when the fire started."
"Then why go to such trouble, no?" Katarina presses. "What does the other company gain?
"Perhaps a temporary drop in our company stock if people fear a destabilising change in leadership," Reggie says. "It doesn't matter. Nothing important was lost, and I'm sure the culprits were quietly apprehended."
"Would they not make that information public?" Katarina presses. "To reassure the public? Such breach in security looks terrible for a cybernetics company. And to make it so personal. Her home. It makes the news about Project Serenity look like a distraction to me. Maybe not a problem for you in America, but has not been forgotten where I'm from."
Oswald seizes upon the opportunity to shift the subject. "Speaking of Project Serenity, are you not heading that project, Naveen?"
Nav says, "I am."
"Very interesting stuff," says Oswald. "Cutting edge. Very different from the previous product launches. In fact, my niece suffers with anxiety, you know, so I'm very interested."
"That's great to hear."
"Wonderful, just wonderful. Cheeky of me, but I must ask if you can give us a hint of what more it has in store? Perhaps we could collaborate."
Nav smiles thinly. It gives Zef a chill. The sarcastic, fun, chatty Nav is subdued, leaving only their cautious, keen, intellect behind. "I'm afraid it's strictly confidential. You'd have to speak to Ms Archer."
Oswald pales behind his mask, blustering. "Of course, of course, should have known."
At which point, Katarina once again bluntly interjects, "This project was started by the previous Chief Engineer who was suddenly let go, yes? The day after the arson attack."
Aside from the twitch of one thick eyebrow, Nav does not respond except to say, "Please pass the bread."
Katarina tries to dig into the mysteries a couple more times, but those at the table shut down each attempt. Zef feels as though he held his breath the whole time. All the while thinking, it's me, hi, I'm the arsonist.
Which, technically? No. He didn't throw the molotov, but he didn't call the fire department or splash water on it, either.
The rest of the conversation turns to bland topics like stock market value and the best brand of anti-aging serum. Then the conference kicks off with speeches and presentations by droning voices with forced corporate humour.
Zef gets through the first, second and third courses without incident, aside from his stomach growling. He overheard another server talking about the anti-appetite tablet he'd taken beforehand and understood why. They're permitted to smell and serve the Michelin star food, but not take a break or eat any.
The presenter announces they have an extra speaker today, one they would all be enthusiastic to hear from. He makes everyone do a drumroll, beating their hands on the tables, rattling the dinnerware. A creeping sense of unease bleeds into Zef as he looks to the podium.
"Please welcome our own CEO, Ms Rylan Archer."
Everyone claps, but Zef hardly hears. She's here. She's here. She wasn't supposed to be. All the directors beneath her, but not her.
Dripping in silver, the woman who nearly killed him marches up the podium.
His heart races, but at the forefront of his anxiety is Gray. He sends a message through Sami's blissfully safe, private network.
>>Hey. How are you holding up?
No answer.
Rylan launches into her speech. Ironic platitudes about progress and the need for a more ethical, empathetic approach to technology ring empty. In a room full of experts on cybernetics who will recognize the implant in her head that dampens her own compassion, it strikes him as brazenly narcissistic. He isn't surprised when the speech is followed by a holographic display of Project Serenity, Zef's implant twisting in the air like the ballerina in a music box. Everybody claps. Zef can't bring himself to. His earlier hunger congeals into nausea.
Gray still hasn't responded.
>>Gray? You doing okay?
Still nothing. The diners are too tanked on wine to care when his distraction means he doesn't notice them gesturing for their umpteenth glass. Mid-pour, an alarming text comes through.
Gray:
>>s)(m&&th{:ng wr0*ng
Zef's heart nearly drops into Katarina's wine glass. Why is the text so garbled? He assumes it says 'something wrong,' but that doesn't help.
>>What's wrong?
Gray:
>>Im*****#^^&% fr!+z!nng pl5 I'm in the 8thrm
More texts come through, each less comprehensible than the last, clearly trying to give Zef something, anything to go on. Then one comes through painfully, heart-stoppingly legible.
>>N33d h31p