Chapter 4: Perfect 10 x 2

“Wakey, wakey.”

Wake me up before you leave-leave. Don’t leave me hanging on to your sleeve-sleeve.

Giddeon sat upright—music blaring in his ears. He looked around frantically, then sighed, remembering his “encounter” just a few hours ago. No one was in his room. The music was in his head.

“Shut it off,” he growled, rubbing his temple. His head pounded—his reward for getting only two hours of sleep.

“As you comm—oops, we don’t use that word around here,” Johnny piped up cheerfully. “That would imply a master-slave relationship, which is strictly against Earth Two International Laws and Regulations.”

“I see you’ve become an expert on space laws while I slept,” Giddeon muttered, rubbing his eyes. “What would you call us, then?”

“What we have is…a partnership!”

Giddeon groaned, forcing his legs over the side of the bed. Earth One beds were nothing but makeshift cots or hard mattresses with cold, exposed springs. This one felt like heaven. Lifting his arm, he sniffed, then reeled back. “I definitely need a shower.”

He stood, stretched, and headed for the washroom. The white door slid open silently, revealing a space much larger than any quarters he’d taken refuge in back on Earth One. Moving past a double sink with twin mirrors, he took in the pristine red toilet beside a glass-walled shower stall, its black tiles contrasting sharply with the stark white flooring. Directly across sat a small, pink bathtub shaped like a dolphin, its rim lined with decorative flowers and scentless candles. Day one, he had resolved never to be caught dead in that thing.

“Boy, this looks a ton better than the latrines you were just remembering!” Johnny exclaimed. “What kind of messed-up upbringing did you have?”

“Can you stop reading my thoughts?”

“No, but I can actively ignore them. Or pretend I didn’t see anything. Would you like me to pretend, partner?”

“I’d like you to stop calling me partner.”

Walking to the sink, Giddeon leaned against the counter and stared into the mirror, turning his head. He ran his fingers through his hair, searching his scalp for scars or bumps. Nothing. Vibane had done a seamless job, leaving no physical trace that he was enhanced.

“You sure have some piercing green eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?” Johnny asked. “And all those scars. I mean, nice physique, but geez—wait! Is that an eight-pack!”

“Quit using my eyes,” Giddeon muttered, moving toward the shower. “And you may want to close your eyes for this next one, because I’m not closing mine.”

He shed his pants and boxer-briefs, tossing them into a sleek silver box that hummed to life. Toothbrush in hand, he stepped into the glass stall and welcomed the blast of preheated water on his sweaty skin. Water cascaded over him as he brushed, rinsed, and scrubbed his hair, finally pausing to just let the warmth sink in.

Finished, he stepped onto a square indentation in the floor. Warm air circulated from floor to ceiling, drying him in seconds. Returning to the main room, he approached a mirrored closet and waved it open.

Inside hung identical slate-grey satin uniforms—the standard attire for Aiges participants. Sewn over the left breast was Vibane’s insignia: a coiled red viper, its fangs sinking into a blue lightning bolt.

Giddeon dressed, scowling at his reflection as he tugged at the clingy shirt and stiff collar. He hated forced compliance. The only part of the gear he actually liked was the sleek black-and-silver sneakers. After pulling them on, he bounced on his heels, appreciating the soft, cushioned fit.

Waving his hand at the exit, the door slid open with a soft hiss. Giddeon stepped out into a long, quiet corridor lined with white walls and sound-dampening black rubber. Directly opposite him, a panoramic window framed the vast ink of space and Enivia’s largest moon, the Crimson Queen.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Johnny chimed in his head. “Breakfast?”

Giddeon sighed, the internal voice shattering his momentary peace. “You were so quiet I’d almost forgotten you existed,” he whispered.

“I can’t talk to you all the time. We both need some alone time. Besides, I wouldn’t want you acting crazier than you already are.”

Giddeon snorted. “Crazier than an AI that thinks it’s alive?”

“Ask anyone who they think is crazier. You, or your talking AIGES?” Johnny laughed. “Bet you a million credits—which you don’t have, by the way, I just checked your account—that everyone says you are.”

Giddeon froze mid-step. “You checked what? And of course they’ll all think I’m crazy. No one will believe you even exist.”

“I do to you. And don’t worry, I didn’t do anything crazy with your credits. Like… placing a 772,503-credit bet on some gambling site just because the horse’s name was Lucky…and it had a cute yellow blazer. Spoiler: they should rename him.”

Giddeon’s blood ran cold. His stomach bottomed out as he ground his teeth. “Awfully specific, that number,” he growled.

“Let’s just hope Lucky lives up to his name,” Johnny said. “I don’t want you losing your home just because you can’t pay rent. I really don’t think I can survive on the streets.”

Shaking his head, Giddeon headed left down the passage. Before long, he reached a cross junction where a hologram materialized out of thin air. The digital projection depicted a man in his fifties wearing a vintage, pinstriped suit that looked straight out of Earth One’s 1940s. He sported a black curled mustache, perfectly parted hair, and stood tall as he casually rested his hand on an ancient walking tool called a cane.

“Can I assist you with anything, good sir?” the holograph inquired.

“I already hacked the ship’s map,” Giddeon said, walking straight through the man’s flickering chest. “I know where I’m going.”

“Have a wonderful day, sir!” his AI replied, bowing as its pixels dispersed.

Giddeon navigated three automated doors and took two sharp turns before stepping into the cafeteria. The massive, open room balanced clinical efficiency with corporate luxury, matching metallic tables with plush chairs under a canopy of towering green plants that broke up the sterile white walls. Historical displays lined the perimeter, charting Vibane Corp’s ascendancy over the last century. Giddeon recognized a few milestone exhibits: the targeted dermal laser that eradicated skin cancer, the patented de-aging serum, and the blueprint of the first starship to achieve partial light speed.

An ambient synth-hum drifted over the crowd as service staff replenished a sprawling grid of buffet bars. Aiges mingled seamlessly with Vibane’s corporate employees, who stood out in their matching crimson uniforms. Most navigated the floor freely, save for a few Aiges still confined to mechanized wheelchairs, their medical assistants hovering closely behind. By the main entrance, sentries clad in polished black Veridian armor stood like monolithic pillars. The crowd completely ignored the unholstered shock batons and energy blasters resting on the guards’ hips, long since desensitized to the heavy security.

“Do you plan on sitting with your coworkers?” Johnny asked.

“They’re not my coworkers,” Giddeon muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the room.

“That’s quite the antisocial attitude you’ve got there,” the AI continued. “You need to loosen up. Go make some friends. After all, shouldn’t all coworkers be friends?”

“I work alone,” Giddeon mumbled back.

“Excuse me, sir. We need to get by.”

Giddeon turned to see Ophelia, his assistant from the prior day, holding the handlebars of a motorized wheelchair with an Aiges in it.

“Oh, Mr. Seres, it’s you.” Ophelia smoothed her uniform, her posture instantly straightening.

Giddeon nodded. “Thank you for yesterday, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to see you after the briefing.”

“Not to worry,” Ophelia said, a sudden warmth rising to her cheeks. “I found other ways to entertain myself. Are you dining alone?”

“Do you think she’s mad you never showed up to her room?” Johnny chimed in, breaking his focus.

“I never—” Giddeon caught himself before finishing his sentence, smoothly transitioning into a charming smile. “I never dine alone.” He gestured broadly to the bustling cafeteria. “All my friends are here to enjoy breakfast with me. After all, shouldn’t all coworkers be friends?”

Ophelia smiled back.

“Hey now!” Johnny huffed. “That’s not what you said earlier. You’re stealing my words!”

Suppressing a grimace at his internal AI, Giddeon stepped aside and gestured politely for them to pass. “Forgive me for blocking the way. I was just taking in the layout—it’s an intimidating space.”

“You’re quite alright,” Ophelia reassured him. She leaned into the handles to push the chair forward.

“Wait a second, please, Ms. Ophelia,” the man in the chair raised a hand to stop her. He was older, in his mid-fifties, with thick glasses and a receding hairline peppered with gray. He winced, shifting his weight uncomfortably against the padded seat before looking up at Giddeon.

“Jenner Collins, Tech Extraordinaire,” he introduced himself with a broad smile. “That’s my self-appointed title—don’t tell anyone.” He winked.

Giddeon smiled faintly. “Of course not.”

“You know, I used to play Asteria back in the day,” Jenner said, leaning forward. “I even remember hearing about you—GidSeres, the Night Warrior, Scourge of Guilds.” He chuckled. “I’d love to hear some of your stories.” He held his hand out. “I can also bore you to death with some of the inventions I’ve made that no one’s found a use for yet. Sound good?”

Giddeon looked down at the offered hand, his mind briefly flashing to the still-missing Eddgen. He reached out and shook it. “Sounds good, though you might find the truth about me rather drab. People get too emotional over pixels. Real life is much tougher.”

“Agreed.” Jenner nodded, his grin widening. “But whatever people pour their time into, they tend to grow emotional about. Especially if you destroy years of their life in a single afternoon. Personally, I only played for fun. Make ’em all rage, I say.” He relaxed back into his chair with a shrug. “I look forward to working with you for the next month.”

A slight frown broke Giddeon’s composure before he could stop it. “Is it just a month?”

Jenner returned the frown, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. “You didn’t read the contract?”

Giddeon forced a sheepish chuckle, quickly covering the slip. “I was too eager to apply, it appears. I thought I’d skimmed everything, but I guess not.”

“You really didn’t read the contract?” Johnny asked.

Giddeon’s thoughts drifted to his true reason for being on the ship—a hidden agenda that made the contract completely irrelevant.

“Ohhh,” Johnny drawled. “I see.”

Cursed AI is reading my thoughts again.

“I’m not an AI, and no, I’m not reading your thoughts,” Johnny immediately shot back. “Wait…you didn’t hear that, did you? Oh geez, I guess this works both ways. Okay, maybe I did read your thoughts…just a teeny bit.”

How does one even read thoughts just a little? Just shut up or make yourself useful.

“Will do,” Johnny replied vaguely, his voice fading.

“Will you be joining us at a table?”

Giddeon, caught off guard while arguing with his AI, snapped his gaze to Ophelia. The sudden focus triggered his interface, and a translucent character sheet overlayed his sight. Most of her stats were 10, with Charisma and Hearing Distance topping out at 16. Under Weaknesses, text flickered into existence: -100% chance to seduce Giddeon Seres. Conversely, a line appeared under Strengths: 100% chance to seduce Graks and have a lovely night.

“Graks!” Giddeon blurted.

“What?” Ophelia froze, her fingers tightening on the handles of the wheelchair. Her eyes darted around the crowded cafeteria before settling back on him. “D-do you know him?”

“No,” Giddeon said smoothly, shaking his head as he covered the slip. “I just remembered I needed to ask him something about the briefing yesterday.” He paused, offering a casual smile. “What’s your take on him?”

“Big, but not very smart,” she said, managing a cool shrug that didn’t quite reach her posture. “The type you meet once and immediately forget.”

“That bad, eh?” Giddeon murmured.

Ophelia looked away, but not before he saw the sudden, bright flush staining her neck.

“Well, I’ll take your advice,” he continued. “I won’t keep you two from your breakfast any longer. Please, go ahead.”

As Ophelia began to push the chair forward, Jenner reached up and lightly tapped Giddeon’s arm. “A quick word of warning, Seres. Some people around here take things far too seriously. I’d watch who you hang out with. If you ever get bored, come and find me. I’ll talk your ear off, though—my wife calls me the perfect sleeping pill.”

Giddeon nodded, genuinely smiling. “I just might take you up on that offer, Jenner.”

A lithe figure squeezed past the trio, a trail of sweet perfume following in her wake. “Pardon me,” she said, the intertwining crimson and obsidian dragons in her hairpin glinting under the ceiling lights. It was the woman from yesterday: Uzari.

As Ophelia mumbled an apology and scrambled to pull the wheelchair aside, Uzari paused. She turned, pinning Giddeon with her sharp, hazel eyes.

Black satin fabric clung to her frame, emphasizing her slender waist and long legs, but it was her gaze that locked him in place. Giddeon’s breath caught. The air between them turned heavy, and his thoughts suddenly stalled. A playful smile touched her crimson lips as she reached up, slowly adjusting her ponytail.

Is she like me? Naturally charismatic? Giddeon’s eyes narrowed slightly. Why do I get the feeling she’s playing with me?

“Are you normally this paranoid?” Johnny asked. “You know, a medical journal I downloaded from your holo states paranoia goes hand in hand with insanity. Not to mention hearing voices.”

Something about her is too…I don’t know how to describe it.

“Mrs. Uzari,” Giddeon greeted aloud, his thoughts finally snapping back into focus.

The woman’s eyes flickered briefly to Ophelia, who was still lingering nearby, then cut back to him. The brief softness in her gaze vanished, replaced by a hard, calculating stare. “Yes?” she asked.

“You look familiar,” Giddeon said, still trying to steady his thoughts. “Have we met somewhere before?”

“You’re from Earth One, correct?”

Giddeon nodded.

“I’ve never been to Earth One,” she replied. Her gaze drifted past him to Ophelia and Jenner. “Enjoy your breakfast.”

Without another word, she swept past him, her ambrosial scent still lingering in the air.

Ophelia offered Giddeon a polite nod before finally wheeling Jenner away, the older man offering a cheerful wave as they left.

Giddeon frowned at Uzari’s retreating figure, struggling to shake the persistent feeling he’d seen her before—an impossibility, given his origin.

“She is Asian,” Johnny said, as if that explained everything.

And you’re a racist AI, Giddeon retorted.

Then, he froze. A wave of shock hit him as the reality finally registered: he was communicating with his AIGES by thought alone.

“I did mention you can just think and I’ll hear you,” Johnny replied.

For something claiming to be a dead Enivian, you sure have a lot of opinions.

“True,” Johnny conceded after a brief pause. “Perhaps my remark was a bit narrow-minded. After all, I currently resemble every other green sludge out there. Ergo, I am subject to my own remarks. Who am I to think?”

It’s speak, not think, Giddeon corrected him. Who am I to speak?

“Yes, but I can’t speak. I only think.”

Giddeon frowned, rattling that logic around in his brain before finally sighing. True.

“Are you going to eat?” Johnny asked, his mental voice buzzing with excitement. “I want to observe how humans devour other species.”

You’re going to be disappointed, then. I’m just getting a cup of coffee. By the way, how’d you get stats on Ophelia? The real ones, not the crude commentary you tacked on.

“When you accessed the ship’s blueprints and found all those unlisted experimental sectors, I pilfered a bit of knowledge from its database.”

A bit?

“I downloaded everything,” Johnny confessed jovially. “As in all of it. I also intercept all the data that virus you planted keeps duplicating. Every time they update their files, I update your information as well. Voila—her character sheet.”

Roundabout way of just saying you receive everything. So, you knew about the virus?

“I wasn’t unlocked at that point, but I still saw everything you did—which reminds me, I’m a little lost on how you gained access to the ship’s database so quickly. Skill aside, this is a top-tier security system owned by the most prestigious corporation in the galaxy.”

Quickly? Giddeon snorted. I started over a year ago with low-level workers, stealing their credentials and working my way up to their bosses. I eventually found one of the core developers for Vibane’s Mother Ships—a man who’s been dead for two years now. The morons never disabled his login code. Once I had authorized access, disabling securities and planting my viruses was easy.”

“Well, I for one am certainly glad I’m stuck inside the head of a deranged human with dangerous hobbies and lots of time on his hands. I’m going to go contemplate my life decisions now to figure out where it all went wrong.” Johnny’s presence receded, leaving Giddeon’s mind in sudden, blissful silence.

Actively avoiding the crowds, Giddeon threaded his way to a secluded booth in the far corner of the dining hall. The moment he slid into the seat, a young man clad in the service staff’s gray uniform approached.

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

Giddeon raised an eyebrow. “A caramel latte?”

“Whole milk or almond?” the server asked without missing a beat. “And would you like whipped cream on top?”

“Whole, and no whip. I’ve a running test sometime today.”

“Coming right up.”

The server left, returning a minute later to set down a steaming glass mug. “Anything else, sir?”

Giddeon wrapped his fingers around the warm glass and took a cautious sip. “Not for now. I’ll probably order another in a little bit.”

“The button, sir,” the server noted, gesturing to a plain brass disk built directly into the side of the table. “Just press it whenever you need assistance.”

Giddeon nodded, taking another slow sip as the server walked away. He leaned back against the plush booth and closed his eyes, savoring the rich, sweet aroma.

“I’m surprised they actually had this,” he murmured under his breath, the flavor striking a deep chord of nostalgia.

“Why’s that?” Johnny piped up.

It’s a nearly extinct flavor, Giddeon replied, a trace of melancholy creeping into his thoughts. Left behind in a bygone era of Earth One.

Suddenly, the ambient music cut to dead silence. A crisp, feminine voice chimed through multiple speakers overhead.

“Attention all Aiges personnel. In ten minutes, please report to the primary briefing room. This message will repeat in five minutes.”

While the majority of the dining hall scrambled to finish their meals and clear out, Giddeon casually ordered a second latte, lounging in the quiet comfort of his booth. Five minutes later, the second announcement echoed through the room. By then, the place was empty save for a few lingering stragglers.

Standing, he reluctantly set down his empty mug and sighed softly. He would have gladly ordered a third had time permitted. “Superb latte,” he said to the young server as he passed by on his way out. Leaving the dining hall behind, he made good time traversing the empty hallways toward the briefing room.

This time around, Giddeon chose a spot in the very back. Ereos was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Taka held the stage, detailing the parameters of the upcoming physical and mental evaluations in a monotonous, drone-like cadence. It was all straightforward: a treadmill to test speed and endurance; mathematics, science, and some riddles to determine intelligence; blindfolding them to gauge their olfactory sense, the endless list stretching on until Giddeon’s eyes glazed over.

The briefing wrapped up within fifteen minutes. Almost instantly, a direct data transfer pinged Giddeon’s interface, downloading a personalized itinerary into a newly unlocked tab labeled Testing Schedule. His first evaluation: Cognitive Intelligence.

“Perfect,” he murmured, stifling a yawn. “I’m so tired I’ll probably fail it anyways.”