D.I.A.N.N.E. Ch. 09

© Antidarius 2022

*This is a work of fanfiction. The author, Antidarius, does not claim ownership of any characters or titles mentioned that are the existing property of other entities.*

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D.I.A.N.N.E.

Chapter 9: The Best of Both Worlds

P: 49 - M: 51 - S: 39

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--Thursday, 4^th June, 1999--

"So here we are," I said awkwardly, stirring the foam on my cappuccino with one of those little wooden sticks they give you instead of a spoon at some cafes. Why did they do that anyway? What was wrong with a spoon? Melinda sat across from me, stirring her own coffee slowly. She looked up briefly, brown eyes crinkling behind rectangular glasses as she smiled.

Quite unexpectedly, she had arrived at our little rendezvous in a light blue sundress with a low neckline that left a healthy amount of pale cleavage exposed. I had spent the first few minutes of stilted conversation trying to keep my eyes somewhere else. On top of that, her hair was out, the chocolate, slightly wavy tresses tumbling to her pale shoulders. Contrary to how she normally looked at work, she was... well, feminine today. As for me, I'd opted for the safest option I could think of: black tee shirt and blue jeans. Even I couldn't get that wrong.

"Yep," she replied before her eyes jerked back to her cup.

Why was she so nervous? It was making me nervous! Whatever had become of Confident Jake, he was nowhere to be seen today. "This is a nice place," I remarked as I glanced around the café. "I didn't even know it was here."

She nodded and glanced up again. "I come here sometimes. It's cool." Back to watching the coffee.

I wanted to sigh in vexation. This was how the first few minutes had gone; I couldn't seem to break this weird, awkward tension. I had thought it would be nice to meet up with Melinda and try and make a new friend, especially after her being so upset the other day, but I was beginning to think this was a mistake.

"Much planned for later today?" I asked, beating my head against the small-talk wall again.

She shrugged, shifting her heavy breasts beneath the dress. I hurriedly averted my eyes. "Not much. You?"

"Some work, maybe," I replied without thinking. "I'll see how I feel."

Her eyes found mine again. Had they always been so large? Now that I thought of it, it appeared she had done her lashes to make them look longer. I didn't remember her ever wearing much makeup at work, if any. "You have another job already? And what do you mean, 'see how I feel?'" Her fine brows creased in curiosity.

Thinking on the fly, I did my best. "I do a bit of software testing online. It's not much money but I can do it on my own hours, and they pay me for what I get done."

"Oh," she replied. "That's pretty cool, I guess. I wish I could do something like that." She took a sip of coffee and licked some froth from her lip. For some reason I found that remarkably attractive. Stop it! I warned myself. You aren't here for that. Debbie, remember? How could I forget? The most wonderful girl in the world had spun into my life and I'd never been happier. "What are you grinning so hard about?" Melinda asked, yanking my thoughts away from Deb. She was smiling back across the table. "Some private joke?"

"I... Um..." I stuttered, caught on the back foot. "Yeah, you kind of had to be there, if you get what I mean. Sorry."

Just as quickly as it had come, her smile evaporated. "Oh. That's okay." But I could tell it wasn't. Good one, dickhead! She thought you were smiling at her! Now what are you going to do? I made mental note to do something about my lacking social skills as soon as I got home. "I like your dress," I blurted, a poor attempt to make things better. To my pleased surprised, Melinda smiled.

"Oh, this? Thanks, Jake." she looked down at herself for a second. "I hardly ever wear it."

"You should wear it more," I told her. "It looks good on you." About bloody time I said something useful.

"Oh, stop it," she chuckled, her pale cheeks a touch rosy. Her eyes were sparkling, now. "You look nice, too. And you've lost weight, haven't you?"

"Uh, yeah," I replied, shifting on my chair a little. "Thought I should start working out, you know? Seems to be going okay." If she asked me about my gym routine, I was screwed; I didn't know the first thing about exercise.

Yes, you do, Indy said in my head. You're a kung fu master or something, aren't you? He was right. Well, about the kung fu, anyway. I doubted I was anywhere near the level of master.

"You'll have to share your secrets sometime," Melinda said before lifting her cup to her lips. She eyed me over the ceramic rim quizzically.

I felt a moment of panic. "What do you mean?" Was she on to me?

"Your fitness routine. What are you doing? And what's your diet like?"

"Oh, right," I replied quickly. "Just exercise mostly. I hate dieting." That was the pure truth. "I took up martial arts, too."

After that, the conversation started to flow, and I soon forgot all about being awkward. Melinda was actually super nice once she opened up. She had a nerdy sense of humour that I really liked, and she wasn't afraid to make a bad joke. She had always wanted to travel, but sadly her mother was ill -- and had been for a long time -- and required constant care, so most of Melinda's spare time was spent there when she wasn't working to cover the medical and carer's bills. This had of course affected her social life and stopped her from dating with any sort of success.

"It's really cool, your girlfriend being okay with us having a coffee like this," Melinda said at one point. We'd finished our coffees long ago but had kept talking for half an hour or more.

"Yep, she's pretty amazing," I replied casually, disguising the icy stab of guilt in my gut. I'd forgotten to tell Deb I was meeting Melinda!

"I guess a lot of girls would feel jealous or something. I don't know." She shrugged and surreptitiously tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. "But what's wrong with two friends having a coffee?"

"I know, right?" I said weakly.

"So should we do this again?" The hopeful look on her face was adorable. I was sure she was being honest about just wanting a friend; she hadn't flirted with me once this whole time. I felt grateful about that, but also a little disappointed.

"Uh, sure," I replied, not wanting to let her down. "I'll text you soon."

Once we'd said goodbye -- she actually hugged me! - I headed back home with two objectives in mind: One, to call Debbie and make sure she knew I'd had coffee with Melinda and might do so again. Two, to get into Dianne and level up my social stat. Enough was enough. The 'friend date' hadn't gone so badly once the ice was broken, but I wanted to eliminate that excruciating first few minutes, whether it be with Melinda or anybody else.

My stomach was in knots the entire ride home. Even a cold beer didn't help. "Something the matter, Mr. London?" Gloria enquired from up front. I guess my worry was etched on my face, or maybe it was the way my leg kept twitching up and down, bouncing on the ball of my foot the way it did when I was nervous.

"I think so," I replied slowly. Wondering if Gloria would be any help, I decided to fill her in on my predicament.

"I see," she said in her smooth, polished English accent when I was finished. "If you want my opinion, sir, I think you are doing the right thing by taking responsibility and telling Debbie right away. She will appreciate that, I think."

"Really? You wouldn't be mad if you were her?" I was disbelieving.

"Are you interested in this Melinda as more than just friends?"

"No," I replied quickly. But she did look damn good in that sundress. "I only went out with her because I felt bad. Last thing I want to do is mess things up with Debbie already."

"Then I don't think you have a problem," Gloria assured me.

It turned out my gorgeous limo driver was correct. Once home, I called Debbie and explained everything. "Thanks for being so honest, babe," she said brightly after I was done. "But I don't mind, seriously. You are allowed to have friends, you know." I couldn't believe it. "I mean, I thought she was a bit bitchy that day in the shop, but if you say she's cool then you should be friends with her if that's what you want."

"Really?" I asked dumbly.

"Really. Why don't you invite her out to dinner with us or something? It might make her feel better."

"Uh, sure," I mumbled, still flummoxed by how cool Debbie was being. I mean, I really wasn't doing anything wrong, but still... Weren't girls supposed to be weird about their boyfriends having female friends? I had no relationship experience, but every guy I'd ever known soon found himself with only male friends after getting a girlfriend, whether by choice or design.

Red flag! Indy burst out suddenly. Red flag kid!

What are you prattling on about? I said irritably.

Something's wrong, he replied. She's up to something.

Internally, I sighed. Please elaborate, Dr. Jones. Sometimes the man was harder to decipher than the hieroglyphs he was so famous for translating.

Women don't like other women seeing their man, friend or not. Tread carefully here, kid.

Nothing is ever simple with you, is it? To that, he had no response. To Debbie, I affirmed my agreement that it would be nice for the two of us to go out with Melinda sometime, hoping to heaven that Indy was wrong.

Debbie couldn't talk for long because she had a class to get to, so I was left on my own for the rest of today until she came around this evening. Standing in the loungeroom, I frowned at Dianne's black cube in the TV cabinet. I knew what I needed, but not how to get it.

"You seem vexed, Jake," Dianne said, accurately reading me.

"I want to increase my social capabilities," I told her absently while I pondered the matter. "I know!" I snapped my fingers. "Dianne, I want you to put together a package for the ILP, like you did with the kung fu the other day."

"I am sorry, Jake, but the ILP is currently down for maintenance."

Crap. "Any idea when it will be back up?"

"I do not have that information available at this time."

Plan B then. Kneeling by the cabinet, I pulled out one of the wide, lower drawers which held my extensive DVD collection. I wanted the imprint of a masculine, charismatic individual, preferably one who was also good with women. A stealer of hearts. A sophisticated gentleman with charm both rakish and suave.

What's the matter? I'm not good enough for you anymore?

Don't take it personally, Indy, I replied soothingly. You're good, but I need more. You spent more time in temples and crypts than you did making friends. Indy's silence told me I'd made a valid point. I perused the spines of the plastic cases on display. Jurassic Park -- now there would be a terrifying ordeal -- Top Gun, Braveheart, Lethal Weapon, the list went on. All great films, but not what I was looking for. Then my eyes fell on a series of cases all featuring the same name: 007.

I had the full collection. Sean Connery, Roger Moore, even Timothy Dalton would be excellent for what I was after, not just for social, but for mental and physical skills, too. Plus, you know... Bond girls. I can look but not touch. I think that would be ok. Grinning widely, I slid the very first movie out of the drawer, Dr. No.

Wanting to get the most out of the day, I hurriedly fixed myself a few sandwiches -- Jade had come while I was out and restocked my fridge! -- and wolfed them down before settling in on the couch and fitting the headpiece on. The MAP appeared around me like always, a room seemingly made entirely of big, square panels backlit by bright white light. As usual a digital projection of me rotated on a small round platform in the centre of the room. I whistled softly; I was really coming along. Chubby, pasty Jake was almost completely gone now. Except for a smidge of a belly paunch, I now looked like a man who ate healthy and enjoyed light exercise every day.

"They should just sell Dianne as weight loss technology," I said aloud. "They'd make billions."

"What is it you wish, Jake?" Dianne enquired smoothly. Her voice always seemed to come from everywhere at once in this place.

"Fire up Dr. No," I commanded excitedly. I was going to be James Bond! "And let me know when it's six pm. Debbie's coming around."

"As you wish, Jake." A second later, everything went black.

***

--TECHNOLOGICAL FACILITY, LOCATION UNKNOWN--

"I have Twenty's ILP data," M said, interrupting J's train of thought. He'd been watching Nineteen entertaining one of her mundane renaissance court fantasies yet again. At least her lack of imagination left him more time to analyse the other more interesting subjects. Still, as it was, Nineteen would no doubt be removed from the program as soon as her time was up.

J turned from the screen and went to where M was leaning on a glass standing desk, both palms on the clear surface as she studied the holographic display in front of her. Her slender body was half bent at the waist, one knee cocked, the other straight. The pose did interesting things to her tight, tanned bottom. "About time," J said as he came up beside her and rested a familiar hand on her hip. She unconsciously shifted closer to him, leaning into his side, though her concentration remained on the screen, her tilted brown eyes flicking over graphs and tables.

"Sorry for the delay," she replied absently -- and a little sarcastically -- without looking around. J chuckled. "It needed to be analysed quietly." She didn't need to say more; J knew the reason behind 'quietly.' He caressed the hollow of her waist with his fingers, and she uttered a small noise of appreciation. They'd been working for over eight hours with no break and very little contact; it was nice to have some human touch.

"What are the findings?" he asked, bending a little to peer at the screen. From what he could see already, Twenty was even more an anomaly than previously thought.

"I... I'm not sure," M replied hesitantly. Her delicate fingers were drumming lightly on the desktop.

If J had been one to openly express emotion, his jaw would have fallen open. Two years he'd worked with M, and she'd never sounded uncertain. She was the smartest person he knew, and that was saying something.

"His brain," M continued, "is like a sponge, but we already knew that. Look," she pointed to a digital image of Twenty's brain, points of interest illuminated in red. "The amount of information he absorbed in the ILP should have put him down for a week -- if not disabled him perhaps permanently! -- but he was recovered within forty-eight hours!"

J winced; there would be no way to keep this quiet. Results like these would be circulating upstairs like wildfire. No subject to date had progressed this rapidly. Most were not even given access to the ILP until they'd reached stage two or even three of the program. The question was: how were management going to respond? He glanced over at Twenty's monitor on the wall and almost smiled when he saw what the kid was up to. "He's learning to fill in his gaps."

M looked around at J, then her eyes followed his to the screen on the wall. She watched as the famous Bond film played through its opening sequence on the majority of the screen. A small picture inlay in the bottom left corner showed Twenty sitting on the couch in his apartment, headpiece on and eyes closed. "He's still dressed," M observed.

"Yes," J said thoughtfully. "That's out of character. Let's keep an eye on that."

"That's your arena," M told him flatly as she returned her attention to the screen in front of her. "I have enough to do here." J barely heard her; he was already halfway back to Twenty's wall panel. A simple thing, not getting undressed this time, but out of character for young Twenty. Something to keep an eye on, indeed. More urgent, however, was what would happen once somebody upstairs recognised what Twenty's data was saying. There was no way to hide it; information in the Company always flowed upstream. He was surprised someone hadn't come down already. Whoever it was, he hoped it wasn't H.

Thinking quickly, he reached out and activated the comms on the touch screen. Swiping fingers low-to-high, he scrolled until a pretty face with sandy-brown hair appeared. A moment later, an audible ringing sounded.

"One-Three-Nine," a girl's voice said.

"Report," J ordered.

"Protocol Two successful," One-Three-Nine answered promptly.

"Copy that," J replied. He already knew that; One-Three-Nine was monitored almost as closely as Twenty. "Continue the protocol but increase engagements. We need Twenty occupied while we further analyse data."

"Um, copy that," she replied hesitantly.

"Problem, Agent?" One-Three-Nine was young and more susceptible to emotional tangles, but she had the makings of a good operative.

"No, sir," she said quickly. "Nothing I cannot handle." She sounded somewhat embarrassed.

J had seen this coming, and while One-Three-Nine was chosen for her liberal sexual attitudes, there was only so much she could do alone when a man like Twenty was concerned. "You have resources at your disposal," he replied firmly. "Use them. Also, resign from your current employment; there is no longer any use in working there. The Company will provide you with a weekly income to cover your expenses."

"Copy that," she responded. After a moment she added, "and thank you."

Where loyalty was concerned, the only thing that competed with fear was gratitude. One-Three-Nine would do what was needed. J killed the call and scrolled to another face in the directory.

"Ninety-eight," a polished English accent answered.

"Report."

"Subject is emotionally invested in One-Three-Nine."

"Good. Anything else?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary to report, sir. Business as usual."

Where One-Three-Nine was young and inexperienced, Ninety-eight was much more seasoned. "One-Three-Nine is likely to require assistance moving forward. Be ready."

"Copy that, sir. Will that be all?"

J frowned as a thought came to him. Swiping across a few times, he found a picture of a slender, dark-haired girl. "Did you find anything on our mystery woman? The one who went home with Twenty and One-Three-Nine on the 25^th of May?"

"Negative, sir."

J's mouth tightened. He liked loose ends about as much as M did. A 'chance' encounter with a young woman who wasn't showing up on any databases anywhere. It was concerning to say the least. She hadn't shown up again yet, but he was watching. J suspected government involvement, but she was too young.

"Copy that. Keep searching." Not for the first time, J wished he had access to a few more operatives in the field -- and maybe one or two in the lab -- but he had to work with what he had. Wanting to sigh, he killed the call with Ninety-eight and checked in on the other subjects, none of whom were doing anything to surprise him, as usual. Phase One was almost complete now, and most of them would be removed, if not all -- except for Twenty, of course -- and then new subjects would be gathered.

J wondered about the future of the project; so far, the subjects were telling him that no one out there actually wanted to improve themselves. They just wanted to live out their fantasies all day every day, often to the complete exclusion of the outside world. Such was to be expected when you selected isolated, lonely subjects, but these decisions were made by management, not lowly analysts like him or M.