GITJ Post 325: The Experiment

The tall redhead put down her tea and turned back away from the floor-to-ceiling window, looking over the cityscape. They were on one of the uppermost floors of a highrise, one of the movement’s outposts here on the West Coast. It had been headquarters for a shipping company at one time, one of the many corporations that were being all but absorbed under the mother umbrella. The old  “G” logo was still emblazoned on the large, rare-wood conference table that dominated the room, but one could be fairly certain that that’d be replaced in due time. “Honestly,” she began, “I think the Experiment is doing well. She’s-“

“Sure but it’s been so unpredictable in the wild,” replied the woman to whom she’d been speaking, who tossed the file she’d been holding onto the table, “and that’s what makes us concerned. The changes are happening so fast and…well, just look at all the damage control we’ve had to do already.” Both women had a series of meetings today before heading back overseas later, each in different directions, and this project needed some steering. As VP of litigation here, she didn’t want this getting out of control.

“Yes, there’s been some hiccups with the Queen and one of her new drones,” the redhead acknowledged, idly fingering the green stone hanging around her neck, “but it’s so promising, the power at our fingertips. Look, the Far Horizon test site itself is at nearly forty so far, with only a small handful of anomalies. The scale is scheduled to more than double there soon and the predictions for Product are so encouraging.”

“We’ve seen the numbers, yes, and the forecasts,” the darker haired woman, an attorney, replied. It was early morning here, a Saturday no less. She’d had less and less time at home these days, and part of her still wanted to be in bed fucking the shit out of her husband. These urges kept growing, goddamn prion, and the thought of him writhing underneath her was getting her panties wet. She understood, though, that this was a crucial time for the company, her career, and history. There was work to be done.

“The synthesized pheromones are also working mostly as expected, Kim,” the statuesque redhead continued, stepping down the room and running her fingers across the seat backs. She’d sat at this table before, planned, proposed. “They’ll allow us to scale up from these smaller units. I just hope they can imagine this on an even larger scale, a bigger company. A building full of hundreds? Thousands? All under the sway of one queen?”

The bosomy brunette executive nodded, picked up her own cup of tea for a maddeningly reflective sip. Argh! the redhead, a scientist by training, silently seethed. These meetings were tedious, and in the past she’d understood the need for caution. But there are others of her kind - and not the scientist type - who were not being so patient and she knew she needed to negotiate them as well.

“Yes yes yes,” the attorney allowed, “We all know you have a personal attachment to this project...”

A ‘personal attachment’?? This had been her life’s work. She’d sacrificed everything for this ‘project’. This ‘Product’.

“...but you know how they feel about this in Kazakhstan,” the attorney continued to explain, herself now looking out over the city, the sun having come up in the East and bathing the buildings in gold, “There’s pushes in all directions, worldwide, pressure for release of Process, of Program. Product is just so…”

The redhead knew what Kim wanted to say, but was instead remaining professional and polite: ‘witchy’. She wanted to call it ‘witchy’. The taller, older woman took a deep breath. “I just wish they saw the full potential, what we could be, and how quickly we could evolve,” she continued, doing her best to keep her cool. She was accustomed, at this point, to dealing with corporate types - hell, she was basically one herself, now - but still. “What Product could mean for the future of Wo-“

“I know. I know. I just think we’re early, still,” the brunette attorney assured her, “Look, I’m going to bring this all back, right to Oksana herself, and talk to the litigation team here.”

Fine, the redhead seethed. “Thank you, Kim, thanks,” she spoke, opening up the smile that would normally work wonders.

“Oh, and by the way,” the brunette spoke, “I just remembered. Dr. Zhestakova’s team wanted you to reach out to them. They’re a little concerned.”

“What now?”

“I think it’s about your, uh, patient,” the attorney answered, finishing her cup of tea, “now that she…isn’t staying with us anymore, can we be sure she’s still taking her meds?”

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