30. First Wave

30

First Wave

NICOLE LAMB

Nicole was in the lab, watching a fabricator carve a hunk of folded steel into part of the head of a golf club.

Sparks sprayed as the robot, in a glass box, applied its needle and cut away all the metallic shreds that were not specified by the computer-drafted design.

Her Tyvek suit, protecting her clothes and skin, itched a little on her bare arms underneath. Late April was short-sleeve season in Southern California.

She could have worked in her office while the program ran, but when she was alone, her eyes tended to get wet as her mind wandered back to that lost weekend.

Which was stupid. She hadn’t fallen in love with Kingston. She knew that love takes time. Love takes attention and effort.

This yearning to see him, to know he was okay, to laugh with him over supper or at Pebble Beach in the golf simulator?—

—to touch his strong shoulders, to feel his body move in hers?—

—that wasn’t love.

It was just— interest.

Or estrogen.

Maybe it was libido.

So Nicole sat on a metal stool and watched the face of the second-generation Excalibur golf club take shape beyond her safety glasses and behind the glass, and she willed her burning eyes not to drip.

Over on the next row of bench tops, Caitlin muttered, “Oh, shit.”

Nicole prairie-dogged to peer over the shelves and between the machines. “What happened? You okay?”

Accidents are always a problem in engineering labs. It’s a good thing humans come with extra fingers.

“Last Chance sent an email. Layoffs start Monday,” she said.

Arvind checked his phone, which was lying on the bench. “I got it, too. This looks like an informational email, not a specific one for me. Is that what you got, Brax?”

“Yeah, it’s just information and numbers. Ten percent layoffs are what they’re saying.”

From the other side of the metal shelves stacked with tools and metal ingots, Caitlin sucked in a breath.

Nicole asked, “What is it?”

“I got a second email,” Caitlin said, her voice quivering. “I’m in the first wave of layoffs.”

Over on the other side of the lab, Rainbow-Supreme said, “I got a second email, too.”

Nicole checked her own phone.

She’d received just one email, the one with information. Not a layoff notice.

“Anybody else?” she asked aloud.

The machines whirred and squealed, but no one said anything.

That asshole.

Kingston Moore was narking to Last Chance, Nicole just knew it. He’d been really interested in what job everybody did in the lab, information he’d exchanged for free pizza.

That free pizza had cost Caitlin and Rainbow-Supreme their jobs.

“Sorry, folks,” she said. “I wasn’t informed ahead of time that this was going to happen. I got the same info email that you did. To heck with those venture capitalists.”

Everyone nodded.

Nicole announced, “It’s time we did something about this.”