5

You find an empty chair, and squeeze it in between Robyn and one of her immediate neighbors. "Anybody mind if I elbow my way in here?"

"I don't think we're supposed to switch seats, Mr. .," says Robyn. "We've all been assigned specific seats." She holds up her place card to illustrate the point.

"Nonsense," you say. "I'm rich and important. I can sit where I want. Call me Neah, by the way."

She blinks at you a couple of times, then says, "Okay, Neah. What can I help you with?"

"Surely you know that, if you've been reading my recent articles on the company," she says.

"I have, and I do. But tell me what you don't put in the articles. Tell me what you hold yourself back from writing."

She thinks for a moment, then gives you a serious look. "Don't hold anything I say against me, okay?"

"I won't," you assure her. "I've been in the company for a few years now, but I've only been the head of it for a few weeks."

She nods, relieved, then says, "I find MetaHuman downright sinister. Too much takes place there that just can't be sufficiently explained. I can understand a degree of secrecy in a company, especially when working with such revolutionary developments as yours. But a good investigative journalist can always uncover some sort of intra-company gossip. Maybe a janitor is happy to share some information on a mid-level manager who's chewed her out, or a desk clerk gets a bit too drunk and loose-tongued at a bar after work. There's always some point of access." She halts a moment, takes a sip of champagne. Then she says. "At MetaHuman, nobody talks. Ever. It's like they're too scared to. And that worries me."

Dinner is served while you chat with Robyn, and you discover that she's a very perceptive woman. She knows her field well—though you soon spot she has a tendency to be somewhat trenchant toward large corporations, and the men and women that run them. An unfortunate consequence of her profession, perhaps.

And maybe this is why she's reluctant to warm to you. No matter how hard you try to joke with her, or uncover some sort of personal detail about her life, she maintains a cool, professional distance from you. Maybe her work has caused her to become cynical, and incapable of trusting people in your position. Nonetheless, though she's polite, and an interesting dinner conversationalist, her detachment soon starts to bother you.

"Robyn, why is it that—" you begin. But just then, the ballroom lights go dim.

"Shush," says Robyn, as the evening's hostess walks out onto the stage. "Something's happening."

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