Tresa departed the village of Last Ditch in the late afternoon. For special orders she liked to transport her baked goods conventionally. While there have been no official studies on the topic, she believed with all of her heart that digital transportation affected the consistency of the frosting. As such, her route this day would consist of a taxi from the village to the port in southern Stret West Bank followed by a ferry to the Omni-1 Trader District.
The towering buildings, the hum of engines, and smell of joint grease; she didn’t miss this place at all. Omni-Trans had offered her a severance package as part of their attempt to cover up and repair the damage that the turmoil her former boss caused. The lump sum, an untraceable payout, was exactly what she wanted, no, what she needed.
She had used the credits to purchase her bakery in Last Ditch and start her new life as a Neutral. Things have been going well, too. The children, living abroad on a trade station with their aunt and uncle, are growing and excelling in their schooling. Her business, albeit small, has been quite successful securing lucrative government contracts to make deliveries to Borealis, Newland City and the ICC. Yet, with all this progress she finds herself here. Back at the front steps to the Omni-Trans headquarters.
The lobby wasn’t very populated at a quarter-to-eight in the evening. While Omni-Tek likes to posture that its employees are a non-stop force of labor, truth be told the black collar executive types were usually knocking off at half-past four. Nonetheless, Omni-Trans was a 24x7 operation and the headquarters was no exception, so there was a polite receptionist awaiting Tresa as she approached.
“Good evening, Ma’am. Welcome to Omni-Trans. How may I direct you?” The receptionist asked with a smile.
“Hi, Michelle,” It was Tresa’s former boss’ personal assistant Michelle Blank working the desk. Taken down several pegs inside of the department after the chaos former regional director Mahoney had caused. A victim of her superiors foolishness, now reduced to a third shift receptionist. “I have a delivery for Director Baljian.”
“I’m sorry, Ma’am, Director Baljian isn’t in. You’ll need to come back another time.” Michelle retorted, almost without thought. It’s as if she had no recollection of who Tresa was or the time they had spent working together inside of Omni-Trans.
“You misunderstand,” Tresa, while caught slightly off-guard, was quick with her wits from her time inside of Omni-IntenOps. “This is a for Director Baljian, it’s a surprise. Her personal assistant and I are setting up this elaborate surprise for her work anniversary. I would have expected you to have known.”
“Oh,” Taken back, Michelle feigns looking something up on the holoscreen in front of her, “Right, yes, of course. I have it right here.” Michelle waves her hand aimlessly at the display. “You may proceed to the Director’s office, you’ll find her…”
“On the fifteen floor, yes I know.” Tresa interrupts, to assert further control over the unexpected conversation. Michelle just smiles and looks back down at the screen as Tresa walks off toward the elevators.
“That poor girl,” Tresa thinks, “I wonder if that job is all she’s capable of doing after Reform got through with her.” The fallout from Mahoney’s debacle was profound and far reaching. Tresa likely only avoided Reform herself because of her mother, who was a ranking official inside of the department. Many others, including poor Michelle, were not as fortunate.
Her thoughts of Reform and her former colleagues were broken by the chiming of the elevator as it arrived in the lobby. Stepping inside she looked at the panel with buttons for G through 15 as well as a button near the top marked with an R. She couldn’t risk going to the 15th floor, the risk was too great that Ariane’s assistant would recognize her and it was apparent to her now that this all has been a rouse.
Tresa pushed the button for the 14th floor and the elevator doors slowly slid shut and the chamber began a slow assent. She pressed the button for R, and a red light encircled the button and an error displayed on the embedded vid-screen: “ERROR: Insufficient Access”. The elevator was already passing the 8th floor. “Could it work?” Tresa thought, as she pushed and held in the button for R. An old override code from when Niklas Kappel was Director. She pressed the following floor buttons in sequence: 1-2-3-4-5-6. The light encircling the R switched from red to green as the elevator glided past the 15th floor. “Bless his heart,” Tresa thought. “He was a nice leader, even if he was simple in the head.” With that the elevator doors open.