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The one-eyed woman was chewing on a massive sandwich when Sylia walked in. The mumbled "sit down" and pointing barely a greeting against the chewing.
Sylia tread carefully across the room. She projected confidence into the small but wonderfully furnished office, yet feared it was useless as her heels trod the marble floor. If the Sabers weren't hurting for jobs, she'd never have agreed to this meet. Admittedly, she'd had both her usual checks, then Linna and Nene quad-checking the situation before she even responded.
Thornhill Industries was a secretive firm, it was true. That's not what worried Sylia. The Sabers had worked with dozens of sketchy companies and people, and come out on top. Sylia was very careful, because anything else in their business got them dead.
What worried her was, first, that she knew that one-eyed woman. Or, at least, knew of her.
Wiping her mouth, the other woman in the room grabbed a cane. The older woman didn't have far to go to stand up, yet when she did, she was like an eagle, built as if her muscles just protected her from not only aging, but the world.
She was lovely in her aging self, still striking even thru the decades and the clear disinterest in anything like beauty aids. A real body, Sylia thought. She's not even replaced that eye. She's clearly as dangerous as the stories make her out to be.
Which brought Sylia to her second, even graver worry. Because it makes Ernest Thornhill to be who she thought he was. And thus, Sylia was in...something new. Something she never ever dreamed she'd encounter. Something that made orbital kill lasers to be, potentially, child's play.
The woman growled into the air: "are we starting?"
"Of course we are, sweetie," the air replied. "Mz. Stingray, thank you for coming. You'll forgive my Wife, her -"
"- my manners aren't the fucking point, sweetie. There's a job to do, and the women's here for it, so let's get it going before I shoot someone or piss myself."
..."I know who you are," Sylia said. She looked at the woman. "Both of you."
"Of course you do," the air replied, while the woman scowled at her. "You know my name isn't really Ernest Thornhill."
Sylia tried for a small smile. "Well, forgive my presumption and gender assumptions; you don't sound like what I expect from an Ernest, among reasons."
The voice responded: "Well, there is some importance to me being Ernest, but..." And a new voice continued, one Sylia thought of as masculine, cultured "of course, Miss Stingray, you are correct. It would hardly fit for me to have only one voice. And so, to my lovely Shaw's urgings -- please, call Miss Romanova and let her know."
Sylia eyes widened, just a touch. "Know...?"
The original voice returned, playful and witty: "Know who I am, and that you are safe."
---
Nene knew she needed to be professional. She needed to help make sure that Sylia made it out of that wild-assed super-shielded Faraday cage of an "office" alive.
So screaming into the comms 3.78 minutes after she picked up Sylia's phone call was uncalled for, and unsafe. She knew that!
But Sylia told her who she was "with" -- well, one of the two, um, well not "person" -- and she couldn't help herself!
It was real! The Baba Yaga of the modern age, the most dangerous entity ever constructed, was so fucking real! And it wanted to hire them!
The Machine Was Real. And it paid!
Nene *promised* not to babble. But in truth, it only took 1.42 minutes before Sylia said goodbye.
Nene told herself, again, she really needed to keep working on being more focused.
----
Sylia closed the call, and sat up straighter. "I have questions. And not just from Mz Romanova, who is, I assume, eager to meet you. Mrs Shaw? I know time is short, but it is rare to meet the world's first Artificial General Intelligence, so I trust you'll forg-"
"Whatever," Mrs Shaw said. "Let's just get the fangirl gushing over with so I can walk you thru the job."
"Now Sameen," The Machine said with joy, "how often do I get to meet fans?"
The responding eye roll screamed in a language all on its own. "Too fuckin' often, given I just wreaked the plans of some 'fans' of yours just last week."
Sameen Shaw sat back down, grabbing her sandwich and stuffing it back into her mouth.
"Now, Mz Stingray. What did you want to ask me? I'm an open book."