Helen arched a brow in mockery. “Excuse me, but are you telling me I’m like most women?”
“She isn’t. She’s one hot babe who will kill you in a hundred different ways,” a voice mocked back from behind them.
Helen didn’t turn around. “Ha, said the guy with the killer looks.” Flyboy was one of the most handsome men Helen had ever laid eyes on. An awful flirt, too. “How come you didn’t use Flyboy as a model, Derek? I heard he did a VR program for some big project to attract government funding.”
Flyboy came up behind her and Helen felt his hands on the back of her chair. “Sweetheart, why would you need a VR version when you have the real thing right here?”
Helen looked up and grinned. “You know, I can get Derek to make my VR trainer look like you and then I can do all those unmentionable things that you keep promising me.”
Flyboy grinned back and winked. Derek coughed. “I could,” he said in a careful voice, “but really, I think it best if your trainer-avatar is someone you imagine, Miss Roston. It is simulated training, but there’s a real person whose brain waves will be connected to yours, and, it’s not a great idea psychologically to bond with a real person who isn’t real…I mean, you know what I mean….”
His voice trailed off and he shrugged. He opened his mouth to continue but Helen waved him off. “Understood,” she told him and shrugged at Flyboy. “See? Can’t have you as my dream guy either. There’s too much brain wave—” She waved her hand dramatically and added, in a mock British accent, “Brain wave immersion, creating cerebral confusion between reality and illusion.”
Even Derek couldn’t help chuckling at the wry mimicry of the professorial tone of Dr. Hollingsworth, the scientist in charge of Mind Viewer, the thought immersion program. Helen had had to sit through a few of his lectures as he explained what she meant to the program and how the experiments were supposed to work. That was when she’d first met Flyboy. Since he had been in a simulation program recently, he’d joined her a couple of times so he could also answer her questions. She was glad. She understood Flyboy’s easy layman’s description better than Dr. Hollingsworth’s technical language.
Besides, Flyboy was the only one of the infamous nine commandos who had taken the time to get to know her. He had introduced her to other operatives, widening her circle of new friends.
Helen liked him. She hoped the rest of the commandos would accept her as easily as he did.
“I’m heartbroken,” Flyboy said, giving her ponytail a swift tug. “You’ll just have to go out with me and I can make your dreams come true, Hell.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay, let’s get this started.” Helen straightened in her chair and sucked on her forefinger. “First, forget those bulging muscles. I mean, you made him look like some romance model, like what’s-his-name…”
“Fabio,” Derek supplied helpfully.
“Now how is it you come up with his name immediately?” Flyboy countered.
Derek whipped out a paperback. His face was flushed again. “I took this off my sister’s bookshelf. He is Fabio, isn’t he? I thought I did a pretty good job with the digital imaging. I did add some changes, of course.”
“You did use Fabio as a model!” Helen stared at the book cover in amazement. It portrayed a half-naked man with long hair, his muscles impossibly ripped. She looked at the other model on the computer screen. Yup, the likeness was there. Same longish hair and muscle tone. She thought of what had happened to her during that first run-through of CAVE Ultimate. Revenge was going to be so sweet. A wicked grin broke free. “Well, let’s see the goods, Derek. Take his pants off.”
“What?”
“Sheesh, if you’re going to design my trainer’s avatar and he’s to be specifically to my taste, shouldn’t I get to order all the details?”
There was a short silence. Flyboy burst into laughter. He pulled a nearby chair between Helen and Derek. “I want to see this. Let’s check out the junk on Miss Roston’s made-to-order trainer, Derek.”
“I…”
Helen patted the man on the back. He had the look of someone facing torture. “Come on, I promise it’ll be over soon. Let’s start easy. Peel off his pants. And I want him blond, please.”
“What happened to tall, dark and handsome? Or is it because I’m blond?” Flyboy asked.
“Oh, shut up, you. He’s my Greek god, and I want him blond, and much sleeker, with chocolate eyes.”
“Hey, I have blue eyes!”
“Make his eyes chocolate, Derek.”
“Yes, ma’am.” But he was clearly reluctant to give up his “creation.”
“Leaner, not so muscular.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I know you meant well, Derek, adding that fur, but really, not so much chest hair, please.” She suspected that Derek grew up playing too much interactive Dungeons and Dragons on the Internet. The avatar he created was the classic “I kill for food and magic” stereotype she’d seen advertised in game store windows.
“What, you’re going to bury your face in his chest? These are going to be some VR training sessions! Are you sure the powers-that-be want that?” Flyboy asked, laughing.
Helen turned to Derek. “Didn’t they order you to tailor the thing to my taste?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. The idea for this phase of your training is to simulate the missions before you get your dosage. You need your trainer to talk you through as your body reacts to the drugs and the doctors thought it best to give you a measure of control of his avatar.”
“Uh-huh. Hear that mumbo-jumbo, Flyboy? That means I get to make the guy as sexy as I like, and I demand a blond Greek god with chocolate eyes. For a start.” Helen cracked her knuckles. They were going to play with her mind, anyway, so why not have some fun with it? It was strange, but meeting her so far invisible trainer added a level of excitement that she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t going to be a real meeting, but better than that shadow he’d been using in the CAVE. “Let’s start from the top.”
“He looks a lot better than the model Derek cooked up for your avatar,” T. observed. She leaned over to take a better look, then laughed. “Oh my God, she’s having fun, isn’t she? That’s Helen for you.”
“Is she ready?” the man questioned.
“Oh yes, as ready as a test supersoldier superspy can be,” T. said, half-seriously. “She’s been trained by Special Ops. She passed several of the CIA remote viewing tests with flying colors. She’s achieved 72.5 percent accuracy. She’s one of my best operatives and she’s not called Hell for nothing, you know.”
“Yes, but she isn’t the best.” He turned to look at T. “You are.” T. fluffed her hair. “Darling, how do you do that? Praise and accusation at the same time. I couldn’t take two years off for that kind of training, you know that. It’d ruin my nails. I picked the best operative we had. She’s single, unattached, and very ambitious. She wants to do this.”
It wasn’t a good enough explanation for him. He wanted to know the real reasons. “She’s single and unattached—you’re sure of that.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t want any third-party complications when he was just beginning this phase of their relationship.
“That’s what she says and she’s been training very hard all this time. I haven’t seen any romantic affiliations except for some go-nowhere dates.