Chapter 164. Twelve Thousand Seconds

Grabbing my work tablet, I left Langstrom’s office without delay. In my personal threat registry, Selina was classified as an “unstable munition.” The less physical or verbal contact I had with her, the lower the risk of an accidental detonation.

The corridor was silent and smelled of disinfectant. I brought up my task list again: calibrate quantum oscillators, check the code, repair the electrical system, prepare lunch, give a massage. It was 11:07. I had exactly twelve thousand three hundred seconds, or two hours and fifty-three minutes, to get everything done. Unlike the routine trawling through FBA archives or the endless paperwork at Administration, the sheer density of tasks here left no room for even a second of downtime. The schedule was throwing a serious wrench into my personal plans. I had intended to take advantage of my position, commandeer an available high-clearance terminal, and study the catalogs of extraterrestrial technologies in detail, along with the Corps’ classified patents based on them. No such luck. I would have to postpone my industrial espionage until next week. But for next week to happen at all, I had to demonstrate exemplary efficiency to Director Langstrom today.

[Special Command: Analyze the task database, determine the optimal route based on the building’s layout, complete all assignments by 13:55, and reach the Biological Center without wasting a second in transit.]

My synapses reorganized instantly. Hyperfocus kicked in, the most reliable and pragmatic tool in my biological arsenal.

My peripheral vision narrowed, shutting out the texture of the walls, the hum of the ventilation system, and other irrelevant visual stimuli. My brain switched into isolated task-execution mode. Even if a Paramount film crew led by Hollywood’s biggest stars had burst into the corridor right then, my internal filters would have classified them as white noise, irrelevant to the tasks at hand, and ignored the entire spectacle.

With cool professional interest, I watched from a third-person perspective as the overclocked processor inside my skull set about bringing order to the chaos.

Stage One: Strategic Analysis. My elongated fingers swept across the touchscreen, opening the task specifications. My retinas captured the blueprints, and a digitized three-dimensional map of the engineering center integrated with my brain’s spatial processing, correlating network failure points with the locations of the calibration stations. The entire analysis took exactly 1.5 seconds. For an ordinary engineer, that kind of speed would have been science fiction. For me, it was standard operating procedure.

Two seconds in, the tablet clicked into the side pocket of my lab coat. I would not need it for the next half hour. All the data had already been loaded into working memory. My legs settled into a firm, springy stride, carrying me along the most efficient route.

First stop: Technical Supply Depot. A young female quartermaster sat behind the issue counter. When she spotted my dress uniform, complete with a Bronze Star, beneath my open white lab coat, she immediately straightened, shot me a flirtatious glance, and asked in a pronounced Southern drawl which unit I had served in before transferring to the Corps. My analytical module instantly calculated the cost of social interaction: zero return, high risk of throwing off my schedule. Without a word, I pressed my magnetic high-clearance badge against the reader and collected a heavy plastic tool case. The whole thing was undeniably rude and robotic. I would make up for it with a proper human conversation next time.

Second stop: Emergency Wing, Sector C. The lights were completely out. The unmistakable smell of burned insulation and soot suggested that one of the engineers’ recent high-voltage experiments had ended in a localized electrical failure.

I got to work. My fingers moved with surgical precision and machine-gun speed as I removed the burned-out fixtures, stripped the contacts, and fitted new fire-resistant cable into the channels. The mechanical routine was too monotonous to hold my attention, so I released the mental governor entirely, increasing my subjective perception of time by a factor of ten.

Reality blurred into a streak of motion. The entire repair job flashed through my mind in a fraction of a second. As soon as the last cable was secured to its terminals, I returned my perception to its normal rate and flipped the breaker on the distribution panel.

The LED panels overhead blazed to life in perfect unison, flooding the corridor with steady white light. Perfect. Then again, hyperfocus had never produced anything less.

After tossing the pieces of charred copper into a disposal bin, I closed the first item on my task list with a single tap on the tablet. My legs were already carrying me toward the kitchen. It was 11:55. My shift had only just begun, but the laboratory’s regular staff had been working since eight that morning, and their scheduled lunch break was approaching.

The cooks in pristine white aprons were arranging individual portions along the serving line when a tall man in a lab coat strode into their sterile domain, his expression utterly blank and his gaze unnervingly unblinking. They flinched in unison, but a moment later, their defensive postures gave way to knowing smiles. They recognized me. They remembered perfectly well how, a month earlier, I had commandeered their professional kitchen to prepare the perfect lunch for their demanding director.

The task log updated. I took hold of the chef’s knife.

My hands swung open the heavy door of the industrial Sub-Zero refrigerator in one fluid motion, while my eyes scanned the available ingredients in a fraction of a second. The digitized inventory was instantly relayed to my brain’s analytical center, where the system cross-referenced it against every recipe stored in memory, eliminating anything that exceeded the strict time limit. What could I prepare in three hundred seconds that would look sophisticated enough to satisfy Miss Langstrom’s exacting and capricious tastes? The answer was obvious: an elaborate tropical salad with a wine-based dressing.

The heavy chef’s knife became a blur of steel between my fingers. With astonishing surgical precision, I stripped the tough skin from a pineapple, sliced a ripe mango, and crushed the berries. The first laboratory employees began filing into the dining hall. Scientists in white lab coats cast nervous glances at the man in dress uniform, while the cooks behind the serving counter kept their eyes firmly ahead, pointedly ignoring the machine-gun rattle of steel against the wooden cutting board behind them. My hands were moving with the speed and precision of a state-of-the-art food processor.

I snatched up the crystal platter, its perfectly sliced fruit glistening with drops of vintage white wine, and set off. My legs carried me along the route calculated by my internal navigation system. At precisely 12:00:00, the plate landed on Selina’s lacquered desk with a crisp click.

“Hmm. Punctual.” Selina cast a critical glance at her elegant Cartier watch before turning her attention to the salad. “Although, considering how much the Corps spends keeping you around, Ross, this is the bare minimum of service I should expect. So, Chef, tell me what your stern little soldier’s soul has cooked up for my refined palate today.”

Instead of answering, I pivoted on my heel and headed for the door. My brain had enough statistical data to establish that any verbal exchange with this woman inevitably devolved into an hour-long argument. The strategically sound decision was to eliminate communication altogether. The task on my tablet immediately changed to COMPLETED.

I could feel Selina’s narrowed gaze following me, like a hungry cat watching its prey. She did not merely want to enjoy a good meal. She needed to pick the chef apart, stage a dramatic scene, and force me to acknowledge her superiority. I had calmly denied her the satisfaction.

Next came the quantum equipment calibration and the exoskeleton software check. I released the mental governor again, accelerating my perception as I worked through both routine tasks. Watching someone scroll through lines of code and adjust laser diodes would have been mind-numbingly dull, but I registered every movement of my hands with absolute precision. I calibrated the test equipment to exact physical specifications and eliminated every syntax and logic error from the multilayered software. It was becoming clear that this was precisely why they had hired me for the engineering center. I was not a theoretical scientist, but I was an ideal systems integrator, someone who could make sure the scientists had everything they needed to work without a hitch.

Exactly fifteen minutes before the end of my shift, I entered Selina’s office without knocking to tackle the final item on the list, and the most questionable one at that.

The crystal salad plate sat empty, carelessly pushed to the edge of the desk. Apparently, she had enjoyed the gelato and fruit, but Langstrom’s predatory, narrowed gaze suggested that the next few minutes would not be pleasant. Under the demands of sustained hyperfocus, however, her emotional fluctuations were irrelevant to me.

“Your personal assistant has arrived to perform a neck and shoulder massage to relieve Miss Langstrom’s stress,” I announced in a flat, mechanical voice, staring straight ahead without blinking. “May I begin?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, you’ve gone full robot again.” Selina immediately recognized my state and clicked her tongue in annoyance as she leaned back in her chair. “Talking to you right now is like making small talk with a toaster. You’re killing the mood, Ross.”

“Your personal assistant has arrived to perform a neck and shoulder massage to relieve Miss Langstrom’s stress,” I repeated in exactly the same tone, down to the last inflection. “May I begin?”

Selina rolled her eyes but did not argue. She swiveled her chair around, turning her back to me and exposing her delicate but tense shoulders. As soon as my built-in bioscanners identified the areas of greatest muscular tension, my fingers went to work on her trapezius muscles, applying precisely calibrated pressure with surgical accuracy.

The effect was immediate. Selina’s angry, tense expression melted into one of pure bliss. A low, throaty moan escaped her slightly parted lips.

“Darling, I absolutely adore you right now.” She purred lazily, like a well-fed panther, rolling her shoulders beneath my fingers. “I forgive you, P-SWAT, and that stubborn accountant streak of yours.”

I was completely indifferent to whatever she said. My left thumb glided across the tablet’s touchscreen, closing the last active item on the list. All tasks completed. My hands simultaneously lifted the empty crystal plate from the desk and picked up the heavy tool case.

On my way out, I dropped the plate into the kitchen sink without a second thought. The cooks behind the serving counter shot me disapproving looks. In their kitchen, everyone was expected to wash their own tools. Unfortunately, my mind was running on rigid algorithms, and I could not spare precious seconds for social niceties or apologies.

The female quartermaster at the supply depot pursed her lips when I silently set the tool case on the counter in front of her with a dull thud. I was acting like a complete grouch, the kind of person nobody wanted to deal with, but there was nothing I could do about it. I simply had no time to spare for politeness.

At the Engineering Center’s main security checkpoint, I turned in my lab coat and tablet. The electronic terminal recorded my departure at precisely 14:00:00.

At that very second, my legs launched me into an explosive burst of speed powered by S-Power. I did not care if I attracted the attention of pedestrians outside. Stealth was secondary. There was no mathematically viable way to complete the final part of my mental command otherwise.

Drawing on the hidden reserves of my upgraded body, I covered the two hundred yards between the two government buildings in a fraction of a second. I shot into the Biological Center’s lobby and slapped my magnetic badge against the security reader.

Green digits appeared on the terminal display: 14:00:59.

Command completed.