The tale that I have to tell is a dangerous one, for it is a tale of forbidden secrets, intricate conspiracies and well-kept lies. A tale that many would kill to obtain, or to prevent from spreading out. Many have tried for my life to seal my lips. And many times, they have almost succeeded. Yet, it is a tale that I have to share, for in it is a journey of my life, a journey of pain and sorrow, yet also one of bubbling joy and .love. For this, this is a tale of my life.

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Year 3402, Colony of the United States

The Metrolite slowed as it pulled into the interchange. Hovering above the landing pad, it slowly began its descend downwards. The intercom system began to chime, and then a mechanical woman's voice came on. "Train landing. Please stand behind the yellow line, and allow passengers to alight before boarding." Regardless of the announcement by the Metrolite Air Service Passage (MASP), the commuters shifted restlessly as they began positioning themselves to board the train in front of the glass doors of the building that would open simultaneously with the doors of the train. A sharp hissing sound signaled that the train had landed properly onto its pad, and the people immediately flocked to the front of the doors. The doors of the train and the building opened with another hiss, and the struggle and push was on.

Admittedly, I had joined in the push. It was seven thirty in the morning, and work for me began at eight am sharp. Everyone knew how crowded the Metrolite was at this time of the day. And having to catch the next train to work would put me late for work. Again. That wasn't an option. I had already been late to work four times alone this month, and yesterday morning had seen me receive a warning letter from the company's robot. Nope, being late again wasn't an option. I began to push with gusto. Fortunately, before the doors hissed closed, I managed to squeeze my small frame onto the last bit of space by the doors.

Through the closed transparent glass doors, I watched as the man who had lost the pushing game to me gesture and curse violently. I shrugged innocently at him. Survival of the fittest, it was. The chiming sound on the intercom in the station went off again, followed by the mechanical woman's voice, "The train is leaving the station." Another chime, and then the train began to rise slowly. After hovering a few seconds in the air, we were off.

Being crammed so close to the doors of the Metrolite as I was, the journey to the office was somewhat stomach turning. No matter how much one's common sense knew that the glass doors wouldn't suddenly slide open because of the various safety systems instated, my guts still twisted horribly at that possibility. One didn't need too much imagination to envisage what would happen to oneself at a freefall of a hundred and fifty stories above ground. Still, the view was pleasant. The MASP had only been given permission by the Air Control Authorities (ACA) to use the air paths between a thousand and a thousand and fifty feet above ground, which was approximately a hundred and fifty stories above land. But with more and more buildings being built higher and higher into the skies, the ACA has been reviewing the air paths. There were rumors that one day, the Metrolite could have to switch to flying at two hundred stories or more instead. Personally, I hoped I would be dead before that particular ruling kicked in. Spiraling towards ground while squashed like sardines into a packed vehicle two hundred stories above ground, wasn't the way I had envisioned myself dying.

Still, I was more than happy when the train's intercom announced, "Mayreed Interchange. Mayreed Interchange," and a quick glance at my watch told me that it was only seven-fifty five. I had five minutes to rush to my office, which was just a few floors down from the interchange. No problem. The day was beginning to look up. I straightened myself up as the train began to land. Fortunately, because Mayreed was an office area, there wouldn't be any mad pushing necessary to exit the train. But even then, I could feel the impatience of the crowd in the train begin to swarm forward, pushing me even further against the door.

The doors slid open, and I was pretty much jolted out of the Metrolite. I walked speedily, my high heels making hurried click-clack sounds on the smooth marble tiles of the interchange. The sky was beautiful at this time of dawn, seeable through the human length glass doors on all four sides of the building. At a hundred and forty stories above ground, the playful puffy clouds that drifted happily in the sky seemed almost reachable. I headed for the office elevators through the bustling crowd. The office elevators were located in a more private section of the Interchange. A perk for the workers of Trinity Marketing Co., Inc-the Metrolite station was just sixty stories above the office. Supposed to make transport to work easy. Unless, like me, one had a mental fear of taking a vehicle that flew a hundred and fifty stories above ground.

Normally, I liked to take my train underground. But the nearest underground train station was at Fifth Avenue, ten streets away from Mayreed. And I had woken up late this morning after a nasty night out, and couldn't afford the extra time needed to travel to the office. I pressed my thumb to the ID Scanner outside the lift lobby.

"Clearance Authorized," said the mechanized woman's voice. The red laser at the doorway beamed off, and I walked through. The elevator came swiftly and another rush into the confines of it was made. I pushed the button for the eightieth floor, and the elevator descended in a quiet hush. The elevator doors finally opened to Trinity Marketing Co.Inc.

Another quick scan at the ID scanner, and I was in the office. I checked my watch. Seven-fifty eight. I was early!

"Oh, morning, Tracy!" Felicia, the front desk receptionist greeted me. "Early today, I see."

I gave her a pinched smile. Since when was it a receptionist's business to spy on executive level employees? I wondered briefly if the news of my getting a warning for lateness had spread to the entire building already. I glared menacingly at the ID Scanner outside the office. I knew that the moment I'd my thumbprint scanned, the damn thing was wired to clock the time I came in. If you asked my opinion, the boss should get the thing rewired so that the machine would cut the employees some slack when they had worked overtime the night before. Okay, so maybe there were many times that I had been late on mornings when I hadn't put in overtime. But still, I knew Parker in the Accounts Department wasn't given any slack. And he almost always worked late.

Having made the timer for work, I found myself finally off the adrenaline rush, and I strolled almost leisurely to my room. The screen on my door read:

Tracy Summers.
Multimedia Productions Manager
Not available.

I opened the door to my office, and put my thumb to a smaller version of the ID Scanner by my doorway. The computer system immediately booted up. "Good morning, Tracy. Coffee or tea for you this morning?"

I shut the door. "Coffee," I replied, as I set down my briefcase onto table.

"Any status change?" the computer asked.

"Yes, change it to Busy."

Soft whirring sounds as the computer made the changes to the status at the screen of my door. "Status has been changed as charged: Busy." I sank into my chair, and sorted out the various documents I had left out on my table the previous day. I winced as I came across the Wilson's file. There was a one-week dateline tagged to it. I had gotten the file two days ago, which meant that I had five days left to plan a great marketing strategy for Wilson and Co. And I hadn't even gotten down to seeing what products their company offered. I would work on it, except I had the major Renault's account to deal with too.

I put the Wilson's file aside. I would stay up the entire night and get the Renault's loose ends tied up, and work on the Wilson's tomorrow. Surely some sort of whirlwind of an idea would hit me smack in the face then, and I would be able to set up a fascinating marketing plan for whatever Wilson and Co. sold. Suree. Still, there was the other alternative. I could zip over to Jack's office now, get him to read through the file and brainstorm some ideas, and later summarize the important stuff for me by evening so that I could compile a file by Thursday night.

Decided, I stood up and left for Jack's room.

Jack was typing furiously on his keyboard when I entered his office. He looked up when I came in. Jack Lewis was a person who sounded like his name. Dark handsome looks, dependable and motivated. He worked with crisp, confident movements, and his smile had the effect of a mega-watt bulb- electrifying. Or so I was told by the other office girls. For me, he was just Jack, a man who I had dated once at his strong insistence, found out he really wasn't my type, told him so, and moved on. But I believed Jack hadn't really moved on, which was why I could get him to do my work for me.

"Morning," he greeted me with the mega-watt smile.

I returned him my own sparkling smile. "Morning."

"How can I help you?" he asked.

See? Jack knew me. There was no need for preliminary polite words. I told him what I needed. He frowned. I quickly added, "Unless you're busy." I looked at him with doleful eyes, disappointed.

He ruffled the papers on his desk. "I have to rush an electronic file for Finance."

"Oh, okay," I said miserably, and turned to leave.

He said almost immediately, "Tell you what, I'll rush it to you by tomorrow evening instead."

I turned around to face him. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Great," I told him, and went to place the Wilson's file on his desk. "It'll be great if you could type out a report sheet for me too."

He nodded. "A report sheet. I'll have it on your desk by five."

I shook my head. "I knock off at five, Jack. What about three?"

He quickly agreed. "Three, it is."

"Thanks so much. I owe you another," I called out, before I closed the door to his office. I thought I heard him give a weary sigh before the sounds of his fingers begin to hit the keyboard with renewed vigor. I had to agree with the office girls that Jack was dependable.

He hadn't refused me once.

The office robot that the management called SX-456, but the office workers called Robotic Idiotic was in my room when I entered. He had left a cup of coffee on my desk. Robotic Idiotic was a robot that was in serious need of a scraping, or at least upgrading. His red eyes twinkled on and off, and his left arm creaked when it moved. Manufactured with only the most basic understanding of human emotion, it often offended people with its straight answers. I ignored it as it banged itself against the door and walls before making its way out.

I took small sips of the coffee, and began work.

The call came earlier than expected. In fact, I didn't even know if it would have come. But before it did, a bunch of flowers and a personalized card came with it. I was more than surprised when I found out the card was personalized. After all, multi-gazillionaires should have better, and more important business to attend to-like clinching billion dollar deals-than shopping for flowers and cards. But he bought the card and flowers personally all right, because, the encrypted message that flowed out from the electronic recording device inside the card was his:

"Tracy, I'm really sorry about last night. I didn't mean to leave so abruptly. I'll make it up to you. Really. I promise."

I should have been touched. Jeffrey William Maguire actually personally getting out of his own chauffeured ten-door limousine into a flower shop to get me-a nobody-flowers and a card. Should have been touched, but I wasn't. Last night had been the second time that he had ditched me at a restaurant and left. The first time, at least he had the basic common courtesy to tell me before leaving me stranded. Last night, I didn't even know he had left. I had thought he was in the gents, until after waiting a full half hour, I enquired one of the waiters, and was told that nobody was in the gents. I even had to foot the bill of ten thousand pols, one tenth of my annual pay! No way was I forgiving the man.

I pressed the tiny "Record" button at the back of the card, and spoke directly into the Voice Sender Device, "Sure, you can make it up by not contacting me again, Mr. Too Busy." I slammed the card close, and fumed at the picture of a man staring embarrassedly at his shoes, with the words, "I'm so sorry" hanging above his head. Suddenly, I was regretting what I'd said. Perhaps I was too hasty. Maybe I should have listened to his reasons before sending such a rebuff. It could have been that his family had trouble, or his company was being bought off by a competitor. I opened the card, and tried to see if there were any way I could retrieve the message I'd sent. There wasn't. And the VSD was only for a one-time usage, so there wasn't any way I could send another message.

I wondered how long it would be before he checked his computer for the Card Number and retrieve my reply. Apparently, it wasn't too long, because my computer lights were flashing not soon after. Mary-what I call my phone call screener-was saying, "Jeff is on the line. Do you want to receive the call?"

After some thought, I said, "Okay. Private line."

I picked up the receiver on the desk.

"Tracy."

"Yeah?"

"Did you receive my card?" he asked.

So he hadn't seen the message I left for him. He probably thought that I would be so happy with the flowers and card, I would immediately forgive his rudeness. What an absolute, arrogant snob!

I hung up the phone on him. Let him figure out.

I opened the transcript file on Renault and began work.

Author's note: A silly piece for the fun of it!

Note: A story done for fun. Shouldn't be updated much. If at all.