Olden considered the viewscreen. “Ah, there they are. The diagnostics on the crashed drone, see?” He gestured to some figures that Willa couldn’t make out and gave the rest a cursory review. “Did you hear or see anything odd? Did you note anybody in the area before it went down?”

“I didn’t see anyone else,” she affirmed. “It just fell, that’s all.” There had been at least one empty vault in the wreckage but she had a gut feeling she wasn’t supposed to have seen that.

“No one saw you there?”

“Not anyone other than you, Mr Olden.”

“Wonderful. I appreciate the effort you made to get your take processed, especially this close to our Patrioteer conference.” Willa knew about the conference, an annual two-day meeting for upper management to do whatever it was upper management did. Jesper played with the screen. “Let me credit you, let’s say, five hundred as bonus for your effort. Is that fair?”

“Oh, Mr Olden, you shouldn’t do that,” she protested, uncomfortable accepting unearned lucre.

“Don’t be foolish, Ms Wallace.” He tapped in the amount. “That drone could have killed you.”

“It was nowhere near–”

“Willa. May I call you Willa?” he said without really asking. “I insist on it. Patriot insists on it.” He brightened. “You could buy Halloween candy this year. Five hundred would cover the entire segment, I’d bet. You’d be royalty.”

“It’s too much, Mr Olden, I’d prefer you didn’t give me any money.” The amount was more than a week’s pay, and easy money came with strings. Aside from that, Halloween hadn’t been observed for at least twenty years.

“And I’d prefer our drones not endanger top performers.” He tapped the display. “Now let’s not have any further discussion of the matter. With anyone.”

“I’m just happy to do my job.”

“I assure you, Willa, we appreciate it.” He flattened his suit jacket. “Ah, here we are at your stack. Do you feel well enough to return to work or will you need some days off?”

“I’m fine,” she said as the door opened. “I’ll be there tomorrow.”

“Lovely, then. A good evening to you and to Isaiah.”

She shivered at the mention of Isaiah. It always surprised her when Patriot managers voiced little details about her life that she considered private. She halfway assumed that the executives received prompts from their implants whenever they spoke with low level workers to make them seem more relatable or friendly. But she never got used to hearing strangers mention her family members out of turn.

The drone lifted away and her touchstone signaled the arrival of the money. An influx of five hundred would have had her rejoicing and thanking God out loud if she’d actually earned it. Entering her apartment stack, it felt like a chain.