Rivka Abrams was not surprised when the fire alarms went off. Nor was she surprised when the explosion rocked the Praxis Laboratory three seconds later, having already braced herself against the wall. No doors blew open, no glass shattered. A quick mental scan of the lab’s inhabitants revealed two dozen panicked and evacuating employees.
The health and well being of each were subsequently confirmed using the internal security cameras, accessed through the AR implant in her artificial left eye.
That was a disappointment. The lives of a few lab coats were more than a fair trade for the advantage such a tragedy would provide her argument in both the public media and in the Praxis boardroom. That had been the whole point of steering security away while she puppeteered the saboteurs inside.
Trust a bunch of tech phobic hippies to fuck up making a bomb. Rivka would have to satisfy herself with whatever dollar amount of damage they had done. The bottom line was the only thing that mattered to the board anyway.
Damage assessment would wait. It was time to make an exit.
Rivka never walked anywhere when she could saunter there instead. The clack of heel against tile. The sway of hips. It was a complete artifice but an enjoyable one. Calm. Collected. A true leader arrives exactly where they mean to, exactly when they intend to arrive there.
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