Chapter 2: To shape the present, and the past
Ms. Gilande,
It is our pleasure to extend to you an invitation to a private Banquet, held in recognition of those individuals who have gone above and beyond to contribute to our great city.
The incredible professionalism and detail with which you have labored for the good of Cloudbank is nothing less than exemplary, and it would be our honor to thank you personally for your efforts. Your work played a fundamental role to what our beloved city is today, and continues to be an inspiration to what we will be in the future.
Attached are all relevant event details. Please RSVP as soon as possible, and do let us know if you have questions. As this is a private event, we appreciate discretion regarding the enclosed information.
Ms. Gilande, thank you, for all that you have done! We dearly hope to see you!
:::
Sybil tugged the Transistor from its holder. It was light — surprisingly light, for something with a person in it. She tucked it in the crook of her left elbow, child-like.
Someone was in there. She squinted. Did it seem kind of greener now? Was it, at the very least, smarter?
Kinder?
The Transistor buzzed unpleasantly against her pulse. She frowned and released it, letting the gold bars across its top thunk against the ground.
Something in the sound of it, or in her body language, must have wrung poorly, because Grant's next words were a reassurance. "All this is necessary, you know."
"I know that," Sybil snapped, harder than intended. She tried to set the Transistor back in its holder, and winced when it jarred slightly out of place and sputtered sparks that nipped at her calves.
Royce glanced at her, eyebrow raised. Was he skeptical too? She bristled.
"What do you think has the most power in this city? All your zeroes and ones? It's not math and gears and flashy lights. Cloudbank isn't just spat out by a formula."
Somehow, Royce's eyebrow rose even higher. "I beg to differ," he said, hefting the Transistor up himself and setting it into the holder properly. "I would explain what would happen if the Transistor remained away from its Cradle too long — but I doubt you'll want to know. Suffice to say that the consequences will amount to more than flashy lights."
"Enough," Grant sighed. "Both of you."
They looked back at him with blinking, confused innocence. Who? Us?
After the success of this first endeavor, Grant should have exhibited a little pleasure. Sybil evaluated him, sitting back on a table, and when Grant examined himself in a mirror for the second time (staring at the front of his suit — staring at the side of it — then the front again), the light went off in her head.
"Everything will go fine," she told him, making a smile.
"Are you sure?" he asked, looking up at her in the mirror.
"I organized it, didn't I?" She walked toward him. "You've got Cloudbank's best restaurant. The finest fare it can render. Its best Sommelier. Most importantly," she said, straightening his tie, "you've got Cloudbank's best administrator."
He took a deep breath.
"Thank you, Sybil."
"Go, already!" she laughed, and patted his shoulder. He took another breath, gathering his nerves, and took off. Once he was safely gone, she relaxed; the smile dropped from her face, and she fell with a sigh back to a seat at the table. It had been a long day. She closed her eyes. Furrowed her brows as the Transistor's light burned through her eyelids.
"Do you have someone else in mind?" Royce asked. Sybil opened her eyes again, just long enough to roll them.
