Chapter Twelve
New York, unknown location...
"Nnghh... uhhh. AaaAAHH!" - Jamella moaned, feeling cold sweat pouring down her forehead, as the dull pain in her head continued slowly, but steadily rising, over the past hour and a half. Every.
She had moved over to the cot and laid down, back facing the room, not wanting to give her interrogator the satisfaction of her looking at herself in pain, on the screen.
"The pain will subside once you begin talking." - the MiB intoned coldly. He hadn't so much as moved, in all this time. The violet LED on the screen behind him was now blinking in a very regular pattern.
The girl gritted her teeth. She could guess what they were using here... they were modulating the EM field on a specific frequency, causing resonance feedback in her neural-hub, which then caused this splitting headache.
"I've nothing to say...!" - she growled under her breath.
"Not yet, maybe." - the agent countered, with calm certainty that drove her crazy. It was clear he'd done this before.
And also, she wasn't stupid. Jamella realised all too well, that her being alive at all, right now, is because her captors wanted to extract information from her. The moment they thought they had it, they would have no use in keeping her alive, and she would get a bullet to the head – if she was lucky.
She was scared. The pale man's chilling statement earlier, that her rights were irrelevant, resonated. Up until now, Jamella's experience with the darker side of being an insurgent, was mostly second or third-hand accounts and horror-stories from those few field operatives and runners, that were ever released from whichever government custody they ran afoul of. She herself was always in the background, running hacks and providing tech support. Never in danger of being captured. She was too important, to the Collective. This time – she was the one in the oven.
Except this isn't government custody. So they don't even have to pretend to play by the rules. The moment they drain me dry of info, they'll pop me. Or... or strangle me. Just like... just like Patrick, after they were done with him... after she was done with him... no. NOT fair! That's not her anymore! She cares now. She won't... leave me here to die. YES! I just have to hang on long enough..! Yelena...
The girl thought feverishly, trying to focus past the headache. And... there was something there. A faint, intermittent blip of signal activity. Almost as if her Uplink was able to – occassionally – break through the EM interference.
The young hacker's eyes narrowed...
They probably can't do both... resonate my neural-hub, and keep up the dampening effect! The frequencies must be canceling each-other out... if I could just... come on... !
She thought, doggedly trying to set up a anti-resonance firewall, now that she had at least intermittent access to her neural systems. If she could do so, and have it stored in her hub's bootup memory, it would auto-engage even when she didn't have conscious control over her systems, and prevent this kind of spoofing. It wouldn't get her out of here, and the firewall would also block many of the hub's remote-interface functions, but it would prevent this kind of torture from being effective on her.
Come on... focus... mmm... THERE!
She breathed out a ragged sigh of relief, as the splitting headache in her brain began to ebb away. While she wanted to keep up the pretence, and not give the game away, hoping to make the agent believe she was still affected – Jamella simply didn't have that kind of mental discipline, and her relief was readily apparent, as her whole posture changed.
"Unexpected." - the MiB remarked calmly, approaching.
Unceremoniously, he picked her up by her hair, beginning to drag her out of the room.
"AaaAGGH!" - the girl screamed, reflexively reaching her hands to try and pry-off the grip. Exhausted and scared, all the lessons that Yelena tried to impart over the past couple of months, were beginning to be forgotten, in the heat of the moment.
"Lemme GO! AAAaaagghh! It HURTS! Let ME GO!" - she hastily managed to rise to her feet, keeping up, relieving some of the yanking pressure on her hair, as her eyes filled with tears. She tried to strike the agent, but all she managed to do was a limp flailing motion, at his side. The pain just robbed her of any strength left.
Try as hard as she might, and hating herself for it, Jamella realised that she didn't have it in her, to focus past the pain forever.
~But the more important part of it is, knowing how totake it,and keep fighting. How not to submit to pain.~
Yelena's words echoed, alongside a new sense of being humbled. Only now did the girl realise how far she had to go, to be able to come anywhere close, to not submitting. She hated herself for it, and even more so, in her mind, for disappointing Yelena, but... she just wasn't tough enough. Not even close. This past hour was... excrutiating. Mentally, physically, and emotionally. Worse yet... she couldn't help but feel how it was just the beginning.
"Wh-where... are you t-taking me...?!" - she managed, in a crying tone, as she barely kept up with the suited man's fast pace, still dragging her by the hair.
She might as well have been talking to a wall. The pale-faced MiB said nothing, as he dragged her down a long hallway, towards a double set of doors on the far end. With one hand, the agent pulled out a keycard from his suit's inner pocket, and slid it across the reader. As he did, Jamella realised how foolish her earlier escape attempt was. Even if she got to this door, she wouldn't be opening it.
On the other side, she saw another pale-faced individual, this one a short-black haired woman dressed in the same leathery suit, this time with a smart looking skirt instead of pants. Though slight of build, the pale woman exuded cold menace. In the background, next to a restrainer chair and a line of terminals and readout stations, stood a pair of white-smocked scientist-looking types.
"Subject is uncooperative, and has established a neural firewall. Prepare for initial processing. I want a full neural workup. She has a dataport, making her susceptible to a proxy-link. We'll simply use a hardline to bypass her blocks." - the male MiB instructed.
Jamella tensed like a bowstring.
"No.. NO! I'll spike you! I'LL SPIKE YOUR ASS IF YOU TRY AND SLAVE ME IN! I'm gonna fry your whole syst-" - she screamed, but the female MiB gripped her by the throat, the woman's red eyes past the shades boring ominously at her.
Instantly, the girl's voice cut off, as the pale woman squeezed... with far more force then one might expect from someone with that petite frame. Jamella gasped, choking, scrabbling ineffectually at her gripped throat. Reflexively, she opened her mouth to gasp, and that was when the pale-faced woman reached-in with her other hand, to pinch her tongue.
"Try it, and I will rip out your tongue, child. You see, we don't really need you being able to speak. Just think. So, unless you want to be mute, you will be quiet, and compliant." - she released her.
Her voice was just as – distorted and monotone – as the male one's. Yet the girl could hear a distinct note of contempt, in it. Somehow, that felt even worse then the male agent's flat disinterest. He was simply detached. Uncaring. This one was... actively disdainful. The way she looked at her – like a lab rat about to be experimented on... Jamella couldn't help but feel the fine hairs on her neck rise on end. This woman gave her the creeps.
Who the fuck are these people... ?
The young hacker thought, but just glared in a mixture of anger and fear, gasping in relief, not daring to speak. She knew that the threat wasn't an empty one.
"Do not damage her permanently, Adept-1137. Mister Rand's instructions were clear. She is to serve a purpose beyond information extraction. For that, she has to remain visually intact. I'll be back in two hours." - the male one intoned, before turning to leave.
Jamella gulped. The term he used – visually intact – left a lot of room for interpretation. And... was that a slightest trace of a smirk, that she saw, just as he turned? Probably her imagination working overtime.
"Sit down." - the pale-faced female motioned to the restrainer chair. Jamella hesitated.
"You can sit in there, or I can make you sit in there. What's it to be, child?"
"I'm not a child!" - the girl growled, still glaring daggers at the woman. It was clear the term was used to make Jamella feel small and scared. While the latter was already a fact, she'll be damned, if she'd allow this bitch the satisfaction of seeing it.
"You are. A petulant, idiotic child. Else you would not be involved with a group as misguided as the Juggernaut Collective. What, do you enjoy being on the losing side? Is it.. arousing... for you?" - the WiB smirked, the expression downright unnatural, on that pale, red-eyed face.
"Fuck you. When my friends find me-" - the young hacker bit out, even as the creepiness factor escalated two notches – but the pale-faced woman cut her off.
"Your friends are dead. The male terrorist, and the rogue female operative. Or didn't anyone tell you? An oversight I suppose." - the WiB deadpanned, an evil smirk still dancing on her lips.
"You're lying!" - Jamella snarled, but that just made the agent's smirk more evil.
"Am I? You see, they attempted a foolhardy rescue, and got themselves killed. It seems they really did – care – about you. Talk about irony. You were their weakness. And now, you are the only one left. There's a lesson in there somewhere, I'm sure."
"YOU'RE FUCKIN' LYING! Shut up, you creep!" - Jamella screamed in tears. But without any ability to read through the female agent's masterful poker-faced contempt, there was no way to be sure.
And it wasn't lost on the WiB, or the sadistic pleasure she got from the girl's reaction. She laughed, a thoroughly unsettling, alien sound, from her vocoder-tuned voice.
"And that means that we'll be spending a lot of quality time together, love. Mixing business and pleasure. I do hope you don't break too quickly. Oh and..." - she paused, approaching to grope the young hacker between her legs, "...you will learn to mind that potty mouth of yours." - squeezing hard enough to make Jamella tense, and clamp her legs shut.
The two doctors looked at each other, knowingly. Clearly, this wasn't the first time they witnessed the WiB's... extracurricular inclinations, when it came to interrogation.
"Or I'll put it to better use." - the unspoken implication very much there, in the way the pale monster licked her lips in clear – arousal – of her own.
The girl jerked violently, murder-glaring at her, as she struck off the pale agent's hand at her crotch, then tried to slap her – unsuccessfully, as the pale woman's hand locked around her wrist, and shoved her back into the chair.
Jamella continued glaring, rubbing her wrist.
"GET AWAY! Try it, and I'll kill you." - biting off each word, but the fear behind the threat was evident. The WiB just smirked, biting her lower lip, then motioned the two.
"Restrain her, and plug in the proxy interface. I will be connecting directly for now... let's see what hides inside your delicious little brain, child." - moving off to sit at another chair, this one equipped with a headset and a full slave-circuit interface.
Three hours later, not far from Panama coastline...
Slowly, almost... reverently... Yelena traced a thumb, across the razor-sharp edge of one of the remaining ultrasonic-powered swords, in the ship's armoury. Currently unpowered, of course. As she did, a drop of blood slid down from her thumb, sliding down the edge, towards the tip, held there by the surface pressure. Mesmerised, the aquiline woman followed it's path until it reached the tip. Then, almost eagerly, she licked it off. Her expression meditative.
The bandage on her forehead was gone, leaving behind just a slight discolouration and a faint bruise, which would be regenerated in the matter of next couple of hours. Other then that, the clothing she wore before, still drying, she was dressed in a pair of slightly-too-short trousers found in one of the crew lockers, and a simple T-shirt, knotted at the midriff.
Entering a stance, the cyborg woman fluidly adopted a low guard, slashing upwards in a loose, lazy sweep, which seemed to gain velocity mid-motion. On the apex, she held it in a high parry, then reversed, slashing downward, at the same time as she crouched, adding more momentum to the movement. Then she spun, flipping the sword to a backhand grip, and parrying an imaginary assailant from the rear, before she splayed low, reversing the grip again, reentering a low guard, ready to slash upwards again.
The sequence of movements was so fluid, that the blade's onyx-shiny surface seemed to blur through the air.
The sword's balance, and it's length, not too long, was perfect. A long time practitioner of Pencak Silat, which was her main melee foundation, Yelena's expert familiarity with machete-sized swords meant that she needed very little adaptation to this blade.
Then she activated it. A soft hum filled the chamber, as the blade's edge began vibrating at a high frequency, making it's surface look slightly... blurry... to the naked eye. Instantly, the hum made her cringe somewhat, as it registered very strongly on her ultrasonics, forcing her to lower the gain on her cochlear implants to tune it out.
Well... no weapon is without flaws... but easy enough to rectify... I suppose the resonance regulators are set too high, as I recall some of the other powered-blade schematics I came across. A skilled technician could probably attune them properly, to my implants. Still... I never came across one like this... not this size! Not weighted this well! And the grip is JUST right... I wish I had something like this, back then...
She thought, biting her lower lip in an almost... organic... arousal, once the resonance subsided. Her dark eyes sparkling with pure pleasure. Firearms... were a necessary evil, for Yelena. She was as proficient as she needed to be, with them, and no more. They just never clicked, with her. Guns... detached her too much, from battle. From the kill. Made it so impersonal, and... formulaic. But blades, especially finely balanced blades like this... were a spiritual experience! She couldn't wait to try it out properly. No doubt the chance would come, before too long.
"Internal database access." - she spoke, to the assault craft's voice-activated computer interface.
~Query?~ - came the monotone reply.
"Music files. Do you have any of Alyes-Tore's work?"
There was a brief pause.
~Artist name unknown. Please specify known artist.~
Yelena rolled her eyes. Maybe not surprising, given how... niche... Tore was. There was little chance any of the crew or any member of that Inter-Guarda squad, was a fan. She considered briefly. She could instruct the computer to connect to the internet of course, and find it, but that would require outside connection and be a potential way to track them.
"Broaden parametres. Techno and/or trance music. Remixes included." - she instructed.
~One found. Sahara, by Astrix.~ - was the reply.
Yelena frowned. She wasn't familiar with Astrix.
"Play it."
As the psychadelic trance tunes began permeating the chamber, she went back to it. Making a few more fluid motions, strikes, checks, blocks, and parries, getting more feel for the blade, Yelena began losing herself in the poetry of continuous motion, slipping deeper into pure instinct, and the joy of it, as a dreamy smile danced across her lips. Minutes passed, before she picked up a second one. Dual-wielding was always her preference, not just when it came to firearms. Now with two swords in her hands, her continuing kata looked more and more like a stylised, deadly dance. Slowly at first, mindful of the fact that even a touch from a powered blade could cut her deeply, but ever faster, as she got used to the weapons.
Within a minute, the movements became faster then thought; one uninterrupted, blurred maelstrom of onxy-silvery motion, with Yelena as the fulcrum. Fully in tune with the music.
She didn't miss the sound of doors opening, nor did she interrupt her rhythm.
"Uh... ummm... L-Lessner said to tell ya that w-we... umm... we'll be gettin' to Carreto in about o-one hour." - Marco, the mohawked Cartel thug, spoke up nervously.
But, he couldn't help the fact that his blood started flowing downward, just at the sight of the cyborg woman's hard, wired, tanned body, tastefully interspersed with circuitry and artificial musculature, flowing almost seamlessly into those insanely long legs of hers.
And that speed! He literally couldn't focus his eyes on the blades. They were a blur.
Damn, she's hot! I never fuckin' thought a hanzer-chica could be hot, they all look like damn tanks on stilts but... wow! Not her. Fuckin' work of art! And ripped, too! Zero fat... Like... I ain't seen chicas that cut 'cept in a ring! Hell – I bet she'd run circles around and tear apart any of those Panzergirl-league types in the first fuckin' round, just by how she moves! I'd pay to watch that... Yeah, she's totally loco, yeah she can hack me up in half a second, but... worth it!
"Come in. I need a sparring partner." - Yelena spoke, stopping and facing him.
"Yeah, I'm... I'm not exactly a sword guy, eh? I mean... uhmmm... don't wanna cramp your style! Plus I took one in the arm, back there..." - he managed, caught between determination not to appear scared, and still trying to put up a tough 'I could if I wanted to' gangsta-front.
Yelena had to suppress a giggle, since it was in a way, cute. Enough so that she went against her usual instinct to call him out on it, and mock him. Even to her own mind, sometimes she could be a real bitch, when it came to playing on male egos. And honestly – he was useful, earlier. Very much so, from what Irwine told her, about their taking over this vessel.
"You have your other arm. Come on, Marco, you're not going to tell me you never used a machete before? Seriously? A sicario? And you don't have experience with weapons like this? We both know that is not true, now is it...?" - mischievously, with a dark, knowing smile, as she motioned him closer.
The mohawked man couldn't help but look slightly away.
"Uhm... n-not to fight with. Nope..." - he muttered under his breath, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Usually, people were terrified, when they'd find out. She... seemed to like it. And that, despite his best efforts... terrified him.
Yelena nodded to herself. That comment needed no further explanation, given what she knew about Cartel torture and execution methods. And given his body-language, she could guess he was a part of both, at one point or another. She shrugged.
"Hey, no judgement here! I'm the last person in the world who has any right to judge anyone. But I want to see how you handle a blade in a combat scenario. If you're going to stay a part of this, I need to know what you can do. And not just with a firearm."
"Part of... what?" - the mohawked man looked at her again, hesitantly.
"You handled yourself well. Or so I was told. You helped us take this ship, and you did not stab us in the back. That is more then I can say about most people who would be in your situation." - the cyborg woman stated, seriously.
"Yeah well, seemed like a good idea, cuz I can't stand pigs or private security corpo pig-lovers or whatever the fuck those guys were... but I ain't no revolutionary or anything! I ain't a 'cause' kinda guy, chica. I just wanna get paid and get neck-deep in booze, weed, and hot pussy when the job's done." - the thug grimaced.
Yelena smirked, nodding. Honesty was a trait she appreciated in people. And it was an increasingly rare one, in the world where everyone tried to put on a false face, or present themselves as something better then they really were. She despised hypocrisy. To her mind, an honest criminal like Marco, ranked higher then any number of false-philantropists, moralists, and various other kinds of self proclaimed do-gooders – all of whom had their own agenda, behind the false face.
And her pheromone-analyser confirmed her gut feeling. Marco was honest. Stupid, simple, but honest. And stupidity also had it's advantages, for a henchman.
"Then that is what I'm offering. Credits, more then what your boss would have paid you, booze and pussy... including mine, if I like you well enough. Along with other benefits, as appropriate. The weed – well, you get to provide that, correct?" - her dark gaze boring through him.
He gulped slightly, his expression carrying an equal mixture of fear and arousal, measuring out the tall, whipcord-framed vixen.
" Santa mierda... wow... you ain't beatin' 'round the bush are you chica?! I get to tap that?"
Yelena's gaze turned slightly hooded, as she licked her upper lip, leading him on... stepping in close, to rise her cybernetic knee up at his crotch, assertively, rubbing it,
"You get to tap many things, Marco, in good time... but first, let's see what you can do. Oh and... you will also get to lose some of that dead weight, before too long!" - her knee rising further, to give him a light strike on the belly, "At least if you want to make a proper impression on me!" - she shoved him back slightly, with a predatory grin.
The man's glassy-eyed expression spoke volumes. Fighting a raging erection.
"And get a new haircut. Catch!" - suddenly tossing one of the deactivated blades at him.
"Uh... r-right!" - he hastily fumbled to catch the sword by the handle, barely avoiding getting nicked on the blade. Even depowered, it was still razor-sharp.
As he adopted something resembling a mid-guard, weight on the back foot, Yelena mentally nodded. He definitely had at least a basic knowledge on how to handle a sword.
"Defend yourself!" - she snapped, advancing behind a pair of fairly slow, predictable, telegraphed slashes. She would carefully measure her attacks, based on how proficient he turned out to be.
The sparring session began.
New York, VersaLife HQ...
Volkard Rand was walking down the hallway, on his way to the meeting with the TYM representatives, talking on his phone.
"Understood. Remember what I told you – I do not want her permanently damaged. If push comes to shove, and the rogue mounts some ill-conceived rescue attempt, we will need a bargaining chip, whether or not she has any relevant information." - under his breath.
He took a few more steps, smiling and nodding at a couple of employees.
"Hello Sarah. How's the family?"
"Ah... great! Nice of you to ask, sir... uh... we're planning a big get-together with some relatives this weekend!"
"Excellent. Be sure to say hello to them for me!" - Rand walked on, keeping his insincere smile for a moment longer, before it collapsed into a scowl, once the two were out of earshot, continuing to speak hushedly into the phone...
"You can... enhance... your methods as much as you like, AS LONG as she remains cognitively un-impaired! Do I have to spell it out for you?! Let me put it another way; If the rogue comes around, you and your team will be the first in her sights. Can you picture what she'll do to you in retribution?!"
The reply was inaudible, but Rand's scowl turned into a derisive expression.
"Yes, you are expendable to me. The girl is NOT. Not yet. Never forget that. Your team is as well, so's everyone in that building if necessary, if it means baiting the rogue into a trap. And don't deceive yourself; she will be coming! That's the whole idea. She'd allowed sentimentality to impair her efficiency, and the girl is her weakness. She cares. So she will be coming."
Another inaudible reply. Rand shook his head to himself, his expression turning almost... contemplative.
"Don't underestimate her, or her persistence. There's a reason we used the Triaxis batch as the foundation of the Tyrants, once formed. And she was the best to ever come out of the initiative. The fact that she survived this long, just proves that. Just to be on the safe side though; Subject Oh-One will be joining you on-site within the next thirty-six hours. Then you may begin implementing Stage Two of our plan."
Another reply, this one somewhat lenghtier. Rand smirked slightly.
"Yes. A reunion of sorts. I'm sure the implications won't be lost on her, when they meet. She's intent on closing circles. But she's not aware of the number of circles, that exist. Time for her to get the full picture. Keep me apprised." - he ended the call and pocketed the phone, just as he came up to the conference-room doors.
As he entered, a quartet of suited Asians rose, sitting at the far side of the long, richly adorned sherawood table, and gave him a perfunctory bow. Behind them, a pair of large, augmented bodyguards stood, matched by a pair of his own, already in the room, coming to stand on either side of his seat.
"Doctor Rand, we are so pleased you could make it. I trust we're not keeping you away from your family?" - the first TYM delegate asked, in heavily Chinese-accented English.
"Not at all, Doctor Wui. We all must make allowances, if we're to insure our mutually beneficial endeavours run smoothly." - Rand returned the bow, motioning for everyone to be seated.
As they did, an aide, the same one from earlier, approached to hand him a pocket secretary. Nodding in thanks, he continued, glancing over the report on the device.
"We've had a chance to evaluate your proposed marketing strategy for the dampening chips here in the states; I have to say, the promise of complete reintegration into society would be a tempting prospect for many, even without legal enforcement. One question remains though, and it's something I emphatically disagree with – that the procedure should not be covered by a standard healthcare plan. Here at VersaLife, we have a reputation to protect, one built on over a decade of even-handed business practices." - he paused.
"For our company to suddenly be associated with such a... predatory... approach, would damage that reputation. Not to mention exponentially raise the appeal of black-market alternatives, resulting in a loss of profit. Also, domestic rogue elements would see it as an inciting incident. You may be aware of this country's rising insurgent problem in the Northwest. So far, the federal government was mostly successful in containing it, but all it would take, is a sudden flashpoint, for their cause to gain traction, especially with the impoverished masses. And we all know that the ARC and it's sister groups like to find recruits among this element of society, and already cooperate with the New Sons, on several levels of activity."
Wui shook his head, an expression of mild disgust on his face.
"It is a shame we are not in China, my friend. Our government has a way of curtailing insurgent activity before it gains any traction, and keep the masses in check. But I understand your concerns. However, if Tai Yong is to agree to have the procedure fully covered by standard healthcare plan, it would cut our revenue in half, only coming from the sale of the chips. This loss would need to be... compensated... in some way." - he gave Rand a significant look.
The bald man's eyes narrowed, fractionally. He hated this sort of thinly-veiled blackmail, but, he could appreciate TYM's point of view. Still, it didn't change the fact that their gigantic chinese... proxy... was growing too arrogant for it's own good.
I suppose eight years of worldwide monopoly-building would do that, to any company. I will have to bring that point up with Lucius, as well. Miss Zhao understood not to overstep her bounds. The new leadership seems to have – difficulty – learning the same lesson. TYM needs to be reminded of their place, within the grand plan. And that no matter how large they have become, they are not indispensable!
He thought, darkly. Out loud, however, he simply nodded, with his trademark beneficent smile completely hiding his momentary ire, his advanced CASIE implant reading the other man's underlying sense.
"Of course. How does exclusive distribution rights to the Eastern Seaboard sound? And free use of our Newark facility, for on-site manufacture?"
As the meeting continued, Rand's aide excused herself, and made a discreet exit.
The young attractive woman didn't speak to anyone, as she made her way three floors down, to her own office within the HQ. Once inside, she produced a small EM scanner from her purse, and ran a thorough sweep of the room, looking for any listening devices. She didn't expect to find any, of course, but it paid to be thorough. For eight months now, she managed to remain unnoticed, but her position as Rand's aide meant she was under constant scrutiny. Keeping up with her duties as a Collective informant, was difficult under such circumstances, and one misstep would mean exposure.
Satisfied, she sat at her terminal, and turned it on. Once it booted up, she pulled a bland-looking thumb drive from a drawer, and plugged it in. It was a highly advanced piece of Juggernaut Collective software database, a highly illegal, self-executing tunneler program that automatically bypassed VersaLife firewalls, while leaving no trace behind, masquerading as a routine parity-trace check, that the company ran at random intervals on all of it's employee terminals, looking for suspicious activity.
Then she started typing her latest report, bound for her assigned contact, in Panama City. Kelso was very clear, in wanting up-to-date reports on the particulars of the impending distribution of the dampening chips.
She knew how dangerous it was, what she was doing. She knew the consequences, if she were ever discovered. But, having an augmented brother, who bore the full brunt of the ongoing societal shift, battling depression and Nu-Poz addiction, she was determined to make a difference. Being drafted by the Collective as an informat, was a natural progression. And her close association with Rand, both business and... extracurricular... made her privy to many things that even someone in her position, might not be otherwise.