The box was plain white plastic except for a shipping label embedded beneath a sheet of clear plastic on the top at one corner. The address was correct, but the name of the receiver was a B. Rosenberg. Stacy searched the sky for the delivery drone that had dropped it on her balcony, but it was long gone. Sighing, she bent to examine the box. The shipper's name was listed, Funtronics Inc., with an address in Tokyo, Japan. Stacy picked up the box. It had some heft to it, but didn't rattle when she turned it over, looking for some indication of what it contained. She checked each side, including the bottom, but it was maddeningly blank except for that one shipping label.
Sighing again, this time in annoyance, Stacy tucked the box under her arm and went back inside. With a gesture, she called up the console on her personal rig. The heads-up display in her contact lenses snapped into view, with glowing icons and a virtual keyboard hovering in space in front of her. She reached towards the phantom keyboard and an area of reduced transparency in the shape of a rectangle marked a virtual screen in front of her. She typed "Funtronics Inc." and looked at the "Search" icon.
Multiple hits appeared with varying thresholds of relevance. She focused on the top result and the screen switched to the company's website. It looked like some kind of health product, based on the pictures of smiling Japanese men and women wearing lab coats. The text was a jumble of kanji and katakana characters, but after a few seconds, the translation software rendered it in English. Stacy focused on the "Contact Us" link and various contact information appeared.
"Place a call," she said, while looking at the phone number.
"Connecting," a neutral voice said in her ears, generated by the pair of tiny implants in her ear canals. The previous virtual screen withdrew to a corner of her vision and a new one appeared as a high-pitched female voice spoke in accented English. "Thank you for calling Funtronics Incorporated. How may I help you?"
"I was shipped a package from you by mistake," Stacy said.
"Oh, I am so sorry to hear that, ma'am," the woman responded. "Do you have an order number?"
"No, I didn't order anything," Stacy said, realizing that she was dealing with an automated voice system. "Can I speak to a real person?"
"I am so very sorry that I cannot help you, ma'am . . ."
"I'll bet you are," Stacy said under her breath.
"If you will leave your name and contact information, a representative will contact you during our normal business hours."
Stacy glanced at the clock in the upper right of her field of vision. She had no idea what normal business hours would be in Japan, and if she spent any more time on this, she was going to be late for work. "Screw it, uh, never mind. I'll call back."
"That is fine, ma'am. Please accept my apology once again f-"
Stacy cut the connection as she ran down the stairs and out the front door of her apartment.
Vicki had screwed her over again. The architect for the project had altered the floor plan for the McCowen Group building, adding a climate-controlled rooftop patio and moving the building's batteries and fuel cells from the top floor to the basement. Somehow it had never occurred to Vicki, the project manager, that this would completely disrupt Stacy's design for the building's power generation needs. The current design had become completely unworkable. Vicki had known about the change for over a week, but she had waited until the day before Stacy was to submit the final draft of her plan.
Stacy synched her copy of the building plans and made a disgusted noise. The sprawling patio area was filled with solar panels, some of them now sprouting from benches and tables. They would all have to be moved, maybe to tighter clusters away from the human-trafficked areas.
"You're talking to yourself again," a female voice said.
Stacy had been mumbling as she worked, she realized. She glanced at the entrance to her cubicle where a brunette in a fashionable dress suit stood. Elizabeth Campbell worked in IT, and they had met on Stacy's first day, when she had set up her workstation. "Hi, Liz. No, I'm not crazy yet. Close, but not yet."
"Oh. Is it Vicki again? Are you ever going to talk to her manager?"
Stacy shrugged. "She's untouchable, you know that." Victoria Banks was the niece of one of the board members. In all fairness, on paper she was qualified for her job, but in Stacy's opinion, she could have spent a few more years as a member of a team before being promoted to lead one.
"How about requesting a transfer to a different team?"
She had thought about it, but she liked the rest of the people she worked with and hadn't been with the company long enough to build a good network. If she got transferred, there was no guarantee that she would like wherever she ended up. She might end up designing for off-the-grid tract housing. "I'll think about it," she said.
"Okay, gotta go. Just stopped in to say 'hi'. See ya'."
Stacy worked all morning, through lunch, and well past the end of the work day to relocate the solar panels. She ended up having to replace some of the glass on the building's south face with relatively more expensive transparent panels, but still came up within budget. Routing power down to the basement had been simple by comparison. She added a conduit near the building's center and let the software figure out the best way to route all of the power cables to it. It was a few minutes to ten when she finally shut down the design software and stood up from her desk with a triumphant, "Yes!"
The disembodied voice of her personal assistant spoke into her ears. "Stacy, you have two voice messages from Timothy Cabot. Would you like to hear them now?"
"Oh, shit," she said. She had ordered the PA to hold all calls until she was done. "Don't bother. Just call Tim."