Sisterhood of the Iron Mind

I felt silly for being nervous as I stepped out of the hot, humid air into the cool lobby. I had to consciously loosen my grip on the handle of the silver case I was clutching. I was top of my class, the elite of the elites. But this was also my first assignment, and my first real job. Of course I was nervous.

My heart thudded in time with the rapid clicks of my heels on the marble floor as I approached the desk. Vacant desk. Despite myself, I wondered if I'd somehow arrived before the office opened. But then the doors wouldn't have let me in, would they? Before either my stomach or thoughts could settle, a construct addressed me.

[Welcome to HG Barbican, Ms. Lawson. I am Janus, a partition of the corporate construct of the Hargate Corporation. You may proceed through the door on your left to the first junction, where you will find a door labeled "Onboarding". Please do not wander the premises; this is a secure facility.]

"Thank you," I reflexively replied. Not a bad reflex--most constructs liked it when humans were polite to them. I did as instructed, comforted by the concrete directions to follow. The door was inviting light-brown wood. This aesthetic continued beyond, with soft yellow lighting from artisanal brass fixtures, sky blue drywall with a rich mahogany wainscot, and plush beige carpet.

The downright pleasant atmosphere soothed my nerves a bit, and I passed by many doors identical to the one I'd entered through, each with a brass label. Most were names of employees, but as promised by the construct when I hit a t-junction, I was faced with one labeled "Onboarding". I entered.

The interior was similarly pleasant to the hallway, and included sumptuous furniture to lounge on. I settled into an ivory-colored armchair, pulled my pencil skirt back below my knees, and smoothed out the creases in my long-sleeved blouse. I was conscious of the tension in my shoulders as I sat, my back so straight it didn't even rest against the chair.

I set the case beside my chair. Then I repositioned it behind my legs. Then I put it in my lap. The psysuit inside was worth a small fortune thanks to the exotic materials used to keep it from blocking psionics like normal clothes did, and this one I was issued upon graduation last month was the only one I would be getting for free.

I tried to remind myself that I didn't need to worry about money anymore, but that just made me more anxious I would somehow mess something up here. HG Barbican had been the highest bidder for my contract, and their bid was more money than I could have dreamed of making before I'd awakened my powers. Even after the Sisterhood took its cut, the signing bonus left me with more cash than I knew what to do with. I'd already signed a lease for a luxury apartment near the office, and this weekend after I'd gotten a grasp of the office culture, I'd go on a shopping spree and buy a whole new wardrobe.

The door opened, and I immediately shot to my feet. I scrambled to catch the case flying out of my lap, hugging it against my chest as the arrival watched me with an amused smile. "Hi, sorry," I said, brushing back a stray lock of blonde hair that had fallen out of my bun. "I'm Vivienne. Vivienne Lawson."

She was so beautiful that she could only have been a gene-edited corporate noble or a naturally-stunning psion, but I leaned toward the latter given that I couldn't detect her presence at all with my empathic abilities. She was average height (giving her a few inches on me) though slender, with chestnut hair tied back in a loose braid. More striking than her full lips and long lashes, however, was her outfit. The outerwear was professional enough--similar white blouse to mine with the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms, pencil skirt extending almost to her knees. But the top was sheer enough that her red bra and the nipples poking through it were apparent. And when she turned to close the door behind her, a clear pantyline on her rear was visible.

My first instinct was that she didn't know that her underwear was showing through her clothes, but I quickly dismissed the idea. There was no way she didn't notice something that obvious. So apparently she didn't care? The instructors had informed me that psions were given a lot of leeway thanks to our importance, and it seemed this woman liked to exercise hers through daring outfits. Or maybe it was a cultural thing; this was the first woman I'd seen in this office, after all. Regardless, all of the men at the office were probably drooling over her, which was likely the point.

"It's good to meet you, Vivienne," the woman replied, crossing the room to me. She extended a warm hand which I accepted in a gentle shake. "I'm Grace Barnes, HG Barbican's on-staff empath. You can call me Grace. What have you been told about your position?"

Starting off with a quiz? Despite practically memorizing the offer letter and doing additional research on the company, I fought to keep my expression neutral and my emotions as well-controlled as Grace's lest she sense how nervous I was. Compounding the challenge to my composure was the urge to look down at the crimson shadow her bra cast over her swelling chest. "Just that Barbican provides infosec for Hargate and its subsidiaries, and that you have some kind of proprietary thought-pattern on all of your employees which I will be helping manage."

"That's a good summary," Grace replied, her eyes crinkling and her lips curving in a reassuring smile. She took a seat on a sofa and patted the cushion next to her. I hesitated a bit at the proximity, but the pit in my stomach dreading faux-pas quickly put me beside her, the case placed on the other side of me. She continued, "We instituted it a few years ago and have seen great success. Hargate wants to expand the program to the parent company, then branch out to our subsidiaries until the entire conglomerate is using it. Once your training is complete, you'll be taking over my role here while I move to Hargate's headquarters."

She went over more details of the thought-pattern, which had been dubbed the Barbican Compliance Protocol, or "BCP". In addition to verifying the loyalty of employees subject to it, it reduced mental fatigue, helped compartmentalize sensitive information, and provided general cognitive enhancement. It sounded robust; I was impressed a single psion could maintain such an intricate system over an entire company.

The door opened again, this time revealing a well-built man with a full head of gray hair and a perfectly-tailored charcoal gray suit. He took on a bright smile, motioning for the two of us to stay seated as he moved to stand behind the couch.

Grace's smile reflected his. "Good morning, Mr. Sterling. This is Vivienne, our new empath. I was just explaining the BCP to her." Seeing my wide-eyed reaction to the name of the CEO, Grace's smile deepened. "Try not to scare her too much--she startles easily."

Mr. Sterling forestalled my second attempt to stand with a hand on each of our shoulders. It was a light grip, his authority holding me in place more than the pressure. "No need to be nervous, Ms. Lawson. Jan looked over the files of every available empath in the galaxy, and after reading through the finalists, I knew you were the psion for Barbican. We're going to do great things together."

Despite the nervous edge of having this overly-touchy old guy grab my shoulder, his words were reassuring. Of course HG Barbican had selected me out of every available Level 3 Empath. I would excel at anything, even maintaining an advanced thought-pattern on an entire company's worth of employees.

I noticed that though his hand resting on me was still, the one on Grace's shoulder was much more active. It kneaded her through the thin fabric of her blouse, a finger on either side of her bra strap. She didn't seem to mind the treatment, gazing placidly up at the CEO as he tried to soothe my nerves.

I kept my growing unease tamped down under a tight smile as I engaged my powers. While Grace was still empathically absent, Mr. Sterling's presence was like a leaking cistern. Seeping emotion spilled through his attempts to conceal his thoughts, drops of geniality, confidence, and... anticipation? I tried reading his expression to see if it offered more context, but it held nothing but business-like warmth.

"Well, I have work to get back to and you two have work to get to," he said, giving my shoulder a light squeeze--and Grace's a firm one--before releasing his grip on us. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of you, Vivienne." He accepted our farewells, then left the room.

Once he'd departed, the violation of my personal space continued as Grace put a hand on my thigh. "I'm sure a visit from the CEO on your first day was a bit nerve-wracking, but he's quite friendly once you get close to him. And you two will be working closely once I'm gone." The faintest shadow of regret flitted across her features as she said that, but it was quickly dispelled by her smile. She stood. "Well, let's get you under the BCP. Everything will fall into place from there."

"Let's," I replied, eager to move on from the Onboarding room's weird atmosphere. I grabbed my case and followed her out the door. Grace took me back out into the warm halls, leading me further into the office.

Our trip led us past more doors, then through a sort of lounge with sofas, chairs, low tables, and even a large viewing screen. A few men were present, all in business casual, chatting while eating a mid-morning meal at one of the tables.

They perked up at our passage through the space, one calling out to Grace, "Is that the new empath?" At her confirmation and introduction, they took on smiles like the ones Grace and Mr. Sterling had aimed at me. Though unlike those two, theirs had a subtle edge.

But even more than the looks they gave us, their emotions were much more clear than the CEO's. They were as friendly as their smiles would suggest, but there was that undercurrent of anticipation. As we exited the far end of the space, I asked Grace in a low voice, "What's up with them?"

"They're like that with all of the new hires," she replied with an understanding look. "There's a bit of a haughtiness surrounding access to the upper floors, which you'll need to finish your onboarding to get. They enjoy flexing their status over fresh faces, or people who only work on the lower floors."

Reasonable enough on the face of it, though I couldn't quite square her explanation with what I'd felt from them. Still, I wasn't about to press my work mentor about it on the first day. I recalled all of the zeroes in my offer letter as we finished our trek through the first floor.

We arrived at a room labeled "Examination". The inside had linoleum floors, an exam table like in a doctor's office, and two desks with a computer at each. The walls were stocked with medical equipment and office supplies.

Grace directed me to the exam table. Once I'd taken a seat at the foot, placing my psysuit behind me, she explained, "This room will double as our office while you're being onboarded. There's one like it in the upper floors, which is where the maintenance appointments usually happen. Your maintenance will be at the end of each week to ensure the BCP is settling in properly, but employees who have been onboarded only require maintenance once a month."

"Once a month?" I repeated. "Surely a thought-pattern that advanced has a higher rate of decay." I had to update my personal thought-patterns every other week, and best in my class I may have been, they were still thought-patterns designed by a new graduate. Hardly cutting edge like the BCP apparently was.

"That's the beauty of it--it's self-reinforcing," Grace replied with a reassuring smile. "They put a lot of money into R&D for it, and the end result is a thought-pattern a single Level 3 can maintain for an entire company. With the increase in productivity and morale, Jan estimates we'll have recouped the initial cost in another five years."

My brow wrinkled a bit at the mention of morale, since I didn't remember anything in her earlier explanation that would affect that. Perhaps a knock-on effect of the reduced fatigue and higher acuity. I didn't worry too much; since I'd be the one maintaining it once my training finished, I'd find out soon enough. I absently kicked my feet while she tapped at her computer's screen.

She straightened up, coming around the desk to stand in the middle of the room. "I need a lot of output for the initial installation, but getting in and out of my psysuit is a hassle. Do you mind if I do it nude?" She was already unbuttoning her blouse before I replied.

I could certainly relate to the sentiment. The things were skintight, and putting one on felt like getting vacuum sealed. Wearing it just for the quarter-hour it would take to impose a thought-pattern on me would be a waste of time, especially considering the shower she'd need afterward to wash off the bonding gel.

Not to mention that I'd spent the last two years surrounded by naked psions. We didn't get our suits until graduation, and since maximum output was paramount for training, it was more unusual for us to be in clothes than out of them. I replied, "Sure."

The blouse came away to reveal the full shape of the bra hinted at under the flimsy fabric. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of her stiff nipples sticking out of the cutouts where the cups should have been. And when the skirt followed to reveal her shaven slit framed by matching crotchless panties, it was impossible not to stare. She was completely unabashed by my gaping, explaining as she unhooked her bra, "I have a date tonight."

"That'll be some date," I managed to reply, closing my open mouth and watching her more prudently. She was slender like a ballet dancer. But I had to bite back a smug grin as I made the real comparison; she had curves in all the right places, but they were modest compared to my assets. And though respectable, the perky breasts her lingerie was showing off had nothing on mine. Even under my conservative attire, the difference was apparent. No doubt I could steal all of the attention at the office if I started dressing like her.

With everything she'd been wearing draped over a chair, she was left completely bare. It was a bit weird seeing my mentor at my new job like this, akin to the one time I'd seen an instructor take off her psysuit during a demonstration.

Still, she commanded the room with her confident bearing and deliberate stride toward me. I could feel the psionic pressure on my mind as she turned her attention on me, sharpened to laser precision as she rested a hand on my forehead. There was no technical merit to doing this since air provided so little psionic resistance, but most empaths (myself included) found it easier to focus our powers if we made direct contact with the subject.

I let out a deep breath, lowering my mental barriers and allowing her in. I felt a spike of nervousness as I realized she would probably sense my smugness and infer the reason behind it, but I took in another deep breath as I expelled the useless thoughts from my mind. I was probably not the first fellow psion who had a sense of superiority in that area, and given her clear self-assurance, she wouldn't mind.

"Good, just like that," Grace said, her powers rippling across my consciousness. "I need to start by removing all thought-patterns currently active on you. For security reasons, you're only allowed to be under the Barbican Compliance Protocol while working here."

That was a bit worrying, but I took it on the chin. Despite not even using them for a year, I'd already grown used to the improved recall, quicker thinking, and general mental enhancement. But I reminded myself that the BCP had similar effects. Maybe even better since it was so advanced. I kept my breathing steady as she stripped away my handiwork.

With that done, it was time for the installation. Working with strong-willed subjects was usually a challenge for empaths, but as a fellow empath, I could make myself as soft as wet clay for her. As she rewired my neurons and altered my brain's chemistry, I was a passive observer. And what I observed astounded me.

The BCP was remarkably detailed and complex, like the internals of a jump drive. I longed to take a look at its inner workings to see how it did what it did, but as I tried to focus on it, my powers seemed to slide off. I made a few attempts, each more deft than the last, and on the last one I seemed to catch the tail of it. But I released it as Grace's sudden voice distracted me.

"Please don't try to overcome the mental block preventing you from examining it. Since it's proprietary and you're not under its effects yet, it would be a security violation for you to see how it works." She kept her focus on the process even as she spoke, continuing to weave the web together.

That was fair enough. The expense of their intellectual property notwithstanding, HG Barbican was a security company. I could not imagine the avalanche of issues the thought-pattern all of their employees were under becoming known to their adversaries would create. I tried to stay content looking at the outline of it that I could see.

Then it was finished. I was taken-aback at the sharpness my thoughts had taken on; this thing really was an improvement over my personal projects. I started counting primes in my head, though that train of thought hit the brakes as the pressure moved from my forehead to my cheek.

I opened my eyes to see Grace caressing my face as she smiled right at me. I tilted my head a bit, which served both to facilitate the gesture and express my confusion at it. The thought-pattern was implemented, so why was she still touching me? And on the cheek especially, with such tenderness.

She gave me a light pat before withdrawing her hand. "No issues. We'll check how it's progressing first thing Friday morning, but for now let's get to work." She turned and found her outfit--giving me a view of her heart-shaped rear--and slipped back into everything.

I took one last look over the newly-settled thought-pattern. It was even more formidable now that it was directing my mental state, but I felt like I could open it up and see what was under the hood if I put my mind to it. Still, there was no way Grace wouldn't notice at the check-up. Thought-patterns like these tended to be tamper-proofed, and looking where I wasn't supposed to was a great way to mess things up on my first week. I hopped down from the exam table and grabbed the case.

"Do you want me to hang onto that for you?" Grace asked, finishing buttoning up her blouse. "You won't need it until you have access to the upper floors, and it'll be safer in my office than wherever you're staying."

"Sure," I replied, handing it over. Some of the tension eased as she took it and placed it on her desk. Another psion would understand its significance, and she was certainly right about a secure facility like this being a safer place for it than my apartment. And I was glad of the prospect of not needing to squeeze myself into it anytime soon.

What followed was the "intake" I'd heard rumors of surrounding these sorts of corporate jobs. Grace brought me to a comfortable room with a videoscreen and a few chairs, informing me I'd be spending the rest of the day here and that I should return to the exam room when I came in tomorrow.

The lights dimmed once I was alone, and the construct, Janus, informed me that the next six hours would be spent watching training videos. Despite how dull they were, I found it easy to focus and remember the content. No doubt an effect of the BCP. They covered security, workplace safety, disaster response, procedures specific to HG Barbican, and "sensitivity training" which had a surprising amount of focus on sexual harassment. I blithely wondered if I should report Mr. Sterling's earlier shoulder grab or Grace stripping in front of me, but that was probably a fast track to getting my contract terminated for being a poor fit.