TROJAN

2➤IMPROBABLE MIRACLES

Walter is already halfway through his introduction while I'm only five per cent prepared to step out in front of a crowd and deliver a captivating performance.

Oh, goodness. You're not a trapeze artist, Sierra.

Shaking off the nerves that threatened to suffocate the confidence I had yet to discover, I lean forward to peer through a gap between the large, velvet curtains. I look at Walter and then at the small crowd to which he spoke—a string of sharp-minded Sci-Tech representatives seated along the circumference of a crescent-shaped acrylic table occupying the centre of EURIEKA's brightly lit conference room.

Amongst them, I notice the founder and owner of one of the greatest multinational funding agencies—Dr. Grayson Neumurrey. My eyes linger on him for a few seconds longer than what they're supposed to, granting me the wonderful opportunity to witness how his porky belly leaks over his belt and droops into his lap like a sagging batch of dough. Horrified at the sight, my gaze slingshots towards his face, but the picture does not get any prettier, I realize. His hair is nothing but a wispy patch of bleached cotton candy and the wrinkles etched into his cheeks and forehead resemble a network of dry ravines. Good thing he's smart and rich.

"Admiring from afar, I see."

My spine snaps straight as I lurch away from the curtain, spinning around to face Simon and his stupid smirk. I cross my arms and scowl, hoping to disguise my discomposure. "Don't be ridiculous," I spit defensively. "Who exactly could I be admiring?"

Simon shrugs. "Well, the ladies say Neumurrey is quite the looker. You seem to agree with them."

I swing my fist towards his chest, but he catches my wrist in time and throws back my arm.

"Stop being so violent and listen for your cue." Simon makes a show of tipping his ear towards the curtain while I roll my eyes and turn away from him, steering my focus onto Walter's well-rehearsed speech...

"At EURIEKA, we not only aim to integrate reality with improbable scientific miracles, nor to enhance the cognitive skills of computers, but we wish to promote the beauty of augmented human intelligence." He takes a calculated breath. "Fortunately, this achievement has been made possible by our latest invention—an all-in-one intracerebral chip that behaves like a stationary smartphone... Ladies and gentlemen, I proudly present to you..."

I feel how the audience holds its breath, as if it were entirely submerged.

"...the Neuro-Circuit." Walter raises his left hand and with a flick of his wrist, a rotating holographic image sprouts from his smart watch, displaying an enlarged 3-D model of the Neuro-Circuit. "And to assist me in my demonstration of the Neuro-Circuit's functions, let us please welcome its first successful user... Subject C-3."

I try not to cringe at the name. Walter has known me for a period of three years now. And in that time span, we have long since surpassed the stage of addressing each other by our last names or job titles. At this point, he's practically my father. Even so, in professional circumstances such as this one, he must (or feels obligated to) refer to me as some kind of object.

"Well, good luck," Simon murmurs behind me before disappearing backstage, right before the curtains part.

With a pair of squared shoulders, a rigid spine and a chin that remains parallel to the floor, I walk out onto the raised platform. A swarm of fascinated eyes swerves in my direction, nailing my feet to their cross, stapling my body against its wooden post for all to see and for all to judge.

"For the first part of our demonstration, Subject C-3 will showcase her ability to interact with devices in the absence of physical contact." Walter's absurd statement hangs in the air for a few deliberate seconds before he continues. "But we first need an active mobile device..." He stares meaningfully at the people sitting before him until his gaze settles on the sixty-something male half-reclined in his high-backed leather chair. "Perhaps you, Scientist Neumurrey, would like to volunteer?" he asks, although it wasn't really a question, for questions do not exist when there is only one acceptable answer available.