Protocol 7 by Armen Gharabegian Page A

that Ryan had never seen before. Samantha was close behind Simon, as beautiful and watchful as ever. Hayden, looking even sour, brought up the rear.
    Sabrina looked from face to face and resisted the temptation to shake her head in dismay. Above all things, Sabrina was cordial. Well-bred. Polite to a fault. But she had no education in science, physics or otherwise, and even less interest in them. She recognized that her husband-to-be needed friends of his own, especially those who are accomplished in their own fields, but still…still.
    She hadn’t wanted to host this little get-together. She had done her best to quash it before it began, but Ryan had been surprisingly and uncharacteristically insistent. “Simon wants to see me,” he said. “He wants to bring Hayden and Andrew and Sammy along. So that’s what we’re going to do.”
    Sabrina resented it. She was not the type who enjoyed surprises. She liked—she required—that every detail of a social event be planned well in advance and executed flawlessly. Just throwing a few crackers onto a plate with some store-bought cheese slices and cracking open a keg was not acceptable. And yet, here they were, dripping dirty rainwater in her alcove and just waiting for her to leave.
    The things we do for love, she thought bitterly.
    Samantha was the first to speak. “Sabrina,” she said, stepping forward and smiling warmly, “I apologize for us barging in like this. I do hope we’re not causing too much of a problem.”
    Sabrina smiled thinly. “Not at all,” she lied.
    “Are there snacks?” Andrew asked, peering into the sitting room to one side.
    Simon stepped forward and kissed Sabrina briefly on each cheek. “Thanks for the hospitality.”
    “It’s nothing. May I ask why you didn’t use the intercom at the gate? If it’s broken…”
    “No,” Hayden said. “It’s fine, I’m sure. We just…we didn’t use it, that’s all.”
    The truth is, Simon said to himself, you don’t have a super-secret spy-phone that’s safe from eavesdropping, and we don’t want anyone to even know we’re here, so…god, this is getting complicated.
    Sabrina slipped away to prepare the sitting room, and the rest of the group followed down the corridor, gradually taking off their topcoats and scarves as they went. It was an imposing place—all polished wood, mullioned windows and ancient, heavy furniture. Simon half-expected a wizened retainer in a tux to step out from behind the array.
    The library was almost a parody of the book-lined studies seen in a thousand BBC dramas, stacked floor to ceiling with shelves completely filled with dusty tomes no one had opened in a generation, overcrowded with comfy chairs and discreet reading lamps. As he peeled off his coat, he said, “Ryan, we’re in a bit of a situation here. We need to talk.” He leaned close to his friend and spoke so no one else could hear, “And we don’t want to alarm Sabrina.”
    Simon had to give Ryan credit: he didn’t gape at the mere mention of a crisis. He cast a guarded, concerned look at his impeccable bride-to-be, who—to her credit—noticed the expression and read it perfectly.
    “Well, all,” she said with a little smile, “I know this is important, and I’m quite sure I won’t understand a word of it. So, I think I will leave you to it for the evening.” She paused briefly, as if searching for words. “Whatever it is…I wish you the best of luck.”
    With that, she stepped backwards through the double doors and slid them shut, leaving the rest of them alone.
    The silence in the room was deep and deafening. Simon was the first to break it. “Do you have an AI active in here?”
    Ryan, who was staring distractedly at the door where his fiancée had disappeared, shook himself awake. “Of course.” Simon looked over to Andrew who was already playing with his gadgets to scramble and confuse the AI in the room. Simon pulled the memory card with Oliver’s message imprinted on it from his