Page 8 of The Omega Project

I can sense Langston moving restlessly behind me, but Creed doesn’t look put out. Maybe he’s just in good soldier mode, or maybe he shares my dislike for Brigadier Nash. “I knew of him, the way I knew about the rest of the PsyOps division. But I was a chicken strangler instead of a head twister.”

I relax a little, although I’m not surprised. A chicken strangler is slang for a Special Air Service or Commando soldier, referring to their ability to live off the land. They’re also the toughest, most elite soldiers in the field of special ops, while my father heads up the army’s psychological operations unit. Most people would think Creed is the more dangerous of the two, but that’s only because they wouldn’t see my father coming.

“From what I’ve seen on paper, you’re more than qualified to be here on your own merits.”

I acknowledge the comment with a nod, and then Creed turns and leads us through a security door and past a room full of screens. “This is a shortcut. Next time you’re here, you’ll have your own pass and use the personnel entrance.”

Assuming there’s a next time, I think as he punches a code into a panel, and we step into an elevator. I’m guessing this is the one the security team uses, because there’s no camera in the ceiling, and the air smells like gun oil and alpha musk. We ride to the top floor in silence, then Creed leads us down a long corridor before stopping outside a reinforced door. This one requires him to place his hand over a sensor panel before the lock pops with a mechanical hiss. He gestures for us to go through, and my first impression is of empty space and darkness.

I’ve never visited Derek in his basement office, but I’m guessing it’s a lot like this, only on a much smaller scale. This room is bigger than my sister’s apartment, with enormousscreens on every wall, lit up with both video feed and lines of code that flicker like dying stars. A massive steel desk mimics the vibe of the security elevator, although it’s flanked by floor-to-ceiling cabinets in an imposing dark wood. Instead of a sitting area, there’s one large leather sofa against the wall, as if the interior designer insisted on a token nod to hospitality.

As imposing as they are, our surroundings seem to blur into the background as the alpha behind the desktop computer leans back in his chair and stares at us. With his shoulder-length dark hair, pale grey eyes, and complexion that’s almost translucent against his black clothes, you’d be forgiven for thinking he’s the least dangerous man in the room. Right up until you got close enough to breathe him in.

Holy shit.

He smells like a wild wolf in the woods.

“Finn, this is my mentee, Emily Nash,” Langston says from behind me, and I’m vaguely aware that Creed has left the room. It’s poor spatial awareness on my part, but I can hardly look away from the man behind the desk. I’m used to both alphas and soldiers, but I’ve never felt a level of dominance like his, and my dad’s new pack includes a retired general.

“Ms. Nash, thanks for taking the time to come in today.” Finn Visser’s voice is polite, but he doesn’t get up from behind his desk to greet me. For anyone else, it’d leave him in a position of submission, but I get the sense he’s doing it deliberately. Like he thinks that if he rose to his feet right now, I’d bolt from the room like a terrified rabbit.

Gritting my teeth, I hope my beta scent is too faint to give me away as I walk over and take one of the visitor chairs. It’s a supple leather that feels like a cool kiss on the back of my sweaty thighs, but I can’t convince my body to relax into it. “So, what’s the job? Professor Fall didn’t have a lot of information to share.”

“I’m to blame for that,” he admits, flicking a glance at Langston. “Lang is always telling me I’m too secretive.”

“I imagine it comes with the territory,” I reply, looking around at the banks of computers. “I googled Vise Solutions, and it’s part of a much bigger security company, correct?”

“Yes. Security is my core business, although I’ve been branching out recently.” Those unsettling eyes are watching me closely, and I have to remind myself not to tumble into their depths. A pretty face shouldn’t be enough to distract me, but I get the sense that this wolf is good at hiding his true nature. “Particularly in the field of designation manipulation. I can’t be more specific until you sign your contract, unfortunately, but this project is part of it, and I can promise it’s important work.”

Requiring NDA’s, no doubt. Because designation manipulation doesn’t sound like safe science, especially with a man like Finn Visser at the helm.

But my father always said that the best way to get information out of an uncooperative source is to build rapport through sharing a personal experience. “My father likes to say that humans require pain to change. If it doesn’t hurt, we’ll forget what we’re striving for, and slip back into mediocrity. This also applies to teenage daughters who haven’t presented as they’re expected to.”

Finn blinks at me, those long dark lashes sweeping over his pale cheeks. It’s like watching a tiger peer at me through the undergrowth. “He wanted you to be an alpha.”

“Well, he would’ve settled for an omega, like my mother, but betas are of little interest to him. The mediocrity of the middle, as he likes to put it.”

Langston makes a growling sound beside me, and something flashes through Visser’s pale eyes. It’s hard to read him in the low light, and in the next second, it’s gone. “He’s not alone in that thinking, unfortunately.”

I shrug. “People can think what they want. I learned a long time ago that one person’s mediocre is another person’s perfection.”

“Too true.” Visser glances at Langston and then says, “The project involves a number of global teams, so we have a lot of information to filter through. We need to improve our data modelling and build some more effective sampling algorithms. We also need to touch base with some of our participants for follow-up interviews. Most importantly, the project has reached a phase where fresh eyes would be beneficial.”

Which tells me a whole lot of nothing, except that it sounds like I’d be a glorified data analyst. Not that I mind – selling textbooks and collecting empties isn’t rocket science, either, but I’m curious why Langston put me forward. “You must have people in this building who are better suited to this work. Why me?”

“Not only were you raised by the head of the army’s psychological operations unit, you completed a year at the Defence Force Academy.” It’s not something I put on my academic resume, but right out of high school, I’d still been in awe of my father and wanted to follow in his footsteps. A year later he’d left us for his commanding officer’s pack, and I dropped out of the academy and transferred to a science degree at the local university. “I only mention it because aspects of this project overlap with military research.”

As if sensing my resistance, Visser leans across his desk, a halo of light behind his head. “We all want similar things here, Ms. Nash. In my case, it’s more information on designations, so that everyone has control over their own actions.”

It's the closest he’s come to admitting the purpose of his study, and I decide it wouldn’t be the worst way to earn a paycheck. Especially if it’s as generous as Langston implied.

I’m on the verge of signing when he taps his desktop and says, “I should probably let you know that I’ve had past dealings with your boyfriend, Derek Summers.” I must look shocked, because his voice drops to a soothing timber. “Nothing bad, although he probably thinks I’m holding a grudge. I’ll talk to him in person, but I’m hoping he can look past it to also come work with me.”

I blink at him. “Derek already has a job.”

“For another few days at best,” he replies quietly. “Cyber Point Holdings, the company he works for, has been under investigation by the Criminal Intelligence Commission and the AFP for nearly a year. It’s why I acted so… forcefully when he breached my security. I thought he was part of their off-the-books ‘cybercrime-as-a-service’ team.”

I don’t know what that is, but any kind of federal investigation is a nightmare. It also explains why he’s been so slammed with work. I quickly fumble for my phone. “I’ll need to call him.”

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