Chapter 3: Voice Command Vindication
The unease lingered through Alex’s morning run. The memory of Toni’s gray, wide-eyed panic in the sterile kitchen played on a loop, uncomfortably juxtaposed with her razor-sharp aura. It didn’t add up. By the time she’d finished a light gym session in the building’s basement, a decision had crystallized. She wasn’t one for puzzles left unsolved. She was a fixer.
She stopped at the artisan bakery two blocks over, picking up two flat whites and a paper bag still warm with almond croissants. A peace offering, a neighborly gesture. And, she admitted to herself, a reconnaissance mission.
Standing outside Toni’s door, the smell of coffee and butter rich in the air, she knocked. Three firm, friendly raps.
The door opened not with the swift, startled motion of the previous night, but with a slow, deliberate swing. Toni stood there, already dressed in another impeccably tailored suit, this one a deep charcoal. Her hair was a severe, perfect knot at the nape of her neck. She looked composed, impregnable. But her eyes, those flat granite pools, flicked to the paper bag in Alex’s hand and then to her face, a silent question.
“Morning,” Alex said, her voice bright against the hallway’s muted hum. “Brought supplies. I thought we could continue your tech mastery. Voice commands. Then you won’t have to touch the evil tablet at all.”
A beat of silence. Toni’s gaze assessed her, the coffee, the implied goodwill. Alex held her ground, offering a disarming smile.
“Voice commands,” Toni repeated, the words tasting unfamiliar.
“Aye. You talk, it listens. Less beeping, more obeying. May I?”
After a hesitation so brief it was almost imperceptible, Toni stepped back. “Very well.”
The penthouse was different in the daytime. The harsh Manchester light, filtered through a high, thin cloud cover, washed the concrete and steel in a pale, clinical grey. It felt less like a home and more like a showroom for a very expensive, very joyless spaceship.
Alex headed straight for the kitchen island, setting down the coffees and the bag. “Right. First, fuel.” She pushed a cup toward Toni, who accepted it with the cautious reverence one might afford an unknown chemical compound. “So, the system you’ve got is a ‘Sentinel SmartHome Hub’. Fancy name for a bossy little microphone. You just need to wake it up.”
Toni took a small, testing sip of the coffee. Her expression didn’t change, but she took another, deeper drink. “Wake it up.”
“Yeah. It’s always listening for its wake word. Standard one is ‘Hey, Sentinel.’ You say that, it chimes, and then you tell it what you want.” Alex leaned against the island, grabbing her own cup. “Go on then. Try it. Tell it to turn on the radio. Something gentle. Classic FM.”
Toni stared at the ceiling, as if expecting to see the microphone. She set her coffee down with a precise click. She drew a short breath.
“Hey, Sentinel.” Her voice was clear, cold, and commanding. It was the tone of someone used to giving orders that were never questioned.
A soft, two-note chime echoed through the room’s hidden speakers. A blue light pulsed gently on the tablet screen.
A flicker of surprise, quickly masked, passed over Toni’s features. She looked at Alex.
“Now tell it,” Alex prompted, waving a hand.
“Play Classic FM,” Toni stated, not asking.
For a second, nothing happened. Then, the smooth, dulcet tones of a violin concerto floated from invisible speakers around the room. The volume was perfect, unobtrusive. Toni’s shoulders, which Alex hadn’t even realized were tense, dropped a fraction.
“See? You’re a natural. Now tell it to lower the lights. By, say, forty percent.”
Toni didn’t hesitate this time. “Hey, Sentinel. Lower main lights to forty percent.”
The overhead lights dimmed seamlessly, softening the room’s edges. The city skyline became the dominant feature, a vast, moving painting. Toni looked around, her head tilted. It was the first expression Alex had seen on her that wasn’t fear, anger, or blankness. It was curiosity, touched with a hint of satisfaction.
“It’s… efficient,” Toni conceded.
“It’s a start. You can ask it the weather, set timers, add stuff to a shopping list. All without touching a thing.” Alex took a bite of her croissant, flakes of pastry scattering on the pristine marble. She nudged the bag toward Toni. “These are still warm. You should eat.”
Toni eyed the bag as if it might contain a different kind of device. Slowly, she reached in and took the remaining croissant. She didn’t eat it, just held it on its parchment paper. “And it only responds to me?”
Alex chewed, considering. “Probably set to any voice in here. But you can set up voice recognition profiles. Make it so it only answers to you. For security.”
The word ‘security’ landed between them with a tangible weight. Toni’s fingers tightened minutely on the pastry.
“How?” The question was sharp.
“Through the tablet. In the settings menu.” Alex reached for the device, but Toni’s hand shot out, faster than Alex would have thought possible, and covered hers. The touch was cold, the grip firm but not aggressive. It was a block.
“No,” Toni said. “Not the tablet. The voice. Can I instruct it with my voice to only respond to my voice?”
Alex leaned back, pulling her hand away gently. The intensity was back, thrumming in the air between them. “I don’t think so. The set-up needs a screen. It’s a one-time thing. Makes it more secure.”
Toni placed the uneaten croissant down. She turned her back to Alex, looking out at the endless grey sky. Her posture was rigid. “I do not want a profile on a connected device.”
“It’s just your voiceprint. It’s not a photo.”
“It’s a biometric,” Toni stated flatly, as if this were an obvious and damning fact. She turned back, her face a controlled mask. “Forget it. The generic setting is acceptable.”
The music played on, the violin now soaring into a dramatic crescendo that felt ludicrously out of place in the tense silence. Alex studied her neighbor. The fear from the oven was one thing—a technophobe out of her depth. This was different. This was a specific, targeted aversion. A paranoia about digital footprints.
“Okay,” Alex said softly, deciding to retreat. “No profile. But you see how it works? You’re in control. You talk, it does. No more… misunderstandings.”
Toni gave a single, curt nod. She seemed to be calculating something, her eyes scanning Alex’s face. “And if I say, ‘Hey, Sentinel, lock the main entrance?’”
“Try it.”
Toni didn’t smile. “Hey, Sentinel. Lock the main entrance.”
A heavier, more resonant chime sounded. A solid thunk-clunk echoed from the direction of the front door. Alex felt a strange, involuntary twist in her stomach. The sound was so final. They were locked in. Together, in this silent, gleaming box thirty stories above the city.
Toni’s expression was unreadable. “Good.”
Alex forced a lightness into her voice. “A bit drastic for a Tuesday morning, but sure. You’ve got the hang of it.” She finished her coffee. “Try something else. Ask it the weather in… I don’t know, Lisbon.”
“Why Lisbon?”
“Sunny, probably. Cheer us up.”
Toni’s lips tightened, almost as if fighting a foreign impulse. She turned slightly away. “Hey, Sentinel. What is the weather forecast for Lisbon?”
A pleasant, androgynous voice filled the room. “Currently in Lisbon, it is eighteen degrees Celsius with clear skies. The high today is expected to be twenty-two.”
A strange, hollow look passed over Toni’s face. She wasn’t looking at the skyline anymore, but through it. “Thank you,” she said to the room, her voice quiet.
“You’re welcome,” the system chimed back, cheerful and automated.
For a moment, Toni just stood there, perfectly still. The contradiction was staggering. This woman could command a smart home with the authority of a general, was clearly wealthy and physically formidable, yet a simple weather report seemed to unsettle her on a deep level.
“Right,” Alex said, clapping her hands once to break the spell. “You’re all set. Just remember: ‘Hey, Sentinel’ to get its attention, then tell it what you want. It’s your servant. Don’t let it bully you.”
Toni turned, the momentary vacancy gone, replaced by her usual focused intensity. “It won’t.” She walked to the door, her heels clicking on the marble. She paused by the keypad, pressed a sequence, and the lock disengaged with another, softer clunk. “Thank you for the… tutorial.”
“No problem,” Alex said, gathering the empty cups. She walked to the door, the feeling of being dismissed clear. As she crossed the threshold back into the familiar, carpeted hallway, she paused. “Toni?”
Toni stood holding the door, a slab of polished wood and metal between her and the world. “Yes?”
“That thing you said last night. About disliking being watched.” Alex met her eyes, kept her tone casual. “The voice stuff… it’s just a microphone. It’s always on, listening for the wake word. You know that, right?”
Toni’s gaze didn’t waver. A cold, knowing intelligence glinted in the grey. “I am aware of how they work,” she said, her voice low and perfectly even. “The problem is not the listening. It is the recording. And the question of who, ultimately, holds the key to the archive.”
She didn’t wait for a response. The door shut with its characteristic whisper, leaving Alex alone in the silent hall, holding two empty coffee cups. The gentle, muffled sound of the violin concerto faded away behind the heavy door.
Alex stood there for a long moment. The casual dread in Toni’s final words nestled in her chest like a shard of ice. Who holds the key to the archive.
She wasn’t just a quirky, tech-illiterate neighbor. She was a woman hiding from something. Or someone. And Alex, with her coffee and her croissants and her helpful lessons, had just spent the morning teaching her how to better hide in a cage of her own making. The warm, buttery taste of the pastry turned sour in her memory.
She walked back to her apartment, the friendly click of her own lock sounding feeble and flimsy in comparison.