Chapter 16: No Longer Frank
Jack chuckled a bit as he followed after the secretary, closing the door behind him. As he caught up down the hallway, he couldn’t help himself because of the hysterical high he was on. “Well, now that it’s all behind us, maybe after things settle down for me, I can take you out to dinner.”
She stopped dead and wheeled around. The look of sheer incredulity on her face was priceless. “You cannot be serious. After all of that, you still make a pass?”
Grinning, Jack shrugged helplessly. “How couldn’t I? You’re obviously a fascinating person I’d like to know better. If that’s even feasible, anyway.”
Her silent, slightly narrow-eyed look in studying him was not quite readable. Somehow, he felt like that common thing said of him: he was daring to touch a hot stove.
To push through his sudden discomfort, still wearing the smile, he added, “Besides, by then — if I’m guessing right — I’ll have Superhero Abs to show off.”
To this, she rolled her eyes and turned back around to continue. “Mother was right — you do take after her. Just focus on getting your coat, Jack.” It was said with a touch of exasperation. “It’s more than enough to deal with, and that’s just the beginning for you. I’m sure your eyes will find other fascinations along the way. Closer to home, no less.”
Damn it, I fragged up! Maybe I can salvage things. “Oh, I wouldn’t quite-”
“I believe you know the way from here, Junior Agent Laker.” Her tone was soft, even as it signaled the end of the conversation. She opened the door back to the lobby and turned around to wait for him. He passed by slowly, enough to meet her eyes and form an expression goofy enough to get some subtle reaction out of her. Her expression seemed to say, ‘Is this weirdo for real?’ But he liked to think it wasn’t in a bad way, because she was holding in some amusement. Or amused incredulity.
Same thing. It could be chemistry! Ugh. I need sleep. And food. I really do. And I’ll save a facepalm, just for these last few moments.
He took the long, long, too damn long walk to the elevator, which opened for him on its own. Stepping in and turning around, he was somewhat surprised to catch a last glimpse of Bermuda standing at her desk, so he waved. Her eyes flickered to his and, even more surprisingly, she smiled and waved back — an obvious indulgence, but not with mocking airs.
The elevator doors closed, and movement began without him touching anything. He couldn’t be bothered to be surprised or concerned about it.
Huh. Did I warm up all that ice by being a brazen idiot? She technically didn’t say no, either. Maybe it was the slight note of self-mockery that did the trick. Or by trading failures, we’re even. Heh.
When it occurred to him he might want to contact Memoria in his head, the vague attempt turned into a bundle of information injected.
Well, I’ll be shot to Sunday, Big Sister is real! Times twelve, no less. Guess this fleshbag will be introducing himself to ‘May’ someday or another, though I imagine my mini-Mem is good enough for most things.
He took a quick look at the names and their color codes. Most were green-yellow, including May. August was somewhat orange, and April was definitely orange. February and December were green.
Hmm.
Further thoughts were squelched by the elevator opening. A woman was planted immediately through the door, a thin tablet the size of a textbook held in the crook of one elbow. She was dressed in a more typical military uniform with pants, though without a hat, and with her hair in a rather stylish updo dyed purple-red. There was probably some particular ‘word’ for the color that she could recite instantly, like ‘Light Mahogany Wild Orchid Butterscotch,’ but he had no chance of knowing it whatsoever. She looked in her early twenties, though something in her eyes said she was older. To be expected with Nons, who aged more slowly, particularly after the teens.
I’m allowed to see their faces now. See them out of uniform. Crazy.
Behind her was something like a slightly scaled-down, very quiet train station. Some relaxing classical music was playing.
The Non smiled pleasantly at him. “Junior Agent Laker! It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Agent Lindsay Soyer, also very recently Doctor Soyer, but I’d prefer you call me Lindsay. First of all, welcome to the agency!” She offered her well-manicured hand. Her voice was all Origin Baby Perfect Inflection. Government and money; a life stuffed with the attention and private education of the highest ‘hidden’ class. He pegged her immediately as psych-trained. There was an aura, and the aura of a medical doctor was absent.
Jack stepped out from the elevator doors and took her hand briefly, nodding. “Thanks. I appreciate it. And I’ll call you Lindsay if you call me Jack.”
“It’s a deal, then, Jack. And I think we’ve shaken on it, no less! You must be wondering who exactly I am to you at this point. Well, I won’t just be guiding you to a destination and dropping you off. The agency wiped quite a bit of my existing schedule clear for the near future to fill it in with assisting you. I’ve been briefed on very classified subjects related to your recent history. I’ll be one of your trainers and your personal scheduler to get you up to speed at an acceleration you can handle.”
Ha. Acceleration I can ‘handle.’ Just the thing to stir up a pilot, eh?
“I see. And how do you feel about the assignment, Lindsay?” Let’s see what sort of reaction that gets.
Her gaze was even as if she was ready for literally anything to come out of his mouth. “I’m quite happy with it, Jack, and thank you for asking. Getting the chance to focus on primarily one overarching goal is a welcome change from the norm of a hundred multiple tasks. I think I’m kind of ‘in the middle’ experience-wise? So my arm gets tugged in many directions by superiors with plenty of demand and not enough supply these days — if you take my meaning.” She grinned.
Jack found himself unable to resist grinning back. Not only did he get it, he appreciated the simple and honest response, even if it was probably pre-calculated to be what would warm him up. Yep. She’s Psych. “In that case, it’s a real honor to steal you from the brass. But you’re beginning to make me worry about your rate. Only in Lux, am I right?”
She chuckled. “I only accept infused coffee credits. And yes, it’s flagrant in your file that you were an addict in the service and even desperately clung to hope when out of it. I felt that pain like it was my own, Jack. I would not survive without coffee. I’m dead fraggin' serious.”
Jack laughed, eyebrows raising at the unexpected cursing. Damn, she’s good. Acing the ‘establish rapport’ aspect already. Eh. My file probably says ‘An easy mark, though he thinks otherwise.’ A little novelty and I’m done for. “I believe you. But what is ‘infused’ coffee?”
She pointed her finger at him with her eyes widened with conspiracy as if anticipating his pleasure at a new delicacy. “You’re already asking the right questions! ‘Infused’ is our little code for any cuisine item crammed with the special chemical cocktail we love and need to keep our prime little bodily engines running smoothly. Infusing coffee is like feeding two addictions at once! It’s heaven, Jack. Heaven.”
Jack was forced to spend a moment dreaming about the stuff in that can he had imbibed, yet combined with coffee. His mouth watered. “I’ll be sure to not worry about how Nons are turned into substance fiends.”
“Well, you shouldn’t. For us, it's no different than bread and wine. Well, okay, it’s like bread and wine that is the finest quality cake. If you want to be monkish about it, you can stick to the benzene-free variety. They’re required for external use — that is, out in the public. Otherwise, you’d have people going, ‘Dude, are you drinking fuel?! You can’t drink fuel, dude!’ Benzene gets in the air very quickly, and it just so happens to be a carcinogen to the Franks. We stick to odorless options in public scenarios, and prefer limiting it as much as possible even then.”
“Franks?”
“Oh! Sorry. The public, the Joe-Jane Shmoes? Quicker way of saying ‘F-rank.’ You know, because they don’t have powers? No ranking.” She made an apologetic, wincing face. “It’s insensitive, isn’t it? I do apologize.”
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Jack slow-blinked, but then shook his head and waved a hand. “Oh, no, no! No offense. It is what it is, right? Can’t change how slang works. Or reality in general.”
This lady has been a Non since she was eleven, twelve, thirteen. Same with the rest of them. They’ll see everything through a certain… privileged lens, though tempered by military discipline. Such as it is for them.
“Very true,” Lindsay commented, and her eyes flickered around her. “Usually.” There was obvious subtext that he was quite an exception to the rules. “Why don’t we go ahead and board the train, then, Jack? We have a secure and private cab near the end.”
Jack was somewhat surprised to look up and see the train not far away ahead, having snuck up on him. It was an obvious levitation-engine variety to be so quiet. A few people were scattered about, most in gray military uniforms. A few more were just boarding.
Lindsay led on wordlessly to a door on the far end that opened as they approached. A roomy cabin was inside with seating for maybe eight or ten, including plush chairs, a couch, and a couple of tables, all with classy, stylized decor. Several vidscreens dotted the walls. It was the sort of luxury compartment fit for a vanity cruise, not some short subway ride. The only thing it didn’t have was a bed.
Jack stood right inside the entrance as the door closed behind him. Lindsay strolled to plop herself primly on the couch, acting as if nothing was out of the ordinary. There was some covered plate of food at the little dining table, an incredible aroma still faintly drifting to his nose.
“Uhh…” was all Jack got out immediately, and Lindsay raised her eyebrows at him. He cleared his throat and considered how to phrase things. His state was such that he knew something dumb or weird could come out if he didn’t think things through. “So. Is this” — he gestured his hands out wide — “just normal for… us? Nons and Pre-Nons?”
Her puzzled face briefly squinted and half-broke, as if he were joking. Then she realized he wasn’t. “Oh — yes, Jack. The red carpet and all, I suppose. But you must understand, our world is one of tremendous secrecy. Even to those we trust with things above the common public, we are entrusted with even more and remain separate from them. Well-treated, obviously. But it’s to be expected when we carry so much potential. Power, access, a long life. So on.”
She smiled politely and gestured at the cushy seat at the table with the food. “Please sit and eat, Jack. It doesn’t matter where the train is going right now. It’ll arrive at our location when it needs to. You can relax here. Take your time. You deserve a reprieve, after all, and you’ll need to be at your best for what’s ahead. That includes getting proper rest. It’s up to you how much you want to wind down before I show you to your quarters.”
Jack nodded as he slowly took a few steps inward, resisting the food just a little bit longer. “You’re a Non. So I’ve gotta ask the obvious, right? Your power.”
“First of all, you should know some are classified as Questors, like yourself, and some are Keepers. Questors have much greater functionality beyond the borders of our territory, while Keepers are given some extra benefits within it. Most often, it’s for non-combat roles who wouldn’t generally be going elsewhere anyway, but not always. There are home defense and peacekeeping specialists, for example.
“As for me, I’m ostensibly non-combat, though paired correctly, I can transcend that. I’d be entirely useless alone. The technical class is Psychic Catalyst — Mimicry. The unique name is Impressionist. I can’t read minds! Just to get that out of the way. Understanding people is a desire and an important part of what I do, but you have to try for me to read you. Do something, tackle a problem, utilize powers, whatever, and then gift me that. I can virtually emulate it, and in the process understand and analyze from the intuitive position of someone with a big, fat catalog of others — and growing! To put it plainly, I can show you what you can do. I often get people over ‘humps’ they run into.”
Jack was pretty amazed. “Wow! I guess I’m lucky to have you, huh? I can see how it would be in high demand.”
“Probably. Especially based on your profile. But some do find me too spooky and will pass on the possibilities.”
“Their loss, right?”
“Exactly! It’s not like I need more work to begin with.”
“What was that about my profile, again?”
“Oh! Sorry. I shouldn’t get into too many details, but we seem very compatible. It’s noted and my analysis confirms the same. You’re smart, you have a natural curiosity, you like to puzzle and figure things out, you listen carefully and subtly, you’ll take risks, so on.”
“No, please go on,” Jack quipped as he finally sat down at the table.
Lindsay grinned. “You’re stubborn, rebellious, blurt things out, obsess too much over details, are easily distracted or space out, you’re somewhat out-of-shape-”
“Alright, I’ve heard enough, now,” he said, waving his hand to stop her. He sighed dramatically as he gazed down at the food cover. “And right after you tell me to eat, no less. Guess I’ll just pass on food since I need to watch my figure.”
“None of that, Junior Agent Jack!” Lindsay called with her voice cracking a bit in amusement. “You have standing orders to sit and eat. Fat will be turned into muscle all too soon, trust me. No cuts for you. Unless by cuts we’re referring to big slices of meat you stuff your face with.”
“Well. If you insist, I guess I can. I skipped breakfast.” He took off the cover of the plate and breathed in the bizarre, intoxicating combination of new and glorious aromas. The plate was an absurd mass of luxury food. He gasped when he saw two steaks smothered in gravy. Is this real? It has to be. Cattle meat was a rare, expensive cuisine. Combined with this were roasted potatoes and what looked like a variety of vegetables such as squash, zucchini, and onions. A mini loaf of bread on one side, a small bowl of some indefinable dessert on the other.
Jack was almost too much in awe to begin. Almost. After a moment of silence, he snatched up his knife and fork and went for a cut of the buttery steak.
After putting a slice in his mouth, he was practically in tears. He gave Lindsay an incredulous look, questioning how it could be real.
Lindsay grinned, her smile and eyes wide as she nodded. “Good, huh?”
“Mmmmn,” was all Jack got out before rushing to consume more. After sampling the gamut of things and killing a hearty chunk of steak, he glanced back at Lindsay and asked, “I should ask, you’re not a witch, are you? I’m not going to turn into a pig or something?”
“Oh, it’s way too late for that, Jack.”
“Fair. How about you prove it, though? Eat some of this steak. I’ll never eat it all. Well, okay, I could, but I’m seriously afraid of the consequences.”
“Oh, I couldn’t-” One breath later, she was hopping into the chair across from him and grabbing the extra fork. “Well, if you’re going to twist my arm endlessly, I guess I’ll help you out.” She speared a potato wedge, munched on it, and raised her eyebrows. “Cut the steak?”
Smirking, Jack cut a big chunk of the as-yet untouched steak with the knife, which Lindsay promptly speared and caught the drippings of with a napkin held under it. Precisely and delicately, she began taking bites out of it, oh so slowly, savoring it. All in all, she turned an otherwise ignoble-seeming act of consumption into one of great class.
Though Jack had a mind to control himself, he failed due to his continually intensifying hunger, and so he ate like a shameless fiend, frequently having to wipe his face with a napkin. At some point, Lindsay produced two canned drinks from who-knew-where. It was ‘infused’ green tea. Quite refreshing.
When Lindsay finished her chunk, Jack had nothing but bread and vegetables left. He tried to offer her bread, but she declined. She sipped tea and sighed contentedly. Somewhat guiltily, she met his eyes and offered, “I’ll come clean and say I owe you one for this free, fresh Crown steak. Steak is not generally free even for us, and the Crown cuts are effectively priceless. Some eat it only once, and are too young to truly appreciate it.”
“Ah, don’t mention it,” Jack said, and meant it. Sharing food was as unchangeable as the sky to Jack and his upbringing. “Trust me when I say it doesn’t matter, but I’m not familiar with the term ‘Crown steak.’ A certain origin?”
She shook her head. “A primitive tradition. A cow is slaughtered with certain victories, achievements, and so forth. Your family would be offered the meal. You can request it be sent to others, though if they are not allowed to be in the know about why, it will be an ‘anonymous’ gift. This cow was slaughtered for you and cooked fresh, in celebration of your ascension. You’re allowed the best of the meat three times, though naturally, the first time is the sweetest. The rest goes to high rankers, who can pass and send it elsewhere if they want.”
Jack’s eyes widened as he was chewing a piece of grilled squash. He swallowed. “Holy shit, I’ve heard about mystery steak dinners! I thought that was just an urban myth. I remember one guy said his mom sold theirs instead of eating it. He claimed it was the best thing he ever smelled. Considering it was a drunken admittance, I didn’t consider the story reliable.”
“It might be true. Or he heard from someone else for whom it was actually true.” She covered her mouth suddenly, failing to hide a burp. “Excuse me.”
Slaughtering cows as celebration? Bizarre. “Some might object, I imagine.”
“Yes. But it doesn’t matter. It isn’t in the contract. She does it through her own managed system. I guess you could call it a quirk.”
“Memoria?”
“That’s right.”
Jack pondered it as he ate. Her own free action of will? He pivoted on the subject, though. “Okay, so, tell the truth — how many times have you eaten Crown steak?”
Her eyes widened slightly like she’d been caught. “More than once. Several — okay, many times, alright? I like fine foods! Shut up.”
Jack laughed but held his hands up briefly in surrender. “What else do you like, then? Affordable or otherwise.”
She turned to prop her chin on the table with both elbows, immediately interested in the subject again. “Have you ever had seafood?”
Jack nodded and made a disfavorable wince. “In the service. Fish can be alright.”
“No, no. Did a real chef even prepare it as an entree? Come on. Lobster? Oysters? Caviar?”
Jack shook his head as he sipped his tea. “What the hell is caviar?”
“Fish eggs! It’s an expensive delicacy. The best comes from a seasonal migrating fish that comes upriver on the Amery. I chip in with my family when available to buy it for Chef Dronner. Don’t spread the word — prices are bad enough as it is. Our premier chef makes the best preparation you’ll ever taste on a vegetable and root croquette with a family secret cream sauce.”
Jack was sure not to make a face. “I see. I guess I’d have to try it, but my tastebuds are probably too simple.”
“You never know. Most homo superior find their taste buds only grow more sensitive and intensify. The nature of our beast.”
Raising his can of tea, Jack said, “Here’s to experimentation, then.”
Lindsay took up her can and tapped his with it in a toast. “Here, here. It’s the right spirit to have, for sure!”
Jack finished his food off completely, soaking the last of the gravy with the last heel piece of bread. He was surprised his stomach didn’t burst, and yet it acted as if it wanted even more. What a silly, silly organ.
::: :::
The eating has only begun.
Did a poll just for fun, btw!
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