“Shwmae, my name is Doctor Geddis, but you can call me Nathaniel. Whom can I say I have the pleasure of speaking with?” Nathaniel Geddis looked very much like someone had grabbed an intern off the coffee run, put them in a white coat and given them a clipboard. He was underqualified for combing his own hair or wearing his tie at anything other than a jaunty angle, but anyone more qualified than Geddis tended to look like a serial killer, and that very definitely wasn't the message they wanted to send. For today, at least. Geddis read from a carefully constructed script, his attempts at asking very serious questions often interspersed with his own ad-libs and tangential wanderings, including but not limited to; the weather, the merits of gel insoles and, “Did you see the thing on the telly last night? Oh no, you probably didn't – sorry about that.”
Geddis could just about hear Doctor Sykes chewing on his pen at the other side of the one-way mirror that took up most of the central wall of the small grey room. He didn't know if you could get ink poisoning, but he held out hope of it being a thing. He didn't wish Sykes any harm, he just hoped his tongue would swell up. “Here, I brought you a coffee. I was going to drink it myself, so I'm afraid there might be a sugar plantation in there somewhere. I was also going to bring you a choccy biccy, but one of the assistants muttered something about theobromine and took them off me. The whole packet. Greedy bastards, eh? Anywho, I quite literally have all day. Not exactly got a grand social life, me.”
Bosco sat across a small metal table from Geddis, Sykes had given the go ahead for it to be bolted to the floor after the first one landed in the middle of Observation Room A at high speed. He sat with his hands and feet chained, and was no longer wearing the tinfoil bodysuit that he had previously. He wore a white paper overall that strained at the seams and promised full and uncompromising nudity at a moment's notice. He stared at the table. “I checked in on your boy on the way here. He's a remarkable lad, marvellous in fact. But he misses his old dad, so how’s about this: if you answer some questions, I'll arrange for you to spend some time with him. Unlike you, he's eating and drinking at least. Insatiable appetite, local bakery had to close early today. Must have thought he'd won the bloody lottery, that baker. Go on, at least take a sip. It'll help, I promise.”
Bosco wrapped his hands around the foam cup and brought it slowly to his mouth, though the small hole in the top hadn't even been designed for human lips. Geddis took the cup and pried the lid off with the tip of his pen, then handed it back to Bosco, who wasted no time in gulping down its saccharine-rich contents. He threw the cup on the floor and turned his head towards the one-way mirror. “He particularly hates littering, it's one of his pet peeves. A clean and tidy environment for a clean and tidy mind, he says. Trouble is, greedy old sod won't pay for enough rubbish bins and we have to take everything home.” Doctor Sykes wiped the ink from his lips and spat several small specks of plastic into his handkerchief. “So, anyway. These questions, then? They're worded a bit rubbish, but they're also mostly simple like the person that wrote them. What is your name?”
“Bosco Tirren.”
“See, excellent. To be fair, your son has already filled us in on his entire life story, so we already knew that part. But still, participation. Next question. Your boy said you were from a place called Mayflight. What is it exactly? Is that a country? Or a planet even?”
“We're not aliens. It's a village.”
“I'm only asking because it's written on this here sheet of paper, see, and old droopy balls behind the window there will get angry if I don't ask. So Mayflight is a village, but you don't really have an idea where it is in relation to London? That's where we are right now, in case nobody told you, which wouldn't surprise me all that much.”
“No, I don't. We're simple people, we just exist.”
“I've seen the pictures, remind me to come around some time and simply exist for a fortnight. Next question. Oh, bloody hell, this one isn't loaded, is it? Are you aware of insert name – it actually says insert name in the question, lazy sods – possessing any sort of resources or minerals that might be deemed of interest to the government of yadda yadda? Well, you get the idea with that, I think. Remember, no is a perfectly acceptable answer. We can always come back to it later after you've had a nap and hopefully something to eat. It's curry today,” he said enthusiastically.
“No.”
“Well, there we are, then. Interview is over for today.”
“And what about my son? When can I see him?”
“Oh, in about five minutes, I guess. The good doctor-who-can't-be-named would say otherwise, but it really sticks in his craw that I have almost as much say as he does around here. If he says no to this, I'll say no to fifteen things he wants to do, and fifteen is a bigger number than one, eh, doctor?” He turned towards the one-way mirror and adjusted his already erratic hair to be even less symmetrical. “Oh, I forgot to ask; those ears let you hear what's going on in the next room?”
“Yes.”
“How many pens has he munched his way through?”
“Three.” Bosco tried unsuccessfully to keep a small smile from creeping onto his face.
“Right, well, no point in making you wait. The guard on the door will escort you to young Harry's room. I'm sorry for the, well, all of this, but he's been looked after. I don't see much point in keeping you apart, and I'm sure the good doctor here will agree you've been very cooperative. I'll see if I can get you both a bigger room.” He looked at his watch. “Might be tomorrow now, but don't you worry.” He flicked the lid of the coffee cup onto the floor and stood up. Clipboard tucked under one arm, he extended the other towards Bosco. The chains of his cuffs were passed through a metal loop attached to the table, but he managed to meet Geddis' hand at least a small portion of the way. “Right, I'll see you tomorrow, then.”
***
“Doctor Geddis, explain yourself,” Sykes demanded. He didn't raise his voice or change his tone in the slightest, yet his entourage still saw fit to cram into the nearest doorway just in case the ceiling came in on them.
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“Doing my job, Burgess. You wanted me to ask him the questions because you have the personality of sandpaper caught in a sphincter. The quickest way to do that, and I'm sure there's a paper on it somewhere, is to not be a dickhead.”
“Do not presume to take such a tone with me. It is unprofessional and unbecoming of one in a position such as yours, Doctor Geddis.” The one remaining intern that couldn't get into a doorway crawled under a nearby table.
“And what part of all this bollocks is even remotely professional, Burgess? We dimension-hopped a bunch of frigging war criminals to the nicest place we could find so we could steal their stuff under a pretence that even a lobotomy patient would struggle to believe. We kidnapped a small child at gunpoint, and don't even get me started on all the people we turned inside out to even get that far.”
“Do not lecture me on ethics, Doctor Geddis.”
“Somebody has to, because you were clearly taking a piss the day the subject came up. You wanted answers, I got answers. They have nothing to exploit, so send them home. We can find somewhere else, we have time. Please, Burgess.”
“Resources or not, the land they come from is untouched and exploitable enough. The questions were a formality, Nathaniel. There is so much we can learn from these creatures, you can see that.”
“If the next word out of your mouth is vivisection, Burgess, I will personally vivisect your left bollock.”
“You have no say in the matter, Nathaniel. I am meeting with Minister Corelious tomorrow afternoon to discuss the revocation of your Directorship due to not just this, though I am sure this would be enough, but your many gross displays of unprofessionalism. Enjoy your pets while you can. And your freedom. No-one walks away, Nathaniel.” Sykes turned on his heels and marched off. The one member of his entourage that had taken to hiding under the table emerged to free the other four that had wedged themselves into the same doorway. They sheepishly jogged off after him.
“Right, then,” Geddis said loud enough for Sykes to hear at the other end of the corridor. “Curry it is, then. Tenner for anyone that farts when they walk past Doctor Sykes' office.”
***
The lock turned and the bolts slid into the door with a loud thud-thud-thud. It almost sounded like some large creature was pounding on the other side to entreat entry. The door was a solid steel construction that was built for security rather than not dying in the event of a fire, and the whole process took close to thirty-seconds. Geddis had forgotten several things before the interview started, which necessitated the door being opened and closed at least five times. Bosco came to realise since the interview that was the way he amused himself.
“Come on, creature.” The man's voice oozed confidence and authority, but no-one had told his face or the rest of his body to play along. The young guard leaned insouciantly against the doorway in what could have otherwise been a show of confidence had his outside leg not been noticeably twitching. His right hand twitched in imitation of his leg, but that was less from nervousness and more from the nerve damage he previously sustained. Bradon's hand was splinted and held across his chest by a shoulder sling. He held his other arm below that so he was standing with his arms folded to add to the image he was unsuccessfully trying to present. Bosco turned his head slightly and partly raised an ear. “You're terrified,” he said. “Your heart rate is too high.” A surge of anger flashed across Brandon’s vision at about the same time he felt a small trickle of urine run down his leg and into his sock. The latter had the effect of counteracting the former, and Brandon felt the will to try his luck leaving his body along with the mass amount of adrenaline that spiked his system as soon as he walked through the door. Leaning against the door frame became less of an act of bravado and more of a disability aid.
Brandon pushed off from the door frame with his shoulder and approached the table. With his left hand, he fumbled with the key chain on his belt. After several attempts that spanned the next minute, he succeeded and set the keys down on the table. He slid them around the ring, mentally going through what each key was for until he reached the one he was almost sure was for the bar on the table.
“No trouble, okay?”
The lock clicked open and Brandon gestured for Bosco to stand, which he did obligingly.
“Where's the other one?”
“I don't know, I just work here now. Just move, your son is waiting.”
He led Bosco down a long, snaking corridor. For security reasons, corridors and rooms weren't labelled, though for common sense reasons, most personnel carried their own maps. The use of maps was strictly forbidden by the Directorship, but anyone caught with one would have to be escorted to security, and for that, the person doing the escorting would also need a map. This led to whole chains of personnel having to turn themselves in at the same time. For this reason, no-one ever saw anyone else with a map, and the problem went away over night. The Directorship was very happy.
After Brandon used the map he very definitely didn't have, and the people around him very definitely didn't see, they reached a metal door identical to the one on Bosco's cell. Brandon gave a nod to the guard on the door, who then set about the long process of opening it. The process involved two separate keys, one of which Brandon's, and a large valve handle. The door swung open on its heavy hinges, the wall barely sustaining the weight of the massive construction. Behind it stood Harry, his legs bound as his papa's but his hands untied. He wore a matching white coverall, but had seen fit to decorate it using the crayons that Geddis accidentally left in the cell.
“There I was doing my rounds with my favourite pack of crayons, you see, and what do you know, I only went and left them behind. I feel like a right silly bugger, but no harm done, eh?” Upside-down on his chest, though right-side-up from his perspective, he’d drawn a small cottage, outside of which stood artistically challenging depictions of himself and his parents. He didn't have a black crayon for his fur, so he decided he'd like to try being green. On his left shoulder he’d drawn an anchor, like the one he saw on one of the nicer men who came to visit him. The floor was scattered with various building blocks and games that Geddis managed to acquisition for the purpose of cognitive research, air quotes, and there were enough pillows and blankets to build a pillow fort with more structural integrity than most of the base's inner walls.
Harry danced from foot-to-foot as best as his restraints would allow and patiently waited for the guard at the door to nod his approval as he had done for previous visitors, all of whom he was understandably much less excited for. The guard unfastened Bosco's cuffs and took a quick step back. Harry hopped towards his father with the grace and finesse of someone that quite enjoyed a good sack race, and hurled himself into his waiting arms. Bosco closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
“When can we go home? I miss mama,” Harry said.
“Soon, I promise. They won't take you away from me again.” Bosco turned his head towards Brandon and the guard. The guard backed up to join Brandon in the hallway and shut the door behind him, though Bosco waited for the now-familiar clunk of bolts before he turned back to Harry. He closed his eyes again and squeezed them tight. All he really wanted to do right now was lie down and take a nap. So he did, in possibly the best pillow fort ever created.
