So November is in the past and Nanowrimo is done for another year. I ended up with a little over 41,000 words written so didn't quite make the target alas. Trying to do this while planing a business trip to the other side of the world was probably a little ambitious in hindsight...isn't hindsight wonderful!
That said, I do want to finish this story and won't let the end of the challenge be the end of the story! I think I will try and write one chapter a week until this thing is done.
The story of FATE Inc and it's employees will be told!
Thursday, December 3
Friday, November 27
FATE Inc - Chapter Twelve - Training Day
Exactly thirty minutes before Mr Drewer had been handed the report by a very startled Tim Watkins Helen had been beginning to get the hang of this whole assignment thing. She was finding that it wasn’t that the tasks sounded complicated, because by and large they didn’t. It did surprise her though how difficult it could be to do something that sounded as if it should be inconsequential or easy at first glance. The fact that these actions could have some kind of major bearing on the collective fate of the world just served to compound the frustration and it still didn’t quite sit quite right with her. She did get the whole theory behind it all, but the chain of events that could be set off or avoided by even the simplest intervention boggled her mind more than a little. It was almost as if everything you had ever said or done in the past might actually have affected the fate of nations. Of course it was more likely that it had just contributed to the general chaos of the universe, but you couldn’t help but wonder what your impact might have been once the concept is explained to you. Tobias had assured her that this was perfectly normal, but that the ratio of meaningful chaos to actual chaos was very, very small.
Most of our lives were just another stream of chaotic chance encounters, random events and interactions that meant nothing to anyone other than us and those around us. All set amidst an almost limitless number of other encounters, events and interactions that all combine to be what we generally refer to as ’life’. It struck Helen that to say that ’life is complicated’ was actually probably the most extreme underestimation of a situation as she could imagine being possible.
Right now she had been tasked with holding up a queue at the chemists by counting out small change to pay for something. The important part was that she was to delay the person behind her, who according to the file was called Benjamin N’Tula, by at least two minutes. It didn’t matter apparently if she went over that time, as long as she delayed him for at least two minutes.
If she had followed the report earlier the sequence of events would have gone something like this if they didn’t interfere. Mr N’Tula, who was a clerk at the Department of Trade and Industry, would have taken a phone call almost immediately after arriving back at the office after his lunch break. The phone call would last for exactly thirty-five minutes and sixteen seconds. The phone call would be with an under-secretary at the Home Office regarding some minor corrections to an overseas trade contract. That under-secretary, whose name was Horace Warton, would then have had to cancel his two PM appointment with another under-secretary on account of the call lasting longer than he expected. That meeting would then not be attended by a Mr Thomas Graves, also of the Department of Trade and Industry. This freed up Mr Grave’s time so that he was able to resolve some long overdue paperwork, including an invoice for some plumbing work that had been done in his London townhouse the month before. This means that he will pay this invoice four days earlier than he would have done otherwise. In turn the bank will then pay the contractor, one Mr Bryan Reynolds of Croydon, a day earlier than would otherwise have happened. Mr Reynold’s is then able to pay off a gambling debt to some rather scary sounding East London ’businessmen’ before they have a chance to come around to his house and collect some interest payments from Mr Reynold’s right knee with a baseball bat. That means that Mr Reynold’s will not be the Metropolitan Hospital the next Thursday evening. This will be relevant because he then won’t bump into a certain nurse by the name of Melanie Bryson, and they won’t fall in love or enjoy a brief but passionate relationship. It was apparently important that this didn’t happen as it was far more important that Miss Bryson was single and still looking the following week when she would meet an artist from Camden called Kristopher with whom it was most important she had a child with. That child would apparently be instrumental in finding a reliable cure for some forms of cancer some twenty plus years later. So Mr Reynolds would keep his right knee, but loose a love affair, and humanity would gain a cure for cancer all because Helen was standing in this chemist queue and counting out small change to pay for a box of plasters. A part of Helen was wondering that if these people that she was potentially going to work for could see the future well enough to see that there would be a cure for cancer why they didn’t just give that cure to mankind now. Hell, if you wanted to be cynical they could even profit from it. She imagined the cure for cancer could be potentially very lucrative. In fact it made her wonder why they didn’t just gamble all day, or maybe they did and that was how all this was funded.
However she didn’t have too much time to dwell on such things as she kept glancing at her watch to see how much longer she had to stall for.
Now if you have ever sat in the queue behind someone counting out small change to the cashier it might seem like you are stuck there for a great deal longer than two minutes. However when you are that person doing the counting, and doing so quite consciously, then you actually realise that two minutes is a long time. Cashiers get slightly irate with you after one minute, and by the ninety second mark Helen was starting to feel like physical violence wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility if she continued to fumble with her purse much longer.
”Sorry, I have it right here,” she stammered, trying to sound as apologetic as she could. The young girl at the cashier’s desk just smiled a fake smile and picked at her brightly painted fingernails. Helen wasn’t sure whether it mattered if you sounded genuine or not while delaying someone. She thought it was only polite to try, figuring that people would only be even more irate if they suspected you were actually trying to prevent them from being where they needed or wanted to be. The look on the cashiers face only reinforced her suspicions. As Helen’s watch indicated her two minutes were up she let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the cashier. ”Silly me,” she laughed,” looks like I don’t have enough change in here after all. Here, have a five pound note. So sorry to have kept you waiting.” The cashier scowled and almost snapped the note out of Helen’s hand. Under normal circumstances Helen would most likely have been offended and muttered something about the youth of today and their lack of respect. However she was suddenly conscious of just how annoying someone sitting there trying to pay in small change actually was. Helen made a mental note to not be so judgemental and harsh on cashiers anymore.
As she left the chemists Helen glanced around at Mr N’Tula only to find that he wasn’t behind her anymore. In fact he wasn’t anywhere to be seen inside the store. She had been so focused on counting out her change that she had failed to notice that he either decided to leave the queue or move to another cashier. Helen looked around slightly frantically to see if she could spot him. Sure enough there he was, already a god hundred meters or so down the footpath and walking at a good pace towards the bus stop that would take him back to this office. If he had gotten that far already Helen guessed that she hadn’t delayed him by long enough. She swore quietly to herself and wondered if these people would still have a high opinion of her tomorrow or if all that talk of potential would quickly evaporate when they realised she had screwed up what was presumably a simple assignment already.
She looked around for Tobias hoping he would be there to help or tell her what to do. Should she go after Mr N’Tula or was it already too late. Damn it, she didn’t have long until Mr N’Tula reached the bus stop. She still couldn’t see Tobias anywhere so started to walk quickly in the direction of the bus stop. She figured she probably only had to make up thirty seconds or so, maybe less, just enough to make him miss the bus that she could see coming around the corner. She strode purposefully forward trying to figure out how to delay him. If someone was going to catch a bus and could see that buss pulling up, as Mr N’Tula clearly would be able to do right now, she wasn’t sure what she could do short of actually tackling the man to make him pay to a stranger for long enough in order to make him miss that bus. Helen guessed that tackling the man probably wasn’t the desired conduct of a field agent. These people at FATE Inc may be resourceful, and maybe even powerful, but she doubted they liked explaining things to police officers. As she came within a couple of strides of her target she wracked her brain for a way to distract him from the arriving bus. ’Think girl, THINK!’ she muttered to herself as she came almost up to Mr N’Tula’s shoulder. With no better ideas coming across her mind she reached out quickly and firmly grabbed the man’s left ass check with her full open palm and squeezed.
It stopped Mr N’Tula dead in his tracks. He spun round with an angry look on his face that only slightly dissipated when he saw a pretty young lady smiling back at him sheepishly. ”What the hell was that?” he shouted at her,”did you just grab my ass?”
”Yes I did, I just couldn’t help myself,” Helen said meekly,”I saw you back there in the chemist...”
”...and you thought you would chase me and grab my ass?” He interrupted her.
Helen breathed a little sigh of relief as she watched the bus pull away from the stop. Mission accomplished.
”You were that girl in front of my at the counter weren’t you?” the man demanded,”the one with all the damn change. You make me late, you grab my ass, and now you have made me miss my bus!”
”I’m really, really sorry,” Helen smiled,”it was just such a cute ass though I couldn’t help myself.”
The man seemed to blush slightly and a small crack of a smile appeared at the edge of his mouth. ”Well thank you for that, I still don’t think people should go around grabbing asses. I should report you to the police. I mean if I did that to you they would be doing me for all kinds of things, they would probably call it sexual battery or something!”
”Come on now,” Helen said trying to keep up the smiling act,”you wouldn’t get little old me in trouble over this would you? I’m real sorry. I get these crazy impulses from time to time when I see really attractive and strapping men like you. I get help for it you know, can’t help myself. Therapist says I still have a long ways to go.” Helen wasn’t sure where these lines were coming from, but something inside her seemed to be kicking in and taking over, it was if deceiving this poor guy was coming naturally to her.
”Well, when you put it like that young lady.” the man replied, clearly calming down a little,”it does seem you still have some ways to go with your treatment though. You really shouldn’t grab people’s asses in public like that. It might get you arrested if the person wasn’t as understanding as me.”
”Then I am glad I had my moment of weakness with a guy that wasn’t just strapping and attractive but also considerate and sympathetic. I guess today must be my lucky day.”
The man smiled, and laughed briefly,”You look after yourself. I have to get back to work.”
”Thank you Mr N’Tula.” Helen said as he walked away and realised immediately she probably shouldn’t have used his name.
”No more grabbing people’s asses you hear.” He said back as he moved towards the next bus before suddenly realising that she had used his name and spun around to look for her, ”how the hell did you know...”
His sentence trailed off as he couldn’t see Helen anywhere on the street on account of the fact she was hiding behind the first dumpster in the alleyway next to the bus stop. ”Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself,”that was weird.” He shrugged and made sure he got on the bus this time. As the bus pulled away Mr N’Tula was left wondering if this was a story suitable for his wife’s consumption.
Helen wasn’t going to move until she was sure he was gone. The smell behind the dumpster was everything she expected a central London dumpster to smell like and that wasn’t somewhere she would rather be by choice, but she really didn’t fancy having to explain to the man why she knew his name. So she sat crouched behind the dumpster with the smell and whatever it was that she could hear moving about in the bottom of the dumpster.
She was trying to listen for any sounds that might indicate the man was still there and looking for her. All she heard was someone clapping. That someone seemed to be moving towards her hiding spot behind the dumpster. As the clapping got louder and closer Helen tried to shimmy up against the wall, maybe they wouldn’t see her. She did wonder why they were clapping though.
”Bravo,” the familiar sound of Tobias’ voice echoed down the alleyway,”great improvisation, ass grabbing eh? Can’t say I would have predicted that move, you seemed a little too highly string for that kind of a reaction. Nice touch with the therapist too, you might be good at this yet.” Tobias slid up to the side of the dumpster and one arm leaning across it smiled down at her. ”That was very well played Helen, very well played. I’m impressed, for a first day that was something else.”
Helen got up and shook herself down,”I would rather next time it doesn’t involve me hiding with the garbage in an alleyway.”
”I am sure you’ll get better at blending back into a crowd. There is a knack to it, that guy will have already forgotten you by the time he turns around once you get the hang of it.”
”Is there a trick to it? The whole ’making them forget’ thing?”
”Not sure you would call it a trick, more it’s something you just grow into. It’s almost like a willpower thing. Once you learn when you want them to forget, they generally do.”
”Just like that?”
”Just like that!”
”Colour me sceptical,” Helen smiled,”sounds like a Jedi mind trick to me.”
”What is a Jedi mind trick?”
Helen looked at him for a second, unsure if he was joking. ”Jedi mind trick? You know, ’these aren’t the droids you are looking for’ and all that?”
Tobias stared at her blankly, ”droids? Don’t think I get that reference.”
”You don’t know Star Wars?”
”Oh, that.” Tobias nodded,” I know what it is of course, just never been one for the whole science fiction thing. Never watched those movies.”
”Never watched Star Wars? I’m a girl and I’ve even watched them all.”
”You saying girls don’t like Star Wars? Isn’t that being a little sexist against your own kind?”
”Everyone watched Star Wars Tobias, that’s the whole point, everyone.”
”Not I,” Tobias chuckled,” not me.”
”How can you not have watched them?” Helen asked almost incredulously.
”I don’t go in for the moving pictures thing. I generally don’t watch any movies or TV.”
”but you have talked about movies and TV shows while you’ve been with me.”
”I’m not completely oblivious to the twentieth century dear,” Tobias argued, ”I just choose, through my own free will, not to really watch much of it. If I could get away without any of it I would.”
”We are in the twenty first century now dear,” Helen quipped,” and how do you manage to avoid it.”
Tobias looked at her quizzically,” What do you mean by that? Do I suddenly not have free will? I just choose not to spend any of my free time watching TV or movies; it is as simple as that.”
”What do you do then?”
”We have this wonderful invention, these pages and we write words on them in a sequence that tells a story. You might have heard of it, was trendy a couple of thousand years ago, still knocks around today. They call them books.”
“Ok, smart ass, enough with the piss taking.”
“Well, ask a stupid question and get a stupid answer, or at least get a clever answer aimed at showing you it was a stupid question in the first place.”
“It wasn’t a clever answer, it was a sarcastic answer. There is a difference. You do like yourself don’t you? Really fancy yourself as a comedian.”
“Perhaps,” Tobias grinned, “still, just because your generation can’t imagine a world with your moving pictures and internet and so on, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t have perfectly meaningful ways of entertaining ourselves before that. Besides I like the fact that a good book lets me use my imagination.”
“So you don’t dislike science fiction, you dislike movies in general.”
“Oh, I pretty much dislike science fiction too,” Tobias laughed, “not all of it granted, but most of it. I hate the whole space empire and galactic melodrama nonsense. It’s a flawed premise in the first place. As if there is any chance that this race is ever going to get it’s act together enough to get off this planet. No, that stuff just makes me laugh when I am pretty sure the writers aren’t trying for humour. Now some of the more intellectual stuff I can get into, and occasionally a writer will use it as a good metaphor or parable. So there is a few worthwhile examples. Flowers for Algernon for example, that’s kind of science fiction and one of my favourite books.”
“Never heard of it.” Helen shrugged.
“See, I find that way more shocking than me not knowing about Star Wars. Just shows there are differences between people. It’s a great book, you should read it sometime.”
“Maybe I will. I just didn’t have you down as the literary type. I guess I was maybe more thinking a beer and the sofa in front of X-Factor would be more your cup of tea rather than some Doeteskvy or something.”
“God no, not Russian literature either. I’m not a masochist. It would be better than the tripe you guys soak up from the damn TV though. Especially that awful talent show crap.”
“A lot of people like those shows.” Helen protested.
“Only in the same way people slow down to watch a car crash. Modern society loves to watch the spectacle of failure. You build them up to pull them down. Especially you English, you lot excel at that. You love nothing more than seeing someone fall from grace.”
“I guess I misjudged you on that one.” Helen said smiling, maybe you have some depth to you after all and aren’t only a charming wannabe womaniser.”
”I wouldn’t go that far,” Tobias laughed, ”you got the charming bit right.” he winked at her as they continued down along New Oxford Street back towards the office. As they reached the street corner his cellphone rang. ”let me get this.”
Tobias stopped and answered the phone. ”Hello?” he waited a few seconds since he didn’t seem to be hearing anyone on the other end, ”hello? I can’t hear you.” he pulled the phone back to examine the screen. ”Crap, I can’t get a signal. Wait here a second Helen. I’ll try and cross the street back there, pretty sure I get a decent signal by that coffee shop, been there a few times.”
Tobias darted across the street avoiding the attentions of a rushed bicycle courier. Helen sat herself down on a bench outside one of the stores. It was good to take the weight off her feet for a minute. Like the rest of the wardrobe they had acquired for her the shoes were new and not worn in. They were the same make as her old ones, but they still gave her feet that wonderful ‘new show’ feeling. As she watched the people file by oblivious to her presence she wondered if she really could get used to this. She had to admit that having had to improvise on that last tasks there was a definite kick of adrenaline, a rush, an excitement that she never recalled feeling in any job role she had filled before. She watched Tobias on the phone across the street. It seemed like an animated conversation and she was sure she saw him glance back in her direction more than once. Maybe he was just checking that she was still ok.
As she sat there idly she was suddenly aware of sirens, lots of sirens, and they were coming in their direction. Before she knew it the street in front of her was suddenly filled emergency vehicles, two fire engines, a police car and three ambulances. Lots of people rushing around and hastily tying fluorescent yellow tape around things, they seemed to be closing off the road between her and Tobias. The fire brigade were pushing people back down the street and closing things off. The policemen were talking in their radios and discussing blast radiuses and perimeters. From what she could pick up they were worried about a gas leak or something. They didn’t seem to notice her sat there on the bench as they hurriedly asked all the other pedestrians to move back past the barriers.
They had noticed Tobias though. She could see him remonstrating with one of the officers, asking to be allowed to cross the street again. He didn’t seem to be having any luck though. The tall and well built policeman he was speaking too was clearly not falling for his Irish charm. Another fire truck appeared and blocked Tobias off from her view. Helen figured that she best move back with the crowd. She had told she was immortal sure, but they hadn’t mentioned any of the details, and she was fairly sure that getting caught in a gas explosion wouldn’t be pleasant, immortal or otherwise.
As she slipped past the security cordon her phone buzzed. It was a message:
Most of our lives were just another stream of chaotic chance encounters, random events and interactions that meant nothing to anyone other than us and those around us. All set amidst an almost limitless number of other encounters, events and interactions that all combine to be what we generally refer to as ’life’. It struck Helen that to say that ’life is complicated’ was actually probably the most extreme underestimation of a situation as she could imagine being possible.
Right now she had been tasked with holding up a queue at the chemists by counting out small change to pay for something. The important part was that she was to delay the person behind her, who according to the file was called Benjamin N’Tula, by at least two minutes. It didn’t matter apparently if she went over that time, as long as she delayed him for at least two minutes.
If she had followed the report earlier the sequence of events would have gone something like this if they didn’t interfere. Mr N’Tula, who was a clerk at the Department of Trade and Industry, would have taken a phone call almost immediately after arriving back at the office after his lunch break. The phone call would last for exactly thirty-five minutes and sixteen seconds. The phone call would be with an under-secretary at the Home Office regarding some minor corrections to an overseas trade contract. That under-secretary, whose name was Horace Warton, would then have had to cancel his two PM appointment with another under-secretary on account of the call lasting longer than he expected. That meeting would then not be attended by a Mr Thomas Graves, also of the Department of Trade and Industry. This freed up Mr Grave’s time so that he was able to resolve some long overdue paperwork, including an invoice for some plumbing work that had been done in his London townhouse the month before. This means that he will pay this invoice four days earlier than he would have done otherwise. In turn the bank will then pay the contractor, one Mr Bryan Reynolds of Croydon, a day earlier than would otherwise have happened. Mr Reynold’s is then able to pay off a gambling debt to some rather scary sounding East London ’businessmen’ before they have a chance to come around to his house and collect some interest payments from Mr Reynold’s right knee with a baseball bat. That means that Mr Reynold’s will not be the Metropolitan Hospital the next Thursday evening. This will be relevant because he then won’t bump into a certain nurse by the name of Melanie Bryson, and they won’t fall in love or enjoy a brief but passionate relationship. It was apparently important that this didn’t happen as it was far more important that Miss Bryson was single and still looking the following week when she would meet an artist from Camden called Kristopher with whom it was most important she had a child with. That child would apparently be instrumental in finding a reliable cure for some forms of cancer some twenty plus years later. So Mr Reynolds would keep his right knee, but loose a love affair, and humanity would gain a cure for cancer all because Helen was standing in this chemist queue and counting out small change to pay for a box of plasters. A part of Helen was wondering that if these people that she was potentially going to work for could see the future well enough to see that there would be a cure for cancer why they didn’t just give that cure to mankind now. Hell, if you wanted to be cynical they could even profit from it. She imagined the cure for cancer could be potentially very lucrative. In fact it made her wonder why they didn’t just gamble all day, or maybe they did and that was how all this was funded.
However she didn’t have too much time to dwell on such things as she kept glancing at her watch to see how much longer she had to stall for.
Now if you have ever sat in the queue behind someone counting out small change to the cashier it might seem like you are stuck there for a great deal longer than two minutes. However when you are that person doing the counting, and doing so quite consciously, then you actually realise that two minutes is a long time. Cashiers get slightly irate with you after one minute, and by the ninety second mark Helen was starting to feel like physical violence wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility if she continued to fumble with her purse much longer.
”Sorry, I have it right here,” she stammered, trying to sound as apologetic as she could. The young girl at the cashier’s desk just smiled a fake smile and picked at her brightly painted fingernails. Helen wasn’t sure whether it mattered if you sounded genuine or not while delaying someone. She thought it was only polite to try, figuring that people would only be even more irate if they suspected you were actually trying to prevent them from being where they needed or wanted to be. The look on the cashiers face only reinforced her suspicions. As Helen’s watch indicated her two minutes were up she let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the cashier. ”Silly me,” she laughed,” looks like I don’t have enough change in here after all. Here, have a five pound note. So sorry to have kept you waiting.” The cashier scowled and almost snapped the note out of Helen’s hand. Under normal circumstances Helen would most likely have been offended and muttered something about the youth of today and their lack of respect. However she was suddenly conscious of just how annoying someone sitting there trying to pay in small change actually was. Helen made a mental note to not be so judgemental and harsh on cashiers anymore.
As she left the chemists Helen glanced around at Mr N’Tula only to find that he wasn’t behind her anymore. In fact he wasn’t anywhere to be seen inside the store. She had been so focused on counting out her change that she had failed to notice that he either decided to leave the queue or move to another cashier. Helen looked around slightly frantically to see if she could spot him. Sure enough there he was, already a god hundred meters or so down the footpath and walking at a good pace towards the bus stop that would take him back to this office. If he had gotten that far already Helen guessed that she hadn’t delayed him by long enough. She swore quietly to herself and wondered if these people would still have a high opinion of her tomorrow or if all that talk of potential would quickly evaporate when they realised she had screwed up what was presumably a simple assignment already.
She looked around for Tobias hoping he would be there to help or tell her what to do. Should she go after Mr N’Tula or was it already too late. Damn it, she didn’t have long until Mr N’Tula reached the bus stop. She still couldn’t see Tobias anywhere so started to walk quickly in the direction of the bus stop. She figured she probably only had to make up thirty seconds or so, maybe less, just enough to make him miss the bus that she could see coming around the corner. She strode purposefully forward trying to figure out how to delay him. If someone was going to catch a bus and could see that buss pulling up, as Mr N’Tula clearly would be able to do right now, she wasn’t sure what she could do short of actually tackling the man to make him pay to a stranger for long enough in order to make him miss that bus. Helen guessed that tackling the man probably wasn’t the desired conduct of a field agent. These people at FATE Inc may be resourceful, and maybe even powerful, but she doubted they liked explaining things to police officers. As she came within a couple of strides of her target she wracked her brain for a way to distract him from the arriving bus. ’Think girl, THINK!’ she muttered to herself as she came almost up to Mr N’Tula’s shoulder. With no better ideas coming across her mind she reached out quickly and firmly grabbed the man’s left ass check with her full open palm and squeezed.
It stopped Mr N’Tula dead in his tracks. He spun round with an angry look on his face that only slightly dissipated when he saw a pretty young lady smiling back at him sheepishly. ”What the hell was that?” he shouted at her,”did you just grab my ass?”
”Yes I did, I just couldn’t help myself,” Helen said meekly,”I saw you back there in the chemist...”
”...and you thought you would chase me and grab my ass?” He interrupted her.
Helen breathed a little sigh of relief as she watched the bus pull away from the stop. Mission accomplished.
”You were that girl in front of my at the counter weren’t you?” the man demanded,”the one with all the damn change. You make me late, you grab my ass, and now you have made me miss my bus!”
”I’m really, really sorry,” Helen smiled,”it was just such a cute ass though I couldn’t help myself.”
The man seemed to blush slightly and a small crack of a smile appeared at the edge of his mouth. ”Well thank you for that, I still don’t think people should go around grabbing asses. I should report you to the police. I mean if I did that to you they would be doing me for all kinds of things, they would probably call it sexual battery or something!”
”Come on now,” Helen said trying to keep up the smiling act,”you wouldn’t get little old me in trouble over this would you? I’m real sorry. I get these crazy impulses from time to time when I see really attractive and strapping men like you. I get help for it you know, can’t help myself. Therapist says I still have a long ways to go.” Helen wasn’t sure where these lines were coming from, but something inside her seemed to be kicking in and taking over, it was if deceiving this poor guy was coming naturally to her.
”Well, when you put it like that young lady.” the man replied, clearly calming down a little,”it does seem you still have some ways to go with your treatment though. You really shouldn’t grab people’s asses in public like that. It might get you arrested if the person wasn’t as understanding as me.”
”Then I am glad I had my moment of weakness with a guy that wasn’t just strapping and attractive but also considerate and sympathetic. I guess today must be my lucky day.”
The man smiled, and laughed briefly,”You look after yourself. I have to get back to work.”
”Thank you Mr N’Tula.” Helen said as he walked away and realised immediately she probably shouldn’t have used his name.
”No more grabbing people’s asses you hear.” He said back as he moved towards the next bus before suddenly realising that she had used his name and spun around to look for her, ”how the hell did you know...”
His sentence trailed off as he couldn’t see Helen anywhere on the street on account of the fact she was hiding behind the first dumpster in the alleyway next to the bus stop. ”Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself,”that was weird.” He shrugged and made sure he got on the bus this time. As the bus pulled away Mr N’Tula was left wondering if this was a story suitable for his wife’s consumption.
Helen wasn’t going to move until she was sure he was gone. The smell behind the dumpster was everything she expected a central London dumpster to smell like and that wasn’t somewhere she would rather be by choice, but she really didn’t fancy having to explain to the man why she knew his name. So she sat crouched behind the dumpster with the smell and whatever it was that she could hear moving about in the bottom of the dumpster.
She was trying to listen for any sounds that might indicate the man was still there and looking for her. All she heard was someone clapping. That someone seemed to be moving towards her hiding spot behind the dumpster. As the clapping got louder and closer Helen tried to shimmy up against the wall, maybe they wouldn’t see her. She did wonder why they were clapping though.
”Bravo,” the familiar sound of Tobias’ voice echoed down the alleyway,”great improvisation, ass grabbing eh? Can’t say I would have predicted that move, you seemed a little too highly string for that kind of a reaction. Nice touch with the therapist too, you might be good at this yet.” Tobias slid up to the side of the dumpster and one arm leaning across it smiled down at her. ”That was very well played Helen, very well played. I’m impressed, for a first day that was something else.”
Helen got up and shook herself down,”I would rather next time it doesn’t involve me hiding with the garbage in an alleyway.”
”I am sure you’ll get better at blending back into a crowd. There is a knack to it, that guy will have already forgotten you by the time he turns around once you get the hang of it.”
”Is there a trick to it? The whole ’making them forget’ thing?”
”Not sure you would call it a trick, more it’s something you just grow into. It’s almost like a willpower thing. Once you learn when you want them to forget, they generally do.”
”Just like that?”
”Just like that!”
”Colour me sceptical,” Helen smiled,”sounds like a Jedi mind trick to me.”
”What is a Jedi mind trick?”
Helen looked at him for a second, unsure if he was joking. ”Jedi mind trick? You know, ’these aren’t the droids you are looking for’ and all that?”
Tobias stared at her blankly, ”droids? Don’t think I get that reference.”
”You don’t know Star Wars?”
”Oh, that.” Tobias nodded,” I know what it is of course, just never been one for the whole science fiction thing. Never watched those movies.”
”Never watched Star Wars? I’m a girl and I’ve even watched them all.”
”You saying girls don’t like Star Wars? Isn’t that being a little sexist against your own kind?”
”Everyone watched Star Wars Tobias, that’s the whole point, everyone.”
”Not I,” Tobias chuckled,” not me.”
”How can you not have watched them?” Helen asked almost incredulously.
”I don’t go in for the moving pictures thing. I generally don’t watch any movies or TV.”
”but you have talked about movies and TV shows while you’ve been with me.”
”I’m not completely oblivious to the twentieth century dear,” Tobias argued, ”I just choose, through my own free will, not to really watch much of it. If I could get away without any of it I would.”
”We are in the twenty first century now dear,” Helen quipped,” and how do you manage to avoid it.”
Tobias looked at her quizzically,” What do you mean by that? Do I suddenly not have free will? I just choose not to spend any of my free time watching TV or movies; it is as simple as that.”
”What do you do then?”
”We have this wonderful invention, these pages and we write words on them in a sequence that tells a story. You might have heard of it, was trendy a couple of thousand years ago, still knocks around today. They call them books.”
“Ok, smart ass, enough with the piss taking.”
“Well, ask a stupid question and get a stupid answer, or at least get a clever answer aimed at showing you it was a stupid question in the first place.”
“It wasn’t a clever answer, it was a sarcastic answer. There is a difference. You do like yourself don’t you? Really fancy yourself as a comedian.”
“Perhaps,” Tobias grinned, “still, just because your generation can’t imagine a world with your moving pictures and internet and so on, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t have perfectly meaningful ways of entertaining ourselves before that. Besides I like the fact that a good book lets me use my imagination.”
“So you don’t dislike science fiction, you dislike movies in general.”
“Oh, I pretty much dislike science fiction too,” Tobias laughed, “not all of it granted, but most of it. I hate the whole space empire and galactic melodrama nonsense. It’s a flawed premise in the first place. As if there is any chance that this race is ever going to get it’s act together enough to get off this planet. No, that stuff just makes me laugh when I am pretty sure the writers aren’t trying for humour. Now some of the more intellectual stuff I can get into, and occasionally a writer will use it as a good metaphor or parable. So there is a few worthwhile examples. Flowers for Algernon for example, that’s kind of science fiction and one of my favourite books.”
“Never heard of it.” Helen shrugged.
“See, I find that way more shocking than me not knowing about Star Wars. Just shows there are differences between people. It’s a great book, you should read it sometime.”
“Maybe I will. I just didn’t have you down as the literary type. I guess I was maybe more thinking a beer and the sofa in front of X-Factor would be more your cup of tea rather than some Doeteskvy or something.”
“God no, not Russian literature either. I’m not a masochist. It would be better than the tripe you guys soak up from the damn TV though. Especially that awful talent show crap.”
“A lot of people like those shows.” Helen protested.
“Only in the same way people slow down to watch a car crash. Modern society loves to watch the spectacle of failure. You build them up to pull them down. Especially you English, you lot excel at that. You love nothing more than seeing someone fall from grace.”
“I guess I misjudged you on that one.” Helen said smiling, maybe you have some depth to you after all and aren’t only a charming wannabe womaniser.”
”I wouldn’t go that far,” Tobias laughed, ”you got the charming bit right.” he winked at her as they continued down along New Oxford Street back towards the office. As they reached the street corner his cellphone rang. ”let me get this.”
Tobias stopped and answered the phone. ”Hello?” he waited a few seconds since he didn’t seem to be hearing anyone on the other end, ”hello? I can’t hear you.” he pulled the phone back to examine the screen. ”Crap, I can’t get a signal. Wait here a second Helen. I’ll try and cross the street back there, pretty sure I get a decent signal by that coffee shop, been there a few times.”
Tobias darted across the street avoiding the attentions of a rushed bicycle courier. Helen sat herself down on a bench outside one of the stores. It was good to take the weight off her feet for a minute. Like the rest of the wardrobe they had acquired for her the shoes were new and not worn in. They were the same make as her old ones, but they still gave her feet that wonderful ‘new show’ feeling. As she watched the people file by oblivious to her presence she wondered if she really could get used to this. She had to admit that having had to improvise on that last tasks there was a definite kick of adrenaline, a rush, an excitement that she never recalled feeling in any job role she had filled before. She watched Tobias on the phone across the street. It seemed like an animated conversation and she was sure she saw him glance back in her direction more than once. Maybe he was just checking that she was still ok.
As she sat there idly she was suddenly aware of sirens, lots of sirens, and they were coming in their direction. Before she knew it the street in front of her was suddenly filled emergency vehicles, two fire engines, a police car and three ambulances. Lots of people rushing around and hastily tying fluorescent yellow tape around things, they seemed to be closing off the road between her and Tobias. The fire brigade were pushing people back down the street and closing things off. The policemen were talking in their radios and discussing blast radiuses and perimeters. From what she could pick up they were worried about a gas leak or something. They didn’t seem to notice her sat there on the bench as they hurriedly asked all the other pedestrians to move back past the barriers.
They had noticed Tobias though. She could see him remonstrating with one of the officers, asking to be allowed to cross the street again. He didn’t seem to be having any luck though. The tall and well built policeman he was speaking too was clearly not falling for his Irish charm. Another fire truck appeared and blocked Tobias off from her view. Helen figured that she best move back with the crowd. She had told she was immortal sure, but they hadn’t mentioned any of the details, and she was fairly sure that getting caught in a gas explosion wouldn’t be pleasant, immortal or otherwise.
As she slipped past the security cordon her phone buzzed. It was a message:
Meet me in Soho ParkThere wasn’t a sender listed so she guessed it was Tobias organising where to meet back up. She set off in that direction.
Sunday, November 22
FATE Inc - Chapter Eleven - Contingency Planning
“What do you mean she doesn't have an origin file?”
It was the second time in as many days that Tim Watkins was having to sit in front of Mr Drewer and explain something that simply shouldn't be possible, let alone have happened. There was something in Mr Drewer's tone that more than suggested he wasn't liking hearing it either. While Mr Drewer never seemed to lose his temper you could just tell when his patience was going to be in short supply, this was one of those occasions. For his part Tim Watkins was wishing he could be somewhere else other than in that meeting room with the three senior managers. Anywhere else would do at this juncture ,he wouldn't really have cared. Anywhere that wasn't where he was right now could only be an improvement on the situation.
Everyone that slipped through a time-line and into the limbo state generated quite a bit of paperwork. First the fact that they had been disconnected from the time line would be detected by a seer, who would then file the first stage of that person's origin report. An analyst would then examine the various time-lines and compile a personality profile for that person, which would then be added to that origin file. Then a security staffer would check for any potential problems and also attach their findings to the origin report. The full report would then be sent to the processing department who would file it and produce the operational report for that person. The instructions for picking the person up and integrating them into the company. At least that was how it was supposed to work.
As it turned out the one true time-line coming to an apparent end was not their only problem. It appeared as if the new recruit, this Helen girl, had managed to appear without triggering half the process. They had all decided it was almost certainly not a co-incidence that two completely unpredicted events could happen at the same time in a situation that is usually virtually a hundred percent predictable.
A nights sleep didn't seemed to have calmed Mr Jenkins down about any of it at all, and the other two were just plain creepy at the best of times, albeit for totally different reasons. There was not any reason that Tim Watkins could conceive that would make him want to be in a room with Mr Nixon and Mr Drewer for any extended period. So far it had just been the latter who had being doing the talking. Mr Nixon was just standing in the corner observing for the most part, occasionally raising an eyebrow when Mr Jenkins muttered something particularly stupid. It wasn't helping that none of them understood how something like this could happen.
“Exactly what I said,” Tim Watkins repeated dejectedly, “I know it doesn't make any sense whatsoever, but there doesn't appear to be an origin file for her. None of the seers noticed her appear, none of the analysts received the notification or prepared an origin file. As far as I can tell she just seems to have appeared from nowhere.”
“That seems unlikely,” Mr Drewer said calmly, “you are suggesting that she just appeared at a certain point in our process, and all the correct paperwork just materialised on the desks of the relevant people? How can she have had an operational report and not have an origin report?”
Tim Watkins sighed and shrugged, “we can't figure it out either Mr Drewer. I mean it shouldn't be possible. There might be multiple time-lines but there is only one of us right? We go to great lengths to ensure that the things we do not slip out of this time-line, let alone something actually slipping in.”
“The operational report was perfectly genuine, it arrived on my desk as you would expect it to, apart of course from it being unexpected. That aside it appeared to be exactly what I would have expected an operational report on a new recruit to be,” Mr Drewer elaborated, “If it had been an expected arrival I wouldn't even have double checked it, and I pride myself on an eye for such things.”
“You would catch a comma out of place,” Mr Jenkins muttered as he started pacing again, “I think you would notice a fake document.”
“It isn't a fake,” Mr Nixon agreed, “I have had my people go over it with every test we know, and a few that we had to invent this morning just to be sure. Neither though does it appear like anyone managed to get inside and place it here. I have reviewed all the security logs, if someone from the other side had infiltrated this complex I would know about it.”
“Things like this can't just appear!” Jenkins snorted.
“There certainly wouldn't be any precedent for that, I have to agree there.” Mr Drewer conceded, “If we have been the victim of deliberate manipulation by the opposition it is a method we have never encountered before and is the type of thing our security systems are supposed to prevent.”
“They do prevent them,” Mr Nixon insisted, “this wasn't a manipulation or an insertion, even if they found a new way to circumvent our advance warning, we would have immediately detected it afterwards. You all know that manipulation leaves behind traces that no-one can possibly hide. So this was not a sabotage of any kind.”
“So what could it be then?” Jenkins demanded.
“Any other ideas from the analytic reports so far Watkins?” Mr Drewer asked.
Tim Watkins could only shake his head, “Not yet sir, but I have the next batch of reports being sent up right now. I brought in all four shifts last night, only the high security clearance people of course, and I tried to have them work remotely or from the satellite offices as much as possible. I fear that a lot of people are getting very curious, but I have tried to spread things out so people don't get too suspicious, but you know, people gossip, I think many are starting to know that something is going on.”
“I do hate it when they do that.” Mr Drewer said, sighing deeply, “gossiping is the refuge of the idle mind.” Mr Drewer definitely didn't understand how people in their profession could be curious either when they could simply look up or get a prediction for most everything that happened around them. He did understand that people were capable of being curious, and that included his employees, he just didn't get it. If something didn't direct effect him he really didn't see why he would be curious about it. It would be irrelevant, and he really couldn't grasp the concept of anyone caring for that which was irrelevant to them.
“A wise man once said that 'Great minds discuss ideas; Average minds discuss events; Small minds discuss people'.” Mr Jenkins added
“Actually, that quote was from a wise woman,” Mr Drewer corrected him, “Eleanor Roosevelt to be precise, I was there when she said it for the first time. I always liked that woman. She could almost have been one of us.”
“Still, it doesn't matter who said it, point is we can't stop them from gossiping, or from being curious, even if they are our people, we just have to mitigate it as much as we can.”
“Now there I agree with you Mr Jenkins,” Mr Drewer nodded, “Watkins has done as much as he can there. You should be commended for that young man.”
“Thank you sir. I just hope the next batch shows something up that might be of use to us. There were some leads that I had the pattern analysts do a more detailed report on.”
“What kind of leads?”
“Well, a pattern possibly, some anomalies in the reading of the time-lines that suggested a possible causality link. It was a long shot, but under the circumstances I am asking them to follow up on anything that seems even slightly out of place, even if it means we go down a few dead ends before we find something meaningful. The teams have been briefed to do a detailed breakdown on any anomaly or potential pattern, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”
“Good,” Mr Drewer nodded, “We cannot be too thorough under the circumstances. Thank you Mr Watkins. You may leave us now, bring the new reports to us as soon as they arrive.”
“I will do,” Tim Watkins seemed very relieved to be getting to escape from the room for a while, although he feared it wouldn't be for long, “they should be here shortly, I'll bring them right in as soon as they arrive.” He disappeared out of the meeting room to make a beeline for the coffee machine. He was going to enjoy any moments he didn't have to spend with the senior managers today as much as he could.
Mr Drewer turned to the other two and leant back in his chair slightly, “This is a most unusual situation.” Mr Drewer was beginning to think that this situation was not at all what it first seemed. Rather it was worse than he had imagined. He wasn't quite certain yet tough whether he wanted to panic Mr Jenkins any further, the man was already starting to irritate him slightly more than he normally did. No, he would have to choose his words carefully, “I am beginning to think that this might be some new phenomenon, something we haven't experienced before. We can't rule out one of the independents doing some stupid experiment either.”
“I have considered that option,” Mr Nixon nodded, “there would only be two real candidates for that, you both know who they are, but neither of them seem to have been up to anything. I try and keep tabs on them as best as I can. Neither of them appear to even be attempting to hide anything, or experiment with anything, or generally do anything other than idly let life pass them by.”
“They earned that right,” Mr Drewer reminded them, “still, maybe it is worth giving them a call just to check. I might do that later, with your permission of course Mr Nixon.”
“As you wish. I understand that you haven't done your interview with this woman yet. Don't you usually do them after the orientation on the first day?”
“Usually I do,” Mr Drewer admitted, “obviously we were quite busy yesterday were we not? I postponed it until this evening or tomorrow, had her go out with Mr Gordon on a trial assignment run. If I had known what we know now I wouldn't have done so. It makes me a little nervous having her out there with these questions unanswered.”
“Unlike you to be nervous Drewer. Shouldn't we recall them straight away?” Jenkins asked, “Find out what she knows.”
“I doubt that would serve our purposes very well. Think about it for a minute. You should both remember well what it is like your first few days. No, I don't want her to suddenly feel like a prisoner or under some kind of pressure. I have no doubt that she is important to this in some way, but until we figure out in what way then we need to be cautious. I do not want to startle her or have her run for the hills. Under the circumstances it is all the more important that she comes to trust us. I very much doubt she will be able to answer any of these outstanding questions herself.”
Mr Drewer had been forced to admit to himself that none of this was making any sense to him. He had after all been around a long time, and it was rare that anything new came up. This was decidedly something new. He had to admit that it was unnerving him slightly to be dealing with something that was clearly unprecedented. The rules, protocols and procedures that he had so meticulously cultivated down the years simply didn't cover this. He had learnt to account for the opposition interfering, to mitigate the effects of his own people's occasional incompetence, but he was unsure which procedures would be appropriate if the universe really was trying to go out in a blaze of glory, completely of its own accord. This was getting close to moving beyond his pay grade. Technically he ran things now, but they all knew they might one day have to call on the boss. None of them however would be volunteering to be the one to have go and tell the boss that he would have to come out of retirement. Even Mr Drewer drew a slight breath just at the thought of it. No, he was going to avoid that conversation as long as he possibly could. It was the one thing none of them were going to mention until they absolutely had to. The last time they had to pull the boss out of retirement they spent almost fifty years convincing him they could manage on their own again. Thinking of the boss made Mr Drewer consider the bosses counterpart on the other side again, what part were they going to play in all this he wondered.
“Do you have any updates on the status of their big man?” he asked Mr Nixon.
“Just that he arrived at Heathrow early this morning. I have a unit trying to keep him in observation range but it's tricky. We think he is staying at the Landmark on Baker Street. We know it's one of his favourites.”
“You think?”Jenkins sighed sarcastically, “don't we pay you to actually know things rather than just think them?”
If Mr Nixon was insulted he didn't show it. “The opposition also have resources of their own Mr Jenkins, resources that are dedicated to trying to make my department and I only think rather than know. They try and take extra precautions when the big man himself is involved. So it's possible they have managed to sidetrack us with a decoy or such. Unlikely, but possible. Hence I say we think he is in the Landmark.”
“We certainly don't need to bicker amongst ourselves gentleman,” Mr Drewer reminded them, “we have a responsibility to resolve this situation. It is unlikely we will do that if we start finding fault in each others areas.”
“Fine, fine,” Jenkins muttered, “it's just a coping mechanism you know. You two might like to repress any sign of your frustrations, and be all calm and collected and shit, but I like to get it out of my system. I find the solutions you need me to find when I am stressed and under pressure.”
“None of the solutions presented so far are very practical alas,” Mr Drewer sighed, flicking through some of the paperwork on the table in front of him, “from what I can see here the shortest estimate we have here for resolving this disruption runs to some fourteen months with more operatives than we actually have.”
“Yes, yes, and given the damn world is now due to end in a little under eight months it doesn't really help us much does it now? Since we don't know exactly what we are trying to fix yet, this is a little like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. Maybe we get lucky and something we do early on resolves all this, maybe it doesn't, maybe any further manipulation just accelerates things.”
“We would want to be avoiding that my friend.”
“I know, but when we don't actually know the cause yet it is a risk.” Jenkins stopped pacing and sat himself down beside Mr Drewer at the table, “take a look at these reports, none of them can actually show us what caused this shift. My experience would tell me there was some pivotal point we are missing, we just haven't found it yet.”
“You really think there could be one pivotal event behind all this?”
“It would stand to reason. We haven't seen anything even remotely close to this that wasn't caused by one major event or crossroads. In my experience there will be a central point to this, that one pivotal moment that suddenly makes significant changes cascade out. Of course we have never seen anything exactly this before, so who knows, this is just my gut feeling.”
“You have the most experience in that regard Mr Jenkins,” Mr Drewer said, “I trust in your instincts. It just seems very drastic. Even I struggle with the concept that there might be one single event that could cause this kind of a reaction.”
“Look at this way Drewer, if I am wrong we are screwed. We actually want this to be a single event, or at the very least a pivotal point from which everything has cascaded, because if it isn't...well, you can see from yourself from those assessments,” Jenkins explained pointing towards the reports on the desk in front of them, “if it is some kind of vast chaotic change that requires extensive manipulation to correct then we simply won't have time.” He wiped his brow again and slumped back in his chair, “we need this to manageable.”
“Let's hope then the next set of reports identify it and that Mr Watkins returns soon.”
“and let's hope he comes with some good news and we get lucky.”
Mr Drewer didn't really believe in luck. He never had, lucky people were usually just those that paid attention and worked hard and knew when to grab an opportunity when they saw one. Right about now though he could do with an opportunity presenting itself, luckily or otherwise.
As if on cue Tim Watkins came bounding into the meeting room without knocking. He was clutching a single sheet of paper and was clearly more panicked than when he left. He had a look on his face that told the three managers that this wasn't going to be good news.
“You have to look at this sir,” Watkins stammered, “I think we have found it. I don't think it's good news though I'm afraid.”
Mr Drewer took the page from him and carefully read the contents. It was indeed bad news, just about as bad as he could imagine. It was a cause though, a real cause, they knew what was happening. He could only hope that the opposition hadn't figured it out yet. Once you knew what was wrong you did at least have a chance of fixing it.
“Someone get Tobias Gordon on the phone, make sure the next part of the assignment brings them back to the office. We need that young lady back here, and quickly, before either of them suspect anything.”
It was the second time in as many days that Tim Watkins was having to sit in front of Mr Drewer and explain something that simply shouldn't be possible, let alone have happened. There was something in Mr Drewer's tone that more than suggested he wasn't liking hearing it either. While Mr Drewer never seemed to lose his temper you could just tell when his patience was going to be in short supply, this was one of those occasions. For his part Tim Watkins was wishing he could be somewhere else other than in that meeting room with the three senior managers. Anywhere else would do at this juncture ,he wouldn't really have cared. Anywhere that wasn't where he was right now could only be an improvement on the situation.
Everyone that slipped through a time-line and into the limbo state generated quite a bit of paperwork. First the fact that they had been disconnected from the time line would be detected by a seer, who would then file the first stage of that person's origin report. An analyst would then examine the various time-lines and compile a personality profile for that person, which would then be added to that origin file. Then a security staffer would check for any potential problems and also attach their findings to the origin report. The full report would then be sent to the processing department who would file it and produce the operational report for that person. The instructions for picking the person up and integrating them into the company. At least that was how it was supposed to work.
As it turned out the one true time-line coming to an apparent end was not their only problem. It appeared as if the new recruit, this Helen girl, had managed to appear without triggering half the process. They had all decided it was almost certainly not a co-incidence that two completely unpredicted events could happen at the same time in a situation that is usually virtually a hundred percent predictable.
A nights sleep didn't seemed to have calmed Mr Jenkins down about any of it at all, and the other two were just plain creepy at the best of times, albeit for totally different reasons. There was not any reason that Tim Watkins could conceive that would make him want to be in a room with Mr Nixon and Mr Drewer for any extended period. So far it had just been the latter who had being doing the talking. Mr Nixon was just standing in the corner observing for the most part, occasionally raising an eyebrow when Mr Jenkins muttered something particularly stupid. It wasn't helping that none of them understood how something like this could happen.
“Exactly what I said,” Tim Watkins repeated dejectedly, “I know it doesn't make any sense whatsoever, but there doesn't appear to be an origin file for her. None of the seers noticed her appear, none of the analysts received the notification or prepared an origin file. As far as I can tell she just seems to have appeared from nowhere.”
“That seems unlikely,” Mr Drewer said calmly, “you are suggesting that she just appeared at a certain point in our process, and all the correct paperwork just materialised on the desks of the relevant people? How can she have had an operational report and not have an origin report?”
Tim Watkins sighed and shrugged, “we can't figure it out either Mr Drewer. I mean it shouldn't be possible. There might be multiple time-lines but there is only one of us right? We go to great lengths to ensure that the things we do not slip out of this time-line, let alone something actually slipping in.”
“The operational report was perfectly genuine, it arrived on my desk as you would expect it to, apart of course from it being unexpected. That aside it appeared to be exactly what I would have expected an operational report on a new recruit to be,” Mr Drewer elaborated, “If it had been an expected arrival I wouldn't even have double checked it, and I pride myself on an eye for such things.”
“You would catch a comma out of place,” Mr Jenkins muttered as he started pacing again, “I think you would notice a fake document.”
“It isn't a fake,” Mr Nixon agreed, “I have had my people go over it with every test we know, and a few that we had to invent this morning just to be sure. Neither though does it appear like anyone managed to get inside and place it here. I have reviewed all the security logs, if someone from the other side had infiltrated this complex I would know about it.”
“Things like this can't just appear!” Jenkins snorted.
“There certainly wouldn't be any precedent for that, I have to agree there.” Mr Drewer conceded, “If we have been the victim of deliberate manipulation by the opposition it is a method we have never encountered before and is the type of thing our security systems are supposed to prevent.”
“They do prevent them,” Mr Nixon insisted, “this wasn't a manipulation or an insertion, even if they found a new way to circumvent our advance warning, we would have immediately detected it afterwards. You all know that manipulation leaves behind traces that no-one can possibly hide. So this was not a sabotage of any kind.”
“So what could it be then?” Jenkins demanded.
“Any other ideas from the analytic reports so far Watkins?” Mr Drewer asked.
Tim Watkins could only shake his head, “Not yet sir, but I have the next batch of reports being sent up right now. I brought in all four shifts last night, only the high security clearance people of course, and I tried to have them work remotely or from the satellite offices as much as possible. I fear that a lot of people are getting very curious, but I have tried to spread things out so people don't get too suspicious, but you know, people gossip, I think many are starting to know that something is going on.”
“I do hate it when they do that.” Mr Drewer said, sighing deeply, “gossiping is the refuge of the idle mind.” Mr Drewer definitely didn't understand how people in their profession could be curious either when they could simply look up or get a prediction for most everything that happened around them. He did understand that people were capable of being curious, and that included his employees, he just didn't get it. If something didn't direct effect him he really didn't see why he would be curious about it. It would be irrelevant, and he really couldn't grasp the concept of anyone caring for that which was irrelevant to them.
“A wise man once said that 'Great minds discuss ideas; Average minds discuss events; Small minds discuss people'.” Mr Jenkins added
“Actually, that quote was from a wise woman,” Mr Drewer corrected him, “Eleanor Roosevelt to be precise, I was there when she said it for the first time. I always liked that woman. She could almost have been one of us.”
“Still, it doesn't matter who said it, point is we can't stop them from gossiping, or from being curious, even if they are our people, we just have to mitigate it as much as we can.”
“Now there I agree with you Mr Jenkins,” Mr Drewer nodded, “Watkins has done as much as he can there. You should be commended for that young man.”
“Thank you sir. I just hope the next batch shows something up that might be of use to us. There were some leads that I had the pattern analysts do a more detailed report on.”
“What kind of leads?”
“Well, a pattern possibly, some anomalies in the reading of the time-lines that suggested a possible causality link. It was a long shot, but under the circumstances I am asking them to follow up on anything that seems even slightly out of place, even if it means we go down a few dead ends before we find something meaningful. The teams have been briefed to do a detailed breakdown on any anomaly or potential pattern, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”
“Good,” Mr Drewer nodded, “We cannot be too thorough under the circumstances. Thank you Mr Watkins. You may leave us now, bring the new reports to us as soon as they arrive.”
“I will do,” Tim Watkins seemed very relieved to be getting to escape from the room for a while, although he feared it wouldn't be for long, “they should be here shortly, I'll bring them right in as soon as they arrive.” He disappeared out of the meeting room to make a beeline for the coffee machine. He was going to enjoy any moments he didn't have to spend with the senior managers today as much as he could.
Mr Drewer turned to the other two and leant back in his chair slightly, “This is a most unusual situation.” Mr Drewer was beginning to think that this situation was not at all what it first seemed. Rather it was worse than he had imagined. He wasn't quite certain yet tough whether he wanted to panic Mr Jenkins any further, the man was already starting to irritate him slightly more than he normally did. No, he would have to choose his words carefully, “I am beginning to think that this might be some new phenomenon, something we haven't experienced before. We can't rule out one of the independents doing some stupid experiment either.”
“I have considered that option,” Mr Nixon nodded, “there would only be two real candidates for that, you both know who they are, but neither of them seem to have been up to anything. I try and keep tabs on them as best as I can. Neither of them appear to even be attempting to hide anything, or experiment with anything, or generally do anything other than idly let life pass them by.”
“They earned that right,” Mr Drewer reminded them, “still, maybe it is worth giving them a call just to check. I might do that later, with your permission of course Mr Nixon.”
“As you wish. I understand that you haven't done your interview with this woman yet. Don't you usually do them after the orientation on the first day?”
“Usually I do,” Mr Drewer admitted, “obviously we were quite busy yesterday were we not? I postponed it until this evening or tomorrow, had her go out with Mr Gordon on a trial assignment run. If I had known what we know now I wouldn't have done so. It makes me a little nervous having her out there with these questions unanswered.”
“Unlike you to be nervous Drewer. Shouldn't we recall them straight away?” Jenkins asked, “Find out what she knows.”
“I doubt that would serve our purposes very well. Think about it for a minute. You should both remember well what it is like your first few days. No, I don't want her to suddenly feel like a prisoner or under some kind of pressure. I have no doubt that she is important to this in some way, but until we figure out in what way then we need to be cautious. I do not want to startle her or have her run for the hills. Under the circumstances it is all the more important that she comes to trust us. I very much doubt she will be able to answer any of these outstanding questions herself.”
Mr Drewer had been forced to admit to himself that none of this was making any sense to him. He had after all been around a long time, and it was rare that anything new came up. This was decidedly something new. He had to admit that it was unnerving him slightly to be dealing with something that was clearly unprecedented. The rules, protocols and procedures that he had so meticulously cultivated down the years simply didn't cover this. He had learnt to account for the opposition interfering, to mitigate the effects of his own people's occasional incompetence, but he was unsure which procedures would be appropriate if the universe really was trying to go out in a blaze of glory, completely of its own accord. This was getting close to moving beyond his pay grade. Technically he ran things now, but they all knew they might one day have to call on the boss. None of them however would be volunteering to be the one to have go and tell the boss that he would have to come out of retirement. Even Mr Drewer drew a slight breath just at the thought of it. No, he was going to avoid that conversation as long as he possibly could. It was the one thing none of them were going to mention until they absolutely had to. The last time they had to pull the boss out of retirement they spent almost fifty years convincing him they could manage on their own again. Thinking of the boss made Mr Drewer consider the bosses counterpart on the other side again, what part were they going to play in all this he wondered.
“Do you have any updates on the status of their big man?” he asked Mr Nixon.
“Just that he arrived at Heathrow early this morning. I have a unit trying to keep him in observation range but it's tricky. We think he is staying at the Landmark on Baker Street. We know it's one of his favourites.”
“You think?”Jenkins sighed sarcastically, “don't we pay you to actually know things rather than just think them?”
If Mr Nixon was insulted he didn't show it. “The opposition also have resources of their own Mr Jenkins, resources that are dedicated to trying to make my department and I only think rather than know. They try and take extra precautions when the big man himself is involved. So it's possible they have managed to sidetrack us with a decoy or such. Unlikely, but possible. Hence I say we think he is in the Landmark.”
“We certainly don't need to bicker amongst ourselves gentleman,” Mr Drewer reminded them, “we have a responsibility to resolve this situation. It is unlikely we will do that if we start finding fault in each others areas.”
“Fine, fine,” Jenkins muttered, “it's just a coping mechanism you know. You two might like to repress any sign of your frustrations, and be all calm and collected and shit, but I like to get it out of my system. I find the solutions you need me to find when I am stressed and under pressure.”
“None of the solutions presented so far are very practical alas,” Mr Drewer sighed, flicking through some of the paperwork on the table in front of him, “from what I can see here the shortest estimate we have here for resolving this disruption runs to some fourteen months with more operatives than we actually have.”
“Yes, yes, and given the damn world is now due to end in a little under eight months it doesn't really help us much does it now? Since we don't know exactly what we are trying to fix yet, this is a little like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. Maybe we get lucky and something we do early on resolves all this, maybe it doesn't, maybe any further manipulation just accelerates things.”
“We would want to be avoiding that my friend.”
“I know, but when we don't actually know the cause yet it is a risk.” Jenkins stopped pacing and sat himself down beside Mr Drewer at the table, “take a look at these reports, none of them can actually show us what caused this shift. My experience would tell me there was some pivotal point we are missing, we just haven't found it yet.”
“You really think there could be one pivotal event behind all this?”
“It would stand to reason. We haven't seen anything even remotely close to this that wasn't caused by one major event or crossroads. In my experience there will be a central point to this, that one pivotal moment that suddenly makes significant changes cascade out. Of course we have never seen anything exactly this before, so who knows, this is just my gut feeling.”
“You have the most experience in that regard Mr Jenkins,” Mr Drewer said, “I trust in your instincts. It just seems very drastic. Even I struggle with the concept that there might be one single event that could cause this kind of a reaction.”
“Look at this way Drewer, if I am wrong we are screwed. We actually want this to be a single event, or at the very least a pivotal point from which everything has cascaded, because if it isn't...well, you can see from yourself from those assessments,” Jenkins explained pointing towards the reports on the desk in front of them, “if it is some kind of vast chaotic change that requires extensive manipulation to correct then we simply won't have time.” He wiped his brow again and slumped back in his chair, “we need this to manageable.”
“Let's hope then the next set of reports identify it and that Mr Watkins returns soon.”
“and let's hope he comes with some good news and we get lucky.”
Mr Drewer didn't really believe in luck. He never had, lucky people were usually just those that paid attention and worked hard and knew when to grab an opportunity when they saw one. Right about now though he could do with an opportunity presenting itself, luckily or otherwise.
As if on cue Tim Watkins came bounding into the meeting room without knocking. He was clutching a single sheet of paper and was clearly more panicked than when he left. He had a look on his face that told the three managers that this wasn't going to be good news.
“You have to look at this sir,” Watkins stammered, “I think we have found it. I don't think it's good news though I'm afraid.”
Mr Drewer took the page from him and carefully read the contents. It was indeed bad news, just about as bad as he could imagine. It was a cause though, a real cause, they knew what was happening. He could only hope that the opposition hadn't figured it out yet. Once you knew what was wrong you did at least have a chance of fixing it.
“Someone get Tobias Gordon on the phone, make sure the next part of the assignment brings them back to the office. We need that young lady back here, and quickly, before either of them suspect anything.”
Thursday, November 19
FATE Inc - Chapter Ten - One True Soul
The assignment seemed more like a shopping trip to Helen. Every now and again they would very specific instructions about where to be and what to do. They would perform the usually seemingly trivial task and then they would move on to the next one.
The morning briefing hadn't really presented Helen with any opportunity for asking any of the probing and serious questions she had been compiling into a list in her mind all the way through their morning commute. There didn't seem to be anyone suitable senior involved that one would ask such questions of. She was assured that she would get to meet their main boss, this Mr Drewer, later this afternoon. It sounded like he was definitely the man she would have to speak to about the details of this arrangement they had planned for her. He clearly wasn't the one running the whole operation, but she could already pick up on the fact that he was the one who was usually in charge, at least in this specific office. Even before she had met the man she could easily pick up on the fact that he was someone that everyone she had met so far either respected him or feared him, or both.
Tobias had warned her that he was a little creepy. Not in a 'you wouldn't leave your children in his care' kind of way but more in terms of just being unnaturally calm and composed. As well as Tobias could remember no one had ever witnessed Mr Drewer get anything more than slightly irate. Tobias had explained that while you could tell when he was angry, disappointed or had lost patience with you there weren't the usual visible signs you might expect from normal people. Tobias also assured Helen that he knew all this far too well from personal experience. It was rather that you felt Mr Drewer's displeasure more as some strange sense of impending doom rather any kind of a direct threat. Even when you knew he was furious he wasn't in any way you could tell, yet you could still feel that if things were not resolved in a manner that Mr Drewer found acceptable then you were going to regret it. You definitely did not want to be on his bad side.
He didn't sound like the friendliest of characters, which was in stark contrast to most of the staff at FATE incorporated that she had met so far. Everyone seemed to be nice, reasonable and average. As average as immortal beings who claim to be running the fate of the world can be at any rate. Helen was beginning to get used to playing a little game with herself of guessing which time period each person she met originated from. It wasn't as easy as you might think either. Some were seemingly obvious until you learnt that many of the staff apparently took to representing a certain era even if they weren't necessarily from their themselves. There was an infamous guy in accounting who fell in love with the seventies and had worn an ABBA style white jumpsuit every day since sometime in nineteen seventy four. He was actually over two thousand years old and one of the senior employees but had just absolutely embraced everything seventies because he could. People in FATE Inc weren't that judgemental about such things. In fact they seemed to believe firmly in embracing the things that allowed you to be as comfortable as possible in your work.
Mrs Peabody, who had re-appeared to take the first part of their morning briefing, had explained just that to Helen. If there was a device that you were particularly attached to then you would be allowed to continue using it as long as you wanted. That is why you could still see all variety of strange pieces if equipment scattered around the offices. From ancient abacuses through quills and typewriters all the way up to all manner of electronic equipment that seemed to span the entire modern age. Helen wondered how it all kept working and was told that the company had store rooms full of spare parts for just about anything you might possibly need. Apparently it was relatively trivial to make small objects slip through the cracks in time and conveniently appear in the store room. There was in fact an entire department dedicated to just that purpose Mrs Peabody had informed her. It did explain a thing or two about why those odd bits and pieces you could have sworn you had somewhere tended to disappear. There was a lot that she had been told since yesterday morning that started to make quite a bit of sense when you actually thought about it.
The man that had taken over from Mrs Peabody and given them their specific instructions for the training assignment was also perfectly agreeable and pleasant. He was quite young, in appearance anyway, Helen hadn't asked how old he might actually be, and she pegged him as being close to her own age. His name was Carl and Helen thought he might just have been flirting, but she wasn't exactly sure if it was with her or with Tobias. He seemed very forward, lewd almost, certainly not politically correct. It was those little things that hinted at when in time these people might have come from. It wasn't so much how they dressed or how they had their hair because with the odd exception they were generally wearing modern clothes, it was more the things they said or did. Sometimes it was more overt than others, but Helen was starting to get a sense of the all the different types of societies that these people might have come from. Even though they were immortal it seemed that some things stick with you.
The briefing itself was a lot more mundane than she had imagined. Carl took them through a series of tasks that they would be expected to perform, all of them relatively close to the office. They seemed to be fairly average everyday activities. Open a door here, pick an item off a shelf there, delay a little on an escalator and block someone coming down for ten seconds, all very everyday things that have happened of their own accord. She had asked why the tasks were important and both Tobias and Carl smiled. Apparently it was normal for new recruits to want to know why they were being asked to do something whereas the more experienced operatives soon stopped checking. There was a paragraph about the background to each task in the folder that they would get at the end of the briefing Carl had explained. It was completely optional whether you chose to read it. They did both stress that she shouldn't let it effect her judgement though.
It was still something she was probing Tobias about as they made their way to the location where they had to perform their next task.
“So what exactly did you guys mean when you said you shouldn't let the backgrounds effect my judgement?”
“It's like this,” Tobias replied, “not all the actions we are asked to carry out have a necessarily happy result, at least possibly not for someone.”
“What exactly do you mean by not necessarily happy?”
“Well, you know, bad things may happen to people, sometimes as a result of our actions. In the greater good and all that. Ends justifies the means and so on, you know the kind of stuff.”
“and that doesn't bother you?”
“I guess that it did for a while, and for some it always does. That's why not everyone is cut out to be an operative. Moral reservations quite often mean operatives don't feel they can continue. I mean if you know that you did something that directly lead to someone's death do you think you could handle that?”
“In the greater good?”
“Sounds callous doesn't it?” Tobias sighed. “I guess that it is as well, if you dwell on it too much.”
“I think being asked to kill someone is bloody well worth dwelling on.”
“Yes and no,” Tobias shrugged, “you know how many people die every single minute of every day?”
Helen shook her head slowly.
“No? Well, a lot I can tell you, and you know what? You have probably already been responsible for the death of more than one person in your lifetime.”
“I most certainly have not!” Helen snapped back. “How dare you say that!”
“You sure about that?”
“Of course I am bloody sure about that. Don't you think it's the kind of thing that one remembers? I am pretty sure I would remember if I had murdered anyone.”
“Hey, I never said murdered,” Tobias said throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “I said 'been responsible for the death of', there is a difference there.”
“What do you mean by that?” Helen demanded, “I haven't killed, murdered, or been responsible for the death of anyone!”
“How exactly do you know that?”
“You clearly want to explain something to me,” Helen sighed, slightly irritated, “so come on, just come out and tell me how I killed someone.”
“Again, I never said you killed anyone,” Tobias sighed, “at least not on purpose. Look at this way, we explained how all our personal choices are all connected right? A simple decision by any one of us can lead to a chain reaction of events, sometimes close to us, sometimes far removed.”
“So you are saying that I have accidentally killed someone at some stage by doing something completely innocuous?”
“More than likely,” Tobias replied, nodding, “we all have. It's virtually impossible to go through even a normal human lifespan and not have inadvertently caused the death of another person. So we look on it as part of the cycle of fate.”
“What people call the butterfly effect again?”
“Precisely, so it's not worth getting hung about is the point. Given that our random actions still inherently have a chain reaction through people's lives, and can occasionally be chaotic or even fatal, why should we then worry about it if we do it more consciously?”
“because that's the difference an accident, unintentional manslaughter and murder maybe?”
“If you want insist on looking at in a linear fashion then sure.”
“I think if it's premeditated, it is not quite the same as having inadvertently caused something.”
“Maybe,” Tobias conceded, “but it does help to keep it in perspective in our line of work.”
“It isn't my line of work yet.” Helen reminded him, “I haven't said yes yet. This is just a trial assignment remember?”
“True enough, but they think you are operative material. They would have already stuck you behind a desk already if they didn't think you were up for it. So whichever analyst had your file passed over their desk felt that you would make a good operative.”
“How exactly did they come to that conclusion?” It didn't seem to Helen that these people had any grounds at all for the apparent faith they had in her abilities.
“I'm not sure of the entire process to be honest,” Tobias started to explain, “but I do know that they get to pull on all kinds of character information that you wouldn't think possible because they can check through all the possible time-lines that you existed in. Over every possible available time-line that is a lot of potential aptitude tests, psychological assessments and so forth. They get a pretty good insight into your character by all accounts in this day and age.”
“I don't think I have ever spoken to any kind of a psychiatrist or done any damn aptitude tests since I left school,” Helen pointed out, “so I really don't think they could have gotten much there.”
“Maybe this you, the real you, didn't have any of those things. Between all the other version of you, in all the other time-lines, living out all the choices that you didn't make, there is a lot of information for them to gather.”
“Those other versions of me aren't me though are they?” Helen interrupted, “I mean you just said it yourself. They would be a result of all the decisions in life I didn't make, or didn't get to make, so doesn't that make them inherently different people, with different circumstances?”
“Unless you believe in one true soul that is,” Tobias grinned, “guess we didn't really cover that much so far.”
“or at all,” Helen said sceptically, “I am pretty sure that no-one has mentioned my soul yet. So what is this revelation then?”
“Don't be so sarcastic,” sighed Tobias, “I should have mentioned this one before I guess. Like I said yesterday I don't do this whole greeting thing all that often.”
“Ok, I forgive you,” Helen smiled, only slightly mockingly, “now you can make up for it and tell me all about it.”
“Very funny, anyway the theory goes that despite the fact that there are many different decisions made who you are remains consistent in a way. Your circumstances and situation might vary from time-line to time-line and that might indeed change elements of your personality, but at some underlying level there is also a consistency. A set of traits and characteristics that make you who you are, they refer to it as the 'one true soul'.”
“That almost sounds religious.”
“Well, it was a religiously minded guy that coined the phrase I believe,” Tobias replied slightly dismissively, “but that isn't the point here. It's just a phrase really. What matters is that it means the character of your other selfs in the other time-lines can yield valuable insight into your character.”
“Still, that sounds like it's something you believe in rather than something you guys have proven. Hell, it sounds like something that would even be hard to categorically prove even if you wanted to.”
“Maybe, hard for me to give any perspective. I was brought up a catholic and told what to believe from before I could even understand it.”
“You aren't religious any more?”
“Not so much as you would define it now no. It is hard to believe in a divine presence when I help changes things on a daily basis usually. I guess there are still things that I choose to believe in though. Things that I have faith in.”
“Like what?”
“Like human nature,” Tobias smiled, “for good and for bad, and yes, I do believe in the one true soul by and large. I have occasionally peaked at the other versions of me in other time-lines and from what I see there is some real truth to it. After all believing in this being the one true time-line is kind of a cornerstone of what we do. Wouldn't be much point otherwise would there?”
“I suppose not,” Helen nodded, “so you believe in what these reports would have to say about me?”
“Can't really say there. They don't let the likes of me see the origin reports. I had to sleep with three different department secretaries in order to get a quick glimpse at mine when I got curious about it a few decades ago.”
“Why doesn't that surprise me?” Helen smiled, “so what you did see was accurate?”
“Pretty much,” Tobias replied, “kind of the same as you would see. I didn't really have any faith in what they saw in me. I needed to see it for myself. Damn thing was almost too accurate. It was almost scary, like reading a report from a mind reader. There were things in there I hadn't even admitted to myself at that stage!”
“What makes you think I don't have faith in this potential you people keep saying I have?”
Tobias grinned widely, “You really have to ask that? Really? Come on Helen, not only am I am man, I am several hundred years old. Standard female insecurity is something I have had a lot of practise with. When you get several lifetimes to figure it out you get better at it, but I think I would have guessed that about you the first time around.”
“Is that so?” Helen laughed, “So you believe this file about me might be correct? That I might have potential?”
“Whatever is in that file,” Tobias smiled, “won't tell me anything I am not learning for myself anyway. Come on, we have to go and press the button on these traffic lights up ahead.”
Helen recalled that the purpose of the button pressing was to delay a car that was going to approach the crossing in about ninety seconds time. It was important that the driver of that care was delayed exactly forty five seconds so that he would then just miss being involved in an accident later today. While this particular cause seemed noble enough she couldn't help but wonder if a life walking around pressing the buttons on traffic light crossings was something she could aspire to. “Don't these tasks get tedious?” She sighed.
“The basic assignments do for sure,” Tobias confirmed, “but something tells me you won't be stuck doing these types of things for long. I think they have plans for you, all this potential and all.”
Helen was beginning to get decidedly curious about exactly what might be inside this file of hers.
The morning briefing hadn't really presented Helen with any opportunity for asking any of the probing and serious questions she had been compiling into a list in her mind all the way through their morning commute. There didn't seem to be anyone suitable senior involved that one would ask such questions of. She was assured that she would get to meet their main boss, this Mr Drewer, later this afternoon. It sounded like he was definitely the man she would have to speak to about the details of this arrangement they had planned for her. He clearly wasn't the one running the whole operation, but she could already pick up on the fact that he was the one who was usually in charge, at least in this specific office. Even before she had met the man she could easily pick up on the fact that he was someone that everyone she had met so far either respected him or feared him, or both.
Tobias had warned her that he was a little creepy. Not in a 'you wouldn't leave your children in his care' kind of way but more in terms of just being unnaturally calm and composed. As well as Tobias could remember no one had ever witnessed Mr Drewer get anything more than slightly irate. Tobias had explained that while you could tell when he was angry, disappointed or had lost patience with you there weren't the usual visible signs you might expect from normal people. Tobias also assured Helen that he knew all this far too well from personal experience. It was rather that you felt Mr Drewer's displeasure more as some strange sense of impending doom rather any kind of a direct threat. Even when you knew he was furious he wasn't in any way you could tell, yet you could still feel that if things were not resolved in a manner that Mr Drewer found acceptable then you were going to regret it. You definitely did not want to be on his bad side.
He didn't sound like the friendliest of characters, which was in stark contrast to most of the staff at FATE incorporated that she had met so far. Everyone seemed to be nice, reasonable and average. As average as immortal beings who claim to be running the fate of the world can be at any rate. Helen was beginning to get used to playing a little game with herself of guessing which time period each person she met originated from. It wasn't as easy as you might think either. Some were seemingly obvious until you learnt that many of the staff apparently took to representing a certain era even if they weren't necessarily from their themselves. There was an infamous guy in accounting who fell in love with the seventies and had worn an ABBA style white jumpsuit every day since sometime in nineteen seventy four. He was actually over two thousand years old and one of the senior employees but had just absolutely embraced everything seventies because he could. People in FATE Inc weren't that judgemental about such things. In fact they seemed to believe firmly in embracing the things that allowed you to be as comfortable as possible in your work.
Mrs Peabody, who had re-appeared to take the first part of their morning briefing, had explained just that to Helen. If there was a device that you were particularly attached to then you would be allowed to continue using it as long as you wanted. That is why you could still see all variety of strange pieces if equipment scattered around the offices. From ancient abacuses through quills and typewriters all the way up to all manner of electronic equipment that seemed to span the entire modern age. Helen wondered how it all kept working and was told that the company had store rooms full of spare parts for just about anything you might possibly need. Apparently it was relatively trivial to make small objects slip through the cracks in time and conveniently appear in the store room. There was in fact an entire department dedicated to just that purpose Mrs Peabody had informed her. It did explain a thing or two about why those odd bits and pieces you could have sworn you had somewhere tended to disappear. There was a lot that she had been told since yesterday morning that started to make quite a bit of sense when you actually thought about it.
The man that had taken over from Mrs Peabody and given them their specific instructions for the training assignment was also perfectly agreeable and pleasant. He was quite young, in appearance anyway, Helen hadn't asked how old he might actually be, and she pegged him as being close to her own age. His name was Carl and Helen thought he might just have been flirting, but she wasn't exactly sure if it was with her or with Tobias. He seemed very forward, lewd almost, certainly not politically correct. It was those little things that hinted at when in time these people might have come from. It wasn't so much how they dressed or how they had their hair because with the odd exception they were generally wearing modern clothes, it was more the things they said or did. Sometimes it was more overt than others, but Helen was starting to get a sense of the all the different types of societies that these people might have come from. Even though they were immortal it seemed that some things stick with you.
The briefing itself was a lot more mundane than she had imagined. Carl took them through a series of tasks that they would be expected to perform, all of them relatively close to the office. They seemed to be fairly average everyday activities. Open a door here, pick an item off a shelf there, delay a little on an escalator and block someone coming down for ten seconds, all very everyday things that have happened of their own accord. She had asked why the tasks were important and both Tobias and Carl smiled. Apparently it was normal for new recruits to want to know why they were being asked to do something whereas the more experienced operatives soon stopped checking. There was a paragraph about the background to each task in the folder that they would get at the end of the briefing Carl had explained. It was completely optional whether you chose to read it. They did both stress that she shouldn't let it effect her judgement though.
It was still something she was probing Tobias about as they made their way to the location where they had to perform their next task.
“So what exactly did you guys mean when you said you shouldn't let the backgrounds effect my judgement?”
“It's like this,” Tobias replied, “not all the actions we are asked to carry out have a necessarily happy result, at least possibly not for someone.”
“What exactly do you mean by not necessarily happy?”
“Well, you know, bad things may happen to people, sometimes as a result of our actions. In the greater good and all that. Ends justifies the means and so on, you know the kind of stuff.”
“and that doesn't bother you?”
“I guess that it did for a while, and for some it always does. That's why not everyone is cut out to be an operative. Moral reservations quite often mean operatives don't feel they can continue. I mean if you know that you did something that directly lead to someone's death do you think you could handle that?”
“In the greater good?”
“Sounds callous doesn't it?” Tobias sighed. “I guess that it is as well, if you dwell on it too much.”
“I think being asked to kill someone is bloody well worth dwelling on.”
“Yes and no,” Tobias shrugged, “you know how many people die every single minute of every day?”
Helen shook her head slowly.
“No? Well, a lot I can tell you, and you know what? You have probably already been responsible for the death of more than one person in your lifetime.”
“I most certainly have not!” Helen snapped back. “How dare you say that!”
“You sure about that?”
“Of course I am bloody sure about that. Don't you think it's the kind of thing that one remembers? I am pretty sure I would remember if I had murdered anyone.”
“Hey, I never said murdered,” Tobias said throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “I said 'been responsible for the death of', there is a difference there.”
“What do you mean by that?” Helen demanded, “I haven't killed, murdered, or been responsible for the death of anyone!”
“How exactly do you know that?”
“You clearly want to explain something to me,” Helen sighed, slightly irritated, “so come on, just come out and tell me how I killed someone.”
“Again, I never said you killed anyone,” Tobias sighed, “at least not on purpose. Look at this way, we explained how all our personal choices are all connected right? A simple decision by any one of us can lead to a chain reaction of events, sometimes close to us, sometimes far removed.”
“So you are saying that I have accidentally killed someone at some stage by doing something completely innocuous?”
“More than likely,” Tobias replied, nodding, “we all have. It's virtually impossible to go through even a normal human lifespan and not have inadvertently caused the death of another person. So we look on it as part of the cycle of fate.”
“What people call the butterfly effect again?”
“Precisely, so it's not worth getting hung about is the point. Given that our random actions still inherently have a chain reaction through people's lives, and can occasionally be chaotic or even fatal, why should we then worry about it if we do it more consciously?”
“because that's the difference an accident, unintentional manslaughter and murder maybe?”
“If you want insist on looking at in a linear fashion then sure.”
“I think if it's premeditated, it is not quite the same as having inadvertently caused something.”
“Maybe,” Tobias conceded, “but it does help to keep it in perspective in our line of work.”
“It isn't my line of work yet.” Helen reminded him, “I haven't said yes yet. This is just a trial assignment remember?”
“True enough, but they think you are operative material. They would have already stuck you behind a desk already if they didn't think you were up for it. So whichever analyst had your file passed over their desk felt that you would make a good operative.”
“How exactly did they come to that conclusion?” It didn't seem to Helen that these people had any grounds at all for the apparent faith they had in her abilities.
“I'm not sure of the entire process to be honest,” Tobias started to explain, “but I do know that they get to pull on all kinds of character information that you wouldn't think possible because they can check through all the possible time-lines that you existed in. Over every possible available time-line that is a lot of potential aptitude tests, psychological assessments and so forth. They get a pretty good insight into your character by all accounts in this day and age.”
“I don't think I have ever spoken to any kind of a psychiatrist or done any damn aptitude tests since I left school,” Helen pointed out, “so I really don't think they could have gotten much there.”
“Maybe this you, the real you, didn't have any of those things. Between all the other version of you, in all the other time-lines, living out all the choices that you didn't make, there is a lot of information for them to gather.”
“Those other versions of me aren't me though are they?” Helen interrupted, “I mean you just said it yourself. They would be a result of all the decisions in life I didn't make, or didn't get to make, so doesn't that make them inherently different people, with different circumstances?”
“Unless you believe in one true soul that is,” Tobias grinned, “guess we didn't really cover that much so far.”
“or at all,” Helen said sceptically, “I am pretty sure that no-one has mentioned my soul yet. So what is this revelation then?”
“Don't be so sarcastic,” sighed Tobias, “I should have mentioned this one before I guess. Like I said yesterday I don't do this whole greeting thing all that often.”
“Ok, I forgive you,” Helen smiled, only slightly mockingly, “now you can make up for it and tell me all about it.”
“Very funny, anyway the theory goes that despite the fact that there are many different decisions made who you are remains consistent in a way. Your circumstances and situation might vary from time-line to time-line and that might indeed change elements of your personality, but at some underlying level there is also a consistency. A set of traits and characteristics that make you who you are, they refer to it as the 'one true soul'.”
“That almost sounds religious.”
“Well, it was a religiously minded guy that coined the phrase I believe,” Tobias replied slightly dismissively, “but that isn't the point here. It's just a phrase really. What matters is that it means the character of your other selfs in the other time-lines can yield valuable insight into your character.”
“Still, that sounds like it's something you believe in rather than something you guys have proven. Hell, it sounds like something that would even be hard to categorically prove even if you wanted to.”
“Maybe, hard for me to give any perspective. I was brought up a catholic and told what to believe from before I could even understand it.”
“You aren't religious any more?”
“Not so much as you would define it now no. It is hard to believe in a divine presence when I help changes things on a daily basis usually. I guess there are still things that I choose to believe in though. Things that I have faith in.”
“Like what?”
“Like human nature,” Tobias smiled, “for good and for bad, and yes, I do believe in the one true soul by and large. I have occasionally peaked at the other versions of me in other time-lines and from what I see there is some real truth to it. After all believing in this being the one true time-line is kind of a cornerstone of what we do. Wouldn't be much point otherwise would there?”
“I suppose not,” Helen nodded, “so you believe in what these reports would have to say about me?”
“Can't really say there. They don't let the likes of me see the origin reports. I had to sleep with three different department secretaries in order to get a quick glimpse at mine when I got curious about it a few decades ago.”
“Why doesn't that surprise me?” Helen smiled, “so what you did see was accurate?”
“Pretty much,” Tobias replied, “kind of the same as you would see. I didn't really have any faith in what they saw in me. I needed to see it for myself. Damn thing was almost too accurate. It was almost scary, like reading a report from a mind reader. There were things in there I hadn't even admitted to myself at that stage!”
“What makes you think I don't have faith in this potential you people keep saying I have?”
Tobias grinned widely, “You really have to ask that? Really? Come on Helen, not only am I am man, I am several hundred years old. Standard female insecurity is something I have had a lot of practise with. When you get several lifetimes to figure it out you get better at it, but I think I would have guessed that about you the first time around.”
“Is that so?” Helen laughed, “So you believe this file about me might be correct? That I might have potential?”
“Whatever is in that file,” Tobias smiled, “won't tell me anything I am not learning for myself anyway. Come on, we have to go and press the button on these traffic lights up ahead.”
Helen recalled that the purpose of the button pressing was to delay a car that was going to approach the crossing in about ninety seconds time. It was important that the driver of that care was delayed exactly forty five seconds so that he would then just miss being involved in an accident later today. While this particular cause seemed noble enough she couldn't help but wonder if a life walking around pressing the buttons on traffic light crossings was something she could aspire to. “Don't these tasks get tedious?” She sighed.
“The basic assignments do for sure,” Tobias confirmed, “but something tells me you won't be stuck doing these types of things for long. I think they have plans for you, all this potential and all.”
Helen was beginning to get decidedly curious about exactly what might be inside this file of hers.
Wednesday, November 18
FATE Inc - Chapter Nine - The morning after effect
The only consolation about waking up and finding out that the previous day had not been a dream was that the view was spectacular. The London skyline had seen fit to actually not be totally overcast when Helen awoke, so as she looked out towards Canary Wharf thin rays of sunshine broke down through the clouds from a small patch of blue sky above. She had never imagined that she would ever have been able to afford an apartment with this kind of view under normal circumstances. Then again, under normal circumstances an apartment like this didn’t actually exist. She couldn’t deny it was a nice apartment, a really nice apartment. The bed had been as comfortable a bed as she could remember sleeping. She was also quite certain that she could get used to waking up to that type of a view.
She had just finished dressing and was beginning to wonder what the routine would be when the cellphone rang. It was Tobias.
”Morning sunshine.”
”Good morning Tobias.”
”Sleep well?”
”With the exception of waking up and yesterday not having been a dream. Otherwise I had a good night’s sleep.”
”That’s ok,” Tobias chuckled, ”you won’t shake that feeling for a while. You will wake up with the hope that this was all the product of your over active imagination for quite a few mornings yet I am sure. It’s an easy thing to get into denial about.”
”It all seems real enough,” Helen sighed, ”so what is it this morning? Back to the office?”
”Yup, providing you are still on board with all this I believe the plan today will be that you join me on a minor assignment so you can see exactly what it is that we do in the field. So grab some breakfast, there should be stuff in your fridge, and meet me down in the atrium in thirty minutes. I trust that is enough time to get ready?”
”Only just,” Helen sighed again, she liked her morning more sedate and less rushed even if it meant getting out of bed that little bit earlier, ”I’ll be there.”
“Perfect, it shouldn't be too taxing a day but you can never be sure you'll have time for lunch when out on an assignment. Some days you have what seems like all the time in the world waiting around for something, other times it can be a rush so breakfast is usually a good idea.”
“I think it generally is anyway. My mother always insisted.”
“Isn't that what mothers have to do?” Tobias laughed, “not that I knew mine all that well, but I distinctly remember nagging. Anyway, I need to eat too, so I will see you downstairs in about half an hour? ”
“Yes, I'll be there, all breakfasted up.”
“Perfect, see you there.”
Helen flicked the phone shut and went to investigate the fridge and see whether the mysterious apartment filling department had done a good job there as well. They hadn't done a bad job at all with her clothes. She had been able to pick something out that she at least felt she was comfortable in. A loose brown t-shirt and what was a pretty close approximation of her favourite old worn denim jacket. This one wasn't as old as her one had been. It was the type of 'designer worn' that just looked like it was worn, with the wear and tear deliberately cut and shaved into it, rather than something that had actually be worn. The jeans were a perfect match for the pair she had bought on Oxford Street in a sale not two weeks before. She was fairly sure that this pair actually fit a little better too.
The fridge had indeed been well stocked with a selection of food and drink. Breakfast was quick and easy, a bowl of Corn Flakes with some orange juice. The juice was freshly squeezed as well, Helen hoped that they kept it that way too. If she was going to say yes to these people she was damn sure that they were going to look after her. If this whole show so far was just an act to get her to agree to work for them and didn't carry through into the actual job then she was going to be pissed. She wasn't exactly sure she would be able to do much about it, but she was fairly sure that she could give it a good try. One thing all her teachers and former bosses had been unanimous in was the opinion that she was good at causing disruption. Helen personally always felt that she was the perfectly reasonable one and wouldn't ever have been noticed if the world worked the way it was supposed to. People just didn't seem to care enough about when things weren't quite right, people compromised. Helene disliked compromising, she somehow thought of it as giving in. Her father had drilled that into her. Never give up; it was almost a family motto. Except for the fact her father would definitely have thought it too pretentious for a good working class family to have a family motto.
Today was most definitely going to be an interesting day.
She thought she was starting to wrap her head around what was happening pretty well now. It had all started to sink in at this stage and was stewing nicely in her thought processes. She was clearly not going to awake any moment and discover this was all a bad dream. That was just wishful thinking. So she would have to make the best of it. Today was going to be different. Today she was going to ask questions. Granted she had asked questions yesterday, but that was more out of confusion. More like the way you ask what happened when you wake up with a hangover, you already know what happened, but need to ask anyway. That was what she felt yesterday was like, a nasty, all too real hangover. Today however, today was going to be different. She was going to ask real, demanding questions about the situation and what these people, this company, was going to do for her.
If these people really were controlling the fate of the entire world, and relied on some form of cosmic happen-stance to recruit new 'operatives', as they called them, then it struck her that she was actually a valuable commodity. Valuable commodities like her she reasoned should then be in a good negotiating position. She wasn't going to let them bully her about. Not that she had anything to complain about yet. She had to admit they had been good to her so far. The perks seemed good, and the apartment was gorgeous, but still, it was a matter of principle. She wasn't going to just blindly accept their first offer. It was almost as if they were being slightly too nice.
Helen was a touch cynical by nature, she had come to accept that of herself some time ago, so she almost inherently distrusted a situation that seemed too good to be true. If it wasn't for the still present, and still inexplicable, feeling that she was supposed to be here, a strange feeling of belonging that she hadn't ever really experienced before, then she would have been almost certain that these people were out to con her in some way. She would at least have been very, very suspicious. For now she was going to settle for a state of mindful caution she had decided. 'Keep your eyes open and pay attention' she thought to herself.
Helen had already decided that it was probably best to keep these little reservations from Tobias for now. Not that he seemed like 'The Company Man' type anyway, but she didn't want to show her hand to him just in case she had misjudged him. Her mother had always maintained that her trust issues were precisely why Helen was still single a few months short of her thirtieth birthday. Helen for her part always insisted that a little caution was a good thing, and all she was doing was avoiding inevitable heartache all along. The Irishman was clearly a charmer, and he knew it all too well, so she couldn't be totally sure of these peoples motivations just yet. Maybe his apparently affable personality was just part of the recruitment process.
She doubted it for the same reason that she couldn't explain. There was some kind of almost immediate and implicit trust that she felt when he was around. For want of a better word he seemed genuine, and it struck Helen that genuine people were in short supply in this day and age. She almost felt slightly guilty about not wanting to share her worries with him, but she was willing to live with that for a while.
Helen was going to make sure these people didn't take advantage of her. If she had been the proverbial deer in the headlights yesterday the good news was that the car had swerved and she was still alive to tell the tale. Today was going to be different.
Sunday, November 15
FATE Inc - Chapter Eight - Taking it all in.
The shower was just what Helen had needed. The fact that her body had been in just as bad shape as her mind throughout most of the day had kind of gotten lost to her. When she had finally been able to sit down after arriving at the apartment she was suddenly aware of just how much her limbs were aching. She guessed that the night her body had the night before was a lot more taxing than the one she remembered having. The dull throbbing at the front of her head, that had grown more persistent over the course of the day, was probably not just down to having to try and take in all these theories on quantum physics and alternate time-lines. She was fairly sure that a significant amount of intoxication must have been involved in the night before that this body had experienced. Not least because it apparently involved hooking up with a completely obnoxious manifestation of her ex-boyfriend. So she was only too glad to have washed away the general odour of that particular encounter.
She couldn't be positive, but she was fairly sure that the marks she noticed on the side of her stomach were actually love bites. She hated that, and was pretty sure she wouldn't have been turned on in any reality by someone doing it down the side of her stomach. On a positive note as least no one would see them there.
The shower itself was actually very nice, as was the entire apartment. It definitely showed it's age, as there was something uniquely eighties about it that Helen couldn't quite put her fingers on. It was the type of place you imagined a Wall Street executive having sometimes during the height of the eighties boom. That thought had made her think of the film Wall Street. Helen could almost imagine a scene from the film playing out there. The long window that spanned the corner of the building, and provided a panoramic view over the city below, would have been perfect for the protagonist of that film to pace back and forward in front of while arguing on the phone with his evil mentor Gordon Gecko. Helen suddenly wondered why was it that you always remembered the name of the memorable villains in cinema but not always the hero. For the life of her she couldn't recall the name of Charlie Sheen's young character, it was going to bug her all evening. She wished she could look it up on the computer but then remembered that she didn't have her computer here. In fact she barely had anything at all here.
Just as Mrs Peabody had advised some of her things, the things she remembered owning, were in the apartment. Whoever had been tasked with finding her things hadn't done a bad job, things were there for sure but it was more like they were close approximations of the things she had owned rather than the actual things. It was almost like the way that you have to go and buy things with the insurance money after you have things stolen. You do get to replace the things, but they aren't the original things. You don't have any real connection to them, they don't quite smell right, or lack the blemishes of the original. Her favourite plant pots were all there, but they weren't quite the same, a colour would be different in one, the shape slightly different in another, the print on the large square one in the corner of the living room was of a white horse rather than a black one. It was if whoever had seen her old apartment and was describing her stuff might have been drunk when they were doing so.
They had managed to replace a good deal of her wardrobe, many of her favourite clothes were there hanging neatly in the large walk wardrobe that dominated the far wall of her new bedroom. They had gotten the colours wrong on a couple of pieces here and there, but she would be able to get dressed tomorrow in something she felt comfortable with, something that felt like she would have picked it out. She was a little perturbed however by the thought that someone who worked for the company, someone that she might get to meet, had been sent to buy her underwear, complete with the frilly sexy stuff that she saved for the special occasions. She rather hoped there were some kind of professional rules about that kind of thing amongst whoever it was that did this job. A code of ethics for the purchasing of underwear and related gossip as it were. Whoever was responsible had though done a decent job at trying to make her feel a little more comfortable in this new space.
The apartment itself was a very open plan design that somehow managed to be somewhat minimalist yet over indulgent at the same time. With large modern art prints on the walls, and black and white zebra print rugs on the floor, it was an apartment clearly decorated in the eighties. Her things didn't really fit with the design at all, she had always lived in older building, places with character. While she was sure that someone, someday, would consider modern designs to have character she most certainly did not, and would have preferred her old Victorian town house style much more, regardless of how run down or dilapidated the one she had been able to afford had been. If she was going to be staying here, she was certainly going to have have to do a little shopping before too long.
The TV however was a different matter altogether. It was shiny, new and very large. The type of TV that Helen would never have even considered buying for herself. It would almost have taken up the entire wall of her bedroom in her old place. This apartment was much bigger and the TV screen didn't look out of place. Helen guessed it must be over fifty inches across. She had never owned one of these new fancy flat screen things and it appeared as if it was already hooked up to a cable system that was piping in a seemingly unending number of channels for her viewing pleasure.
She had wrapped herself in one of the long brown towels she had found in the bathroom. She was fairly sure these towels came with the apartment and weren't supposed to be anything she had owned before but she had to admit they were comfortable. They were the type of towel that you could just feel were expensive rather than the more functional everyday ones she used to buy from Primark. It was almost as if she was staying in a reasonably top class hotel, it had that feel about the place. She wasn't going to get used to this type of a place very quickly.
As she settled down in front of the large TV, having made herself a suitably large mug of hot chocolate, she started to flick aimlessly between the channels. Whatever service they subscribed to it was certainly comprehensive. Helen was fairly sure that they must have a special arrangement for their cable provider as well. It had been some time she lived at home, which was the last time she had lived anywhere with access to a cable subscription, but she was fairly sure that it wasn't normal to have over three thousand channels listed in what appeared to be several dozen languages. It was almost as if they had a combination of all the TV channels the world had to offer. Helen wasn't sure how many TV channels existed in the world, but she was thinking that she now had a good percentage of them at her disposal.
She started to wonder what would happen if she didn't take these people up on their offer. What choices would she have exactly? It might be surreal and strange, but she had to admit to herself that she could get used to having this kind of an apartment if she was allowed to work with the place a little. The credit card, phone and free travel certainly wasn't to be sniffed at either. She wasn't though entirely sure what she was going to be asked to do. She hadn't even decided if she liked the idea of manipulating other people in order to preserve something she wasn't even sure she was willing to accept existed. It struck her that she was being asked to accept a lot of things that would be nigh on impossible for anyone to actually prove to her.
Still, it wasn't as if they were being unreasonable, pushy or pressurising her into anything yet. Although part of her thought that if she was them, she wouldn't want her to feel pressurised either. The whole 'being nice and supportive' thing would probably be a better tactic with most people who found themselves in this situation.
She also couldn't be sure that they hadn't done this to her in the first place. After all they did admit to arranging and organising far more complex and significant things than her appearance here. These people organised everything from a simple accidental meeting to full scale wars. She presumed they wouldn't have too many problems making her disappear, even if she still didn't fully understand all this alternate time-line stuff. It couldn't be that hard for them could it? It would be a great way of recruiting people. Put people in a situation where they don't really have any other option, and then treat them well and appear to be supportive and sympathetic, and they are most likely going to go along with whatever you suggest. It was how she would do it if she was them she thought, but she also hated her cynical side. It just wasn't easy to trust strangers when you have been brought up to be suspicious of all but the closest of friends. People just don't trust each others motives in this day and age, and Helen was suddenly very conscious of being asked to trust in a lot for just one day.
She was also thinking that Japanese TV was every bit as strange as she had heard. She sat there strangely memorised by the sight of skinny bikini clad girls running around blindfolded trying to pin a Velcro tail on a very overweight gentleman that was running around the studio in a nappy. It was more interesting to watch than anything she had found in any of the languages she actually spoke. She guessed that the novelty value would wear off eventually, but there was something strangely compelling about trying to figure out exactly what was going on when you had no knowledge of the language and very little insight into the culture. Helen wondered if Japanese people that sat and watched Eastenders or X-Factor had a similar experience with English television and wondered why such shows had a distinct lack of bikini clad girls performing strange tasks for other people's viewing pleasure. There was a lot to say for cultural differences. Just as the Japanese show cut to what she presumed was an advertising break, Helen heard a noise. She was sure it was an alarm, or a ringtone or a chime of some kind but having not really used any of the appliances or devices in the apartment before she wasn't sure which one it was at first. It was clearly an electronic device demanding her attention.
The noise was coming from the kitchen and given she hadn't tried to cook anything yet she thought it must be that new mobile phone that she had left on the kitchen counter beside the gas burners.
It was indeed the phone and Helen immediately wondered who on earth would be calling her. Tobias had promised that she had the evening to herself and that he would see her in the morning. Was there really something so important that they had to call her now.
“Hello?” Helen answered with a mix of caution and curiosity,”Who is it?”
“Good evening Mam,” a very formal voice on the other end of the line replied, “I am the building supervisor, Mr Canning, I just wanted to check that you had settled in ok?”
“Yes thank you, everything is fine so far.”
“Mr Gordon explained everything to you?”
“Enough to get me settled in at least,” Helen answered, “I haven't had any problems yet.”
“Very good to hear. I just wanted to ask which of the newspapers you might like in the morning?”
“We get newspapers?”
“Most of the operatives like to keep up to date with the work of the press. We have a stock of them delivered every morning so if you want some dropped by the door you only have to ask. You can get hold of me by dialling 001 on your mobile. Anything you need in terms of the apartment you just have to ask.”
“Actually,” Helen said a little sheepishly, “do you think I could get a computer of some kind? I know they aren't the cheapest thing you could ask for, but I would miss not having one in my apartment.”
“I am sure we can arrange something once you are signed up and Mr Drewer submits your permanent contract. I'm afraid I can't authorise something like that before you are official and all. I am sure you understand.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That's understandable.” Helen said. At least they weren't all being that presumptive about her accepting their offer she thought. “Thanks for calling, but I think I'd like to get some sleep now.”
“Of course, I am sure that it's been one hell of a day for you. We all remember our first day. Good night.”
No sooner had the call ended then the phone buzzed again, this time with a single short chime, it startled Helen slightly since she still had it in her hands. This time the little envelope icon on the screen lit up indicating she had just received a message. She pushed the green button and the message loaded up on her screen. The sender was 'UNKNOWN' according to the phone, it didn't even display the number that the message had come from.
Helen looked down and read the rest of the message.
It was from the strangest thing that had happened today, but she couldn't shake an odd feeling that there was more to the message than she might be thinking. As she slumped down into the big bed she began to wonder why the sender of the message wouldn't identify herself. She flicked open the phone again and brought the message back up. It could well have been part and parcel of the day she had just experienced, but something told her that whatever these important questions were it was something that hadn't been mentioned yet. As she rolled over and went to close the phone she suddenly remembered that the phone also let her get onto the internet. She would be able to find out what Charlie Sheen's character was called in Wall Street after all.
She couldn't be positive, but she was fairly sure that the marks she noticed on the side of her stomach were actually love bites. She hated that, and was pretty sure she wouldn't have been turned on in any reality by someone doing it down the side of her stomach. On a positive note as least no one would see them there.
The shower itself was actually very nice, as was the entire apartment. It definitely showed it's age, as there was something uniquely eighties about it that Helen couldn't quite put her fingers on. It was the type of place you imagined a Wall Street executive having sometimes during the height of the eighties boom. That thought had made her think of the film Wall Street. Helen could almost imagine a scene from the film playing out there. The long window that spanned the corner of the building, and provided a panoramic view over the city below, would have been perfect for the protagonist of that film to pace back and forward in front of while arguing on the phone with his evil mentor Gordon Gecko. Helen suddenly wondered why was it that you always remembered the name of the memorable villains in cinema but not always the hero. For the life of her she couldn't recall the name of Charlie Sheen's young character, it was going to bug her all evening. She wished she could look it up on the computer but then remembered that she didn't have her computer here. In fact she barely had anything at all here.
Just as Mrs Peabody had advised some of her things, the things she remembered owning, were in the apartment. Whoever had been tasked with finding her things hadn't done a bad job, things were there for sure but it was more like they were close approximations of the things she had owned rather than the actual things. It was almost like the way that you have to go and buy things with the insurance money after you have things stolen. You do get to replace the things, but they aren't the original things. You don't have any real connection to them, they don't quite smell right, or lack the blemishes of the original. Her favourite plant pots were all there, but they weren't quite the same, a colour would be different in one, the shape slightly different in another, the print on the large square one in the corner of the living room was of a white horse rather than a black one. It was if whoever had seen her old apartment and was describing her stuff might have been drunk when they were doing so.
They had managed to replace a good deal of her wardrobe, many of her favourite clothes were there hanging neatly in the large walk wardrobe that dominated the far wall of her new bedroom. They had gotten the colours wrong on a couple of pieces here and there, but she would be able to get dressed tomorrow in something she felt comfortable with, something that felt like she would have picked it out. She was a little perturbed however by the thought that someone who worked for the company, someone that she might get to meet, had been sent to buy her underwear, complete with the frilly sexy stuff that she saved for the special occasions. She rather hoped there were some kind of professional rules about that kind of thing amongst whoever it was that did this job. A code of ethics for the purchasing of underwear and related gossip as it were. Whoever was responsible had though done a decent job at trying to make her feel a little more comfortable in this new space.
The apartment itself was a very open plan design that somehow managed to be somewhat minimalist yet over indulgent at the same time. With large modern art prints on the walls, and black and white zebra print rugs on the floor, it was an apartment clearly decorated in the eighties. Her things didn't really fit with the design at all, she had always lived in older building, places with character. While she was sure that someone, someday, would consider modern designs to have character she most certainly did not, and would have preferred her old Victorian town house style much more, regardless of how run down or dilapidated the one she had been able to afford had been. If she was going to be staying here, she was certainly going to have have to do a little shopping before too long.
The TV however was a different matter altogether. It was shiny, new and very large. The type of TV that Helen would never have even considered buying for herself. It would almost have taken up the entire wall of her bedroom in her old place. This apartment was much bigger and the TV screen didn't look out of place. Helen guessed it must be over fifty inches across. She had never owned one of these new fancy flat screen things and it appeared as if it was already hooked up to a cable system that was piping in a seemingly unending number of channels for her viewing pleasure.
She had wrapped herself in one of the long brown towels she had found in the bathroom. She was fairly sure these towels came with the apartment and weren't supposed to be anything she had owned before but she had to admit they were comfortable. They were the type of towel that you could just feel were expensive rather than the more functional everyday ones she used to buy from Primark. It was almost as if she was staying in a reasonably top class hotel, it had that feel about the place. She wasn't going to get used to this type of a place very quickly.
As she settled down in front of the large TV, having made herself a suitably large mug of hot chocolate, she started to flick aimlessly between the channels. Whatever service they subscribed to it was certainly comprehensive. Helen was fairly sure that they must have a special arrangement for their cable provider as well. It had been some time she lived at home, which was the last time she had lived anywhere with access to a cable subscription, but she was fairly sure that it wasn't normal to have over three thousand channels listed in what appeared to be several dozen languages. It was almost as if they had a combination of all the TV channels the world had to offer. Helen wasn't sure how many TV channels existed in the world, but she was thinking that she now had a good percentage of them at her disposal.
She started to wonder what would happen if she didn't take these people up on their offer. What choices would she have exactly? It might be surreal and strange, but she had to admit to herself that she could get used to having this kind of an apartment if she was allowed to work with the place a little. The credit card, phone and free travel certainly wasn't to be sniffed at either. She wasn't though entirely sure what she was going to be asked to do. She hadn't even decided if she liked the idea of manipulating other people in order to preserve something she wasn't even sure she was willing to accept existed. It struck her that she was being asked to accept a lot of things that would be nigh on impossible for anyone to actually prove to her.
Still, it wasn't as if they were being unreasonable, pushy or pressurising her into anything yet. Although part of her thought that if she was them, she wouldn't want her to feel pressurised either. The whole 'being nice and supportive' thing would probably be a better tactic with most people who found themselves in this situation.
She also couldn't be sure that they hadn't done this to her in the first place. After all they did admit to arranging and organising far more complex and significant things than her appearance here. These people organised everything from a simple accidental meeting to full scale wars. She presumed they wouldn't have too many problems making her disappear, even if she still didn't fully understand all this alternate time-line stuff. It couldn't be that hard for them could it? It would be a great way of recruiting people. Put people in a situation where they don't really have any other option, and then treat them well and appear to be supportive and sympathetic, and they are most likely going to go along with whatever you suggest. It was how she would do it if she was them she thought, but she also hated her cynical side. It just wasn't easy to trust strangers when you have been brought up to be suspicious of all but the closest of friends. People just don't trust each others motives in this day and age, and Helen was suddenly very conscious of being asked to trust in a lot for just one day.
She was also thinking that Japanese TV was every bit as strange as she had heard. She sat there strangely memorised by the sight of skinny bikini clad girls running around blindfolded trying to pin a Velcro tail on a very overweight gentleman that was running around the studio in a nappy. It was more interesting to watch than anything she had found in any of the languages she actually spoke. She guessed that the novelty value would wear off eventually, but there was something strangely compelling about trying to figure out exactly what was going on when you had no knowledge of the language and very little insight into the culture. Helen wondered if Japanese people that sat and watched Eastenders or X-Factor had a similar experience with English television and wondered why such shows had a distinct lack of bikini clad girls performing strange tasks for other people's viewing pleasure. There was a lot to say for cultural differences. Just as the Japanese show cut to what she presumed was an advertising break, Helen heard a noise. She was sure it was an alarm, or a ringtone or a chime of some kind but having not really used any of the appliances or devices in the apartment before she wasn't sure which one it was at first. It was clearly an electronic device demanding her attention.
The noise was coming from the kitchen and given she hadn't tried to cook anything yet she thought it must be that new mobile phone that she had left on the kitchen counter beside the gas burners.
It was indeed the phone and Helen immediately wondered who on earth would be calling her. Tobias had promised that she had the evening to herself and that he would see her in the morning. Was there really something so important that they had to call her now.
“Hello?” Helen answered with a mix of caution and curiosity,”Who is it?”
“Good evening Mam,” a very formal voice on the other end of the line replied, “I am the building supervisor, Mr Canning, I just wanted to check that you had settled in ok?”
“Yes thank you, everything is fine so far.”
“Mr Gordon explained everything to you?”
“Enough to get me settled in at least,” Helen answered, “I haven't had any problems yet.”
“Very good to hear. I just wanted to ask which of the newspapers you might like in the morning?”
“We get newspapers?”
“Most of the operatives like to keep up to date with the work of the press. We have a stock of them delivered every morning so if you want some dropped by the door you only have to ask. You can get hold of me by dialling 001 on your mobile. Anything you need in terms of the apartment you just have to ask.”
“Actually,” Helen said a little sheepishly, “do you think I could get a computer of some kind? I know they aren't the cheapest thing you could ask for, but I would miss not having one in my apartment.”
“I am sure we can arrange something once you are signed up and Mr Drewer submits your permanent contract. I'm afraid I can't authorise something like that before you are official and all. I am sure you understand.”
“Yes, yes, of course. That's understandable.” Helen said. At least they weren't all being that presumptive about her accepting their offer she thought. “Thanks for calling, but I think I'd like to get some sleep now.”
“Of course, I am sure that it's been one hell of a day for you. We all remember our first day. Good night.”
No sooner had the call ended then the phone buzzed again, this time with a single short chime, it startled Helen slightly since she still had it in her hands. This time the little envelope icon on the screen lit up indicating she had just received a message. She pushed the green button and the message loaded up on her screen. The sender was 'UNKNOWN' according to the phone, it didn't even display the number that the message had come from.
Helen looked down and read the rest of the message.
Greetings Helen. Important questions are going to be asked of you very soon. All we ask is that you keep an open mind.The message wasn't signed. After everything that had happened today Helen thought it was quite an odd message. She presumed it was part of the process, maybe an automated message of some description that all new arrivals received. She did wonder why no-one had mentioned it before though. It seemed a little odd, even for these people to send a message like that just before most people would be going to sleep. It was after all just after midnight.
It was from the strangest thing that had happened today, but she couldn't shake an odd feeling that there was more to the message than she might be thinking. As she slumped down into the big bed she began to wonder why the sender of the message wouldn't identify herself. She flicked open the phone again and brought the message back up. It could well have been part and parcel of the day she had just experienced, but something told her that whatever these important questions were it was something that hadn't been mentioned yet. As she rolled over and went to close the phone she suddenly remembered that the phone also let her get onto the internet. She would be able to find out what Charlie Sheen's character was called in Wall Street after all.
Thursday, November 12
FATE Inc - Chapter Seven - Informal Channels
Mr Drewer had thought the day couldn’t get any worse. He didn’t really mind that the day at the office had been chaotic, disorganized and stressful. Of course if you asked him about his day he would have told you that a day like he had just experienced was completely unacceptable, and that he was furious, and that heads may be rolling in the near future if things weren’t resolved, and that those heads didn’t have to be the heads of those actually responsible but maybe just the head of anyone who asked him inane questions about his day.
If he was honest however he knew that part of him always enjoyed rising to such occasions and being the one that calmed things down, organized the response and generally sucked all the stress away in that strange way that only he could. Mr Drewer seemed to not just be calm, but had the most unusual ability to actually create calm, almost without trying. He took pride in being the unflappable resilient one. It only served to increase the air of mystery and respect that surrounded him amongst his colleagues, and he had grown accustomed to that respect. He did after all deserve it.
What he did dislike though, and would candidly stress to anyone who asked, was being disturbed once he had left the office. He never left the office until everything was working again. He might not have resolved the issue yet, but things were being done, things were in motion, and that is what counted. He only ever left the office when he was completely sure that he didn’t need to poke, prod, motivate or scare someone into doing what needed doing. So when he left the office, he really meant it. You better have a damn good reason for disturbing him.
So when his mobile phone had rung just after he got home to the town house he wasn’t smiling when he glanced down to see who it was. Thankfully for the person on the other end, the person on the other end was Mr Nixon. When Mr Nixon called even Mr Drewer could put aside his displeasure at being disturbed.
“Mr Nixon?”
“Mr Drewer”
“Something important I presume?”
“Yes, just wanted to inform you of the latest information coming in to me. It would appear that the big man himself at their end is on route to London. He boarded a plane in Las Vegas an hour or so ago.”
“Thank you Mr Nixon, please update me in the morning if there are any further developments.”
“As you wish,” Mr Nixon replied before hanging up the phone.
Short, sweet and to the point. That was probably what Mr Drewer liked most about Mr Nixon. He didn’t even attempt to engage in idle chatter or pleasantries before delivering the information that he wanted to deliver. Mr Drewer really did wish sometimes that more people could be like Mr Nixon. It would make his organizing of things so much easier. He also understood the meaning of instructions. This at least meant he was unlikely to be disturbed again this evening.
There was nothing Mr Drewer valued more than his quiet time. He had become accustomed to his solitude down the years and found his respite in the little things. When you were surrounded on a daily basis by decisions that might shape the fate of entire nations, or at the very least impact the lives of ordinary people with whom you still had some sympathy, you tended to appreciate things in an altogether different way. Tonight he had already decided was going to be a nice glass of red wine while he relaxed in his over-sized red leather chair with some good music as background noise, maybe some Bob Marley this evening. Occasionally he enjoyed one of the thick Cuban cigars that sat neatly in the ornate cedar cabinet that adorned the far wall. He had acquired them during the whole Cuban episode in nineteen sixty two and they were usually reserved for special occasions. He was mulling over the notion that today might constitute an exception to that rule as he decided to pour himself a glass from the bottle of nineteen forty five Château Mouton Rothschild that he had been saving for just such a day. One of the perks of having a job like Mr Drewer had was that acquiring rare things was nowhere near as difficult for him as it would be for any ordinary collector. Any wine collector in the world would most likely keel over in shock at their first glance of his wine rack, and that was before he even thought of showing them the bottles he kept in the cellar.
Just as he poured the wine into the glass and ran his nose just above the rim of the glass to inhale he heard the very last thing he wanted to hear at that moment. The only other phone he allowed in the room rang. It was an old nineteen seventies phone, with an oddly round shape and cast in orange plastic, a very bright orange that for some reason people had found fashionable circa nineteen seventy six.
Mr Drewer sighed. It probably shouldn’t have been unexpected. He had a feeling that if the orange phone was going to ring it would be this evening. He did wish that he’d had a chance to relax first but it wouldn’t be prudent to ignore the call. It wasn’t as if the caller didn’t know that Mr Drewer was at home. He wouldn’t have called in the first place if he didn’t know that Mr Drewer was there. Putting the wine glass down Mr Drewer wandered over to the orange phone and picked it up.
“Mr Drewer?” the voice on the other end of the phone inquired. Mr Drewer wasn’t sure why such a question would even be asked given that they both knew that only the two of them used this number, and that it was extremely unlikely that Mr Drewer would have had company.
“Mr Basilisk” Mr Drewer replied.
The long silence that followed told Mr Drewer all he immediately needed to know as to the purpose of this call.
“This wasn’t down to your lot was it?” Mr Drewer asked, “You don’t know any more about any of this than we do?”
Mr Drewer had always operated on a ‘need to know’ basis with a bit of ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them’ thrown in for good measure, even to his superiors and that included the purpose of the orange telephone. His superiors most definitely did not need to know that he had an illicit direct line to his counterpart in the competition. Mr Drewer had always maintained that the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was actually good advice. Besides, he wasn’t a politics person, he was an organizer, the man who fixed the problems rather than caused them. He found having the odd informal conversation with the opposition to usually be mutually beneficial. He didn’t know that much about Mr Basilisk other than the fact they shared a common job role and had some shared opinions on the best way to operate their respective organizations. You could say that they had a strained but firm respect for each other.
“No, completely clueless so far, infuriating isn’t it.”
“Excruciatingly so.”
“All those damned seers, geniuses and prodigies with their supposedly all knowing talents and abilities and we still find ourselves resorting to good old fashioned detective work.”
“Indeed, I would gladly have strangled one or two of them today. Still, if they were as perfect as they would like us to believe then they wouldn’t need us now would they?”
“So your lot have absolutely nothing either?”
“They are resorting to the good old fashioned detective work of timeline by timeline recall analysis as we speak.”
“Likewise.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me about this would you?”
“Have I ever?”
“No, I suppose not.”
That was surprisingly completely true. Mr Basilisk and Mr Drewer seemed to share an uncannily inherent ability to know which questions were appropriate to ask of each other. They almost instinctively knew which subjects could be broached through the orange telephone, and which couldn’t. Both men knew that this was exactly the type of occasion for which they had agreed to have the orange telephone in the first place.
They had installed it in the early seventies when Mr Basiliks predecessor had been moved along to another role after the whole Watergate debacle. She had been a wretched woman that Mr Drewer had found most objectionable. Anyone who thought trying to incite a country as complicated as America into a civil war for a second time clearly had no inclination to learn from history and that was something Mr Drewer simply could not abide. So he had only been too glad when Mr Basilisk turned out to be much more of a like minded soul.
They didn’t speak often, the orange phone could go for years without ringing, but when it did it was usually for a very good reason.
“Besides, your lot must be more pleased about the current situation than my lot is. What, with the timeline now seemingly ending and all.” Mr Drewer probed.
“You have to be kidding me!” Laughed Mr Basilisk slightly bitterly, “The timeline ending on a date other than the one it is destined to end on? Our higher ups consider that just as bad, if not worse, than your infernal meddling in the destiny of humanity. They might not admit to that just yet, at least until they hear the big man offer an opinion, but they see this as potentially disastrous. If the universe throws things into a new timeline on its own steam without any interference from either of us what does that say about our mission statement? No, this is bad, very bad, they are really eager to pin this on you guys so that the rank and file doesn’t start to murmur about universal destinies and all that. It’s not like we don’t have the sort of operatives that are prone to over-thinking a situation and questioning, and you know where that leads.”
“I hadn’t considered that angle,” Mr Drewer mused, silently slightly annoyed at himself for not having deduced that likelihood on his own, “it makes sense from your point of view.”
“On the subject of the big man, he is taking a personal interest in all this. He is on a plane already and will be here sometime tomorrow morning. Just so you know.”
“I know. The ever gracious Mr Nixon informed me of the fact just before you called.”
“Really?” Mr Basilisk asked, clearly a little agitated, “damn that man, I would really like to know how he does that. He will be a thorn in our side until the very end I am sure.”
“I am sure he will. Mr Nixon however does not reveal his methods, even to me. So even if I thought there was any mileage in sharing some bits or pieces with you on that subject I wouldn’t be able to.”
“Like hell you would, even if you did know he does it.”
“Perhaps,” Mr Drewer said smiling to himself, “just like I won’t pretend to ask what your next course of action is going to be.”
“We should keep in touch though,” Mr Basilisk suggested, “I imagine that both of us will be putting in some overtime on the manipulation front over the next few days, especially given that both us know that neither of our management teams will want things to stay the way that they are.”
“I concur.”
“Good, then I shall stay in touch,” Mr Basilisk confirmed, “I have a weird feeling about this one. It isn’t normal. We should both be on our guard.”
“Aren’t we already?”
Mr Basilisk just laughed, “Aye, very true. You are probably never off guard anyway are you?”
“Some people would most definitely suggest that to be true if you asked.”
“Good night Mr Drewer.”
“Good night Mr Basilisk.”
Mr Drewer neatly placed the orange phone back on its base and decided that tonight did indeed merit one of those Cuban cigars.
If he was honest however he knew that part of him always enjoyed rising to such occasions and being the one that calmed things down, organized the response and generally sucked all the stress away in that strange way that only he could. Mr Drewer seemed to not just be calm, but had the most unusual ability to actually create calm, almost without trying. He took pride in being the unflappable resilient one. It only served to increase the air of mystery and respect that surrounded him amongst his colleagues, and he had grown accustomed to that respect. He did after all deserve it.
What he did dislike though, and would candidly stress to anyone who asked, was being disturbed once he had left the office. He never left the office until everything was working again. He might not have resolved the issue yet, but things were being done, things were in motion, and that is what counted. He only ever left the office when he was completely sure that he didn’t need to poke, prod, motivate or scare someone into doing what needed doing. So when he left the office, he really meant it. You better have a damn good reason for disturbing him.
So when his mobile phone had rung just after he got home to the town house he wasn’t smiling when he glanced down to see who it was. Thankfully for the person on the other end, the person on the other end was Mr Nixon. When Mr Nixon called even Mr Drewer could put aside his displeasure at being disturbed.
“Mr Nixon?”
“Mr Drewer”
“Something important I presume?”
“Yes, just wanted to inform you of the latest information coming in to me. It would appear that the big man himself at their end is on route to London. He boarded a plane in Las Vegas an hour or so ago.”
“Thank you Mr Nixon, please update me in the morning if there are any further developments.”
“As you wish,” Mr Nixon replied before hanging up the phone.
Short, sweet and to the point. That was probably what Mr Drewer liked most about Mr Nixon. He didn’t even attempt to engage in idle chatter or pleasantries before delivering the information that he wanted to deliver. Mr Drewer really did wish sometimes that more people could be like Mr Nixon. It would make his organizing of things so much easier. He also understood the meaning of instructions. This at least meant he was unlikely to be disturbed again this evening.
There was nothing Mr Drewer valued more than his quiet time. He had become accustomed to his solitude down the years and found his respite in the little things. When you were surrounded on a daily basis by decisions that might shape the fate of entire nations, or at the very least impact the lives of ordinary people with whom you still had some sympathy, you tended to appreciate things in an altogether different way. Tonight he had already decided was going to be a nice glass of red wine while he relaxed in his over-sized red leather chair with some good music as background noise, maybe some Bob Marley this evening. Occasionally he enjoyed one of the thick Cuban cigars that sat neatly in the ornate cedar cabinet that adorned the far wall. He had acquired them during the whole Cuban episode in nineteen sixty two and they were usually reserved for special occasions. He was mulling over the notion that today might constitute an exception to that rule as he decided to pour himself a glass from the bottle of nineteen forty five Château Mouton Rothschild that he had been saving for just such a day. One of the perks of having a job like Mr Drewer had was that acquiring rare things was nowhere near as difficult for him as it would be for any ordinary collector. Any wine collector in the world would most likely keel over in shock at their first glance of his wine rack, and that was before he even thought of showing them the bottles he kept in the cellar.
Just as he poured the wine into the glass and ran his nose just above the rim of the glass to inhale he heard the very last thing he wanted to hear at that moment. The only other phone he allowed in the room rang. It was an old nineteen seventies phone, with an oddly round shape and cast in orange plastic, a very bright orange that for some reason people had found fashionable circa nineteen seventy six.
Mr Drewer sighed. It probably shouldn’t have been unexpected. He had a feeling that if the orange phone was going to ring it would be this evening. He did wish that he’d had a chance to relax first but it wouldn’t be prudent to ignore the call. It wasn’t as if the caller didn’t know that Mr Drewer was at home. He wouldn’t have called in the first place if he didn’t know that Mr Drewer was there. Putting the wine glass down Mr Drewer wandered over to the orange phone and picked it up.
“Mr Drewer?” the voice on the other end of the phone inquired. Mr Drewer wasn’t sure why such a question would even be asked given that they both knew that only the two of them used this number, and that it was extremely unlikely that Mr Drewer would have had company.
“Mr Basilisk” Mr Drewer replied.
The long silence that followed told Mr Drewer all he immediately needed to know as to the purpose of this call.
“This wasn’t down to your lot was it?” Mr Drewer asked, “You don’t know any more about any of this than we do?”
Mr Drewer had always operated on a ‘need to know’ basis with a bit of ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them’ thrown in for good measure, even to his superiors and that included the purpose of the orange telephone. His superiors most definitely did not need to know that he had an illicit direct line to his counterpart in the competition. Mr Drewer had always maintained that the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was actually good advice. Besides, he wasn’t a politics person, he was an organizer, the man who fixed the problems rather than caused them. He found having the odd informal conversation with the opposition to usually be mutually beneficial. He didn’t know that much about Mr Basilisk other than the fact they shared a common job role and had some shared opinions on the best way to operate their respective organizations. You could say that they had a strained but firm respect for each other.
“No, completely clueless so far, infuriating isn’t it.”
“Excruciatingly so.”
“All those damned seers, geniuses and prodigies with their supposedly all knowing talents and abilities and we still find ourselves resorting to good old fashioned detective work.”
“Indeed, I would gladly have strangled one or two of them today. Still, if they were as perfect as they would like us to believe then they wouldn’t need us now would they?”
“So your lot have absolutely nothing either?”
“They are resorting to the good old fashioned detective work of timeline by timeline recall analysis as we speak.”
“Likewise.”
“You wouldn’t lie to me about this would you?”
“Have I ever?”
“No, I suppose not.”
That was surprisingly completely true. Mr Basilisk and Mr Drewer seemed to share an uncannily inherent ability to know which questions were appropriate to ask of each other. They almost instinctively knew which subjects could be broached through the orange telephone, and which couldn’t. Both men knew that this was exactly the type of occasion for which they had agreed to have the orange telephone in the first place.
They had installed it in the early seventies when Mr Basiliks predecessor had been moved along to another role after the whole Watergate debacle. She had been a wretched woman that Mr Drewer had found most objectionable. Anyone who thought trying to incite a country as complicated as America into a civil war for a second time clearly had no inclination to learn from history and that was something Mr Drewer simply could not abide. So he had only been too glad when Mr Basilisk turned out to be much more of a like minded soul.
They didn’t speak often, the orange phone could go for years without ringing, but when it did it was usually for a very good reason.
“Besides, your lot must be more pleased about the current situation than my lot is. What, with the timeline now seemingly ending and all.” Mr Drewer probed.
“You have to be kidding me!” Laughed Mr Basilisk slightly bitterly, “The timeline ending on a date other than the one it is destined to end on? Our higher ups consider that just as bad, if not worse, than your infernal meddling in the destiny of humanity. They might not admit to that just yet, at least until they hear the big man offer an opinion, but they see this as potentially disastrous. If the universe throws things into a new timeline on its own steam without any interference from either of us what does that say about our mission statement? No, this is bad, very bad, they are really eager to pin this on you guys so that the rank and file doesn’t start to murmur about universal destinies and all that. It’s not like we don’t have the sort of operatives that are prone to over-thinking a situation and questioning, and you know where that leads.”
“I hadn’t considered that angle,” Mr Drewer mused, silently slightly annoyed at himself for not having deduced that likelihood on his own, “it makes sense from your point of view.”
“On the subject of the big man, he is taking a personal interest in all this. He is on a plane already and will be here sometime tomorrow morning. Just so you know.”
“I know. The ever gracious Mr Nixon informed me of the fact just before you called.”
“Really?” Mr Basilisk asked, clearly a little agitated, “damn that man, I would really like to know how he does that. He will be a thorn in our side until the very end I am sure.”
“I am sure he will. Mr Nixon however does not reveal his methods, even to me. So even if I thought there was any mileage in sharing some bits or pieces with you on that subject I wouldn’t be able to.”
“Like hell you would, even if you did know he does it.”
“Perhaps,” Mr Drewer said smiling to himself, “just like I won’t pretend to ask what your next course of action is going to be.”
“We should keep in touch though,” Mr Basilisk suggested, “I imagine that both of us will be putting in some overtime on the manipulation front over the next few days, especially given that both us know that neither of our management teams will want things to stay the way that they are.”
“I concur.”
“Good, then I shall stay in touch,” Mr Basilisk confirmed, “I have a weird feeling about this one. It isn’t normal. We should both be on our guard.”
“Aren’t we already?”
Mr Basilisk just laughed, “Aye, very true. You are probably never off guard anyway are you?”
“Some people would most definitely suggest that to be true if you asked.”
“Good night Mr Drewer.”
“Good night Mr Basilisk.”
Mr Drewer neatly placed the orange phone back on its base and decided that tonight did indeed merit one of those Cuban cigars.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)