Double Agent

○ twelve ○

Confusion is not a strong enough emotion to describe how I feel.

I stand behind the chair in his office. He sits in it, his deft fingers typing into the centre keyboard. All three monitors have different pieces of information on them. His silver rings glint under the backlight of the room, the tendons of his knuckles straining at every moment. They are slightly rough from what I assume to be the boxing session earlier.

"Your job is simple. I ask you something, you answer. If you don't know anything, tell me. I don't want any bullshit."

"You could say please sometime," I cross my hands.

"I'm paying you five figures."

I almost smile at the attempt of humour.

"Ask away."

He clicks on someone's profile. In the centre of the desk, the tile spits out the 3D hologram image of my mother. It rotates slowly.

He nods at her. "Paula Rossi?"

"My mother."

"Where is she from?"

"Parma. In Italy."

"And who was she before she married your father."

"A stripper, in a popular club."

"How did she end up involved with your father?"

"A one night stand," my voice dips.

This is what the great Paula Rossi used to yell at me when she was angry. That I meant nothing. I was the product of a forgotten condom. A random moment of lust. Nobody wanted me. I was an accident. I was the reason she had to leave her freedom behind.

They thought I was a boy. My grandparents wouldn't let her go because they felt so strongly I would be a boy. My father didn't care either way. He was happy there was going to be a baby, but my grandparents would never allow an heir to run free, especially when it could come back at any moment and claim the entire colony.

So my mother got married.

"Was there a baby involved?"

"That's outside of the scope of things you need information about."

"So you were the bastard child?" he throws out lightly.

"Mind your own fucking business."

He swivels the chair around immediately.

"Watch the fucking attitude," his voice is deadly.

"Oh, look who's talking," I smile sweetly at him.

His head leans back against the chair as he stares up at me through long lashes. He runs his tongue across a row of perfect teeth in irritation.

"Answer the question," he leans forward, "Was there a pregnancy involved."

"Yes," I hiss.

"And how long ago was this?"

"You're smart. Figure it out, Ford."

A pen spins around his fingers.

"It didn't happen to be twenty one years ago, did it?"

I don't answer. He has the audacity to keep talking.

"That's not long ago."

"What would you know? You're probably a forty year old virgin."

"I'm twenty five."

"Well shit. I didn't know they hired children to do the British Government's dirty work."