CODE ELDRITCH

Chapter XVI

The Conversation

He showed up out of nowhere, joining me at the bar. "Tough day?"

I gave him a look, not quite sure he was talking to me. Can't blame me for wondering — it's not like CCTEA agents make a habit out of it.

"Tough life is more like it." I replied. I didn't even have time to make my vitriol known before he'd sat.

"That bad, eh? Let me get you something. Whiskey, on the rocks? Soda Jack? They make mean martinis here, if that's your thing."

"If you're insisting, I'll just have a soda. Don't mix well with alcohol."

He looked sideways at me, ordered something for himself and some kind of 'Fizzy Citrus'-thing for me. "I see. We all have our weaknesses. Mine is..." the bartender slid him a glass of some cloudy drink I didn't recognize (which says extremely little, granted) and a can of soda toward me.

"So," I said, really spreading on the sarcasm, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

He shrugged. "Didn't recognize you and thought you looked down on your luck is all. Place like this, you take what company you can get. You don't seem to have any."

As much as it hurt to admit it, he wasn't completely off the mark. Didn't take a genius to figure out I had tried to find the most remote place in the building to get away. I didn't want to run into anyone that knew someone. What if Banks had a worried friend? I knew how it looked. PO goes with Apprehension Unit, entire unit falls ill, PO feels fine. I was still on the lookout for a way to get away from Slo-Town and this fucking madhouse of an organization, but it seemed to have pretty long arms. Didn't want to rush anything until I had a getaway plan. Besides, pay was good, and if TV shows had taught me anything, it was that the best way to get away was having cash.

Didn't mean I could hide from the things TO would definitely ask of me in the meanwhile. I wasn't looking for another Chile.

My alcoholic benefactor pointed at one of the TV screens mounted along the edge of the ceiling, flashing images of flooded woodlands. "SUPER-LOCALIZED TSUNAMI SHOCKS CHILEAN COAST, SCIENTISTS BAFFLED" the headline ran, creeping across the screen. "Some weird kind of shit, isn't it? You ever seen something like that before?"

"No," I said. "Definitely haven't. Par for the course 'round here?"

He sipped his drink. In the corner of my eye, I made the assessment that he was just the kind of man people would stumble drunkly into in a bar and think 'Hey... why not?'

"Wouldn't know," he smiled, "I don't get to leave the premises that often. What division you with?"

I weighed the pros and cons of letting him know. Cons: he'd know what the CCTEA wanted me for. Pros: something to talk about.

"Apprehension." I reluctantly admitted. I didn't know what the general attitudes in Slo-Town toward different vocations. For all I knew, it could be like high school, and I didn't know what was Book Club and what was Football.

"Oh," he mouthed, brow knitting in a frown, "didn't take you for one of those guys."

"That a problem? You can have your drink back."

"No, no!" he laughed, "just surprised, is all. I had a... different person in mind, I guess."

"Yeah? Big, buff, few brain cells? Sour look?"

"You got it," he took another sip, visibly cherishing it, "but then I'm with Processing, so maybe I should mind my own business."

I made a mental note. If my memory wasn't failing me, I imagined Processing was the division that handled EAs after the CCTEA specialists tried and failed to destroy them. It was a depressing job to think about. The workload had to be immense.