The Sapphiri

by R Gene Curtis

  I’d say she’s even prettier than Karl’s “girlfriend” Tara.

  I zoom the binoculars in closer. My assignment here may not be too bad after all. After I submitted my initial report on Ler, I got my next assignment for “Encamp.” I need to befriend Pearl and find out why Ler is here. So much like the League. It would be simpler to approach Ler directly, but they decided for some random reason that I shouldn’t talk to him. But, for once, the results of the League’s stupidity might actually be enjoyable.

  Of course, the League has rules against flirting. Especially with people outside the League. But this particular girl is part of my job. The only reason I need to feel guilty would be because of Cassi. Even after two years, I can’t look at another woman without thinking about her.

  Pearl gets into her car and throws her purse into the side seat. It’s a casual maneuver, but it tells me she isn’t used to being followed. That’s good. This is going to be easy.

  Her car is an old beater, which means she’ll move slow. Its blue coat is mostly rusted through. She just finished college a few months ago, if my information is correct, but I haven’t been able to figure out where she’s working yet.

  That shouldn’t take long.

  She starts the car and heads west towards downtown.

  I put the binoculars away. I’ll put a tracking device on her car for tomorrow morning.

  * * *

  The next few days fly by as I get set up for the operation. My funds only allow for a sleeping mat, but I buy a bed anyway. The League pays the bills, and there’s no way I’m sleeping on a mat.

  The nerve they have. I’ll bet the people in headquarters have never slept on a mat a single night in their lives.

  I also buy a frying pan and some other cooking utensils. I’m not going to spend my time eating out every meal. I don’t know how they think I can fit in if I never cook—I live in an apartment complex! Fitting in aside, the fastest way to a woman’s heart is always in the kitchen. At least it was with Cassi. If I’m ever going to have a chance with her again, I need to keep my cooking skills.

  Aside from getting my apartment set up, I spend a lot of time watching Pearl. It doesn’t take long until I have her routine down. She gets up early, between 5:00 and 5:30, works out in the apartment gym, and then heads into work by 7:00 AM. She works in a large software company office in downtown Mesa, but we live in Phoenix, not too far away from where her Dad lives with Ler. The company’s front office wouldn’t tell me what Pearl’s position at the company is, but it can’t be too important since she graduated in elementary education, yet inexplicably works in software.

  Talk about deciding you didn’t love your major. But then again, it seems like just about anyone can work in software these days. Just take a few online courses and companies will hire you instead of the guy who actually got the four-year degree.

  I look at my watch: 5:13 AM. She should be down any minute.

  And there she is. She walks out of her apartment complex wearing a dark exercise shirt and three-quarter length pants. She’s not the kind of girl that flaunts her body when she works out. I like that—it says she works out to be healthy, not to attract attention like the girl who yanks off her shirt halfway through her run.

  But, from what I’ve seen so far, her confidence in her gym attire isn’t an anomaly. It’s the kind of confidence this woman seems to exhibit in just about everything she does. And that does bother me. Why would a girl with a failed major be so confident? Karl was confident, but he was a selfish idiot. Pearl doesn’t hold herself like Karl. It’s like she knows something I don’t. I intend to figure out what it is.

  I wait ten minutes after she goes into the gym and then I grab a towel and head down myself. She’s jogging on a treadmill at the far end of the room, earbuds in. I wonder what kind of music she listens to. Not that I need to know, but sometimes you learn a lot about a girl by the music she likes.

  I need to get to know this girl and why her name was on the paper Ler brought to this world. I stretch and loosen my body to get ready for the treadmill. I know my assignment, and I have three months to do it.

  From what I’ve seen over the past few days, it won’t take long.

  I set up on the treadmill next to Pearl. I fumble with the controls a little, but don’t even get a glance from her.

  Confident, but not friendly. No, that can’t be right. She drives friendly. She must be wary of strangers. Confident girls can be wary of strangers. That makes sense.

  I fumble for another minute and then I punch the right buttons and the treadmill starts. I’ve worked out down here every day for the last three days, but there’s no way Pearl could know that. She’s been at work every time. I push myself into a jog that matches her pace. Her breathing comes out in even breaths, and her feet pound the treadmill in a rhythmic beat that I try to match.

  She still hasn’t looked my way.

  I need something more dramatic, but a lot of my tricks aren’t going to work when she has earbuds in. I’m usually pretty good at getting someone’s attention and starting conversations, but if you interrupt someone with music on, they always rip one earbud out of their ear and give you that awful, “why did you just interrupt my favorite song” look. Not the best way to start a friendship.

  My feet fall in perfect rhythm with Pearl’s. Usually that does the trick, but it’s still not working.

  Suddenly, Pearl trips over her feet and falls, landing hard against the running treadmill, which pushes her off onto the floor behind her. The safety goes with her, and the machine skids to a halt.

  I didn’t know anyone even used those stupid safeties! I manage to yank mine out, despite it being wrapped around the machine instead of attached to me, and I jump down next to Pearl.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, as I realize I’m acting a little too familiar for a first-time meeting with a stranger. I back up and hope she didn’t notice.

  She laughs and pushes herself up. She’s put a hole in her pants, and her skinned knee is bleeding. She has some small scrapes on her arms, but she isn’t too banged up, considering.

  “I think so.” Her breathing is rapid, but regular. She’s in good shape—as if I couldn’t tell from looking at her body. “I don’t know what happened to me. I just fell over. Some weird case of vertigo or something.”

  “Can I help you back to your apartment? In case it happens again?”

  She nods and I put out my hand, remembering to be hesitant this time, and help her stand up. She leans on me as she stumbles towards the door, which I don’t mind. She’s just a little thing, this confident girl with Karl’s face. I push open the door for her, and gently guide her out to the right, towards her apartment.

  “What’s your name?” she asks as we walk to the stairs.

  “Bob.” I hesitate to make sure that I remember what my new last name is supposed to be.

  “Bob.” She laughs. “Is that it?”

  “Young.”

  “As a matter of fact, I am. But you look a little old for me.”

  She’s flirting with me. Totally out of character from what I expected.

  “I’m only just thirty-three now,” I say. “That’s hardly old.”

  She laughs. “That’s ancient. I’m only twenty-six.”

  Her age is just as much a lie as mine is. She’s twenty-two. I didn’t expect her to lie to me.

  “I’m guessing you just moved in?”

  I nod.

  “I didn’t know we had any vacant apartments.”

  “I’m in 4T,” I say. “That’s on the other side over by the...”

  “I know where it is.”

  “Right,” I say. She’s been here for a while.

  She looks at me with a question in her eyes, and I feel the effect of having them engage mine. They are blue, like Karl’s, but not the bright blue of the Sapphiri. She isn’t wearing contacts. She studies me for a minute, a smirk starting on the left side of her lips.

  “What is it?”

 
“Why did you stop?”

  I nearly drop a string of profanities, though I catch myself just in time for them to rattle harmlessly around my head instead. I’m an idiot! I stopped right in front of her apartment. I’m not usually this clumsy. I cough and start walking again. “I didn’t want to rush you,” I say. “Is your apartment nearby?” Terrible recovery.

  She laughs. “Actually, it’s right here. You walked me right to it, like you knew right where it was.” Her lips light up in a smile, but her eyes are dark, challenging.

  I force a small laugh in return. When stupid, better to play stupid. “How about that?”

  “Well, then, Mr. Young,” she says, and then she hesitates and looks at me suspiciously. “Or is it Dr. Young?”

  “Mr.” Strange question to ask a stranger at a first meeting. I was Dr. in my previous two lives, but in this life I never did go to school. It’s a shame that so much work can be erased so easily and just like that I’m not “Dr.” anymore.

  “Then, Mr. Young, it was nice to meet you.” She extends her hand, and I take it. She has a firm grip—confident girl—and her eyes meet mine, as if she’s anticipating what I’m going to say next.

  I tense up as her eyes don’t waver. I can’t remember if I have asked her what her name is or not. Something about this girl flusters me in a way that I’m not used to. If I know her name without asking, and know where her apartment is without asking, I will be in trouble and I can kiss getting any information out of this girl goodbye. But, if I have already asked her, I’ll look like an idiot. And, that’s something that I’m wanting to do less and less the more I get to know her.

  “It was nice to get to know you, too,” I say. “Miss, uh?” It’s my first smart move of the morning, proving that I’m still capable of last-minute brilliance. If I asked her name, then she probably didn’t tell me her last name.

  “Stapp,” she says with a smile, and she laughs. “I was wondering if you were ever going to ask.”

  “Well, then, Miss Stapp,” I say, and I turn and walk away. I glance back only once, and she’s standing next to her door watching me. Her smile is gone.

  I hurry back to my apartment and hop in the shower to think. What just happened? I’m not sure whether I’m more rattled by Pearl’s good looks, by my near slip-up of calling her by name, or by the fact that she was the one who initiated the meeting instead of me.

  Day one and nothing went according to plan. I don’t even have a return time to meet her.

  * * *

  The next morning, I beat Pearl to the gym. Since she may have already cataloged me as a stalker, I can’t afford to take any chances.

  I’m dripping with sweat when she comes into the room twenty minutes late. She’s in shorts this time, which show off her amazing legs. Her right leg is scraped up pretty badly from yesterday, but she smiles when she sees me and takes the treadmill next to me. That’s a good sign. I admire her legs as she climbs on the treadmill but look away politely when she settles into the controls.

  Given what happened with Karl, the League will probably kill Pearl after I finish my mission. Not even a perfectly written report on my end will change that. That makes my attraction to her that much more stupid. But, I’ve never been very smart about women. Getting attached is the last thing I need, but the thought of it beats the life of loneliness that I’ve lived since I had to leave Cassi.

  I sneak another glance at Pearl. Karl was one of those wait-until-marriage guys. Given how this whole thing is going, I imagine Pearl is cut from the same mold.

  “Mr. Young, you’re up bright and early,” Pearl says once she has her treadmill fired up. She’s matched my fast pace—much faster than her pace yesterday. I turn up the speed on my treadmill, and she adjusts her speed to match me. Her black hair sways behind her as her breathing comes out in regular breaths. Why was she jogging so slowly yesterday? She’s clearly done this speed before.

  “Yup,” I say.

  “Got work?” she asks.

  “Nope,” I say. “I don’t have milk either.”

  She laughs. “What kind of man gets up early to jog this fast and doesn’t even have a job?”

  “I’ve always been a morning person,” I say, which is actually true. It’s nice when my persona can have a little of me in it.

  “I don’t buy it. I have work I’m going to. I have an excuse to be up.” Her words are even and clear. She’s in great shape. Can the same two people really produce two children so different? If I ever were to meet my siblings, would they also be so different from me?

  “And what work is that?” My voice is as even as hers as I try to get the conversation away from me and on to her. I remember most of my story, but I’d rather not get tested too much. I’m usually pretty good at making up reasonable things to say, but I need to avoid making any mistakes around Pearl. She doesn’t miss much, and I feel like she’s on to me somehow.

  “Elementary school administration,” she says. “I have a special assignment from the government to monitor teaching strategies in the local schools. I’m working in a private building right now.”

  I don’t know why she explains where she’s working—unless she’s seen me follow her there. That can’t be true, though. I’ve learned stealth from the best. She can’t know I’ve been tracking her.

  She watches me, her breath coming out in long, even streams. Sweat gleams on her forehead, but curiosity shines in her eyes. Are her questions supposed to bait me? Does she know who I am?

  Impossible.

  Is it impossible?

  Does she recognize the contacts? Is she actually part of the League? Is this a test to see how well I’ll perform under pressure? I jog in silence for a few minutes until I’ve convinced myself that there is no way this mission is staged. A test for a semi-rebellious grunt-worker hardly seems reason enough to do anything so extreme as to stage the arrival of two men from the Forgotten World. Especially since one of them died and attracted national news—something the League always avoids.

  Except, can I really call myself a grunt worker, when it seems like I’m always getting the big calls? Karl, Lydia, Pearl, Ler. For the last few years, I’ve been on big stages dealing with people who are real threats to the Sapphiri. That hardly seems like a way to treat your average grunt worker. Is that self-aggrandizement, or am I really important? Probably the former.

  “So, you’re here but you don’t work?” Pearl calls me back to the reality that she is still staring at me, matching my speed, and asking me questions about me.

  I nod.

  Her eyebrows raise.

  “My parents both died just in the last year,” I say. “I received a fairly large inheritance.”

  “The kind you can live off for a long time?”

  I nod.

  “Well, Mr. Young,” she says, “that fortune is nothing but misfortune. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  I wonder if the League thought a rich man would be attractive to Pearl. I have a hard time believing that she would want anything but a hardworking man, given that her brother and her dad are work-a-holics. However, sometimes women want the opposite of what they know. I don’t have a choice but to trust the League on this one. Hopefully they got it right and I match the guys Pearl dated in college.

  “I came here to take some time for myself,” I say. “I need to decide what I want to do with my life.”

  “What were you doing before?” she asks.

  “Construction,” I say. “Horrible work. I was working on the new interstate out in New Mexico.”

  “I can see why you need a break.”

  I nod. New Mexico actually wasn’t where my story was from, but I don’t remember the state and given that I was just in New Mexico, it’s as good a place as any. I’ll remember it if she asks again, and I’ll be okay.

  As long as this isn’t some kind of League test. But it isn’t. No way I’m special enough to warrant extra attention.

  “Losing a parent is tough,” she says. “I can’t imagine losi
ng both at once.”

  I don’t say anything. The emotional attachment to parents isn’t something I know anything about. I’m just like everyone else who was born into the League of the Sapphiri. We’ve lived in the League our entire lives, and we don’t know any differently. My parents were Sapphiri, and their parents before that—going back thousands of well-documented years. My parents met on the day that they married. Mom was 25. She received her assignment that morning—to “marry” and have four babies. Dad was 48. They had been matched through careful genetic screening. Consequently, none of their four children, of which I’m the oldest, have any genetic defects even though we come from a line that has been inbreeding for millennia. We turned out like the League planned—tall, smart, and quiet. And, of course, we all inherited our parents' bright blue eyes.

  Everyone with bright eyes is Sapphiri. There has ever only been one known exception: Karl, my last assignment. But, it was just Karl. His sister jogging next to me doesn’t have them. But aside from Karl, every Sapphiri spends their lives under the control of the League. I haven’t ever seen my two brothers or my sister, and I don’t remember my parents. It doesn’t matter, though, I’ll never see them again. I’m just over thirty-five now, which means I have at least twenty more years of service to go unless they decide my genes are good enough to make me a dad. If not, fifty-five is the magic age—I’ll be sterilized or killed. Sometimes I wish the magic age was still forty-eight. Other days, I’m glad that it isn’t until fifty-five.

  I’ve paused long enough to make her think I’ve recovered from whatever emotions I was supposed to have. “What time do you get home in the evenings? From your secret government assignment?”

  She smiles to herself, as if she finds the question funny. “Six,” she says, which is an hour after she has arrived home the last four nights.

  “Want to come over for dinner?”

  “I’d rather go out,” she says. “If you can afford it. I don’t normally walk into strange men’s houses before I know them better. You never know if they’re actually a serial killer.”