Curds and Whey Box Set

by G M Eppers

  “Yes, Ma’am. Farm-raised as a boy, and four years as a zookeeper.” I did not know that. While I was quite familiar with the background of every member of my team, Knobby, technically, was not part of the team. I’d never been provided with his personnel file.

  “Have you experience with raccoons, specifically?”

  If Knobby had been the hat-wearing type, he would have had it in his hands and would be wringing the life out of it. Instead, his hands massaged the arms of the chair. “Some. To be honest, mostly as pests. They’d get into the trashcans at night, and steal the cat food from the barn cats. Of course, the cats were in there to catch the mice, but have you ever noticed that cats don’t actually eat the mice? They catch them and kill them easy as can be, and sometimes bring the carcass up to the house, but usually we’d find them in the hay. So we put out food for the cats and find raccoon tracks all over the place next morning. I wonder why the raccoons never went after the mice.” He was suddenly lost in thought about the whole idea. “Maybe they did. Maybe it was the raccoons left the carcasses on the porch. Come to think of it, we’d find tracks there, too. You’d think the cats would chase the raccoons, though, wouldn’t you? But, you know, we never saw them do that. Those cats and raccoons got along better than a hog in a mud puddle on a hot day. Why—“

  “Mr. Olivieri!”

  Knobby was startled back to the present. “My apologies, Miss Chiff, Ma’am. I’m a little nervous.”

  She spent no time discussing his emotional state. “You’ll be accompanying the team to advise on the tracking and treatment of the raccoon. Banana Harris, I’m sure, will be available as well, but she may be, or may become, emotionally compromised. We must be prepared for any eventuality. Advice from a neutral party such as yourself would be very useful. Also, Banana Harris has voiced a special request that CURDS be represented in the investigation. And Team B is in Australia tracking the source of the Uber cheddar that your team confiscated in Paris about a month ago. Unfortunately, Team C is currently in the Congo handling a very delicate negotiation with a tribe of Mbuti pygmies who are warring with the Aka over a supply of Uber rennet that was found in a cave abandoned by the Bantu last year. It seems in their culture the surrender of Uber has taken on status and they both want credit for it.” Some of this I’d read about in the dispatch. The rest, no doubt, would be in next month’s edition. I was already preparing a response to the inevitable question of why we were not the ones in Australia. “That leaves Team A to represent us in Minnesota.”

  “Consider us on our way, Ma’am,” said Sir Haughty. “We will not disappoint you.”

  “I’m sure you won’t.”

  I finished drinking what remained of my milk and got up with the others to head upstairs and pack a go bag. I was reacting out of habit, all knowledge of my actual situation having left my head at the mention of a crisis. “One moment, Helena,” Miss Chiff added.

  We all stopped and turned back to the TV. “Yes, Ma’am?” I asked, noting that technically the others were now eavesdropping.

  “You are injured. You’ll remain home and heal. I cannot authorize you to accompany them.”

  I almost rushed the TV in objection, and to get that one last droplet of milk off the screen, but I contained myself. “No, please. No no no no no. I can’t stay behind. It’s my team!”

  “Billings will be Coordinator Pro Tem for this mission.” I saw Billings stand up a bit taller.

  I was both proud of him and appalled at the prospect. “With all due respect, Ma’am, I don’t believe he’s ready to head a mission without supervision. Couldn’t I go with to observe and advise?”

  “What makes you say he isn’t ready? He took your place in the Czech Republic while you were diverted—“

  Normally, I wouldn’t dare interrupt Miss Chiff when she’s talking, but I threw caution to the wind and jumped in. “—and went off half-cocked and got himself captured! I know the final result was very impressive, but you can’t ignore that he made at least one very big mistake.” Out of the corner of my eye, Billings’ taller stance shrunk a little. I hated to point out his shortcomings in front of everyone like this, but it couldn’t be avoided.

  “Need I remind you, Helena, that you also were captured. In addition, he will have plenty of advice at his disposal. Along with your team, the Mayo Clinic has also enlisted the help of an FBI profiler and the Minnesota State Patrol. Clara is one very important raccoon. Don’t get me wrong. You are a very valuable member of CURDS, and as such, we cannot risk your complicating your injuries. Without a clean bill of health, we cannot insure your safety.”

  “But you are allowing, even demanding, that Knob—Mr. Olivieri go with them. He doesn’t have a clean bill of health, either. He has no kneecaps.” That felt like a low blow to me, too, especially after our special bonding the night before. Sometimes, I can be despicable. I was feeling petulant and whiny and I wasn’t quite sure why.

  “Ms. DuBois, please explain it to Ms. Montana,” said Miss Chiff with a heavy sigh. I winced at the sound of my surname yet again. I wasn’t gaining any Brownie points here.

  Roxy’s hazel eyes darted between me and the television screen a couple of times. “CURDS Constitutional Charter, Article Eight, Section C, Subsection twelve, paragraph four states that a non-team member can accompany a team on a domestic mission in the capacity of advisor, ambassador, or specialized medical personnel when requested by the Director and after submitting a signed liability waiver in triplicate releasing both CURDS and the United States government from any responsibility in the event the party is injured or killed.”

  “But…but…but,” I stammered, searching for a way out. “I can sign a waiver, too. I won’t participate physically. I promise! Nitro will be there to make sure I don’t. Won’t you, Nitro?”

  Nitro stood there silently, unable to take either side in this argument. Professionally, I’m sure he agreed with Miss Chiff’s assessment, but he didn’t want to contradict me. Not only did he have to work with me every day, but we were friends. At the same time, he didn’t dare take a stand against Miss Chiff. He stood there between a rock and a hard place in the middle of the foyer.

  “Actually, Mr. Thackery would also be staying home to monitor your recovery. That should have gone without saying.”

  And just like that, I had an ally. It clearly had not gone without saying. Nitro didn’t want to stay home, either. “Miss Chiff, if I may be so bold, what if someone needs medical care in the field?” Nitro asked. His objection didn’t seem nearly as desperate as any of mine. He sounded calm and reasonable. Someday I should try that.

  “It’s the Mayo Clinic, not the Outback,” she replied, getting more impatient with our objections with every moment. “I’m sure they’d be able to handle any medical emergency that arose.”

  I decided to drop all pretense as I suddenly realized what my real motivation was. Honesty always seems to be the best policy when it comes to Miss Chiff. She’s actually a very reasonable person. You just have to be able to defend your own position. And I had only one defense. “Please, Miss Chiff. It’s probably the only chance I’ll ever have to meet Banana Harris. What are the odds of another mission in Minnesota, let alone one right there at the Mayo Clinic? It’s Banana Harris! Only an idiot could pass that up.” That was a much stronger argument than one might realize. This situation was similar to a nurse hiding from Florence Nightingale, or an astrophysicist turning down dinner with Stephen Hawking. Imagine being invited to the White House to meet the President of the United States and staying home because you happened to have a broken arm. Not a cold, where you might infect someone, just a simple injury that had already been treated. Why, it would be insulting to the President not to come, right? And Stephen Hawking or Florence Nightingale would be appalled at one’s lack of fortitude. But I wasn’t sure this argument would be enough.

  Then I was saved by Billings, who had an even better one. “May I speak, Miss Chiff?” He asked. None of us had asked permission to speak. In f
act, some of us, me, for example, had actively interrupted her. I may have even raised my voice a little. Billings, on the other hand, spoke calmly and politely, waiting patiently for Miss Chiff’s reply. Calm and reasonable again. I couldn’t get my head around it. At least, not at that moment. Calm and reasonable were not in my vocabulary just then.

  “Of course, Mr. Montana.”

  “I’m flattered by your confidence in me,” he said. “But I have to admit, I’ll be more comfortable if my mother came with. I value her input and guidance as I move forward and gain more responsibility. We could consider this an evaluation exercise. She’s right to point out my failure in the Czech Republic, just as you are right not to hold it against me. I respectfully request that you allow her to join us.” This, after I’d thrown him under the bus. Did I raise him right, or what?

  Miss Chiff was silent for a moment. Her expression didn’t change. Her expression almost never changed. She had Disapproving Resting Face. She took a deep breath and exhaled through her nose. “Very well, Mr. Montana. Ms. DuBois, I expect to see both waivers in my Inbox before take-off.” I’m not sure if our arguments actually won or if we’d just worn down her patience. In any case, I was going to Minnesota to meet Banana Harris. A little ball of excitement twirled in my stomach. I’d met the President when I was sworn into CURDS and even that day I hadn’t felt like this.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” said Roxy.

  “Wheels up in 32:17.” The TV went back to telethon coverage, but for once no one cared. One of these days, I am going synchronize my watch with Miss Chiff’s time estimate. I’m beginning to think she’s just making up a number.

  The team went into action. “Remember everyone,” I said loudly as people began moving, “It’s Minnesota. Pack for cold weather!” Knobby stood in the middle of the living room, unsure of what to do. “Relax,” I told him. “Go downstairs and pack some overnight things. You’ll be fine.”

  “But the floors—“

  “Will still be there when we get back, right?”

  “I suppose so.” I prodded him again and he went down while I went up. I grabbed the dispatch from the nightstand drawer and shoved it into my bag, thankful that I’d finished highlighting the night before. Less than 5 minutes later, we gathered in the entryway. Knobby had pulled the plug on the coffee maker, dumped the contents, and rinsed the carafe, which now sat upended in the drainer, and held a brown paper grocery bag with the top edges curled down. Badger used the remote to turn off the television and we headed out to the Metro Blue Line looking like a parade that had lost its route.

  On the subway train, Knobby and I sat next to Roxy. Billings and Sir Haughty stood, holding onto support poles, and the rest found seats nearby. Roxy pulled her cell from her HEP belt and began tapping like mad on the tiny keys. “Now, the waivers have to be individualized. I’ll do Knobby’s first. It’s mostly boilerplate.” She pulled up a form and began changing some of the data, then handed Knobby a stylus. “Here, sign it and put your index finger on the biometric square.”

  “What about the triplicate part?” I asked.

  “That just means I have to email it to three different people. Well, four actually, because Miss Chiff wants one and she’s not usually on the list. There’s the JAG office, the DA, and the County Clerk, too.” Knobby’s waiver went through and she started over with mine. “Yours is a little different, Helena. Knobby’s version gave him rights, yours is going to take some away. You won’t be able to do anything other than advise, you realize. You have to let Billings take the lead.”

  “I understand.” I had to say that whether I did or not. And while I did actually understand, I didn’t particularly like it. I glanced at the legal gobbledygook when she held the phone toward me and handed me the stylus, hoping to see a loophole, but it was barely comprehensible. I trusted her, though. If I tried to do something I shouldn’t, she would tell me. I signed it and touched the square and she sent it off through cyberspace. It was official. I felt like I had just signed away an important part of myself. It’s temporary, I told myself. But it didn’t feel that way. It wasn’t quite as bad as when I’d left the team in the Czech Republic to infiltrate WHEY, but it was close. Separation anxiety for adults. What a concept.

  Our parade got off the train at the airport, walked deliberately through the concourses and headed out to the tarmac. The familiar CURDS1 stood waiting, an electrical staircase leading up to the doorway. And at the bottom of the stairs stood Miss Chiff. “Thank you for coming to see us off,” I said.

  She hefted a carpetbag that I hadn’t noticed before. “I’m not seeing you off. I’m going as well.”

  “Do you have a waiver?”

  She didn’t laugh and didn’t look amused. “Consider it an evaluation, Ms. Montana,” she said. There was that surname again. I suppose it was appropriate, since I wasn’t coordinator on this mission. I wondered what she would call Billings. The team, and Knobby, began climbing the stairs and boarding the plane. Billings hung back, just as I usually did. Great. Now I was going to be evaluated for my ability to evaluate when all I was trying to do was avoid staying home. “Good morning, Billings,” Miss Chiff said.

  Billings looked at me and raised an eyebrow, standing taller with pride again. “After you, Miss Chiff.”

  “After you, Ms. Montana,” said Miss Chiff. “And don’t look so surprised. You said it yourself. Only an idiot would throw away a chance to meet Banana Harris.”

  With our go bags stored in our lockers, we all took seats and strapped in, ready for take-off. Miss Chiff hung onto her carpetbag and Knobby tucked his brown grocery bag under his seat with a crinkle. Miss Chiff, who evidently had not had the pleasure of a trip in a CURDS plane, surveyed the interior. The plane was large enough for a few hundred seats, but only held twenty. They were widely spaced, ten along the exterior wall, and another ten along an interior wall that supported an upper deck. “My goodness. You people are spoiled rotten,” she said, taking the nearest available seat. “As I recall, you have APE as well.” APE stood for Automated Pressure Equalizer, a mechanism that eliminated the problems of ear popping, internal engine noise, and unintelligible conversation. “The next time the Department of Health and Human Services tell me they need to cut funding, I won’t object so much.” I wasn’t going to be the one to show her that the interior wall also hid a series of 4 restrooms with showers, or to mention that we often ate gourmet meals. We risked our lives often and felt we deserved a few comforts.

  “Hello, Miss Chiff.” Dinny Rosensglet, our co-pilot / steward came through to verify that we were all strapped in properly. “It’s a pleasure to have you with us.”

  “Ms. Rosensglet. In what capacity will you be serving us today?” Dinny wasn’t allowed to do both jobs at once, for obvious reasons, though she was well trained in both.

  Dinny checked Miss Chiff’s seatbelt. “I’m steward, today. Benedict is co-piloting.”

  “In that case, may I have a pillow, please?”

  Dinny reached behind Miss Chiff’s seat and rotated the attached pillow. “It’s right here, Ma’am.”

  Miss Chiff leaned forward so Dinny could position it behind her head. “Thank you, Ms. Rosensglet.”

  Dinny continued her rounds, checking all the seatbelts, then disappeared to the front of the plane to strap herself in.

  There was a rush of speed and the cabin angled as we ascended. The APE system rapidly adjusted the air pressure as we climbed. I saw Miss Chiff tilt her head questioningly, noticing the lack of ear pain. She settled back into the chair and pillow with an air of satisfaction. Soon we levelled and the seatbelt sign dimmed.

  I unbuckled. “Dispatch meeting, upper deck,” I announced. I headed to the locker room to retrieve the Monthly Dispatch from my go bag. The flight to Minnesota was not very long and there was a lot to cover. Leaving Miss Chiff and Knobby below to enjoy the cloud cover through the windows, we assembled on the upper deck around the large conference table.

  “Mom, is this something I should
be doing?” Billings asked hesitantly. It’s not that chairing a meeting was very hard at first glance, but it was more than simply reading from the Dispatch. For Billings to take the lead here, he would have to take the time to read the entire report so that he could summarize and prioritize the information. On the other hand, he was probably right.

  “Roxy?” I asked. When in doubt, ask the legal department. For our team, that meant ask Roxy.

  Roxy was dressed relatively modestly, in a simple black dress, but the high-heeled shoes featured criss-crossing straps that went half-way up her calves. She was already taking a seat on the other side of Billings from Avis Nicely. “Technically, Billings is right. In a normal suspension of Coordinator duties the division of labor is absolute. However, I slipped in a mutual consent clause from an IP agreement for any activity that doesn’t qualify as direct combat. If Billings wants you to chair the meeting, you can.”

  I took my seat, facing Billings, where I could also see Miss Chiff down below. It wasn’t that I thought she needed watching, but I wanted to know what SHE was watching. She glanced up at us and nodded, then returned her gaze to the window. Knobby sat stiffly, gripping the armrests as if he thought they might fly away, but also leaning toward the window and staring straight down. “It’s up to you, Billings. The report is already highlighted.” I was hoping he would turn it down. I wasn’t sure how he’d react to some of the team getting commendations for Italy and not others, especially not himself. He might wonder why I hadn’t highlighted them and might actually bring them up anyway. But I couldn’t very well insist that he pass.

  “If you don’t mind, Mom. I’d rather be more prepared. You can chair.”

  “No problem,” I said casually. Inside, I was thanking whatever deity might be listening.

  There was a rumbling downstairs as the three cats raced into the cabin. Our newest addition, Harelip, a tuxedo cat, was first. She was quickly followed by Backwash, a calico, and T.B., our white cat. The three of them stopped short in the cabin, seeing not one, but two, new humans. T.B., unimpressed, diverted from the other two and came upstairs. He began slinking around our feet and purring loudly. Below, Backwash and Harelip seemed to communicate to each other that the new humans must be investigated, and they bonded in a feline dare to approach. Miss Chiff glanced up at me. She had known about the cats, though she hadn’t as yet met any of them. She crossed her legs and arms and tried to ignore their attention. Knobby, however, relaxed at the sight of them and lowered an arm, advertising friendly intent. So naturally they both bypassed Knobby and started sniffing at Miss Chiff’s chair.