‘Oh, it’s fully salaried, with perks and benefits. You’ve met Johnson; he’s your driver. He, or someone who works closely with him, will be on call 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for all your transportation needs whilst you remain in Capehill.’ Michael pointed to a door a few feet down from where we stood. ‘That door leads to your office, in fact.’
‘And this one?’ I gestured with my head to the doors in front of us.
‘Oh.’ Michael pushed open the dark wooden door. ‘This one’s yours.’
That feeling of tranquillity and peace I had felt earlier came back to me instantly. Dark blue carpet, thick and with plenty of give, greeted my feet and my vision. I felt the almost overwhelming urge to take my shoes and socks off, and from the look on Michael’s face he knew what I was thinking. Sammy, on the other hand...
‘I’d hate to see what happens if Jay spills a drink on this.’
‘We employ cleaners for a reason, Sammy.’ I chided him, then paused. ‘We do employ cleaners, don’t we?’ Michael nodded, so I continued my way around the room.
Wood panelling - oak, so freshly installed you could smell the forestry, ran halfway up the wall. Meeting it was a bronze-beige wallpaper kissed with a runner of an intricate bronze and gold pattern which was so familiar to me I had to shake off the feeling of déjà-vu. An old Victorian style desk sat towards the back of the room, dead centre behind the west-facing window, green leather topped and supporting the only thing that looked out of place; what appeared to be a top of the line PC monitor, the Borleath logo stamped on the back. As I took it in, I mentally catalogued the drinks cabinet off to one side, already knowing what it would be stocked with. By the time I turned back, having taken the room in, my déjà-vu had almost faded into nothing and so the sight of the ugly painting of a boat in a storm didn’t faze me in the slightest. I was almost expecting it, in fact.
‘How... this is my Dad’s office.’
‘No, it’s yours.’ Michael’s smile faltered. ‘But,’ he conceded, ‘I did get some ideas from... around.’ He swirled his hands around, keeping it purposefully vague.
‘“Around“.’
‘Here and there.’ He said vaguely. ‘Photos, interviews, that sort of thing.’
I glanced at Sammy, who looked as shocked as I felt. I knew, for a fact, I had never spoken to the newspaper about (of all things) my father’s home office. It had been destroyed in the war. Standing here, however, with the same furniture, the same carpet and wallpaper, and the same butt-ugly painting on the wall... there was no way this could possibly be a co-incidence.
‘Could you...?’
‘Of course.’ Michael turned away. ‘Come on, Sammy, I’ll show you to your office.’ He paused and glanced back at me. ‘Make yourself at home, but don’t get too comfortable. The tailor will be here in about ten minutes.’
‘That quickly.’ My voice sounded faint, even to me.
‘You’re the world’s richest man.’ Michael shrugged, and left with Sammy, closing the door behind him. I turned again, looking around the office but not seeing. I felt disoriented, stumbled back, and dropped myself into the beaten-up brown leather sofa, trusting it would be there without thinking. I slipped my shoes and socks off, and ran my toes through the thick, warm, welcoming carpet. Feeling my chest hurt, I gasped some air in, and shuddered.
I’d like to think the blurred vision and wetness on my cheeks were caused primarily though jetlag.
After all, I hadn’t cried for my parents since the night they died.
Chapter Four
Dress To Impress
Ten minutes later (nearly to the second, as best as I could figure) there was a knocking sound. I looked at the door. ‘Come in.’ I stood, wiping my eyes with my hands, and then my hands with my dusty trousers. The knocking came again, more insistent. I brushed my now damp and muddy hands together. ‘Come!’
I was so intent on looking at the door, I barely noticed the soft click that came directly from my right. The motion, however, caught my attention in my peripheral vision, and I turned my head as a portion of the wood panelling slid to one side, and Sammy emerged from what looked like a secret corridor.
‘This place,’ he announced as he stepped into my office, ‘is very, very cool.’
I snorted. ‘Yeah. Whatever. The tailor should be here in any minute.’
‘I got a call from... Anna, was it? He’s on his way up. I thought I’d join you.’ He looked around my office. ‘That is, if you’re done reminiscing?’
I glared at him. ‘Do you honestly expect me to believe that none of this came from you?’
‘Hey! I’m as surprised as you are, Jay, honestly.’ He looked around and let out a low whistle. ‘Man, they really got all the little details right, didn’t they?’
I took the office in again, and out of curiosity moved closer to the painting. ‘Yeah. It’s eerie. I mean, this isn’t just an ugly painting of an ugly boat...’
‘It’s the same ugly painting of the same ugly boat.’ Sammy shook his head. ‘How do you think they managed to find a reprint of the world’s most horrendous seascape?’
I was about to answer when a thought took me, and I reached out and snagged the painting off the wall. Same horrible faux-gold frame. Same ghastly representation of waves cresting up in a storm. I turned it over and studied the back.
When I was much younger, my parents decided to repaint the hallway where this originally hung. They took it down, and me (being the budding artist at the time) decided to give them a piece of art they could love. I sat down with it and my crayons and was apparently quite happy with my artwork and couldn’t understand why my parents screamed at me. My father spent some time scraping the waxy crayon off the back, before hanging the painting in his office.
There, on the back of the painting, were scrape marks and flecks of coloured wax, left by crayons.
Sammy took back an involuntary step, and with a shiver I let the painting drop to the floor. If it weren’t for the thick carpet, the glass covering would have shattered.
We looked at each other, not knowing what to say. A knock at the door interrupted our reverie, and an old man poked his head in.
‘Mr Anson?’
Part of me noticed he was looking at Sammy when he said that. I felt too numb to reply, but Sammy found his voice first.
‘That’s him. I’m the better-looking best friend!’ I heard a note of forced enthusiasm in his voice. Always looking out for me, Sammy...
‘My apologies, Mr Anson.’ The elderly man entered the room, smiling. ‘I’m Elijah Noch, Mr Taytum asked me to come and see you, and... uhh... get you measured up for a suit?’
‘Uhh... yes. Sorry.’ I picked up the painting and moved it to my desk. ‘Please, come in.’ I examined the tiny man. ‘Sorry’, I apologised again, ‘I’m just... not quite sure what to expect. I’ve never been fitted for a suit before.’ I eyed a small handheld device. ‘What’s that?’
‘This?’ Elijah turned his gaze to it, and peered at it over half-moon glasses, acting surprised to see it in his hand. ‘Why, it appears to be a scanner.’ He waved it about. ‘To be more precise, it’s a scanner which will take a full body scan of you, and then we will discuss colour, cut and material.’ He looked Sammy over. ‘Young man, you look like a strong individual.’ Hey! ‘Could you please bring the device in the hallway through?’ He smiled at me. ‘It’s... uhh... rather heavy.’
Sammy grinned at me and exited the room. ‘Oh, damn!’ He shouted. ‘The tailor wasn’t kidding! How the hell did he get it up here in the first place?’
‘Oh, I had help.’ Elijah gestured with his scanner towards the sofa. I obliged and escorted him towards it. ‘Now, Mr Anson, this may sound odd, but please take off your clothes.’
I stared at him. He looked back at me evenly. ‘Pardon?’
‘Your clothes. Underwear can remain on, of course. But I need a full body scan.’
‘But...’
‘Mr Anson, I understand that you’re not use
d to the way things are here in Capehill. But your modesty, although touching, is irrelevant.’ I watched over his head as Sammy dragged in a massive metallic box. He was wheezing as he did so, and I had to wonder just what help Noch had received in bringing it up to the offices. ‘I have seen every single body-type of every age group of every gender. I promise you that you have nothing I haven’t seen before.’ He paused, smiled in a way that reminded me of my grandfather, and adjusted his glasses. ‘Unless, that is, you have a tail. Do you have a tail, Mr Anson?’
‘I...no?’
‘Are you not sure?’
‘No, I mean... no, I don’t have a tail.’
‘Then you have nothing to worry about, although it is a shame. I rather hope to meet somebody with a tail before I stop doing this.’ He smiled his grandfatherly smile again as Sammy re-entered, struggling with the equipment. ‘Now take your clothes off.’
Sammy dropped the box on the ground, making a dull thud. ‘Did I come in at a bad time?’
‘Not at all, Mr Handsome Best Friend.’ Elijah waved him over. ‘I’m told you need a suit, too. Take your clothes off.’
The scan itself took a truly short time. Rather than use a tape measure and uncomfortably cold hands the scanner was a pretty fast and non-invasive way of doing things. Elijah took a scan of Sammy and me, and pressed a single button on his scanner, before telling us we could put our clothes back on. I hurriedly did so, annoyed at Sammy’s grinning.
‘What?’
‘Nothing, Jay.’ He pulled his jeans back on slowly. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Shut up.’ I threw my t-shirt back on and sat on the sofa, as Sammy preened and flexed.
‘If you’d have come with me to the gym...’
‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever.’
‘When you two are quite finished?’ Elijah was playing around with his scanner some more. ‘We should probably begin. I can’t imagine there’s much time before your conference.’
‘Right. Sorry.’ I apologised, before catching Sammy’s knowing smirk. ‘What?’ I mouthed to him silently. ‘Tell you later.’ He mouthed back, before he sat down next to me, buttoning up his shirt.
‘Hey! This sofa’s really comfy!’ He bounced on it a few times.
‘Should be.’ I muttered under my breath. ‘It’s probably the same one from my Dad’s office, too.’
‘Gentlemen.’ Elijah turned to us, holding his scanner out, flat on his palm. ‘You will... uhh... no doubt be aware that proper tailoring takes time, effort, and money.’
I shrugged. I really had no idea about clothes.
‘However,’ he continued, ‘Now, we can change all that.’ He pressed a button on his scanner, and a holographic representation of me appeared to float in mid-air, half sized.
‘Hey! It’s Mini-Jason!’
The miniature version of me waved. Sammy waved back delightedly. ‘Can he dance?’
‘Let’s not find out.’ I raised my arm, pressing it in front of Sammy like a bar. Or a line he shouldn’t cross. ‘So that’s a miniature version of me. What does it do?’
‘It gets dressed, Mr Anson.’ Elijah pressed a button, and suddenly a tuxedo appeared on the miniature hologram.
‘Looking sharp, Jay!’
‘This is just an example, of course. Nobody is suggesting that you wear a tuxedo to a conference.’
I nodded. ‘How about...’ I trailed off. ‘Sorry. I know nothing about suits.’ I looked to Sammy helplessly, who shrugged back. We weren’t suit people.
‘Well, single breasted suits are in fashion right now.’ Elijah pressed a button, and my little avatar was dressed in a grey suit with light blue shirt.
‘Why is everything in light grey around here?’ Sammy asked. ‘Michael wore it, his assistant wore it... your Mini Me is wearing it...’
‘Grey is in vogue right now.’ Elijah was quite matter of fact about it.
‘Could I see a darker grey, perhaps? Or black?’
‘Black is a very severe colour, Mr Anson, and in this heat, I wouldn’t... uhh... recommend it.’
‘What if it was a lighter material? Something that breathed?’
‘Well!’ Elijah pushed his glasses up. ‘That could help, but it would still be quite warm. What colour shirt did you have in mind?’
‘Oh.’ My mind raced. ‘Red?’
Elijah pressed a few buttons, and the avatar appeared in a smart black suit, with red shirt and matching tie.
‘Can the tie be black as well?’
Noch had the decency to not critique my idea, but I could tell from the look on his face that he wanted to protest. Nevertheless, he made some alterations and the tie turned black. I stepped back and examined the hologram, who also seemed less than pleased about the tie change. Little beads of sweat also appeared on his brow, and he pulled out a handkerchief to mop at his face.
‘Cute.’ Sammy smirked.
‘That’s not me!’ Elijah protested. ‘It’s generated based on current weather conditions.’
‘Oh, well that’s not too-’
We watched as the avatar collapsed, panting for breath and loosening the tie as quickly as it was able. Elijah and Sammy turned to look at me expectantly.
‘Maybe grey?’
The large box, it turned out, was a fabrication unit. After the measurements had been taken and the cut and colour chosen, Elijah plugged his scanner into a port on the box, and beamed at us.
‘In five minutes, you will have your suit, fitting perfectly.’
‘How?’
‘It’s like a 3D printer.’ Noch smiled. ‘Tailored perfectly to your scans and requirements.’
As he spoke, a pair of trouser legs started to appear from the box. He went on at some length about technical things I didn’t understand very well, and mentally filed under “Danti-Tech”, although I knew very well that we had been able to 3D print things long before the aliens invaded. Within a few minutes, as he promised, an elegant suit emerged, which Elijah gathered up effortlessly, and present to us. I stood to examine it and found it to be the best looking suit I had ever seen. I stroked the soft grey material.
‘It feels like silk!’
‘It is silk. Artificial silk, anyway.’ Elijah winked. ‘Nobody would be able to tell the difference without an electron microscope. Or microscopic vision.’
I continued to feel it between my thumb and forefinger, nodding absently. Elijah continued. ‘It’s soft, breathes, and will be comfortable in this environment... which will be an important factor.’ He put a red shirt on top of the bundle in my arms. ‘The shirt is made of the same material, as is...’ he dangled the last piece on top, letting it spool over the red cloth, ‘the tie.’
I looked around, desperate to find a place to try it on. Elijah clearly knew it, too, because his smile became quite self-satisfied. ‘Do you not have a... uhh... private washroom, Mr Anson?’
‘I... I don’t know.’ I shrugged, still looking around.
‘I have one in my office, behind a concealed door.’ Sammy lounged on the sofa, and pointed lazily towards a particular panel, which had a rectangular recess. ‘Try there?’
I did so and was amazed when the door opened with a soft click and a hiss. As I took a step in, the lights came on automatically, and I let the door swing behind me back into the closed position. Unlike the main office, the washroom had dark grey tile and white walls, a large mirror dominating the wall on my right, with a sink larger than the one I had in the kitchen back home. To my left was a toilet and bidet (ugh), and in the corner was a shower cubicle.
Taking off my clothes again, I stepped into the shower cubicle, and enjoyed the feel of the water (instantly at the perfect temperature) against my body. I scrubbed myself clean and spent a few more minutes just taking the time to relax, for the first time since we landed in America.
After getting changed into my brand-new suit, I examined myself in the mirror. I looked like a kid playing dress up. My hair, normally a dark brown but now almost black post-shower, mostly clung to my sc
alp but was already beginning to puff up. I was too pale, too chubby in the face, and too... me. I wasn’t going to come across as anything other than someone in a fancy suit and too much money. Running my fingers through my slick hair, I grabbed a comb from the counter, and tried to brush it into some semblance of neatness. Although a barber would be coming up, I wanted to look at least partially presentable. After a few minutes, the only thing I was able to achieve was breaking the comb after it bounced off the white counter, after I had thrown it down. Rolling my shoulders back, I stepped out of the washroom, and saw Sammy.
Sammy. Looking like he had been born to wear his cream suit and pristine white shirt, which practically gleamed against his dark skin. He spun slowly, putting his arms out. ‘Now, Jay. Be honest: how many hearts am I going to break today? Most of them, or all of them?’
I smiled despite myself. ‘Oh, if I weren’t straight...’
‘I know, I know.’ He bowed, and then straightened to examine me. ‘You’re looking pretty sharp, yourself. Red suits you.’
‘Eh.’ I smiled at Noch, who continually smiled his grandfather smile. ‘You’ve done some amazing work today, Mr Noch. How much do we owe you for these suits?’
He shook his head. ‘The technology to create these suits came from your Foundation’s Artificial Skin research. Research that I was able to avail myself of after the war.’ He rolled up a sleeve, and I saw a very faint sliver of shiny white scar, showing where he had had his skin replaced. ‘Consider them on the house, with my thanks.’
‘I do have one more question though, Mr Noch.’ Sammy chipped in.
‘Oh?’
‘Well, if we want to fit in with the locals, shouldn’t we...?’
‘What?’
‘Have capes? Or is it... you know.’ He put on a strange, grating accent. ‘“No capes!”’
Noch glared at Sammy, before nodding to me. He then left, easily carrying the huge box that Sammy had struggled with before. We both stared, mouths agape, as he walked past a man armed with a small briefcase and some towels.
‘I’m Antonino,’ he said, in a heavily accented voice. ‘I’m going to cut...’ He looked at Sammy. ‘No. Not you. You’re perfect.’
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