“Looks easy enough to move around here. We shouldn’t have much trouble getting in and out,” Patrick surmised as he looked around at the wide-open entrances. Archways the height of a medium-sized building soared overhead with sweeping column lines.
“In yes. Out no. Ease is an illusion. It’s almost impossible to get out if they don’t want you to,” the captain warned in a tone of complete alertness. A wild animal searching for an unseen predator. He continued, and the group stopped walking to listen. “These buildings are open and these avenues wide by design, but security, though hidden ingeniously, is almost impossible to leave if Orns desires you to stay.” The group looked nervously around. “Motion sensors that track movement out of the campus trigger warnings to a central hub. The command station is just over there on the left. Call it a data-tracking observatory.” The QC captain pointed a calloused hand in the direction of a narrow tower that widened as it went up fifty floors high. Large disks of black and silver sat on the roof—satellite disks and antennas for quick data uplink speed. Top-end surveillance indeed. The building was black as night. David shivered as he looked at the windowless edifice.
“Oh stock be with us,” he prayed habitually, rubbing his silent brand.
The QC captain continued, “They decide if you leave—if it’s more profitable to keep you…”
The monk said, “Or to let us go so we can earn more freedoms and come back to spend.”
Leading the group to a flashy booth selling gaudy hats at the base of a golden building, the captain bought four, passed them out, and said, “They won’t let law-abiding on-duty QC officers anywhere near this place.”
“Hats…?” Paul asked.
“If you don’t buy things here, you stick out,” Gayle explained.
“QC isn’t allowed here?” David was surprised at this revelation.
“Oh yes, we’re allowed access for private matters and hobbies, but it’s dangerous even for us.” A seething grimace. “I’ve lost several officers here to random accidents.”
“Accidents?” David gulped. Accidents involving police?
“Well, never proven. Everything was properly filmed and accidental, according to the Orns storytelling liars. Mark me, something is foul about this place. Just haven’t been able to prove it.”
“You’re not as cold as you pretend to be, Captain.” Paul said with a quirky good-natured smile to the serious captain. “Maybe we have more in common than you think.”
“I am as cold as the night wind on a frosty winter evening,” the captain responded with a chill in his voice. “I will avenge Orns for killing my men.” His eyes were daring Paul to compliment him again. “I’m nothing like you. I live for a higher calling.”
“Very perceptive and intuitive,” Paul said.
“No more compliments. Makes me shiver.”
“It seems you can sense the nature of a place and its people and motives,” Paul stated matter-of-factly and resisted patting the captain on the shoulder.
Odd. David had never thought of QC officers as normal human-doings with personal lives and feelings; he’d only thought of them as the physical hands and embodiment of the law. The mission of maintaining order in the Majors was their lifeblood. Effective, logical, and severe in discipline.
As the group made its way through the campus, trying to act like normal customers, Gayle had their first good idea: “Investment tours!”
The men glanced at Gayle, confused. She pointed at the investment and career transfer tour building. The ornate welcoming building was constructed of flawless, seamless white marble. A massive video-projection screen played an advertisement on the white wall facing them.
The letters on the screen declared, “Inviting free doings and wealthy Productzens to invest with Orns! Join our team.”
The screen flashed another message, which followed the first in blending succession. “Pay for partnership with Orns. Come and see.” David looked at Gayle, muddled. The screen flashed again. “Guided and intimate tours of the major products and entertainment business streams at Orns.”
“Why there?” Patrick and David dully said in cohort. Both perplexed.
“You two make quite the incompetent couple,” the captain jested, making the younger men turn red.
Doc Gus and Captain Jonathan grasped the concept, nodding in agreement.
David didn’t have an inkling of how an investing package could help. Smile and nod in agreement so you don’t look like a fool tool, he thought before saying with unfelt confidence, “Gayle, Orns knows we’re neither wealthy nor free. They won’t let our kind in such a place.”
Patrick added, “The captives will not be in that division; they wouldn’t know the first thing about Xchange financing. It’s some sort of welcoming center.”
“You know nothing, Pat,” David said so that the captain would stop teasing them. He turned to Gayle and the other doings. “But he’s right.” The caption snickered. “Orns wouldn’t put its most secret stolen property at a welcoming center for investors.”
Gayle ignored the two and strode confidently around the courtyard, inspecting the building. Doc Gus, Paul, and Captain Jonathan followed.
“I guess they have a plan,” Patrick said. David and Patrick didn’t have a choice or an answer, shrugged, and decided to trail along.
“Stop going along with what I think,” David said, annoyed this foreigner thought like him.
“I don’t like agreeing with you. It’s humiliating.”
“Hmm.” David paused thoughtfully. “I was going to say the same.”
“Damn. We have a dilemma.” They let it rest. The group walked around the building, getting another view of the massive welcoming signs on the marble structure.
Thankfully, Doc Gus explained, “It’s a perfect excuse for us to be on this campus as new timers.”
“Yes, Doc is correct,” the captain said in a matter-of-fact tone. “The Orns security computer logs will reveal that none of us are Spenders at Orns, and we will be designated as opportunities or threats.”
“Their system is that advanced?” David asked.
“You have no idea,” Doc Gus said.
The captain continued, “They will flag us. Probably already have. Orns often will send new sales representatives in various tempting forms to approach us. Newcomers who refuse to purchase goods and services will most likely be removed before they get too deep into the campus.”
“Our presence will not be as anomalous if we came for example on behalf of two or three wealthy individuals who wanted to invest in future endeavors,” Gayle said.
“Makes sense. Oftentimes Savers eventually desire to grow into investors,” Doc Gus added.
“Precisely my thought,” Gayle said. “Saver boy over here is a perfect fit.” She seemed content trying to forget her problems by sinking herself into the group’s mission. “Or even if we came on our own behalf to learn about Orns’s offerings and wanted to jump on the bandwagon and earn extra freedoms.”
The captain reached up, adjusting the pink feathery monstrosity on Paul’s head. “I wear gray, white, and black. Uniforms. But even I know you’re are wearing that hat wrong.”
“Thanks, I think,” Paul said.
The captain said, “Isn’t unheard of for well-to-do employees investing savings into Orns.”
“Portfolio diversification,” Gayle said. David had to give it to her; she was educated. “It’s actually what the tours are for.”
Paul chimed in. “Didn’t Manda mention that David and Gayle just made a huge public splash? They would’ve earned a lot of money, or freedoms as you call them. What if they, as a couple, wanted to invest?”
David and Patrick shared a look, still not totally following, as they tried to piece together what the others were saying.
“That would work, if we lie and say we are about to purchase ourselves,” Gayle mused. “Bet they only work with people close to self-purchase.” Gayle pointed at the two human beings, saying, “All well and good for Da
vid and I, but how do we explain Donk, the captain? Let alone these two unbranded ones.”
“That is the catch,” the captain said in partial agreement with her. “Perhaps we say that we’re here for a corporate partnering and dating ideas for the PPRE program.”
“Like an investment scouting party?” Doc Gus said, his golden hood covering most of his face.
“Yup.” The captain nodded. “As well as for the two lovebirds’ personal future investment.”
“That would explain a larger group, partially. It might work.” Gayle’s long hair shone, golden like the building on their left.
“Exactly what is our lie?” David asked.
“Considering the recent PPRE success, it would be in Nnect’s best interest to send a security detail to protect valuable assets.”
“Who are the assets?” Patrick asked.
David took the opportunity. “Pat, Gayle and I are company assets.”
The captain further explained. “A security detail. The invaders would be on my team.”
“I like it much. Much very,” the monk said.
“Plus, a tour would give us the flexibility to search the campus for your friends and your wife,” Gayle said to Paul.
“Brilliant work, Abigayle, dear,” Paul congratulated her, paternal smile and all. She grinned appreciatively back.
She never gives me that sort of smile. A pang of jealousy filled him.
“What about you, Donk?” Gayle asked. “You giving up your golden robes for security detail?”
“I would never.”
“Never?”
The monk intoned a saying from his heart, his eyes closing. “Once this sacred robe of duty is bestowed, it shall never be removed until thy lifeblood is dried upon thy pathway and thy last breath is evaporated in the wind. Forever and ever I do pledge my being to my duty.” He opened his eyes. “No worries though. I’m David’s personal mental guide and monk, and with his recent rise in fame, I can claim the position of official observer.”
“That’s not a thing,” Patrick scoffed.
“Quiet, fool,” the captain said. Patrick raised the collar control device threateningly. Paul put a hand on his son, silencing him.
“It’s often customary to stay with and observe the reactions of prominent subjects during pivotal career events,” Doc Gus said. “The order believes in observing and analyzing responses to all forms of stimuli.”
“Investing would be a big career changer,” David chimed in. “Very believable.”
Golden robes swirled. “It explains my presence with David and Gayle,” Doc Gus said. “And I agree with the captain. We dress these two up as QC troops. QC troops won’t be checked for brands as frequently. If we move in and out quickly enough, it could work.”
So it was settled. “We need to find somewhere close by to change and discuss strategy before we get farther than these gateway buildings.” The QC captain halted the group under the Arch of Pleasure, a tall aluminum tube that rose hundreds of feet above the entrance to Orns.
“It’s been years.” Gayle dipped her head back looking in awe at the Arch of Pleasure. “I’m never in this part of town.”
“Me neither,” Patrick confessed sarcastically.
“Shut it,” David said, punishing Patrick with an askance glare.
“Just trying to keep it lighthearted.” Patrick shrugged.
“A place to prep. Irish it is,” David said. The surprised group looked for an explanation. “It is a small place just outside of Orns in the dirty streets on the other side of the city wall.”
“What in the CEO’s name is Irish?” Doc Gus inquired.
“It’s a beer place around the corner. I believe the owner is discreet—very, very old school. Reminds me of Mr. Paul here.”
“If it is anything like Patty’s Pub on Forty-Third,” Paul said with glee.
“Near his mayor’s office,” Patrick explained.
“Then thank God. Let’s go.” Paul began to softly sing a tune in a pleasant baritone voice: “From the green hills of my land, / To the port far away from home. / To an Irish port for a jig and a drink. / Me soul be delighted. / Me wife be fretted. / Me soul be respited. / To jig and drink at an Irish port.”
The group hurried out the west city gate, looking in all directions for wary QC officers, to the disheveled establishment. They agreed to change, plan, and remain hidden at Irish until the proper time.
“David, me boy! Blessin’ on your soul for returning.”
“Wouldn’t have figured you a dirty-dive-on-unbranded-street type.” Gayle looked at David. He almost lied to save face, but she said, “I respect you doing something uncorporate. Is that real wood?” She didn’t see his chess expand, proud, as she went to feel the dark oaken walls.
“Hush, Eric Paddy. We need discretion” The shadows shrouding the red wooden booths could hide informers for Orns or Nnect or Thrive. David glanced nervously around.
“Never let it be said ole Paddy was unhospital.”
“Hospitable,” Pat said, but at the glare from his father and Eric, he added, “Sir. Sorry, sir.” The old bartender served a cool, refreshing beverage that calmed the group’s nerves. David explained what beer was to Gayle.
“My, my, a fellow from the isle of shamrocks!” the owner shouted in delight when Paul introduced himself. He spoke eagerly to Paul, and the two hugged like kindred spirits and grasped arms in a brotherly fashion.
“Don’t mean to interrupt, but you look so very familiar,” Captain Jonathan, pale as a ghost, said; the group froze.
“God on high be damned. Take me now to the isle of mist.” Eric scuttled around the bar, a tear on his cheeks. He pinched the captain.
“Get ready to run,” David warned Gayle, waiting for the captain to beat the dumb Irish to death.
To his shock, the stiff-necked captain let the thick-shouldered, hairy man pinch his cheeks, a dazed, lost-in-time expression on his face.
“Johnny, my boy! God be blessed. You look good. Jacob must be proud.”
Gayle and David slipped into a booth, her closeness warming him. “Look at them! Would you believe it?” They watched the jovial proprietor hug the stiff captain before returning behind the bar.
“How’s your granddad, boy?” Eric shook his white hair in disbelief. “Thought I’d never see the day.”
“Uh. I don’t see him,” the captain lied, still looking like he was seeing a ghost.
“I can’t be rude to your friends, but you must return to talk another time. I have much to tell you,” Eric Paddy declared.
The captain left the room, saying he needed to find uniforms and green paint. Patrick, Doc Gus, and Paul sat on the swiveling barstools and discussed life with Eric. Looking at Gayle, the beer calming his nerves, he reveled in her familiarity and closeness.
“To our date,” she said, leaning in and smiling. “You surprised me today. I judged you incorrectly.” Her approval sent sparks through his being.
“Gayle, I…”
“Don’t ruin it,” she chided, teasing.
“Can I?” he asked, and at her nod he ran his fingers along her faded green shadow, the tattoo remains.
“I need to fix the fake one before we go back.” She tugged her sweaty hair and disheveled shirt. “And clean up for our investment tour.”
“To investment,” he said. “And not being terminated…”
“Hopefully. But either way, to the adventure,” she added.
The desire to lean in and kiss her seized him. It was so strong.
“Staring at my lips?” she reprimanded him, but didn’t lean away. Their faces were inches from each other. His heart beat faster. Desire filled him. He leaned a little closer.
A bark filled the room. The rusty scream of the door’s hinges interrupted the kiss he was intending.
“Puppies!” Gayle shouted. “I have heard of the dog whisperer.” Waldar, a blur of energetic flannel and camo, burst into the room, five fluffy colorful puppies nipping at his heels. His dark be
ard was longer and more tangled than the last time David had seen him.
“My kiss?” David whispered regretfully as Gayle and Eric ran to the door, and scooped up puppies. David meandered over to the scratched, faded wooden bar top to join the group for another round.
Waldar raised an enormous glass mug toward David. “The hunted man lives! Eric, did I tell you about David’s stunt with Fly Ry?”
“Still hunted, unfortunately,” David said, not wanting to relive the shameful memory. Color rose to his cheeks.
“Oh, do tell this tale of David!” Gayle said with glee.
“It’s a tale of a doing,” Eric said. “You’ve told me it several times, Waldar.”
“No need,” David begged.
“All’s fair in man hunting and dog training!” Waldar declared. “Can you set the mood, Eric?” The “mood” turned out to be an ancient cabinet with spinning black disks that sang outlawed tunes. “And on one fateful day, a dog saw a man. The man ran like a chicken.” Waldar jumped up on the bar and acted out the “tale of doing,” much to David’s shame and against his protestations.
“I like this guy.” Patrick nudged David with an elbow.
David was about ready to leap on the bar and start punching Waldar to save himself further humiliation when a smiling Gayle leaned against his shoulder and whispered, “You sound so human, in your tale. I like it.”
As the epic reenactment finished, Paul, who had been messing with the jukebox, yelled, “Will a fellow islander bang his boots to a fiddle?”
“By the blessed Patrick and the green of the fields, I’ll be damned to eternal blackness if I don’t.”
The strangest thing that yet he had witnessed took place. The two old men climbed onto the bar and started dancing, boots stomping out a merry rhythm. David had never heard such fast, fierce, and energetic noises. The jukebox sang and played a stringed instrument so wildly that his heart began to skip a beat to the old men’s dancing.
David overheard Patrick say to Waldar, “Come with us to Orns. We could use a good redneck in a scruff. Especially those beasts of yours.”
“Wish I could. my man. Orns has it out for me. I would blow your cover before we got twenty yards.” Deeply drinking his beer, he added, “They like to shoot at me if I go near their precious campus. “Ahhah. All’s fun in wars between marketing and pranks. All’s fun.”
A Tale Of Doings Page 51