Building sensors then determined the locations of those not identified; what followed was, in Edgar's opinion, nothing short of remarkable. The non-residents, identified guests excluded, were given a chance to surrender by going to the nearest elevator. Touching the pad at the elevator captured the non-resident's ID, sending it to Altair Security in addition to opening that elevator. The non-resident was then instructed to enter the elevator, at which point the car locked them in, released anesthezone, a powerful, fast-acting knock-out gas, and descended to the first floor to await the arrival of Altair Security.
Of course, not everyone surrendered. These situations particularly amused Edgar. After ignoring the broadcast surrender instructions three times, the building took the offensive. Using the sensor data, the building encouraged cooperation with the elevator surrender routine. This encouragement was provided by strong electrical impulses delivered from directional electrodes hidden in the ceiling. The effect was similar to that of a cattle prod; to date, no one in the history of this particular system had managed to ignore it. Most luxury buildings were thus equipped; reports of their deployment were where Edgar got his knowledge. During his residence, Highland House's system hadn't been deployed.
Edgar took the shopping bags to the kitchen, depositing them on the counter nearest the 'fridge. First things first, he kicked off his shoes and undressed. After downing a tall glass of water and grabbing a refill, Edgar put away the groceries. Once done, he took a quick bathroom break, returned to the kitchen for coffee and headed for the living room where he stood before the window overlooking Gridley Park.
I can't say I'm happy about this new development, but it is what it is. Out there is some loony who knows my patterns, my schedule, my everything and she's got a chip on her shoulder. Been there, done that, though. Yeah, it's a pain in the ass, but, like everything else, it'll pass. I trust Evans and he knows what I meant when I said Serina Jarvis won't ever leave Earth if she really is a threat.
It's a last resort, of course, but even in these enlightened times, human instinct runs deep and that instinct says 'if it's me or her, it ain't gonna be me.' If she really wants to get me, she's not gonna stop because she got shipped to some po-dunk colony world; she'll find a way and when I least expect it, she'll pop up and bite me in the ass. Well, guess what, chica, shit ain't goin' down that way. Fuck with me, I'll fuck you right back and you'll know you've been fucked. Life can be easy, we can all get along; I've been around over four hundred years, so I know it's true. I also know that mad dogs don't stop biting until you put them down and Miss Serina Jarvis strikes me as one crazy bitch.
CHAPTER 12
The soft chime of the wake-up alarm brought Edgar out of a sound sleep at nine a.m. He ordered the drapes open and enjoyed the sun as the last vestiges of a dream slipped away from conscious memory. The only thing that remained was a vague sense of uneasiness.
I slept better than I thought I would. Guess the weed 'n' whack worked better than planned. I hate to admit it, but our Miss Jarvis is getting under my skin. I can only do so much, though, and I refuse to let this mess take over my life. Like everything else, the rule is do what you can and stop worrying. Which reminds me, I need to call Evans this morning and get his take on what I came up with last night; plus, I have some things I want him to do.
Edgar spent an hour staring out the window at Gridley Park the previous evening, reviewing possible scenarios, and their corresponding contingency plans. The most obvious scenario for Jarvis was a direct assault; she knew his routine as evidenced by the photograph in the Park. It wouldn't take much to step out from behind a tree and tag him; a dart with poison, a micro-bullet to the head or heart, either would take him out quickly, if he could actually die. If she picked the right spot, she might even get away with it. This was also the easiest contingency plan: No Gridley. Evans item one: Check weapons registries to see if Jarvis was listed.
A less obvious, but equally dangerous, scenario was that Jarvis somehow had his comm tapped, in which case, she'd know about any food deliveries he was expecting. She could intercept the delivery person, take his or her place and get easy access to Highland House as he'd end up letting her in himself. This scenario held the troubling possibility that the actual delivery person might come to some form of harm. Given that he knew and liked most of those people, the possibility that they could come to harm bothered him. Contingency plan: No food deliveries. Either shop at Dalio's or leave the apartment for takeout. This would throw off Jarvis as it wasn't his normal routine. Evans item two: Order full-scale comm sweep to check for taps. The HC could find simple taps and Edgar would run his own search; however, if Jarvis was smart enough or well-connected, the taps would be more elaborate. Evans' own connections would allow him to run a deeper sweep.
Scenario three had Jarvis working with others in her illegal efforts. This was a troublesome scenario as he wouldn't know who was watching him and when. Another missing piece of information was the skill set of the possible co-conspirators. This scenario was more vague than the other two, but equally plausible. Contingency: None at present. Evans item three: Run a check on all of Jarvis' known connections.
The fourth scenario was no less disturbing than the third. What was Jarvis' mental status? If she was simply angry that her extortion plan failed, her reactions would be more emotional. However, if she had a history of such criminal activity, she might be coldly calculating and a much more dangerous threat. Contingency: None at present. Evans item four: Pull strings and get access to Jarvis' criminal and psychological records, if any.
Scenario five had hit him like a ton of bricks. Related to scenario two, if she had his comm tapped, she would know about Maddox' visit. He'd felt nauseated at the idea that she could possibly harm the young man, followed by surprisingly strong anger. Contingency: Cancel the date? His heart sank at the thought, yet another shock. Against his better judgment, he eliminated that option and decided that the comm sweep was the highest priority.
He reviewed the list of scenarios while enjoying the soft morning sunlight. After about an hour, he concluded that he had nothing to add and got up to start his day. As he was cooking a pan of eggs, he pondered how to contact Evans without tipping his hand to Jarvis if she did have the comm tapped. The only reliably secure option was a face-to-face meeting at the barrister's office in Navea.
The magna ride took thirty minutes each way and he expected the meeting to last an hour or so; Evans would have information to share in addition to reviewing Edgar's ideas. While waiting on the eggs, Edgar instructed the HC to do a sweep for any unauthorized comm taps. The computer was done before the eggs; result: no taps. Edgar knew this meant only that there were no simple taps. Plating the eggs and refilling his coffee, Edgar decided he'd done what he could in the area of comm sweeps and would leave the rest to Evans.
He settled at his desk, taking a moment to soak in the scenery. It was an absolutely beautiful day, bright and sunny; so very different from the darkness into which he'd stared last evening. As it usually did, the cheery weather brightened Edgar's mood. He dug into the eggs and started his daily review of the news feeds. As an afterthought, he asked the HC to run a search on stories involving Serina Jarvis; however, none appeared in the feeds.
It was a slow news day, apparently; the best story was the weather. Today's forecast was sun and mid-seventies, with light breezes. He reined in a flash of annoyance at not being able to run today as the weather was perfect for it. At least he'd be outdoors for a part of the day when he left to see the barrister. He got up, stretched and put his dishes in the 'washer. Glancing at the time, he found that if he got moving, he could still catch the 11:30 a.m. magna to Navea. Satisfied with that plan, he headed for the shower.
The weatherman was spot on in his forecast and Edgar loved the gentle breeze in his hair as he walked to Altair Station. He'd chosen a navy pair of slacks and a pale pink button-down shirt for his visit to Evans. He rolled the sleeves up to three-quarters length and was perfectly
comfortable. The lunch crowd was just starting to flow around the station as he arrived. He kept a lookout for unusual behavior of the dangerous sort and was pleased when none appeared.
The train arrived on time, as usual, and Edgar boarded. He was one of four passengers in the car and he chose a seat at the rear which allowed him to keep an eye on the other three people, two men and a woman, who staggered their seating in the middle and front of the magna car. He looked them over without being obvious; the woman was dressed in typical office attire, skirt and matching jacket over a coordinated blouse. From Evans' description of Jarvis, this woman appeared to be about twice Jarvis' age. Nonetheless, it paid to be careful; she could be an accomplice, after all.
He knew it was unlikely that he was in any danger on the magna; this was an unannounced and highly irregular trip. He met with Evans once a year to review the trust that funded him this lifetime; other than that, all of their business was conducted remotely. If Serina Jarvis had him under surveillance, this trip would confuse her; the routine visit to Evans typically occurred at the end of the year, not mid-way through it.
The two men were equally non-threatening; one, in an ill-fitting suit, was preoccupied with a reading pad and the other appeared higher than Edgar's twenty-first floor apartment. He simply stared out the window, occasionally nodding off. Still, Edgar stayed vigilant; he'd learned over time that unpleasant surprises were often contained in the most harmless-looking packages. Soon, the magna pulled away from Altair Station and began the half hour non-stop journey to Navea. Altair was the closet suburb of the sprawling city and thus, the last station on the line before it.
Navea was a beautiful city, but it was too crowded for Edgar's taste. That and it was much more impersonal than Altair. He lived there for a year on his move to the west coast and that turned out to be 335 days too many. Navea lacked the charm of the 'burbs; there were no friendlies like Tazz and Trina or Carmen. The pace was too fast to enable such pleasant exchanges. After his last lifetime, spent in New York City, he'd had enough of that lifestyle. Even so, he spent his first year of this lifetime in Navea; he always went for a big, impersonal city when beginning a new life. It tended to be easier because he could familiarize himself with the area and establish himself without too many questions.
During that first year, he'd visited the nearby suburbs and settled on Altair. In the end, it was Gridley Park that made up his mind, not only on new city but on new home. He'd fallen in love with the Park and had to live where he had a great view of it. Ironically, he'd looked at Maddox' building first, but preferred the ambiance of Highland House.
The view on the way to Navea was pretty; fields of various crops, vineyards, a few small towns. It was hard to see it in much detail, though; once the magna was outside Altair city limits, it accelerated to maximum speed, well over two hundred miles per hour. Even so, it was a scenic route and a pleasant change. As the magna progressed on its journey, Edgar noticed that two of his travelling companions had nodded off; the young puffer and the woman were sound asleep. The other man was still engrossed in his book, though every now and again, he seemed to jump, starting himself awake. Edgar figured the man would join the other passengers in slumber within the next five minutes; that would leave Edgar about fifteen minutes as the car's only conscious rider.
He hoped Evans wasn't seeing another client; unfortunately, given his self-imposed comm silence, he hadn't been able to let the man know he was coming. He knew Evans would likely be in the office as he didn't typically make court appearances. His client list was specialized, filled with the wealthy like Edgar. The barrister had appeared on behalf of Edgar once and Edgar found him to be as impressive in the courtroom as he was out of it.
If, by some chance, Evan was out, Edgar would ask his assistant to call the man. Evans had only three clients for whom he would drop everything; of those three, Edgar topped the list. It was a privilege Edgar made certain never to abuse; today, however, he'd use it if necessary. Frivolous claims didn't warrant interrupting Evans, but a potentially psychotic stalker did. Edgar hoped, not for the first time, that Jarvis was just feeling the sting of a failed attempt at wealth and disappeared to avoid the harsh life that awaited her on Tyranus 6. However, he was far too pragmatic to put much faith in that possibility. One of the many lessons he'd learned over centuries of life was to hope for the best, but plan for the worst.
It would be a wonderful surprise if Jarvis turned out to be a coward, unwilling to live the colony life, preferring instead to stay on Earth in hiding. Of course, she wasn't running from the actual authorities, which was virtually impossible these days. If running, she was trying to avoid Evans and the bank; frankly, Edgar would rather try the former than the latter. He chuckled quietly, wondering at Evans' abilities; for a representative of the law, he certainly had a questionable private life. Of course, this wasn't all that uncommon in the twen-cen, but such things were much harder to hide in the 2-4. Just as he had areas of his life into which he didn't want Evans prying, he asked very few questions regarding his barrister's private activities. Quid pro quo, the best way to go, Edgar thought as the magna began to slow to city speed.
Not long after, the magna arrived at Bentley Station in Navea's southeastern section. It was a four-block walk from the station to Evans' office. The station and sidewalks were busy, the high-noon lunch crowd in full force. Most of the crowd was dressed in business attire, nice suits and polished shoes. As a consummate people watcher, Edgar found himself missing the variety of people found in Altair.
The rare Plezzer might be found in this section of Navea, likely popping in to party with a high-powered business person looking for a little afternoon delight. This was the corporate power center of the city: law firms, consultants, real estate moguls and the like. The only public places of business were the corner coffee shops and some expensive restaurants used to entertain clients. No shopping district, just those places needed to fuel the executive dealings for which the section was known.
He wasn't fond of large crowds even if they were mostly suits and completely uninterested in someone so casually-dressed. If anything, the suits probably thought he was exactly what he was: some lucky lawyer's rich client. In a way, that made him safer here than in Altair; not only were the suits unlikely to bother him, if any one did cause him any trouble, the suits would help. Never mind that it wasn't based on good Samaritanship but rather on a selfish desire to garner a new client by being a hero, the result was the same.
As expected, there was no trouble on the walk through the monochromatic, bland crowd; Edgar arrived at Evans' office with no more than a few hastily-mumbled apologies for unintentional bumps. He paused in front of the office tower, another monochromatic, bland building virtually indistinguishable from the rest. Edgar found the place only because he knew the address, not because of any unique landmarks.
The lobby, too, was the standard-issue corporate sameness; black leather seating with shiny chrome accents, marble floors, expensive paintings on the walls, and the requisite mini-palms strategically placed throughout. Edgar swerved around a few clusters of suits engaged in impromptu meetings and approached the busy reception desk. It was staffed by four nearly-identically dressed individuals; two handling the comm system and two fielding visitors.
Edgar stood in line, waiting to check in, before boarding one of the two dozen elevators. Finally, it was his turn and he was greeted by a gender-neutral individual, one of the many self-identified asexuals. The receptionist greeted him professionally and Edgar announced his intentions. The receptionist took his ID to check him into the building's security system; even after the verbal exchange of the other necessary information, Edgar was no closer to identifying the receptionist's gender. The fact that he was trying was something he kept to himself; it was a sign that he wasn't really as young as he appeared.
No one of his apparent generation would publicly question such a thing, the assumption being simply that the person in question was an asexual; this accounted
for gender as well as orientation. He honestly wondered if people did as he was doing, but just kept it to themselves. Ultimately, it didn't matter; it was a private issue. Besides, even if only for romantic emotional companionship, no asexual would consent to go out with anyone but another asexual. The general consensus being that non-asexuals would eventually want sex, an idea that was repugnant to the asexual.
In truth, when asexuals did marry, based on a purely emotional and intellectual bond, reproduction was handled via in vitro fertilization. Assuming one of the couple had the necessary plumbing that one would be the partner to carry the pregnancy to term; if not, a surrogate was hired. It was somewhat confusing to a twen-cen mind at first, Edgar had to admit. The proper gender identification was asexual, but those who so identified actually did have traditional male and female reproductive organs. Even now, Edgar didn't spend a lot of time contemplating it, preferring instead to simply accept it. It had long been proven that asexuality was no more a conscious choice than was hetero- or homosexuality.
The receptionist handed his ID back over the counter and directed him to a private elevator behind and to the left of the reception desk. "That must be new," he commented.
"Yes, sir," came the reply. "The firms on the top two floors had it installed earlier this year." The receptionist turned to help the next person in line.
He nodded and went to the elevator; palming the door pad promptly opened the private lift. The car was as well-appointed as the lobby only here it was old wood, brass and a plush forest-green carpet that would've made Ralph Lauren drool. He stepped aboard and marveled at the amount of padding under the carpet; walking on a cloud couldn't be this soft. The door slid shut and a soft mechanical voice asked, "Palmer, De Lane or Smith, Evans?"
Edgar Aeternum, Book 1: Tales of Aeternal Love Page 13
