At three o’clock sharp, a knocking sound in his eep alerted Huxley to the fact that his appointment was waiting.
“Come in,” he said, and the holograph beamer that was mounted to the ceiling came flickering to life, projecting the 3D image of Dr. Chakrabarti into the middle of Huxley’s living room.
“Good afternoon, Huxley,” Dr. Chakrabarti said.
“Dr. Chakrabarti.” Huxley nodded. “You’re standing on my coffee table.”
“Oh,” Dr. Chakrabarti said, checking his position. “I’m sorry about that.” He stepped off the table and sat down in the armchair facing Huxley on his sofa. “Well, Huxley, I’ve been reviewing the material you’ve sent us this morning. It’s really very interesting, and I would like you to try and remember what exactly you were thinking about between leaving the coffee shop and entering your flat.”
To the best of his recollection, Huxley recounted the train of thought that had taken him from Paddington Station to his basement flat in Craven Terrace. When he reached the point where he’d been thinking about the LuCo kids and their visit to earth, Dr. Chakrabarti interrupted him.
“I’d like to jump in here, if I may,” he said. “Can you elaborate on how exactly you made the connection between the coffee shop girl and the visitors from LuCo?”
“Well,” Huxley said, “I don’t know. I mean … her behavior was so strange. It was almost as though it wasn’t only her first day on the job but her first day on the planet.”
“What made you think that?” Dr. Chakrabarti asked. “What was so strange about her behavior towards you?”
“I don’t know. She was so … friendly.”
Dr. Chakrabarti raised an eyebrow. “Is it unusual to be treated friendly as a customer?”
Huxley shook his head. “No, but this was different. Of course worker bees treat you friendly, but their friendliness is put on, what with their mechanical smiles and carefully memorized phrases. It’s not real. They just want to sell you things.”
“Do you always refer to low wage service personnel as ‘worker bees’?”
“Yeah.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Chakrabarti said and scribbled on his notepad. “So you think her friendliness was not put on and that her smile was genuine?”
“I guess.”
“It was out of this world, in a manner of speaking, and the only place out of this world where people could come from is the moon?”
“Something like that.”
“Interesting,” Dr. Chakrabarti said again and looked at Huxley. “Have you ever been in a relationship, Huxley?”
Slightly taken aback by the question, Huxley said, “A relationship?”
“Yes. You know, a romantic relationship. Butterflies in your stomach, holding hands, sexual acts, that sort of thing.”
“Uh … not really, I guess.”
“Not really, you guess?”
Huxley sighed. “Not really, as in: no, I have never been in a romantic relationship.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. It just never happened.”
“Have you never been in love? Have you never felt attracted to someone special?”
“I’ve had crushes all right, back in school, but …”
Huxley didn't like the direction this conversation was heading. Love, or the lack thereof in his life, was his weak spot, and he didn’t like to think—let alone talk—about it. Of course he’d had romantic feelings for girls in his life, but a relationship was not something he’d ever thought to be a real possibility; too underdeveloped were his social skills, too crippled his self-esteem. Throughout his time in school he had been the target of bullying and mockery; bullying because of his awkwardness and his lack of assertiveness, mockery because of his body that had always been tight-roping the border between chubby and obese. As an adolescent, Huxley had often wished he’d been born fifty or a hundred years earlier when obesity had been a mass phenomenon and when more than half of the population had been overweight. But ever since the Global Administration had started its war on fat and sugar, obesity had been on the decline and was now back at Edwardian era levels, which made Huxley stand out in a way he didn’t feel comfortable with.
“Huxley? Huxley!”
Dazed and confused, Huxley looked at Dr. Chakrabarti. “What?”
“You stopped talking mid-sentence. Are you going to finish what you were saying? You used to have crushes back in school, but …?”
“Look,” Huxley said, eager to drop the topic, “I’m just not very sociable, okay? I wouldn’t rule out a relationship, but I’m not actively looking for one, and I have my doubts as to whether it would be worth investing all that time and energy.”
“All right then,” Dr. Chakrabarti said, finishing his notes. “Just one final question: do you have breakfast at Java the Hut every day?”
Huxley shook his head. “Just once or twice a week.”
“I see.” Dr. Chakrabarti got up from his armchair and stuck his notepad under his arm. “That was very interesting, Huxley. If you experience anything similar in the next few days, please don’t hesitate to let me know, all right? Good bye now, Huxley.”
Huxley nodded, and the light from the holographic beamer faded away.
“Meitner?”
“Yes, Huxley?”
“Check my account for the latest payment from Restless Mind Labs.”
“Restless Mind Labs deposited five thousand five hundred Euros into your account at 3:39 p.m. today.”
“Well how about that,” Huxley said to himself. It wasn’t a huge amount but still the largest he ever got from a single client, and it would allow him to maybe take a few days off this month.
“Meitner, get me Higgs.”
Seconds later, Higgs’s voice came through Huxley’s eep. “You can’t live without me, can you, sensei?”
Huxley ignored the question and responded with one of his own. “You want to grab some coffee tomorrow morning? I’m buying.”
* * *
“Sensei,” Higgs said as they made their way up Praed Street, “all I’m saying is that every government is corrupt, and that the Global Administration is the corruptest of them all. It’s probably the worst thing that happened to mankind since we fell out of the trees, and that’s because of its lack of oversight. Just think about it. Back when we had hundreds of sovereign, independent nation states, there was oversight. They were overseeing each other. If one country went over the line, another country or a group of other countries, or the United Nations came together, passed a resolution and bombed the perpetrating country back in its place. Or at the very least they would impose economic sanctions or something. But this Global Administration, what if they cross the line? Who’s holding them accountable? Nobody, that’s who. Not the European government, not the American government, not Africa, not China, not anybody else. Because they all are the Global Administration. They’ve all given up on looking out for their own people in order to have a say in controlling people at the other end of the world. It’s insane!”
“Right,” Huxley said. Like most people, he didn't know much about politics, and like most people, he didn’t really care as long as he was able to put food on the table and otherwise being left alone. “But how else are you going to organize and control twelve billion people on a planet that’s on the brink of disaster?”
“Poor child,” Higgs said and sighed. “First of all, I don’t accept your premise that people need to be controlled. Second, how does nature organize an ecosystem?”
Huxley didn’t bother answering what he assumed to be a rhetorical question.
“Well?” Higgs pressed him.
“I don’t know,” Huxley finally said. “How does nature organize an ecosystem?”
“It doesn’t!” Higgs said triumphantly. “That’s the point. Because nature or the universe or whatever you want to call it is not a conscious entity with the desire to achieve a goal or the ability to think or plan ahead. Ecosystems organize themselves, and even th
ough all ecosystems on Earth are interlinked and interdependent, the dung beetles in Africa don’t give a damn about how kangaroos live their lives in Australia.”
“Did you know that dung beetles use the Milky Way for orientation?” Huxley asked, trying to change the topic.
Higgs looked at him. “Do they now?”
“Yeah,” Huxley said. “When there’s no moon, they look at the Milky Way, and it helps them to roll their dung balls in a straight line. But when it’s overcast they get lost and move all over the place.”
“Well, I did not know that, sensei, but thanks for proving my point: dung beetles use science to organize their lives, and they leave them poor kangaroos alone. Smart creatures, those dung beetles. Smarter than humans anyway.”
“I probably wouldn’t go that far,” Huxley said as they entered Java the Hut.
The coffee shop was reasonably crowded, but there were a few empty tables. Huxley headed straight for the pre-order counter.
“Sensei,” Higgs said, “that’s for pre-orders.”
“I know. I pre-ordered.”
“What? How did you even know what I want?”
“You want a large Double Vanilla Espressino. I’ve known your for a while, you know?”
“Bugger!” Higgs said. “But I also wanted to sit, not have a coffee to go.”
“We’re gonna sit. Why don’t you go and find us a nice table?”
Higgs squinted at Huxley, sensing that something was afoot. “Nah, I don’t trust you. I better keep an eye on you.”
“Suit yourself,” Huxley said an shrugged.
When they reached the counter, the girl Huxley had secretly been hoping to meet put on her brightest smile and said, “Hello there, Mr. Pendergast. Welcome back to Java the Hut. How are you doing today?”
Higgs looked at Huxley with his eyes wide open, pretending to be aghast. “Well look at you, Mr. Fancypants, receiving quite the celebrity treatment here, huh?”
“Shut up!” Huxley hissed, failing miserably at trying not to smile sheepishly.
“But sire,” Higgs teased him, “surely you would want to refrain from using foul language in the presence of such a fair and precious maiden, wouldn’t you?” He turned to the girl and bowed ever so slightly. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
The girl giggled, looked at Huxley whose face had turned the brightest shade of red, and asked, “Who’s your friend?”
Huxley opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Higgs jumped in. “The name is Higgs. Higgs Martin, at your service.”
“Yeah, speaking of service …,” Huxley said, trying to remind everyone why they were here.
“Oh,” the girl said, ignoring him. “So you’re Hux and Higgs, Higgs and Hux! That’s cute!” She giggled again.
Higgs looked at his friend. “Isn’t she adorable?”
Still smiling brightly, the girl said, “I’ll get your order, gentlemen,” and scurried away.
“Will you stop embarrassing me!” Huxley hissed at his friend.
“Sensei,” Higgs said and put his hand on Huxley’s shoulder, “I’m not embarrassing you. You’re embarrassing yourself. Relax. Loosen up a bit. She’s totally into you.”
Huxley scowled. “Nonsense!”
“She is, though.”
“No!”
“Jesus Christ, sensei, how can anyone be so socially inept? You have no idea how to read people’s signals, do you?”
Huxley frowned. “What signals?”
“What signals,” Higgs said and rolled his eyes. “All of them, idiot! All the smiles and giggles. And the name! She knows your name. How does she know your name?”
“I told her when I picked up my breakfast yesterday.”
“Yesterday, huh?” Higgs said. “She’s probably had, what, five hundred customers since yesterday morning? You think she remembers five hundred names?”
“I don’t know.” Huxley shrugged. “Some people remember …”
“Nobody remembers five hundred names! So why does she remember yours, hm? You explain that to me, sensei.”
“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s an unusual name?”
“Everyone has an unusual name nowadays,” Higgs said.
“Higgs Martin is not that unusual.”
“Oh great, now you think you’re superior because you have a better name than I do?”
“What?” Huxley said. “No! I didn’t say my name is better than yours. It’s just more unusual and therefore easier to remember.”
“You’re making no sense at all, sensei.”
The girl returned and placed two large paper cups on the counter. “There you are, gentlemen. One large Double Vanilla Espressino, one large Double Caff Extra Latte. Enjoy.”
“Thank you, dear,” Higgs said as he took his cup off the counter. “What’s your name, sweet child?”
“Higgs!” Huxley hissed in embarrassment.
“I’m not talking to you,” Higgs chided him. “And your name is not Higgs.”
Huxley opened his mouth and, for a lack of words, closed it again.
The girl smiled at Higgs and said, “My name is Meitner.”
It took Higgs a few moments to process that information. “Is it really?” he finally said, baffled by this extraordinary revelation.
“I know, it’s a weird name,” Meitner said sheepishly. “I was named after Lise Meitner, the physicist.”
“Well how about that,” Higgs said to himself. Then he turned to Huxley, poked him with his elbow and repeated, “How about that, sensei? Now that’s a name to remember, don’t you think?”
Huxley didn’t say anything. He just stood there with an open mouth, failing to hold on to any of the thoughts that were running amok in his head.
“I think we better sit,” Higgs said. He took Huxley’s coffee off the counter, placed it in Huxley’s hand and pulled him away.
“Enjoy your beverages,” Meitner called after them as they walked towards the seating area.
Higgs sat his dumbfounded friend down at a table out of earshot but in plain sight of Meitner and took the chair next to him. For a minute or two they just sat there, silently sipping their coffees and watching Meitner as she served one customer after another. Finally Higgs nudged Huxley and said, “Sensei, that is the freakiest thing I’ve ever come across.”
“No kidding,” Huxley said, still staring at Meitner.
“So what are you going to do?”
Huxley frowned. “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean? Sensei, that girl is totally into you. Have you even noticed the way she looks at you? The way she’s all smiley and bubbly with you?”
“I’m a customer,” Huxley said. “It’s her job to be nice to me.”
“Oh yeah? Look at her, sensei. Look at her right now and see how she treats ‘customers’. She’s nice and friendly all right. She’s smiling all right. But is she smiling at them the way she smiled at you? No. Is she joking around with them? No. Is she trying to make any connection on a personal level with them? No. Does she remember anybody else’s name? I bet she doesn’t. And to top it all off, she’s named after your favorite physicist. What are the odds of that happening? What else do you need to get excited about a woman, sensei?”
“Her name doesn’t say anything about her personality, though.”
“What’s wrong with her personality?” Higgs asked. “She’s a perfectly nice girl. What else do you want?”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with her personality. It’s just …” Huxley sighed. “Look, why would a really sweet, really nice, really good looking girl be interested in a guy like me? I mean, look at me. I’m a fat, socially awkward slob with shaggy, greasy hair. Wouldn’t you think that any girl who’s into a guy like me would have to have something seriously wrong with her?”
Higgs rolled his eyes. “Sensei, you need to get off that self-loathing-self-pity cocktail. And no, I wouldn’t think that. There are all sorts of perverts out th
ere. Surely somebody out there must be into fat, socially awkward slobs without being a psychopath.”
“Gee, thanks, Higgs.”
“What I’m saying is, you’re talking out of your arse, and you know what it sounds like?” Higgs made a farting noise. “That girl behind the counter there is not just a girl. It’s serendipity. And if a girl like her throws herself at you and you don’t go for it, you will never ever get laid in your entire life. Is that what you want?”
Huxley shrugged.
“No, it’s not!” Higgs said, slapping the back of Huxley’s head. “Listen, sensei, I’m not going to let you throw your life away like that. If you’re not walking over to that counter right now and ask Meitner out on a date, I’ll do it.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Huxley said in a low voice. He finished his coffee and got up from his chair. “Excuse me.”
Disheartened, Higgs watched Huxley making his way to the toilets.
When Huxley returned a few minutes later, he found Higgs gone and an elderly couple sitting at their table. He looked around and finally spotted his friend standing by the pre-order counter talking with Meitner. She was all smiley and bubbly again, confirming Huxley’s conviction that her friendliness had nothing to do with him. She probably treated dozens of guys like that every day, and it didn’t mean a thing.
Before Huxley reached the counter, Higgs intercepted him, grabbed his arm and led him towards the exit. Behind him, he heard Meitner call across the room, “Looking forward to tomorrow!”
Eschaton - Season One Page 8
