Paragon- Ghost Hunters

by Freddy Milton

  ”Well, what’s up, Master?”

  Paragon had not opened the envelope. He took out a ruler to open it. He unfolded the paper, which had the headquarters’ old logo before the update, but they were still using the rest of the old stationary internally.

  ”It says that there’s a job for me in the Secretariat.”

  ”It be something of a rush?”

  ”No, it only has an ordinary blue marker indicating it’s a normal procedure.”

  ”Well, then you may well take it easy.”

  ”I'm still curious, so I’ll just mosey on over there.”

  ”I continue things here meanwhile, boss.”

  ”Thank you, Pollux.”

  It was a relief to get out in the open. There were many positive things to be said about the old machine room. Still it was noisy and smelling more than tolerated these days with the labor inspectorate and the new regulations on environment and routines.

  Paragon trudged over to the barracks where the Soul Service office was located while the new prestigious headquarters was being completed. There was nothing mentioned about the urgency of the job. He hoped that it was something he could perform in good order without any nerve-racking situations due to an approaching crisis.

  One gradually became accustomed to a little bit of everything. The intention was for things to work more easily and effectively with the introduction of new technologies that could handle large amounts of information in no time. It probably would, too.

  In the filing department, they all had their doubts. They had the many small drawers with rows of cards, referring to anything that one could go to and quickly pull out if there was something you had forgotten and which one had to check and not allowed to scrap altogether.

  The supreme archivist demanded the meticulous registrant of the world soul transfers preserved as a card catalog until the new techniques had proved their superiority and reliability.

  As for the skill and speed to conduct transactions, there was no doubt. In no time at all, the new system sorted scattered data on up to several parameters in a given order of priority without the slightest difficulty. That impressed the secretaries who had previously needed to use half , or even whole days to fix things by hand.

  As for the new creation of documents, the same thing applied. In zero time, these 'files' were put in numerous places in the system, or rather supplied with references and retrieved from many different places. The old typewriters and many carbon copies, which should flow to the various department archives, were a thing of the past. Everything was assembled and centralized, so you could enter it from each department.

  So far so good. The reliability, however, was a quite different matter. Although the 'micro professor', Professor Balthazar Xlyt, claimed that part would soon be put in place. This very competent, but tiny expert on the new techniques, was to proceed to new duties in the universe, as soon as he had installed the new system for the soul administration. But he had not left yet.

  New problems kept popping up and matters were not quite working as intended. Only when everything was in place and in working order, did you dare allow him to travel on.

  Paragon went over to the counter where the secretary stood with her back turned sorting some papers. The idea was that one could now avoid paper, but paper consumption had by no means diminished after the introduction of the new technique. On the contrary. Everybody made prints of anything to be sure to have it on hand, just in case. It had not yet come to the point where you dared to trust that things would come to function as safe as in the old days, even if it seemed that the system could work quickly. If it did work, that is.

  Paragon cleared his throat. The secretary turned around. She still looked pissed, but there were also traces of dirty feet everywhere. It was impossible to keep the floors clean, but it was all a temporary thing. Maybe she just always looked like this. Paragon believed to have gotten her attention, so he went on, although she had not said anything.

  ”There was some message for me here. About something that should be fixed? Maybe it's nothing special.”

  ”Paragon?”

  The secretary reviewed the pattern of notes she had lying on the table beneath the counter. Here was an employee who would not leave it to digital technology to keep track of her messages.

  ”Yes, I'm Paragon.”

  Maybe she did not recognize or remember him? Was she that old and senile? She looked up at him over the rim of her glasses. He could not be confused with anyone else, but she said nothing more until she found the right sticker.

  ”Well, here it is.”

  ”And?”

  She straightened her glasses.

  ”Refurbishment of the dimensional elevator.”

  ”Aha. Is that all there is?”

  ”Yes. I have no idea at all about the case. But it’s an inlet from Technical Management, and then you can ask there.”

  ”Fine. But I think I know what it’s all about.”

  ”Good, then everything’s in place.”

  The secretary crumpled the note and dropped it into the trash, which needed emptying. Well, nothing seemed as it should in this transitional period, which continued to drag on. She had at least done her duty for now.

  Paragon turned and left The Secretariat. He knew very well what it was. Not so long ago he had used the dimension elevator to get to Limbo, and it worked while still linked to the old headquarters. When the complex was demolished, the dimension elevator, like so many other machines, was then reconstructed in the new building, which everyone was waiting to see completed.

  Everything took its time, though, especially when it came to workers. They showed up a few days to demonstrate that things were under way, and then it could take forever and a day before they continued to work. The workers had also submitted bids on other tasks that they didn’t dare to reject. And sometimes, they had a number of construction sites where they had to make it look as if they were working simultaneously. But of course, they could only be at one place at a time.

  Paragon was careful. He had better obtain a hardhat, given that being able to work safely had been a difficult issue. Some loud voices were heard from one of the workers’ sheds.

  Perhaps they knew where he could find one. He knocked gently. It didn’t help. He knocked a little louder.

  ”I believe someone is scratching the door.”

  ”Huh?”

  ”There be someone. I go look.”

  Paragon had heard. It was indeed some boisterous creatures, but he was polite, and waited for them to open up. He should not have to risk a falling out with some foreign workers. Some of them were quite temperamental.

  Then the door opened. It was a colossal four-armed violet Svumpukkel from Vankmoor. It was wise not to get in trouble with a hunk like that.

  ”Jiminy Cricket! What a funny little blue muzzled critter! Come and look, all of you!”

  Four other Svumpukkels had risen from a small table where they had sat and gulped down their national dish, gryftozyl with klumbak secretions.

  ”Why! She lovely, I like hug her tonight, certainly.”

  ”That damn not a she.”

  ”She'll answer for herself.”

  Paragon had his say.

  ”I'm actually a he, not that it means anything, but...”

  ”The fact be true. He be cute, though. I like hug him anyway.”

  ”Ronkyr, really, you hug almost anything.”

  ”But when you have to be far from home, then...”

  ”Yes, yes...”

  The first Svumpukkel approached Paragon.

  ”You all bear with Ronkyr. He becomes sentimental on third month of deployment. Glands overfilled, you know. Need to discharge. Tough goings. Things take its natural course.”

  ”Absolutely right, I understand. I just thought... Do you happen to have an extra hardhat?”

  ”Safety helmet?”

  ”Yes, you know. Worker protection gear and all that...”

  The Svumpukkel
turned to his companions at the table.

  ”Do we have a safety helmet?”

  One of them looked up from his portion of gryftozyl and wiped his mouth with the back of one of his paws.

  ”I believe that one still lie over by the drainpipe, perhaps. I see that a few days ago.”

  The Svumpukkel at the door turned to Paragon.

  ”You know where the drainpipe is?”

  “Eh, no, not really. I usually don’t work here.”

  ”No, you are probably too expensive for that. Come with me.”

  The Svumpukkel went in advance over to the depot. Paragon tried to avoid the worst mud, but the warty Svumpukkel stomped straight through the puddles and it splattered everywhere, so Paragon kept his distance.

  They came into a hall where an attendant walked around and took note of the construction materials. He had a plate with some crumbled papers fastened with a clamp on one end. Using a pencil, he marked off selected boxes on a grid. No digital technology here. The Svumpukkel greeted him.

  ”Yo, Frankowitz, we have a helmet?”

  ”A helmet?”

  ”Yes, it be something safety fuss.”

  Paragon tried to defend his claim.

  ”WEA requirements.”

  ”Oh, you must be a local?”

  ”You could say that, yes.”

  ”It could be something else, then. You belong to them, be mad at us because we undermine union agreement and dump salaries?”

  ”Not at all. I’m not even organized, but that wouldn’t likely happen. I am hard to replace.”

  ”Oh, you skilled worker?”

  ”Uh, yes, actually.”

  “Fine with us. We only hired for the rough jobs. We have three-month breaks. Then there may be a one-month holiday back on Vankmoor.”

  ”Isn’t it hard?”

  ”Oh, you get used. It okay. On Vankmoor not great opportunities. Many unemployed. Almost no unemployment benefit. You want to go abroad. One immigrant worker supports the whole family back home. Fine deal.”

  ”But what about accidents at work?”

  ”It not bad. Existence on Vankmoor much worse. Almost more like vacation to be here. But anyway you get homesick.”

  ”I understand.”

  ”No, you cannot understand, but you can try. It is also good enough. Here is a helmet.”

  Paragon reached out for it.

  ”Thank you.”

  The superintendent turned and found more.

  ”But then you must also have elbow pads, knee pads and enhanced safety shoes.”

  Frankowitz brought armfuls of gear.

  ”I don’t really...”

  ”Yes, yes, it be best. You protected by local labor insurance and whole caboodle. Just as well be on safe side, yes?”

  ”Well, then.”

  Paragon took the prescribed safety equipment. It was too big for him, but one could never know what might happen.

  ”Then I thank you.”

  ”Nothing to thank for. Nice could help fellow worker.”

  ”I need a construction plan. I can’t imagine you’d have it on a computer. You must have a printout somewhere?”

  ”A drawing? Now let's see...”

  Frankowitz moved a circular saw off the table and found a sheet of paper under a piece of plywood. He brushed the sawdust off and unfolded it.

  ”This good enough?”

  Paragon surveyed the dingy and wrinkled floor plan with lots of notes and arrows added. Yes, it was just what he needed.

  ”That's fine. I'm trying to figure it out.”

  ”What you do? We lend a helping hand?”

  ”A dimensional elevator is to be rebuilt in the new headquarters. I haven’t tried it before, but it should be okay.”

  ”Aha. Yes, there probably be use of a lot of boards and nails.”

  ”Maybe. I’ll return if I need anything.”

  ”Excellent, but next week new men coming. I go back to Vankmoor for a month with the boys. What they call quarantine we regard as holiday. Here we work as many hours as we can.”

  ”Well then, have a good trip home.”

  ”Thanks, buddy.”

  Chapter 3

  MISSING

  Anders had come home a little later, but there were still a few hours after school before he had to pick up Maja in kindergarten. He had scored an extra gig. It was Kelly, who had persuaded Anders to help him with his homework. He got good pocket money and shared it with Anders. His father had rather not known that he needed help doing his homework.

  He had said it quite clearly. 'Dad thinks I am so clever, he gives me extra pocket money. But I'm not. If you can help me, we can share my extra allowance'. He accepted the payment, gladly. A few afternoons a week Anders helped Kelly with arithmetic and English, and he got some supplementary cash out of it. Kelly was also quite nice. Anders would almost have done it without pay. Kelly was not thinking like that, having been brought up with the idea that everything had a price. Help from friends was not something you could count on. If you wanted something, you had to pay for it, even to help with homework.

  Kelly’s father had no difficulty in paying for things. He had a well-paid position at a law firm and Kelly’s mother had a job outside the home, as well. They were not at home much, and Kelly was an only child. Perhaps that gave them a guilty conscience. So Kelly got expensive gifts.

  When Anders came over to see him, he’d just gotten a brand new computer with a superior graphics card that could handle the latest games available online. If Anders were envious of that, it would be the perfect opportunity. Fortunately, he was not.

  Anders picked up Maja from kindergarten. She was always happy to see him. Immediately, as she saw him she rushed over to him with her arms stretched out.

  ”Anders!”

  ”Well, you seem to be in a good mood. I guess you haven’t spent all of your energy yet.”

  ”No, I’m ready for anything you want to do. You do such fun things!”

  Fortunately, it went well for her in kindergarten. Anders would have felt terrible if she had been teased about something. Often in places like this, children were teased if not dressed in new and modern clothes. But, luckily, that wasn’t the case in her school. Possibly, the staff was aware of the problem, and put a stop to it.

  Anders was happy for that, for neither Maja nor Anders wore smart clothes with the proper brand names. They had never been able to afford such things.

  Soon, they were sitting at home at a table in their small living room. They had gotten an extra room when they had relocated.

  ”Where did Daddy go?”

  Maja suddenly came up with that question out of the blue. She sat and drew on a piece of paper across the table while Anders struggled with next week's homework assignments. Their math teacher had put a picture next to the problems as an encouragement. Each week a funny new little drawing appeared on the worksheet.

  This time it was a circus performer with tights, medals and a handlebar moustache who lifted a barbell with two black balls, which were labelled 500kg on each side. Beside him, a small dachshund ran off with a small barbell in his mouth, where ‘200kg’ was printed on each of the smaller black balls.

  ”Do you know?”

  Anders looked up. As usual, he was far away in another world. What was it Maja had asked? Oh, yes...

  ”He moved out a few months ago, you know. They both found out they had quarreled long enough.”

  Maja looked up at Anders, a little ratty but indulgent.

  ”I didn’t mean him. It’s not him, I was thinking of. He wasn’t our real father.”

  ”Does it matter?”

  Maja sat and tried to draw a person on a bicycle. It wasn’t so easy. The feet should be on the pedals, and they stood in different positions.

  ”I think it does.”

  ”What’s the difference? You don’t know him.”

  ”But still...”

  ”And maybe we don’t even have the same father.”

&nbs
p; “We don’t?”

  The thought was a little surprising for Maja.

  ”It’s not certain. Why don’t you ask Mom?”

  ”I tried, but she won’t answer me. She also gets so sad when I ask her, and we must be careful with that.”

  Maja was learning. It was in fact true. You had to be careful with what you said, so their mother didn’t get more downhearted than she already was. 'Oh, you always have to be treated like a rotten egg', one of the mother’s male acquaintances had once said about her. That was what they called imagery. This meant that they should be careful what they did, because if there was a hole in a rotten egg, it would smell terrible. Anders' science teacher once said that. He had also said what kind of smell it was, but Anders had forgotten.

  ”Yes, you’re right, Maja. We’ll have to pay attention to that. You know, the father issue is a large and complicated question, Maja. It has something to do with who you are together with when you get pregnant. And that’s nine whole months before kids are born.”

  ”Then who was together with Mom before I was born?”

  ”I think she was together with more than one guy. In any case, it’s possible that she was.”

  ”Sounds like a mess.”

  Maja erased some of the drawing. She was sensible enough to draw with a pencil first, when there was something hard to show, so she could change it more easily.

  ”One leg is always longer than the other.”

  ”The leg on the top pedal must bend at the knee.”

  ”But still...”

  ”Then draw one pedal facing forward and the other backwards. Then the legs bend about equally.”

  ”Oh.”

  Maja lit up. Now she could manage things. Anders knew why it interested her, for she was learning to ride a two-wheeler. The tricycle she had was too small. Her knees bumped against the handlebars when she wheeled away. It didn’t help that Anders had moved the seat as far back as he could. It needed to be placed even further back, but couldn’t. He had told their mother. 'Heavens, is she already that big?' Anders had replied that others her age already rode bikes without training wheels. 'Well, aren’t those terribly expensive?'