* * *
“Do you think Rudolph is ready?” the chief asked. He propped his meaty elbows up on the floating glass tabletop and rested his head on his hands, waiting for the rest of the report.
“He’s close at best,” the trainer replied. He kept his hands neatly folded on his lap, looking like a sullen child in the principal’s office. Which was actually a fair assessment of the situation.
Other than the glass tabletop and two matching glass chairs, there was nothing in the room but a bit of rolling fog. And the room wasn’t even a room, just a soft white space that seemed to stretch on forever.
“What seems to be the problem?”
“Rudolph is somewhat—how do I put it? Naive. Yes, he is rather naive.” The trainer settled on that explanation.
Today, the trainer sported a tan leisure suit, which could only be chalked up to a failed attempt to stay up with the styles. But at least he was trying. It contrasted in an odd way with his gray muzzle. He seemed to have permanent five o’clock shadow, though it was impossible to say the last time he shaved. It certainly had been more than a day, and was probably closer to a couple of centuries.
“Well, that’s not a bad trait in someone in our line of work.”
“I agree...” the trainer hesitated.
“But...”
The trainer shook his head, “But, he lacks a certain confidence and I can’t seem to help him find it.”
“Perhaps his first assignment will provide that confidence. Do we have someone easy?” the chief asked.
The trainer smirked, then caught the eye of the chief. “Depends what you mean by easy.”
“How so?”
“Well, next up is Julie Winters. She’s a real estate agent who specializes in serving our, uh, rather notorious competitors. And she has quite a reputation for being rather quick to enjoy the, uh, pleasures of the body.”
“I see.” The chief produced a small laugh and the fogged danced about as if it was invigorated. “She is human, you know.”
The trainer let out a sigh. Thank goodness the chief didn’t think him indelicate.
“But as far as serving the creatures of the night—I assume that’s what you mean about her real estate clients—now that is worrisome,” the chief pointed out. “It’s your call. You trained him. What do you think?”
The trainer rubbed his hands together as if trying to warm them. Not that he was cold, rather, it was a bit of a nervous mannerism. He cocked his head to the left, saying, “I’d like to say I could guarantee success, but I can’t.” Then the trainer cocked his head to the right and continued. “On the other hand, Miss Winters is approaching a turning point and she needs someone.”
The chief waited patiently, knowing the trainer would eventually settle on a recommendation.
The trainer stopped rubbing his hands together and looked straight at the chief. “I’d rather send Rudolph than no one at all.”
“Not a glowing recommendation.” The chief raised a bushy white eyebrow. The worker shortage left him with very few options.
“No, but an honest one.”
“And I appreciate that,” the chief said. He stood up and paced a few steps to and fro; to and fro. Now it was his turn to make the final decision. The white sleeves of his robe billowed out around him and the long sarong fluttered about a bit as he paced. He approached the trainer and perched his body on the edge of the tabletop. If it had been an actual glass tabletop—floating or not—it wouldn’t have held his weight. He stroked his unruly eyebrows as if trying to smooth them into shape. Finally he announced, “Let’s do it. Send Rudolph.”
With that, the table and chairs poofed away into apparent nothingness, along with the chief and the trainer.
At the Right Time Page 7
