by Jody Wallace
Soon after, I formally quit my old job and Alfonso accompanied me to Chicago on a clothing and car retrieval trek. What did they think I was going to do, meet Samantha’s hot Psytech boyfriend Alex and switch allegiances? I’d seen his lies, and it wasn’t worth the money.
I was disappointed John wasn’t my escort, but it was for the best. He flirted one minute and froze me out the next. I’d confirmed his lack of interest in Sam, but I hadn’t confirmed whether he had any interest in me.
He liked my breasts. Beyond that I couldn’t tell.
Al was safe from my rampant curiosity. He said ten sentences the entire time, the majority allocated to explaining my suitcase limit. He was married to a nice interior decorator, I wasn’t attracted to him, and I definitely knew where I stood with him.
In the middle of the street, since that last suitcase had pushed me right out of the car. Or so Al had threatened. Since he hadn’t been lying, the suitcase of shoes—okay, the second suitcase of shoes—had remained behind for the movers to handle.
To ground my new my surreal new life, I rented an apartment Lou helped me choose. Several Lampeys lived in the complex. I liked Lou, and her recommendation was a lot more honest than the one Samantha offered.
In order to develop my chameleon skills and business acumen, I worked long hours and six-day weeks. Why not? With John playing hard to get, I had nothing to do and no one to do it with. Several YuriCorpers invited me to church, but churches weren’t my thing, not even supra churches like Lou’s. I’d made a shopping buddy, a consultant named Pavarti Singh, and a lunch buddy, another consultant named Ursula St. Marie, but they were on the road a lot. I’d been asked to delete my blog, and I could only watch so much TV. I spent half of each day fading with Beau and the other half enduring a crash course in management consulting.
At all times, I was on alert for...the mole. Cue dramatic music.
~ * ~
“Then what happened?” I asked Sheila Hornbuckle, one of YuriCorp’s top trackers, and cringed when my voice cracked. I was as tense as a first-time crossing guard. It wasn’t that Sheila’s tale was riveting, but the information I needed wasn’t going to be simple to get.
“Bob pulled out a pair of hockey tickets.” Sheila unscrewed the lid on her Diet Snapple and swigged it with disgust. We were alone in the break room, and Sheila was today’s victim. “I don’t hate hockey, but when you tell the woman you’ve been seeing you’ve got a huge question to ask her, it had better not be about season tickets.”
I slapped the table, ignoring her lie about hockey. She loathed it with the intensity of a thousand disappointed girlfriends who wanted engagement rings. “Men.”
“Men,” she echoed. Her Bob worked at the downtown office as an accountant for some of our side businesses like Pizza Man. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I’m single.” I swallowed hard. Now came the slimy part, and it wasn’t part of the mole hunt. Since I was searching for a slimeball, it was easier to stomach that. Somewhat easier. No, the slimy part was where I had to pass Beau’s latest stupid supra test—get corporate information from Sheila she wasn’t allowed to share using my supposed chameleon skills.
“I could introduce you to Bob’s uncle,” she offered.
“And here I thought Bob was your uncle.”
Sheila gave me a strange look. She was a thin woman who subsisted low-cal microwave meals, had had a nose job when she was twenty-three, and thought her sister was an uptight prude. She didn’t have a sense of humor. “Bob’s uncle is with Baumhauser. But don’t worry,” she lied, “he’s spry for his age.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” Would it satisfy Beau to know Bob’s uncle was about as spry as a coat rack? I concentrated on my chameleon fade and had no idea if it was working. Luckily I had other resources. “I’m still so new here. What is it you do again?”
“I’m a tracker.” She capped her bottle. “We find and indentify potential supras, skill sets, start up companies and public rumors concerning supra-abled individuals, among other things.”
“How does that work?”
“Every tracker has a different approach.” Using a lot of techno jargon, she described a generalized mishmash of internet search variables, telephone solicitations, cross referencing medical records and site visits. I managed to read a technique or two I suspected I wasn’t supposed to know, since I got them from her mask, not her mouth.
I smiled encouragingly. “Did you find me?”
“You’re not one of mine.” That would have been too easy. It would also have meant she suspected what I could do, but it was obvious she had no idea.
“Who did? I’d like to thank her.” Yuri hadn’t mentioned it, but it seems like that person would be automatically in the inner circle. Lou couldn’t have erased my ID from my tracker’s brain, because then who would have erased Lou?
Sheila tapped the bottle against her hand, liquid sloshing. “I don’t know. Sometimes the consultants moonlight as trackers. It could have been any number of people.”
“Does management ever erase names from your head to keep them hidden?”
“What? No!” Sheila exclaimed. A spot of dishonesty futzed around her face, not enough to read. “Not at this company.”
“Wouldn’t it be funny if you’d been the one to find Bob and that’s how you met?”
“I’m not supposed to talk about supra identities or my specific techniques,” she said repressively, which I already knew. “It’s proprietary information.”
“Sorry, I forgot.” I was supposed to find names of a few potentials, but I didn’t want Sheila to get fed up with me before I could do my own fieldwork in the mole situation. Two birds, one gun full of buck shot. “What do you think about the employee burnouts?”
“These are hard economic times. Statistically speaking, more burnouts happen when everyone’s stressed.” She glanced around, as if there might be somebody in the room with us when clearly there wasn’t. “I’m not doing site visits until they figure out what’s going on.”
She was the first person to express a reluctance to do her job aloud, but I doubted she’d be the last. Rumors about the burnouts cropped up every day. “You think they’ll figure it out?”
“Oh, yes,” she said with utter confidence—the confidence of somebody who was not a corporate mole. “YuriCorp’s the best.”
“Have you worked anywhere besides here?” If she still did, her mask ought to reveal the fact she was employed as a corporate spy.
“Just here. But I don’t have to compare.” She sniffed.
I was ninety-five percent sure Sheila wasn’t our mole. That last five percent was the kicker. “Why do you think they’re picking on YuriCorp?”
“It’s obvious.” She inspected me dubiously. “YuriCorp has the best ratings and the most elite staff in the business. Psytech and the others would love it if we went under. Yuri doesn’t hire just anyone to be a consultant.”
Like you, added her mask.
“I sure wouldn’t want to work at Psytech,” I said, trying not to feel hurt. Most YuriCorpers shared her view of the burnouts, if not of me. I could only imagine what they’d think if they found out I dissected their secrets on a daily basis. If Yuri hadn’t required that I keep my lie detecting under wraps, I would have been begging for a supra witness protection program by now. Gossip aside, my fellow mutants were zealously private people. “How do you think they’re causing the burnouts?”
“I’m not a scientist. How should I know?”
Nobody had theories, not even the lab techs. Conspiracy theories yes, but no rational ones. “Seems like if we put our heads together we could—”
“Gosh.” She glanced at her watch and stood. “I’ve got to get back to work. So nice talking to you.”
Her mask said, She won’t make friends asking so many questions. Nobody likes a nosy supra.
“You’re welcome.” I bared my teeth in a fake smile and crossed Sheila off my list of potential friends, mole suspects and
people who’d be good references for blind dates. Hopefully I’d gotten enough out of her to satisfy my task master I could be sneaky and yet effective.
~ * ~
Fat chance. I’d only gotten techniques, not names. After dogging me for how long I’d taken, Beau pointed out I’d once again failed to activate my chameleon powers.
“Do you even bother to try?” he asked in disgust, wiping his glasses with the edge of his lab coat before sliding them on his face.
“I got it to work after you left,” I assured him. He often popped up on some fictitious errand but couldn’t stick to my ass the entire time or it negated the trial. Supras with similar skill sets enhanced each other as well as cancelled each other out. It was easier for a chameleon to fade if another chameleon was present, but it was also easier for us to see each other.
“Sure you did.”
I pointed at him and then myself. “Pair cancellation. See, I paid attention to your lecture. My fading didn’t work on you but it worked on the victim. I mean, the test subject.”
“You didn’t fade,” he said in a very annoyed voice.
“How can you so sure?”
He pointed at the microscope where he’d put a speck of my skin. “There’s not enough residue in your sample.” Use of chameleonocity triggered a chemical in the skin. It sounded gross, but not if you thought about it like lactate in the muscles and blood post-exercise. “Since I know you didn’t fade, how did you get any information from your target? Sheila Hornbuckle’s a tight ass.”
“I’m that good.” Beau hadn’t gotten suspicious of me—yet. I’d failed on purpose a few times, though he was right that I never faded. My chameleon ability was buried deeper inside me than the mole was buried in YuriCorp’s staff.
“No, you’re not that good,” he countered. “You’re not good at all.”
“Maybe there’s not much residue because I’m energy efficient.” Maybe there’s no residue because I read lies instead of fading.
He gestured rudely. “Bah.”
“I’m not comfortable manipulating my coworkers.” He sent me out daily to trick information out of somebody—when he wasn’t sending me for his lunch. Could chameleons uncover secrets as readily as Beau seemed to expect me to do? Was a chameleon our spy? I’d questioned most of the ones at YuriCorp without success. As far as I knew, they couldn’t lizard out of my lie sight.
“If you can’t handle this, how are you going to deal with consulting?” He was convinced I’d never be able to do what I’d been hired to do. I myself was reserving judgment. “You have to find out everything about everybody and use it to get them fired half the time. This is why they call it a job. Sometimes it’s not a happy-skippy day at the mall.”
“Like I have time to go to the mall.”
“Sit over there and think about disappearing.” Beau pointed at the stool beside the door of the lab.
I dragged myself to the indicated spot. “Do I have to write ‘I will fade like cheap jeans’ one hundred times on the chalk board?”
“Just do it, Cleo.”
I slumped on the naughty stool and closed my eyes. The few times I’d faded on purpose, I’d been so aggravated with Beau I’d wanted to be anywhere but the lab.
I guess he hadn’t frustrated me enough today because it wasn’t working. Beau gave a disgusted snort. “Try harder.”
Instead, I started thinking about John. Yesterday at lunch, I was positive we’d made a connection. He’d asked how I was adjusting, and I’d described my past difficulties maintaining friendships with people. How difficult it still was with coworkers like Pavarti and Ursula, since I couldn’t tell them everything. Wasn’t it great I had a few people in my life who knew?
Normally he didn’t acknowledge the mole project, but when I’d said that, he’d patted my shoulder. Voluntary contact! I should step up my hints that we spend time together outside of work. I hadn’t been alone with him since the tour. I might have to develop a leaky faucet.
Beau interrupted my pleasant daydream. “You’re not concentrating.”
I made a “Hulk is mad” face. “I am, too.”
“A chameleon is conscious of the moment. Conscious of every detail of a scene. It’s the moment itself you need to concentrate on, not escaping it. Then you can move to the next level. If all you do is blend in, you’re not much use.”
“That’s not what I’ve been doing,” I lied. I felt my face heat. How did he know?
“That’s what all noobs do. They can’t tell when they’re faded, so they think it’s about hiding. But it isn’t, not beyond the elementary stages.” Beau paced with standard irritation and slammed a clipboard around. “You were born into this, not made. You’ve had this ability your whole life. It should come easily.”
“Were you born with it?”
“Yes,” he said testily. “YuriCorp hires born supras. Made ones are inconsistent and hardly ever get past stage two.”
“What’s past stage two? Invisibility? Shape shifting?”
“Chameleons aren’t invisible, and they sure as hell can’t change into other shapes.” A mask flickered around him. “You have to get past this stupid comic book obsession.”
“Hey, it’s movies and television, too,” I said, “or do you not indulge in pop culture?” Why was he lying about chameleon stages if he was supposed to be training me?
Beau rubbed his forehead. “Damn, I don’t have time for this.”
“You’ve been saying that for a month.”
“When I think about the weeks we’ve wasted, it makes me want to cry. You’ve made less progress than anyone I’ve ever worked with. I’m going to insist Yuri take me off your case.”
Boo fucking hoo. Beau could be a real bitch sometimes.
As had become my first line of defense when he got ugly, I responded in kind. “Maybe it’s you, not me. Are you positive you’re not an evil entity from the government sent to make sure nobody learns how to do anything?”
His reply was a nigh-incoherent growl. “Positive.”
I caught another flash of shadow, a skein of dishonesty as sudden as a bird pooping on the windshield. I couldn’t be sure unless I dug further, but it seemed Beau the Mighty was starting to have doubts about his skills as a teacher. All because of me.
Man, I was a terrible chameleon.
~ * ~
Aside from Beau, searching for the leak was the hardest part of being at YuriCorp. Every day I flopped was another day the company and its employees might be harmed. Guilt draggled behind me like toilet paper on my shoe. I was failing—guilt. But I was succeeding—at learning everyone’s other secrets. More guilt. And even then, I’d caught no glimmers from anyone of disloyalty to YuriCorp beyond your typical porn surfing, on-the-job loafing, and office supply theft.
I’d never been so social my whole life. I’d never loitered by the receptionist’s desk to intercept the latest gossip. I’d never sought people out for lunch dates, joined groups at the drop of a jaunty yet stylish hat. I had to prove I was worth the big bucks, and I wanted to get it over with so I could move forward with my career. I’d grown attached to the idea of using my skill as an asset instead of a drawback.
I worked out of the garbage dumpster, as did most of the consultants, trackers, scientists, and deeper supra personnel in charge of YuriCorp’s other interests. Marketing, human resources, accounting and sales worked downtown. We’d hired some norms in the know, family members or others who’d stumbled upon our existence. There was a database for them at the Registry, for easier monitoring.
YuriCorp, like any corporation, had a distinct pecking order. Stronger sensors with abilities more like the superheroes I learned not to joke about (out loud) were highest on the food chain. Some disdained folks lower on the chain, at the bottom with the carbs. I was a potato until proven otherwise, chameleons being as common as four-leaf clovers. I know those don’t seem common, but certain people with suped-up eyes can spot them in an instant. There are more of the little green mutants th
an you might think.
If I proved myself a functional chameleon, I’d get to be cheese.
Hierarchy at YuriCorp shouldn’t have surprised me. Supras were as human as anyone and beset by the same ills—the same weaknesses, the same needs, the same lying.
Oh my God, the lying.
After two months, I knew the cliques. I knew who used to work where. I knew Samantha wasn’t YuriCorp’s most popular employee but nepotism was widespread. Pavarti’s father worked in security, Al’s brother worked downtown, Lou’s sister in law worked with Beau, and other Lampeys were scattered throughout the ranks. That was just for starters.
I knew who resented whom, who lusted after whom, who looked in whose lunch to see if it was worth pilfering. I knew who called in sick because he was hung over, and I knew who was sleeping with whom, even when they didn’t tell me.
Especially when they didn’t tell me.
While I didn’t know who’d sent me a couple notes from “a friend” warning me not to ask so many questions, considering my interview with Sheila, I could hazard a pretty educated guess.
The one thing I didn’t have a clue about was the mole.
~ * ~
Despite Beau’s plea after my misadventures in training, Yuri refused to hand me off to another senior chameleon. Beau’s second formal written request was bracketed by verbal ones. Beau was displeased. For the next week, he was so nasty, he put Alexis Carrington to shame. The assistant DNA tech, Lou’s sister-in-law Jolene, had taken to hiding in the office.
Thankfully, his vitriol had the desired effect of increasing the number of times I faded on command, which meant he sort of got off my case. When I concentrated on escaping Beau’s presence, I could fade like I meant it.
Which is what I was doing when Samantha burst into the lab, a coat halfway covering the pinstriped designer suit with the red belt I’d envied this morning. The requisite lab booties looked ridiculous on her red stilettos.
“Walker,” she said. “Where’s Cleo? I need her.”
“The million dollar question.” Beau cut his gaze to me, sulking on my naughty stool near the door, and strung Samantha along. “Too bad I have no idea. Maybe she got fired.”
