Hybrid Zone Recognition

by C. E. Glines

  “It was then that I realized NOLA had eaten my shoe. What does NOLA stand for anyway? No One Leaves Alive.”

  It was a lost cause. I wasn’t going to get anything from them until they got ahold of themselves. After several minutes, and a few more returns to Laughsville, they finally settled down.

  In the fragile silence that ensued, Catman raised his hand.

  I lifted my eyebrows in answer.

  “What happened to the rest of your clothes?” he asked.

  He was enjoying this way too much.

  I narrowed my eyes at him before admitting the truth. “They didn’t make it,” I said flatly.

  There they went again.

  CHAPTER 7

  “COME ON, EINSTEIN,” OLIVIA SAID once she’d regained her composure. “We’ll skip the workout and head straight for Hollins. I’m sure he won’t mind accommodating you. Anyway, I think my stomach’s going to be sore enough as it is.”

  Ha, ha. Very funny.

  As we went, Olivia informed me that NOLA stood for National Osmotic Lavatory Assistant. National being the company that produced them, and they were not standard issue. They were originally produced to aid the furrier of the hybrids who had difficulty maintaining the cleanliness standards required by the Agency. Cycle ten was the most aggressive program available and rarely used.

  I, who was not the least bit furry, had been pranked. It was an initiation of sorts. They had all been through it, though none of them had a story quite like mine.

  After Olivia checked her messages, she informed me that I was going down in NOLA history. Much to my chagrin, a video featuring my retelling of the NOLA experience had been broadcast to all the employees, and I was unanimously voted to the top of the plaque.

  Apparently, at some time in the future, there was going to be an actual ceremony in which a shiny new plate with my name on it was going to be added to a plaque located somewhere in this facility. Nothing like delayed humiliation to look forward to.

  I was very gratified to learn that Agent Michaels name currently occupied the number two slot. She wouldn’t say exactly what happened, but I did learn that it had something to do with his manhood and not being able to wear underwear for a couple of weeks.

  “So, where are we headed?” I asked, craning my head around, looking for some indication of where we were. Honestly, if these people ever expected me to find my way on my own, I may never be seen again. They could at least post maps at regular intervals like they did in amusement parks. I didn’t even know where to go in case of emergency.

  “I am taking you to meet Dr. Hollins. He is the head of our implementation team for the existing predicament we find ourselves in. He’ll fill you in on everything.”

  That was what everyone kept promising, but here I was still with loads of unanswered questions.

  “Yeah, you already said you were taking me to see Hollins, and I thought Agent Michaels was the head of the team?”

  “Michaels is the head of the team handling this situation. Hollins is the head of the implementation aspect. Meaning, he is responsible for the actual doing of the solution or non solution in his case.”

  “What you’re telling me is that he is going to be thrilled to see me.”

  “Overjoyed,” she nodded knowingly.

  I pulled up short at the end of another conjunction of hallways. I was completely baffled. One hallway looked exactly like the next. Even the name plates on the doors were all the same. There were no unique identifying marks anywhere.

  “How do you find your way around?” I asked her. It was a mystery I needed answered because it was really bugging me.

  “We are required to memorize the floor plan.”

  I glanced sidelong at her. Was she serious?

  She held up her fingers in the familiar salute. “Scout’s honor.”

  Well, that explained it. Though it was unlike any job requirement I’d ever heard of.

  “About Hollins, did you mean current head of implementation as in soon to be replaced by me should I accept?” I was not going to accept reporting to some bureaucratic weasel, who objected to my horning in on his “project.” I hoped they knew that.

  “I suppose if that’s the way you want it, you could negotiate that with the Director.”

  I’d negotiate it alright. She didn’t seem to care one way or the other. In fact, since Director Garrison’s exit, she seemed downright care free and way more forthcoming. Maybe the latter had to do with the total disclosure bit I’d been granted.

  “You seem more relaxed now than when we first met,” I told her.

  “I suppose I am,” she acknowledged with a smile. “You are here and assuming you can work your mojo, everything will be put to rights.”

  I had mojo? I thought it was moxie. “What do you mean exactly by work my mojo?”

  “You are full of questions,” she observed.

  I waggled my notepad at her and said, “You ain’t seen nothing yet.”

  She eyed me and the notepad briefly before explaining. “By mojo, I mean see what our guys are missing, solve the puzzle, and, over all, fix it. Whatever way you choose to phrase it is fine with me.”

  “Just get it done.”

  “Exactly,” she said, doing a sort of voila thing with her arms.

  “Now if only I had my magic wand with me.”

  “Don’t be absurd, Dr. Greer. Magic isn’t real.”

  “Big cat men and human bloodhounds, and any number of other hybrids, aren’t supposed to be real either, yet they are.”

  She considered my recounting for a moment, but then shook her head. “I suppose so, but that’s hardly magic, that’s science.”

  She was right that it was science, but looking at some of the hybrids, it sure felt like I’d just crossed over into Fairy. If we could make magical looking creatures, then who was to say we couldn’t someday make magic. Or what seemed like magic. It could be some sort of physics deal that we simply didn’t understand yet or hadn’t invented yet. That was about as far as my magic theory went.

  Unwilling to argue from a point of weakness, I changed the subject. “Why were you so stressed over bringing me here?”

  She cut her eyes at me, and I smiled baring my teeth.

  “Besides the coercion and kidnapping,” I said accusingly. “Don’t you do this sort of thing all the time?”

  “You noticed that, did you?” she said guiltily.

  “The Clones are hard to miss.”

  “That they are,” she said, smiling softly. “Kidnapping is not our normal mode of operation. And, it wasn’t kidnapping, just detainment.”

  They weren’t in the habit of kidnapping scientists extraordinaire. That would be encouraging if it didn’t point to the extremeness of the situation.

  Director Garrison had said it could affect the public. Originally, I thought he’d simply meant the exposure of continuing hybrid research. But I was beginning to think it was something more serious. I’d know for sure in a few minutes when I met this Hollins guy.

  Glancing at Olivia and her still smiling face, I thought someone might have feelings for a particular Clone? Do tell.

  “Which Clone is that smile for?” I asked.

  She cleared her throat in obvious embarrassment. “No one in particular. They have just saved my life on several occasions. Kind of got a soft spot for them now.” She lengthened her stride and pulled ahead of me. “That’s the third time you’ve called them Clones,” she tossed over her shoulder.

  A subject change could only mean one thing. She was definitely into someone. Maybe not a Clone, but it was someone around here. Evidently, she did not want to talk about it.

  “It was an upgrade from Goon.”

  “How generous of you,” she quipped. “Are you patient as well?”

  Was I patient? I didn’t think anyone had ever attributed that virtue to me. “Does wanting what I want, the way I want it, exactly when I want it count as patient?”

  “You mean like a two year old?” she
said, turning to wait for me.

  That was one way to put it. Not the way I’d define it, but accurate nonetheless.

  “That’s harsh, but exactly like,” I confessed as I reached her. “But without the fits. There may, however, either independently or in any combination, be crying, yelling, snarky looks and or throwing things.”

  Even though we were the same height, it seemed like she was looking down her nose at me as she weighed my comment. “I fail to see how that is different than a two year old’s tantrum.”

  “Oh, there’s one huge difference,” I said, brushing aside her skepticism.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not two,” I stated firmly.

  She snorted in laughter while simultaneously rolling her eyes at me. She seemed to have ditched the elegance factor again in favor of down to earth. I liked this Olivia much better.

  “Oh, that makes all the difference,” she laughed.

  Precisely.

  We started walking again, and I thought I heard gun shots. “Is there a shooting range nearby?” I asked.

  “Just down this hallway,” she said, gesturing to another long expanse of identical hallway. “Want a peek?”

  “Sure, why not,” I sighed. Was I ever going to get to the bottom of this crisis?

  She turned crisply, saying, “Follow me,” as she strode confidently down the hall.

  Like I had a choice. I didn’t want to get lost in here forever. Become the ghost of the Agency, doomed to walk these halls. Get a nickname like Crazy Macy. My eyes found hers, and I realized she was staring at me.

  With a funny look on her face, she asked, “You okay?”

  I smiled at the picture I’d just painted. “Just my overactive imagination,” I said without elaborating.

  She stared at me a few more seconds, but didn’t pursue any further explanation.

  At the brink of the upcoming intersection, she looked back at me to indicate that we were turning. Before she could complete her next step, Juarez came barreling around the corner and ran smack into her. Their collision flattened Olivia while I was spun off to the side.

  As they detangled themselves, I heard her ask, “Is there a problem?” The look in her eyes told me she was asking about something deeper than the reason for the collision.

  “Might be,” he said, pulling her to her feet.

  He didn’t let her go immediately, and I suddenly felt like an intruder. She cleared her throat and cut her eyes to me. He glanced behind him to find me leaning against the wall. He smiled, and I offered him a nod and a wave.

  “Were you on your way somewhere?” she prompted.

  “Yeah,” he said distractedly. He rested his forehead against hers, and I just barely made out his whispered, “Stay close.” Then he dropped her hands and sped off in the direction we had come.

  I watched her as she watched him speed away. She hadn’t technically lied. He wasn’t the typical Clone, but he was obviously into her. By the blush coloring her cheeks, I knew the feelings were mutual.

  “Should we forego the shooting range?” I asked, rousing her from her dazed state.

  “Probably best,” she nodded.

  I pushed off the wall, trailing slightly behind her. “So, Juarez?” I said carefully.

  “Don’t start,” she warned under her breath.

  I smiled, throwing my hands up in the air in surrender. “Far be it from me to pry into personal affairs.” I mean, you’ve only been prying into mine for how long? Even knew my underwear size and my taste in coffee. But far be it from me to ask a personal question and expect an answer.

  Miranda was right. I did carry on lengthy conversations with myself.

  We walked past a few more intersections before I attempted to question her further. “You mentioned that the Clones saved your life. Do I get the details about the life saving part, and more importantly, will my life need saving if I agree to work here?”

  “No details this go round, and I seriously hope not.”

  She had resumed the professional demeanor she’d had when we first met. I was beginning to think it was some sort of defense mechanism. The collision with Juarez must have her worried about something. Maybe she’d tell me about it if I could keep her talking.

  “What about an explanation for my life being observed? Nobody could have guessed my size this well, which to me means there was some definite personal prying going on.”

  She looked at me with that far off expression again. She was starting to worry me with her worrying. Finally, she looked away, as if she’d just comprehended my question.

  “We observe everyone we consider for a position here,” she said. “Consider it like a personality evaluation, but you didn’t have to say what the pictures looked like.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably good,” I nodded. “They all look like one bacteria or another. Or burger parts.”

  She looked at me with disbelief in her eyes. “Burger parts?”

  “Have you seen the ink blots? It’s totally true,” I argued.

  She gave a dry chuckle at my assertion.

  “Just a little?” I said, measuring the distance between my thumb and forefinger.

  “Thanks,” she said smiling.

  “No problem. Just get me through this maze, and we’ll call it even.”

  We turned one more corner and stopped in front of a huge set of stainless steel doors.

  “Consider this the finish line,” she said with relief in her voice as she motioned me to stand to the side.

  Was I that hard to handle? I didn’t think so. I just had what I called a strong personality. I was honest. I was frank. I was completely on guard as a panel rose and a small nozzle emerged.

  I took two giant steps away from the emerging nozzle while Olivia stepped closer. As soon as it was eye level with her, it emitted a small puff of air directly at her face. She inhaled and then said, “Fear.” The nozzle then retracted back into the ceiling, and one of the big steel doors opened

  What the heck just happened?

  “You can come back now,” she teased. “The big scary nozzle is gone.”

  She could mock me all she liked. I was not going to be caught unaware again. Besides, I was more than justified in my new nozzle phobia.

  I closed the gap between us. Flicking my hand in the direction of the ascended nozzle, I asked, “Care to explain that?”

  “Finger prints, retinal scans, even DNA are too easy to replicate or obtain by nefarious means. Our security system is keyed to everyone’s own personal skill set.”

  “Yours being?”

  “One of my skills allows me to discern emotions through the chemicals or hormones that a person releases.”

  “You can scent hormones and the emotions they are connected to? In essence, you can read emotions?”

  “Correct,” she affirmed.

  That could come in handy. I’d never come across that in any of my research. “That is very interesting,” I told her. “So, you are the perfect liaison because you can address any worries or fears that I might have before they become an issue.”

  “That was the thinking. Why are you frowning?”

  I raised my eyebrow at her, “Shouldn’t you know?”

  “Humor me,” she said sarcastically.

  “I was thinking this must be a really bad situation. Ya’ll seem to be actually working at getting me to stay.”

  “It has the potential to be world changing. Bad? I don’t know. Probably for some if not most. Maybe for everyone. It’s not a predictable scenario. Let’s go meet Dr. Hollins and see if you can make it all go away.”

  I was not encouraged by her uncertain answer, but we walked through the door anyway.

  Ah, science décor. It looked like a nod to contemporary design. It wasn’t. At least, I didn’t think so, and really, I didn’t care. Just so long as it could be cleaned easily, I was good.

  Most labs looked pretty much the same, lots of stainless and glass. This one was no different, except for the cur
rently unoccupied really large line of cells I’d just passed.

  “Are those for humans?” I asked, shocked at the possibility.

  She nodded. “Willing and ready. Don’t worry, you get used to it.”

  I didn’t know if I wanted to. Human experimentation was taboo. Up till now, I’d only been analyzing the results of such experimentation. I wondered if that would change and how I’d feel about it. Swell. One more thing to possibly feel guilty about.

  I wasn’t the only one feeling guilty. That was the tenth time she’d adjusted her jacket since we’d entered through those stainless doors.

  “Something on your mind?” I asked her.

  She stopped walking and let her hands fall to her sides. “I feel I should warn you about Dr. Hollins.”

  Uh oh. Whenever someone warned you about someone else, it was never good.

  “He’s a little brusque.”

  “You mean rude,” I interpreted.

  She focused her eyes intently on me. “He’s very engaged at the moment, as he should be, and he’s easily upset.”

  “A pain in the butt who’s easily irritated, got it,” I translated.

  Once again, I was met with her steely stare. “Not a diplomatic bone in your body, is there?” she stated dryly.

  I raised my eyebrows innocently. Facts were facts, and these were hers, not mine.

  She pulled a card out of her pocket and held it out to me. “If you run into trouble, just contact me.”

  I took the card from her and looked it over. It had only her first name and a number, short and sweet.

  “Come on,” she sighed.

  She was too easy to upset right now. I wished I knew the source of her true concern, but obviously, if she trusted me to know, she would have already told me. We weren’t even on a first name basis much less friends. I could work on that.

  “Do you have a preference for what I call you? Olivia, Needham, Agent Needham?”

  She looked at me ruefully. “I might regret this, but did I have a nick name before?”

  I didn’t hesitate with my answer. “Originally Non Flight Attendant Lady soon replaced by Food Lady.”

  “Figures,” she mumbled. “You can call me Olivia or Agent Needham, if you prefer. Whatever you feel comfortable with.”