“That’s quite alright, Dan,” Larry offered genially. “I’m sure your young assistant here can help me.”
“But…”
“No,” Larry insisted. “I wouldn’t dream of pulling you away from your important work here.” He turned to me. “Now about those T-shirts?”
“If you’ll come back here, sir,” I offered, “I think I can help you.”
Larry followed me to the room where we were storing the extra bags and T-shirts. “What’s this about?”
“Pull out your phone in case someone walks in on us,” I advised, “so I can be helping you with the WiFi connectivity.” As he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone, I placed it in a foil potato chip bag to make sure I could access it quickly, yet it couldn’t eavesdrop on us. “Professor Gomulka is up to something,” I explained. “I’m not sure what it is. You and the Social Justice Initiative may need to distance yourselves from him, or you risk getting caught up in the consequences of his schemes.”
“That’s awfully vague,” Larry replied. “You’re sure?”
“I warned you there was a problem with Glyer’s robotics initiative, right? I told you the fix was in on the DARPA project, didn’t I?”
He nodded with a grin. “We told DARPA we had such confidence in the UWB wireless project we’d commercialize it ourselves. Over the weekend, I got a call from one of my senior Civic Circle friends. His company bought out our interest. We made a tidy profit. I can’t believe how quickly that deal moved. Of course, they shut down the project. You called it. You think this Gomulka tip is really solid?”
I nodded. “Here’s all I know. Gomulka has taken off this afternoon when he was supposed to be at the opening ceremonies. He’s attending to some ‘business’ at the Port of Brunswick. He’s receiving a big shipment of some kind, like an entire cargo container’s worth. He hasn’t told anyone in the coordinating committee about it – he just slipped out to get it. It’s got to be something important for him to miss the opening. Maybe it’s a secret operation for the Civic Circle, somehow, but he hasn’t made any provisions for something that big to come here to the Convention Center. I made a contact with the Teamsters, and he’s keeping an eye out for me.” Let Larry think he was getting a network of informants for the price of just me.
“More likely, it’s something he doesn’t want the rest of the Civic Circle to find out about,” I continued. “Something he’s smuggling, maybe.”
“I get the picture,” Larry said thoughtfully. “Gomulka’s doing something major behind their backs. Something the rest of the Civic Circle might not like. If you could find out what it is, there’d be a serious reward for letting the Inner Circle know. I’d double what I promised you, if you can find out and tell me.”
“I think it’s too late. Whatever’s happening is going down tonight. Besides, I still haven’t received any of the base payment you promised me for getting myself here in a position to help. The Teamsters and the contacts I’m making for you don’t help me for free.”
Larry looked thoughtful. He pulled out his wallet. “With that DARPA information and the tip about Gomulka, you’ve earned your keep already.” He started counting hundred dollar bills. “There’s a thousand in cash.”
He had me pegged as a greedy, money-grubbing minion. I had no problem with that whatsoever, particularly since his pocket change would go a long way toward funding my schooling. I couldn’t let him think I was cheap, though. I started to point out a thousand in cash wasn’t near what he’d promised me, but he cut me off.
“I know, but it’s not like I carry that much in my wallet. This is all I can spare right now. Consider it a good-faith down payment toward the rest I owe you. Another hot tip like the DARPA project, or if the Gomulka tip pays off, and there’ll be a further bonus on top of that.”
“Yes, sir,” I smiled as I pocketed the cash. “If I find out anything else, I’ll send you a text asking how your WiFi is working. You complain it’s still slow, and we’ll coordinate another technical-assistance rendezvous like this one. Or, if you think we need to talk, you complain to me about it.”
Larry nodded his agreement. He took his phone and went on in into the main hall for the opening ceremony. The registration desk had been set up in a concessions vending area. The “back room” was nominally a kitchen, and there was another vending area on the other side opening into the main hall. The counter was closed and shuttered, but I could peek through and see what was going on. The stands on either side of the ballroom were nearly full, and only a few people were milling about.
I headed back out front to the registration desk. The rush of check-ins had slowed down to a trickle. Now that the opening ceremony was about to start, Mr. Humphreys instructed me to mind the desk while he went in to the ceremony.
Now if I were in charge, I’d have shut the doors and not allowed latecomers to mosey on in, disrupting the ceremony and presentation for everyone polite and prompt enough to arrive on time. That’s not how the Civic Circle worked, however. It was an organization full of people too important for such petty things as rules and schedules to apply to them. Anyone senior enough to have the discretion and judgement to make a decision about who had enough status to admit and who to turn away was busy being seen by their peers in the stands. Thus, all the stragglers were being escorted to a holding area just inside the door.
Time to put my idea into motion while everyone was distracted with the opening ceremony. I went to the back room and peeked through the crack. The opening ceremony had begun. It was some kind of weird performance. A few dozen people all shuffled in like zombies walking in step to the beat of a drum. They wore orange construction uniforms. Most were young, college-age. I spied Amit in the group. They must have recruited the Civic Youth as extras in the ceremony, and I’d seen some kind of dress rehearsal the other day. There were a few older people among them as well. They did this clumsy number in which they pantomimed some kind of rote work. Cotton-picking? Mining? Was that how they perceived the masses? I wasn’t sure. I couldn’t call it a dance, because it seemed so awkward. Loosely-synchronized, poorly-executed collective motion? Now there was a great parallel for the Civic Circle’s “New World Order.” A blurry, black and white video played on the screen in the background.
I didn’t have time to try to figure out any deeper meaning, though. I connected to the local WiFi. This was risky, but I also had access to the log files, so I could clean up the records if my connection got flagged in any way. It was a chance I couldn’t pass up. By the time I got connected, there was a change in the beat of the drums. I looked back through the crack in time to see a performer wearing a huge baby-face head glide down on wires from the rafters, beating enormous wings. I couldn’t tell if the bare-breasted performer was male or female – I suppose that was the idea. Under other circumstances, I might have found the scene erotic, but this ambiguous androgyny? It was all vaguely disturbing.
The collective ran back toward the entrance, stripping off their loose orange coveralls. They passed underneath three ghostly figures floating, suspended on wires in front of the screen which now projected a giant image of an eye.
Now that I was connected, I had to tear my attention away from the ceremony and get back to work. I used Gomulka’s credentials to send a note to the Civic Circle logistics crew:
Facilities issues require a last minute change of plan! Transfer the luggage and belongings of the Chase Bank delegation to the cottage occupied by the Holy See Bank delegation, and vice versa! Immediately! And contact each delegation regarding the change! Do it now!
Gomulka
The beat changed again as I finished sending “Gomulka’s” message. I peeked through the crack in time to see a goat-man with long horns leading the group. The collective – now clad only in white underwear – cavorted in sexually suggestive ways to the deep beat of a drum. I’m sure there was some deep symbolism to it all and some profound significance for the Civic Circle. I still didn’t have time just now to tr
y to figure it out, though. I logged out, disconnected, and packed my laptop back into my bag.
Once I was all packed up, I checked on the progress of the opening ceremony. Three seemingly dead workers dangled in front of the screen, which now showed a demonic face scowling and screaming silently at them. The dangling workers transformed to scarabs. Meanwhile, scantily-clad girls now draped in translucent white veils followed the goat-man around the floor. His brides? Maybe Amit would have a better idea about what the ceremony meant.
I returned to the registration desk in the lobby. Turned out, I didn’t need to rush. The registration team had closed up and gone on in to the ballroom. The ceremony went on for nearly an hour. By the time it was done, I was officially off the work clock, and supposed to attend the reception. I locked my bag in the network closet, showed my badge to the security team at the door, and went in to the reception ballroom.
The Civic Youth and other interns mingled with the elite crowd. The contrast was fascinating. Bedraggled young college students barefoot and in sweat-soaked white underwear, most only partially covered in their orange jumpsuits, mingled with men in business suits, women in elegant pantsuits and dresses, and catering staff in formal outfits. The scene was almost erotic – some of the vulnerable-looking, only partly-glad girls could have been really hot. In their bedraggled state, however, they merely looked weak and helpless. Maybe that was the idea. Maybe that was what the Civic Circle found attractive – a crowd of young people who looked as though they could be taken advantage of: easy prey for the predators.
I looked unsuccessfully for Rob among the catering staff, but I did find Amit.
“You look exhausted,” I noted.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he snorted, softly, and looked at me through the fatigue in his eyes. “Sleep deprivation, not enough food,” he shook his head. “Wake us up in the middle of the night to attend workshops and seminars on too little sleep. They call it ‘Hell Week.’ It’s supposed to be some kind of initiation.”
“Sounds like some kind of brainwashing technique.”
“That’s probably part of it,” Amit agreed. “And testing our tolerance for disgust. We haven’t showered since that first night here.”
He smelled quite rank, but I wasn’t going to say anything. I got him up to speed on my progress and discoveries.
“Wish I could be more helpful,” he acknowledged. “I’d love to poke around inside the network you tapped. I haven’t even been able to talk to the desk clerks, though – Dr. Gottlieb and the rest of the Civic Youth mentors have us always busy and under constant supervision.”
“Well, carry on, and good luck,” I offered.
The rest of the TAGS interns arrived about an hour after the ceremony started. I worked my way through the crowd to talk with Johnny Rice. “How’s it going?”
“There was this last minute change in plans. We had to swap cottage assignments – transfer all the luggage out of one cottage and into another and vice versa. I had security people screaming at me. Then, they couldn’t reach this Gomulka fellow who apparently insisted it had to be done right away. Big mess up.”
That didn’t sound good. “You got the job done, though?” I hoped!
“Yeah,” he confirmed my scheme had worked. “These people here,” Johnny gestured at the crowd. “They’re all crazy, you know.”
“More like idealistic,” I corrected him, putting on my social justice persona. “They’re all passionate about making a better world.”
“Ha,” he snorted. “You, too? I thought you were too smart to fall for all that bullshit. Look how they’re all reveling in their exploitation of those Civic Youth idiots.”
“I’m seeing the world’s elite celebrating the passion and commitment of the next generation of world leaders,” I said haughtily.
“World leaders?” Johnny snorted. “Ha. They’re exactly the insecure, conformist types least likely to resist authority, or they wouldn’t be wearing those ridiculous outfits. They’re being elevated because they pose no threat to the folks who’re really in charge.”
Johnny had a point, but I couldn’t let him know I agreed with him. “The Civic Youth will be in charge someday, leading us into the future.”
“Where are the people pulling those sorry losers’ strings trying to lead us?” Johnny shook his head. “No place good, I can tell that much. A world where the limousine elite drink cocktails surrounded by their powerless peasants? No, sir. Not for me. I’m going to fight it.”
“What happened to steering clear, staying away, live and let live?”
“Yeah, I did think that.” Johnny nodded. He paused, deep in thought. “I was wrong, though. You can’t live and let live with these people. Try it, and before long they’ll have you barefoot, in your underwear, and in an orange jumpsuit. That’s not for me. I won’t put up with it.”
I was amused at how quickly an exposure to the Civic Circle had changed Johnny’s live-and-let-live attitude. George P. Burdell was going to have to reach out to Johnny when we got back to Georgia Tech.
“There’s nothing you can do about it,” I suggested. Let me push him, I thought, and see how he reacts. “They’re in control. They have all the power. There’s nothing you can do but try to get along in the New World Order that’s coming.”
“Bullshit,” Johnny snorted. “I’m my own man. I make my own decisions. You might be content to be one of their barefoot peasants, or worse, aspire to lord it over the hoard of barefoot peasants the Civic Circle wants to create, but me? I’m going to stop it.”
“How?” I asked.
That finally stumped him. “I don’t know,” he acknowledged, a frown on his face, “but I will.”
I left Johnny there, contemplating the overthrow of the Civic Circle, and I continued my search for Rob. Again, I didn’t find him, but I did see Comfortable Shoe Girl. She looked far less stylish in her sweat-soaked white jogging bra and matching panties. She had one of the orange jumpsuit tops but it was too small for her – not covering much of her cleavage and showing an ample amount of midriff, including a rather dainty belly button. She was clearly uncomfortable with the amount of skin she was showing, and she had her arms across her chest.
I made a show of looking down at her bare feet and back up at her eyes. “You didn’t have to double down on the foot comfort on my account,” I offered. “I was fine with your other shoes.”
She smiled nervously. “What, you don’t like the outfit?”
“All I can say is I hope you kept the receipt,” I smiled and drew a giggle from her. “Pete Burdell from Georgia Tech in Atlanta.” I extended a hand.
She paused as she decided whether to reciprocate. Finally, she gave me her hand. “Jessica Marks from Mount Holyoke.”
I took the initiative to grab her right forearm with my left hand and take a partial step forward as I shook her right hand. “Always be escalating,” Amit liked to say.
“Where’s Mount Holyoke?” I asked, now that I was standing very close.
She rolled her eyes in frustration at my provincial ignorance, then craned her neck to look up at me. “In Massachusetts. It’s one of the Seven Sisters.” I noticed she wasn’t stepping back to open the distance between us. So far, so good.
“Seven sisters? Mighty big family. Any of them really cute? Maybe you could set me up?”
“No, silly,” she grinned, “they’re colleges. You study some kind of techy stuff in Atlanta?”
“Electrical engineering,” I acknowledged. “Someone has to keep the world running so you and your friends can cavort in your underwear.”
“This wasn’t my idea,” she gestured at the ludicrous, if revealing, outfit.
“I’m guessing you weren’t expecting the Civic Youth’s dress code. It looks better on some than it does others.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I’m tired, but I’m supposed to stay for another hour.” She smiled at me.
“Tell you what,” I offered. “I have a room to myself, you can cr
ash with me, so you won’t have worry about the Civic Youth people finding you and putting you through the ringer some more.”
“We’re not having sex,” she insisted.
“Of course not,” I confirmed, noting she’d broached the subject first. “You’re probably too tired, anyway.”
I thought Jessica was about to dispute me, but then she thought better of it.
“I need to stay until 9 pm,” she said softly. “Find me, and I’ll come back with you.”
I tilted her head back and kissed her on her lips, then broke off. “I’ll be back.”
She smiled as I turned away.
Wow. I couldn’t believe that had actually worked. I’d been so focused on trying to pick her up that I hadn’t considered whether it was a good idea or not. I really had more important – and dangerous – things to worry about than trying to pick up a girl for some kind of hookup. Was this experience really going to help me get Marlena? I mean Brandy? I began having second thoughts about what I was getting myself into.
By the time I’d completed my lap of the ballroom, Johnny was deep in conversation with a couple of Civic Youth.
“Organic vegetables are simply better for you,” a girl was trying to tell him.
“Not everyone can afford the higher cost of organic vegetables,” Johnny pointed out. “Maybe you should be the one checking your privilege?”
“Organic vegetables aren’t just healthier,” another guy was insisting, “they help keep you from getting fat.”
Johnny looked appalled. “Are you ‘fat-shaming?’ Are you saying there’s something wrong with being differently girthed?”
The guy recoiled at the realization of his social justice sins.
“If you ask your doctor,” the girl insisted, “he’ll tell you it’s healthier…”
“He?” Johnny looked outraged. “He? Why would you assume that a doctor is a he? Don’t you think a woman could be a doctor?”
“No,” the girl was almost crying. “No, of course not. Why are you so negative? I can sense your hostility, and right now, I’m not feeling very safe. I have to be honest with you.”
The Brave and the Bold Page 19
