by Guy Harrison
***
For the second time today—I think it’s still today—I awaken from a stream of unconsciousness. Instead of a large slab of nothing, however, I’m staring at ceiling tiles, the table still parallel to the floor. Although I feel like I’ve been in hibernation, I sense that I’ve only been out for a few minutes.
Fighting off another cloud of grogginess, I manage to lift my head and see myself in the reflection of the big window. I’m a changed man, in the figurative sense.
There is no going back.
I look to my left and see Jimenez, slaving away at her monitors and keyboards.
“Where are the other two?” I say.
As though startled, Jimenez turns away from her gadgets and looks over at me. “You made it.” She holds down a button and leans closer to her hardware. “He’s ready,” she says, speaking into a microphone.
She lets out a sigh—as though bored—walks over to the side of my table and starts undoing my binds. As she frees my left wrist, I take a look at the woman, her shoulder length, highlighted brown hair hiding her face. I begin to wonder how she came to be recruited by the Agency of Influence. She is as laconic and serious as she is beautiful, so she doesn’t exactly strike me as compassionate.
“Do you go out in the field often?” I say.
She shakes her head as she frees my left ankle. “I oversee our branch’s intelligence.”
“So, you’re like third in command.”
“Yes,” she says fixated on my last bind, my right wrist.
“Won’t be seeing you much once I get out there, will I?”
Finished her task, she goes back to her gadgets. “Not true. I’m going to be your partner for your first few cases.”
“Really?”
No response. She continues pushing buttons and typing keys.
Sensing that my enthusiasm has gone unheard, I turn my attention away from her and examine my wrists as I sit up on the table. “It’s okay if the idea of shadowing me doesn’t excite you.”
“The three of us take turns shadowing the new recruits.”
“Your turn. Got it.” I’m going to be like that annoying little brother who has his older sister take him to the carnival. “What did do before you joined these guys?”
“I was in the Air Force,” she says. “I studied at Colorado Springs and did my five-year commitment.” I did not expect that. Her personality befits that of an officer but appearances can be deceiving. “I’m guessing you were an intelligence officer, right?”
Jimenez stops what she’s doing, looks upward and exhales loudly. “Look, stop trying to be nice. You’re wasting your time.”
“Sorry, I was just—”
She turns to look at me. “Drop it.”
I hold her gaze. She means business. “Yes, ma’am.”
At that moment, Richardson and Hamilton enter the room, all smiles. If Richardson was the one who recruited Jimenez, he’s either a genius or a buffoon. On one hand, not only did he get someone who I presume has a military intelligence background to lead his own intelligence team but he also got someone whose personality seems to complement those of the two men. In a feel good establishment such as this, it would be easy to load up on do-gooders who are bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Every once in a while, though, you need a ball-buster to move things along. I imagine Jimenez’s charges respect her because she’s smart and won’t take any shit. On the other hand, it’s possible that Richardson hired her on looks alone, not realizing how her bitchy temperament could sabotage his branch.
“I see the procedure was a success,” says Richardson.
“Yeah, I feel good,” I say.
“Why don’t you stand up, Agent Newsome?”
I oblige the old man, carefully putting one foot on the ground before placing the second foot down.
“Try changing,” says Hamilton.
I give him an inquisitive look.
“It’s easy. Just think about who you want to be and what they look like.”
I look at the three agents. If it feels anything like that damn machine, I’d rather not.
Swoosh!
My shoulders narrow as I shrink closer to the floor. My feet also shrink as the loafers on them are replaced by stiletto heels. In my periphery, I see the hair on my head, which was in the style of a nearly-bald fade, lengthen around my face. I look down once again and see my chest growing larger inside the pants suit that has now supplanted my dress shirt and slacks. As the skin on my hands turns a lighter shade, I acquire a crucifix around my neck and a decorative silver ring on my much slimmer right ring finger.
With the transformation complete, I turn to the large window and nearly fall over. I am now a dead ringer for Elena Jimenez.
“Perfect,” Richardson exclaims.
I look over at Jimenez. She’s pissed.
“My bad.” I look at my reflection in the window one more time until I feel an itch under my blouse.
Richardson pats me on the shoulder. “When you change, Calvin, you acquire clothes, jewelry, pretty much everything someone would wear. You don’t get their technology, such as cell phones, their wallet or identification, however.”
Distracted, I ignore the old man. I want to adjust my undergarments, but isn’t that taboo in public? Instead, I try contorting my body for relief. “Women actually wear these things?”
“Enough,” the real Jimenez says.
Swoosh!
In a matter of a few seconds, my frame straightens, my skin darkens, and my hair slides back into the pores on my head.
“Cal,” Richardson says, “before you’re briefed on your first case subject, I want to give you the ground rules of being an Agent of Influence. We already explained to you the use of unnecessary shape shifting when you’re here. The same goes for when you’re in public. And never, ever change in front of other people. Find some privacy before doing so.”
“Like Superman and his phone booth,” Hamilton says.
This makes sense. They don’t want anyone abusing their power nor do they want to reveal themselves to the unsuspecting public. Given what I saw in the Control Room, I don’t think they’d have a problem detecting or enforcing that.
“Secondly,” Richardson continues, “you cannot tell anyone about who you work for or what you do.”
The hard part will be convincing Ronni that the matchmaker service is flourishing. She’s good at detecting a lie and I’m sure that one won’t fly for long.
“Lastly, you have to be careful where and when you change.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Agents of Justice are everywhere,” says Hamilton. “Their presence automatically negates our shape shifting abilities.”
“Why would they do that?”
“It’s accidental when it happens, actually.”
The old man scratches his bald spot. “The A of J has been trying rather unsuccessfully to replicate our Change Machine for years. Currently, they’re only able to move things telekinetically. It was by chance that they discovered a way to neutralize our shape shifting power.”
“Convenient. So what happens? I just turn back into myself?”
“Instantly,” Jimenez says. “As soon as they’re in the vicinity. We estimate that they need to be within fifty feet to expose you.”
“That’s why we want you to minimize your use of your power,” Richardson says. “You never know when or where an A of J will be.”
I nod my head. There’s a lot more to this than I originally thought. It sounds like my success as an Agent of Influence will be as much about when I don’t change as it’ll be when I do.
“Now, enough of that crap,” the old man says with a hearty wave. “Let’s get to the good stuff.” He nods towards the door.
I hop off of the table and follow his lead with Jimenez behind me. Once again, Hamilton holds the door open for all of us. We walk down the hallway toward the Control Room again. Hamilton unlocks the door, allowing us all to filter in.
