by V X Lloyd
Perry did not like to lie, and he was not good at it. "Moony and I are going on a double date tonight." From the other room, Moony whistled and there was the sound of detonation from a video game.
"You didn't tell me it was going to be a double." Deb had apparently not caught on. Many times, when people are busy weaving their own lies, their attention toward other people is not very astute.
"Deb, there is a lady who I will be going out with tonight. I think this whole exclusivity we've been trying to maintain is all just a bunch of bananas, anyway. I love you, and let's talk later about what each of us really wants, so that we can have everything out in the open."
"Oh!" Deb said. She looked at Moony. There he sat, not shrugging, not defending her, not doing anything for anyone. She stormed downstairs muttering something about white wine being better than red anyway.
For a mere instant, Moony felt just on the verge of having a grand realization, something about his quest, a climactic scene in an obscure theatre someplace in a warm and sunny place. He was pretty sure he glimpsed a vision of his actual future. Then the experience faded, and for a second he stood there blank, not even recalling why this awkward well-dressed fellow was in his apartment. Then he remembered they were planning to go out to dinner. He stood up.
"Shall we?" said Moony, sporting the same clothes he slept in, which, truth be told, were more expensive than Perry’s outfit.
The two men left and approached Moony's car. A tall blonde woman stormed up like a Viking in high heels. Perry glanced at Moony, hoping he would be allowed to speak with her.
Moony’s mother. She looked like someone who had an agenda. In fact, today’s entry in her daily planner, which featured stationary that had Get drunk and: at the beginning of each to-do list, read:
Get drunk and fire the tax attorney. Facial appointment Tuli’s Spa 11:30
Get drunk and give Dan his gramps’ watch and lucky tie.
The stationery ended with the phrase:
Get drunk and get on with it.
*
"You've been such a stranger," said Moony's mother. They briefly, briskly hugged.
She was tall. The way her height was expressed in her entry in Universal Standard Human Documentation reads as follows: Joanna towers above most men both physically and energetically. When she confronts a male human, she displays a dominance men usually had to pay to see, an authority manifest in strippers who relished their work.
"Mom, meet my friend."
"Perry, Joanna, Joanna, Perry."
"Hi, nice to meet you."
"You too."
Perry looked around. “Where’s Celia?” He fumbled to put on his Oakley sunglasses and shake hands at the same time, and said to Joanna "We were just off to a business meeting, your son and I."
Moony corrected, "Yeah, sort of a combo business meeting and also a very intimate double date. Very important, just the four of us. You understand."
"I'm hungry, haven't eaten in days it feels like," said Joanna. She put her hands on her abdomen. Yes, she too had a six-pack. Paradoxically, although it was true that she was in fact Moony's mother, Joanna was not an alien human. How such things occur are beyond the scope of this book.
"Pick up some takeout from the Thai place a block down." Moony pointed north, then south.
"I think she'd like to go with us."
"Well, she can’t. Our reservations for dinner, it's a very exclusive place, and we could only get a table for just the four of us. Maybe another time?" said Moony. "Take my house key and eat my leftovers."
"Hop in," said Joanna, "I'll ferry you to your dates."
"Yeah, we were going to go in my car, but my passenger seat, see," Perry mumbled, "It's got this glue stuff that sticks to your ass."
"That's why we have to take my car," said Moony.
"Your tire is flat,” said Joanna.
Moony looked. Damn, it sure was.
"There's time to fix it," he offered.
They were already late.
In heels, Joanna tromped toward her Escalade. Perry followed in eager conversation with her. They were speaking about just what a “bacon strip” was and wasn’t.
The Escalade's interior smelled like cigars. Joanna relished cigars with the best of any 19th-century oil tycoon. "Big Train" by Mike Watt played on the stereo. In the passenger seat, Perry lit a cigarette.
"So where do these broads live?" was all Joanna said for the duration of the drive. She just clicked into driving mode, tuning out the rest of the world with a style not unlike Moony’s special style of cerebral density. She gave curt nods which suggested she had heard and/or considered what was being said.
When in the presence of his mother for more than a few minutes, Moony inevitably found himself shrinking in upon himself in a way that left him feeling exhausted and embarrassed. He gave precise directions, never saying more than necessary. He looked out the window at the parts of town which did not decorate themselves because snow often would. They drove past a building with a sign reading “David Building.” He coveted the award-winning anonymity in these places.
Parked at a stoplight, he stared intently at a homeless guy with a tremendous mustache. The briefest of scans revealed that the man was an awakened alien human who had skill with both telepathy and empathy. In fact, the two abilities seemed to have been cultivated in equal proportions in the man. That got Moony wondering. What if there really could be a happy medium, a win-win for both the dark side and the light? Hadn't the Enclave been trying to tell him something along those lines? Of course, he had no desire to ally with the Enclave. Yet, perhaps they had been onto something. Maybe he was not irrevocably doomed to existential angst without reprieve. Perhaps he was redeemable. Perhaps his actions could redeem others. What would it take for dark and light to coexist? Could the telepathy be altered in some way that it was no longer parasitic, so that it no longer mined the cerebral capacity of bystanders for those who possessed it to wield their skill? What if both sides could work together, and a utopia of heart and head was only a few steps away?
Pondering these deep thoughts, he noted that this fine moustached fellow who happened to appear very homeless, a person who might actually hold the keys to Moony’s next move, had lowered his pants to his ankles and proceeded to squat in the middle of the sidewalk. Moony recognized on the man's face the early signs of strain which signaled the intent to defecate. Moony looked away.
OK, he admitted to himself, he might have reached a premature conclusion. The Sphinx had mad his mission clear, and despite fearing that he was quite probably a soul destined for darkness and failure, he resolved that his heart was with the Sphinx. Based on his own experience, the Gypsy's style of cerebral telepathy as it stood was simply untenable. Yes, he resolved, only when the dark one no longer claimed Earth in his clutches would Moony consider anything besides his single-minded quest for the checkered potion.
At the green light, their car drove away.
In a few minutes, Celia and Amethyst had joined him in the back seat, Moony in between them. The two women looked so much alike that he wondered whether they were distantly related. Their taste in clothing was contrasted, though. Amethyst wore a swishy black dress and huge peacock earrings, and Celia sported a clever T-shirt advertising a nonexistent surfboard company and a pair of vintage low-rise jeans.
The two complimented each other’s clothes and Celia steered the conversation towards things she found interesting about King Kong. The music on the stereo now was The Velvet Underground. Amethyst asked Joanna to turn the volume down, but Joanna didn't hear. She didn't ask again.
3. Double Agents
To the artificially-candlelit table in Littleton’s classiest Italian restaurant the waiter brought a fifth chair to squeeze in between Moony and Celia.
“For now, I’ll have a mint gelato,” Joanna said.
“Ah, so you’re ready to order?”
"Actually," Perry announced, "I'll need to step outside for a smoke. Anyone care to join m
e?"
Seeing Amethyst accept the invitation, Moony nodded. He looked to Celia, hoping she would want to step outside too, but she shook her head. No smoking for Celia.
It was cold outside, but not miserably so. The three smokers stood in a companionable huddle, and Perry wrapped a friendly arm around Amethyst, lighting her cigarette.
"Wow, yeah. I expected you to be older."
As she inhaled a lungful, Amethyst gave a very quick smile that disappeared and left no trace of levity. She had heard that one before, and she didn't want Perry to elaborate any further on the point.
But he did.
"You're so young. Gosh. And beautiful. You're really beautiful."
Amethyst watched the ash on her cigarette as she flicked it away. "Perry?" she asked.
"Yeah," he responded, ready to do anything to be of assistance.
"Perry, please stop."
Despite his telepathy, Perry still lacked game. Stopping hadn't occurred to him. It took him a moment to realize that his comments had been unwelcome.
He smiled submissively.
Feeling the Sphinx's warmth, Moony filled the silence with some words he hoped moved things into more manageable territory. "I appreciate that you're meeting with us like this outside the scrutiny of your board of directors. We're really just wanting to discuss the additive and see if you had any questions or concerns as we move forward with our partnership."
“Well,” Amethyst said, “I do have questions. Nano-3 has been on our books for years as a preservative, but our compound doesn't spoil. It doesn't need a preservative. Your additive didn't raise any eyebrows with our board because it didn't cost us much. Historically speaking, what I have learned about my company is that they don't give a hooting damn what we spray into the stratosphere, as long as every legal box is checked and we get paid. The motto of my father was that we give the devil his dues and we take home the leftovers. But as of last October, I inherited We Rain. I'm running the show now. And I must say, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. Suffice it to say now that I make it my business not to take anyone at their word if they're trying to sell me something. Even at a discount.”
"I understand what you mean," Moony said. "What is it that you're unhappy with about our product?"
"Its complexity, for one thing. Enlighten me. Tell me what nano-3 does."
"That's, uh, yeah, part of the preservative's preservational molecule."
A long, awkward pause.
"It's proprietary," Perry clarified, placing his paw on Amethyst's shoulder for emphasis.
"I'm sure it is. You want to know what concerns me? It concerns me when conspiracy theorists call my company and scrutinize my ingredient list and ask questions about evil invisible mind control. I want a clean-running business, and that means dropping everything from our books that doesn't smell right. Over the past few weeks, I got some strange phone calls. Eventually, I started to wonder. Surely they weren't all nutcases. So, I talked to chemists. I talked to biologists. I talked to physicists. I actually reached out to my contacts in the state senate. Nobody seems to have an entry point into what your proprietary compound is all about. Right now is your chance. Convince me your product needs to be there, or I'm cutting it."
"Yeah," Perry nodded. "Maybe if you share with us what you know about nano-3, we can help clarify stuff."
Amethyst took a long pull from her cigarette and stared at the two men for a few seconds, each in turn. "I agreed to meet with you expecting to hear you blather on about the virtues of your additive. But I don't get the sense that you know a thing about it."
Moony reached out to the Sphinx for an answer and felt a cold purple-dark chill in the distance, and a warmth from Amethyst. He sensed he could trust her, but he was wary about a strong sense of gloom on the horizon somewhere. He didn't see anyone else in the vicinity.
He strongly sensed that time was scarce.
"We're not actually loyal to Exaggerated Conglomerates," Moony confessed.
A pause.
"You boys are trying to play both sides?"
"Actually we're not trying to side with the Gypsy at all."
"What do you mean, you're not ‘trying’ to?"
"I meant that we're not siding with her. We're investigating nano-3 is all. Nothing would make us happier than to discontinue all use of it."
"Yeah, we don't know how they make the compound, but from what we know, it’s true what your conspiracy theorists are saying. It's part of a mind control program and we want to stop it," Perry said. "But there's something I don't understand. If you don't want nano-3, what's stopping you from not using it? I mean, you're the president. Yeah?"
Amethyst nodded. "The short answer is that the decision must be made by our board of directors. A roomful of very conservative and very fussy old men. They're about as inflexible as inflexible gets. We've used whatever Exaggerated Conglomerates sent to us for years, and they won't change their mind unless they have a very good reason. Thus far, all I have uncovered is a mystery. And now you two double agents are offering to help me. This is exactly the opposite reason I expected you to be meeting me. And no offense, but you don't seem clever enough to be lying about your intent. So, if you're going to help me, what I need is simple. I need hard evidence that your stuff poses a clear public danger. Specifically, that it will end up costing us in the long run to use it."
"Hey, we can do that," Perry said, then looked at Moony to be sure. "We're here to make things right." He paused. "You ever hear the one about the giraffe and the little girl? It's an old African story."
Amethyst shook her head and turned to face Moony. "They say everyone has a conscience. The way I figure it, some people have a cleaner conscience than others. And I don't think ignorance pans out in the long term." She scrutinized the two of them. "I wonder how much you two really know Creatia Ernald."
Perry started cracking up. Amethyst eyed him.
"Sorry. Funny name." His face was getting red, both from embarrassment and from trying to hold in his laughter.
Moony chuckled too. "Yeah, sounds like a made-up name. Who is Crematio Ernald?"
"Most people know her as the Gypsy."
They stopped laughing.
"I guess you've answered my question. Well, there's something I don't know a whole lot about, and that's nanoengineered proteins. I do know that they're expensive. I also know nobody gives away something expensive for next to nothing, as you boys are doing with your additive. Ernald -- the Gypsy -- is looking for a payoff somewhere, just not from us."
She snuffed out her cigarette and abruptly took out a second from her pack.
"Who ships this stuff to you?" Moony asked.
"What makes you think I know that?"
"As the president, I figured you might know who ships you the additive."
"I might suggest that you yourself should know that, since you are speaking on behalf of Exaggerated Conglomerates."
"Touche."
"I'll refresh your memory, my double agent friend. Your product is transported by a private shipping company under government contract and manufactured in a plant owned by Chesebrough Gear Oil. They have several. The plant in question is in Spain somewhere. They don't give us an address on the invoice. All it says is Seville, Spain."
"All right. We'll go there. We'll get answers for you. I don't want this stuff spread either. I don't have any hard evidence, but I do know that it's a parasitic compound. The nanos cross the blood-brain barrier, they do something in a person's brain. From what I've heard, a primitive version has already been active for years. This next version is going to be much worse. It mines people's brains for processing power. Uses them like a big computer."
"Dear God. I can't. I can't listen to more of this. But tell me, whose computer is it? Please say aliens."
"I won't say it's aliens," Moony said. "I won't. Except...” He paused. “Aliens. An organization of them that the Gypsy belongs to."
"Whew," Amethyst said, her eyes rolling back in he
r head. She seemed unsteady on her feet, and Perry reached out to keep her from falling.
She shook her head, took several deep breaths and steadied herself. "OK, I could blame it on the altitude. But, boys, I have to say we have officially passed beyond my threshold of what I can hear without my head exploding. If you don't mind, I think we're done here. Do you think you can get me some intel no later than a week from now? Some data-rich tidbits that my board can digest. Something that looks like good, clean science."
Perry nodded. "On my honor, ma'am." Moony nodded as well.
Amethyst headed inside, leaving the two friends standing there.
"Heath has the same supplier. I'll ask Heath."
Perry's eyes lit up. "Yeah, that's perfect. Here's what you do: Just say part of the thing you're hoping to get him to tell you and you'd be surprised what can happen. Just say it like this: something something, your guy in Seville, and see what he says back to you. He'll assume you already know anyway. It's an old cop trick I learned."
"You used to be a cop?"
Perry's eyebrows descended slowly and definitively into the facial expression which could only be described as a glower. "Yeah. I used to be a cop. Not for very long though."
Perry's glower gave every indication that he wanted to leave it at that, and Moony didn't press him further.
*
“He’ll have the filet mignon,” said Celia, ordering for Moony. She looked to Joanna, who said “Yes, sounds good” to get her to look away.
The meal was full of long, long pauses and very painful silence.
Celia got fries and ate half of them.
Amethyst munched some of her salad in between looks around at the other people at the restaurant.
Devouring his medium-rare steak, Moony said “Mmm, this is very good,” and believed it, since he was a sucker for Celia.
Having ordered a “Cowboy Burger,” Perry was true to his tastes; his meal tasted the best.
