Disclaimers in part 01
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"This is no time for making new enemies."
~~Voltaire~~
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FRIDAY, JUNE 30, 2000
WASHINGTON, D.C.
SRI LANKAN CONSULATE
LATE NIGHT
BYERS:
When I finally track Sari down, she's in a cluster of her friends, some of whom I've met at her house a few times. I recognize at least half a dozen of them. They greet me by name, and I get hugs or handshakes from the people I know. I get introductions to the others, though their names go right by me. I'm still rather uncomfortable with all the hugging people seem to do around Sari, but I'm beginning to get more used to it. The conversation is rapid fire, and goes on around me in fragmented, confusing torrents.
"... and the guy with the rabbit said..."
Sari smiles. "Are you done with business for the evening, John?"
"Well, yesterday Betty had a customer with..."
I nod. "Yes, and now I can relax for a little while, though I think Frohike wants to leave soon."
"... Mahmoud's daughter... the chili sauce was..."
"It's still way too early to leave," Linda, an comic book artist, says. She's one of the few people here whose names I remember. "You've hardly talked to anyone yet."
"... didn't you?"
"I was waiting to meet someone, and wasn't sure when they'd be here," I answer.
Willson, a landscaper, offers me a glass of red wine from a tray making its way by, and I don't see any reason not to indulge. One glass won't keep me from driving for more than half an hour at most. I'm not really much good at small talk, but I've started getting to know these people, and can at least make conversation with them while Sari seems to effortlessly carry on half a dozen conversations at once.
"Did you hear the one about..."
"... and the poetry was exquisite, but..."
As Linda and I discuss computer modeling and graphics design programs, Hilda makes her way over to our cluster.
"...later, darling!"
"Oh, John, I was looking for you," Hilda says happily.
"When was the last time you talked..."
Hilda wraps me in a hug.
"... but Harry said he wasn't ready for that kind of commitment yet."
I return the hug.
"...was always sort of an asshole anyway. Didn't he..."
"You were looking for me?" I ask.
"Yes," Hilda replies, "I was hoping to speak with you for a moment."
"Rita's got the best recipe for..."
"Would you join the family for brunch tomorrow, John?" Hilda says.
It actually sounds like a good idea. Sari's parents are interesting and comfortable to be around, and I certainly like her sister and brother-in-law well enough, but we have to meet with Sean early tomorrow, and brunch will be impossible. "Unfortunately, Hilda, I have some pressing work to take care of tomorrow during the day, so I won't be able to make it."
"I wish that you could come," Sari says, "but I know how important your project is right now."
I take Sari's hand and squeeze it. "So do I."
"... Margot's nose swelled up like..."
"What's the project?" Mahmoud asks. He manages a local bank.
"Project... uh, I'm working on a story at the moment, very difficult
investigation, and I really can't talk about it now."
"And Yeats really did have it right in..."
"Then you must come to visit with us on Sunday. We will be having lunch after Mark speaks at the conference," Hilda says. "It's too bad you won't be able to attend his lecture. I think you would really enjoy it. You seem to be a man of discerning tastes."
I blush. "Thank you. I'd be delighted to join you."
"... and the guy from Seattle says, 'we've got way too many Californians around, and besides, I have to recycle the bottle.'"
Hilda beams. "We shall expect you and Sari at 1 p.m. then!"
"Yes, of course."
Sari's laughter rings next to me. "You should have seen the Pinck executive's face when I showed the hearing that file," she says, as several people listen attentively.
From the corner of one eye, I see Frohike approaching. The small man in the suit is nearby, watching him. Suddenly, I'm feeling very uneasy. Frohike grabs me by the elbow.
"It's time to go, Byers. Let's get Blondie and get the hell home." He's obviously extremely inebriated. He's starting to slur, and he's wobbling a bit as well. "Ran into Kate Sandridge, the bitch, and she's got her nose up my ass. I think the Rabbi's in cahoots with her."
"...took three hours to convince the Senator..."
This would explain his current state. Sandridge is a very unscrupulous reporter, and not a particularly pleasant human being. I scan the room for her, and see her watching us from near one of the buffet tables. She looks away as I make eye contact. "That's not good news," I mutter into Frohike's ear. "Do you have any idea what she wants this time?"
He blinks. "Not here, not right now. Too many eyes and ears."
I turn to Sari, who's now three people over from me. "Sari, I really need to be going now. Frohike's had a few too many, and we're going to have to carry Langly out to the car."
"...wasn't that hard, though."
She and Hilda turn to me.
"I'm sorry you have to leave so soon, John, but I do understand. I'll see you tomorrow when I bring the boy genius over," Sari says. She hugs me and kisses my cheek. I return the favor, and once again notice the light scent of sandalwood on her skin. Just that hint of scent relaxes me a little, takes the edge off my uneasiness.
"...and shall see you at lunch Sunday," Hilda adds. I wish I'd been able to catch the first part of her sentence in all the noise here.
The sooner we're out of here, the better. I get a last hug from Hilda, and several other people shake my hand and say their goodbyes. Sometimes I think this social life thing is a lot more trouble than it's worth. Then again, if I were still at the FCC, I'd probably have enjoyed the evening much more -- if I'd ever been lucky enough to meet Sari in the first place.
This is the sort of life I think my father wanted me to have; rubbing shoulders with the upper classes, superficial party conversations, and probably a wife and a house with a white picket fence, 2.5 kids and a dog, too. The sort of thing I dreamed of having with Susanne, minus the superficial party conversations. But if I'd lived that life, I never would have met Mel or Ringo, never would have met Sari, never would have known the truth about all the things I know... and I never would have found the files that caused Deborah to be shot, or put us in danger, never would have known Mulder and Scully, never would have alienated my father... I force the thoughts from my mind and go to get Langly and my laptop so we can leave.
SATURDAY, JULY 1, 2000
LONE GUNMEN HQ
LATE MORNING
FROHIKE:
They say that great insights come at a great price. In this case, I learned that good booze doesn't give you a better hangover, merely a more expensive one.
My agony is intensified when I attempt to make my way to the bathroom to get some Alka-Seltzer. Not only do I smack into the doorframe, worsening my headache, but I discover there's no Alka-Seltzer in the bathroom. God dammit. How am I supposed to survive a hangover, let alone work with the Sex Maniac Physics Boy, if I don't have Alka-Seltzer?
I drag my aching frame down the stairs. I should kill Mulder for talking us into a multistory house. It just makes the journey to the kitchen all that much more painful.
Byers, having not imbibed heavily, is fully dressed and seated at the kitchen table, his face well scrubbed and pink, sipping tea and perusing the morning papers as though this was a perfectly ordinary day.
"Where's the Alka-Seltzer?" I snarl at him.
He doesn't look up. "Where it usually is."
"It's not there."
"Then we're out."
"Byers, you're supposed to keep up on this stuff! We depend on you!" I'd yell at him, but in my present condition, it comes out as a hoarse whisper.
He looks almost smug. "I wasn't aware I was in charge of hangover control."
I'm almost ready to smack him, until I hear the front door open with a loud clatter. It's accompanied by heavy foot clomping. The noise reverberates in my head. Maybe I should smack Langly instead.
He tramples into the kitchen like a rampaging herd of elephants, tossing his blonde locks back, an immense look of relief on his face. "God, if they didn't get on the plane, I was gonna have to do something drastic."
"Jesus, Langly, keep it down to a roar," I snap. I see that he's carrying a latte cup. "I don't suppose you brought any of that back."
"I'll make some," Byers offers.
"Good, Langly's brew would poison a tyrannosaurus."
Byers loads the drip coffee maker and waits while it brews.
Langly shoots me an evil glare. "Looks like somebody overdid it last night."
"How would you know? You slept through the whole thing. If you'd been awake, you'd probably have been out in the ozone on one of O'Casey's microdots"
"O'Casey was there? And he had microdots? And you didn't wake me up?!" Good. He's as irritated as I am.
"Langly, you know how Deborah feels about those substances," Byers clucks his tongue. I'm going to kill both of them. Then I decide to wait and see if O'Casey shows up, and produces as good as he promised. If he doesn't, I'll take out my ire on him.
"Listen, Blondie, I don't think an earthquake would have woken you last night. Now shut the fuck up and let me suffer silently."
"Yeah, well, you might try doing the same." He shoots an unpleasant look at me. "Y'know, Frohike, hangovers only decrease what little charm you have."
"Langly," Byers holds up a hand, "Dr. O'Casey will be here soon. Why don't you set up for him?"
"Fine. And he better bring drugs." Blondie stomps out of the kitchen, I'm sure for my benefit.
I hold my head in my hands. It feels as big as the Capitol Dome. "Is he ever going to grow up?" I mutter.
Byers sticks a mug of black coffee in front of me. "Probably about the time you do."
I hate these guys.
LANGLY:
We're just waiting for O'Casey to show his ass up. Hope he's got some wares with him. I can't get away with acid, but a little ganja wouldn't hurt. Deb doesn't have a problem with the happy weed. Says they should legalize the stuff and allow some serious medical research on it. I'm totally in favor of that.
Frohike's finally out of the shower, looking a little less ugly than he did before he went in. He's not moaning quite as much, though he's still cursing Byers for not having any Alka-Seltzer on hand. Guess that would annoy me too, but if he wants sympathy, he can look it up in the dictionary under S.
I decide I'll give Deb another call, instead of listening to Frohike bitch. I gotta admit, I'm schizzy from all this. She's probably asleep and yeah, I know she needs to rest, but I keep checking up on her. She got hurt real bad and things aren't good around us, so she really can't blame me.
I dial her number and get her on the third ring. "Hello?" Her voice is thick and sleepy.
"Hey, babe. How's it going?"
"About the same as it was when you called... 45 minutes ago." She sounds annoyed, but I'm just relieved to hear her voice.
"No weird phone calls, anything like that?"
"Only from you." She yawns. "Sweetheart, I'm fine. I just need to sleep. Don't be so paranoid. Honestly, Ringo, you're worse than my father."
"Sorry... I'm just worried. I'll get over there soon as we finish up here."
"Don't worry about me. All my vitals are fine, babe. Really. I do have some knowledge of these things. Besides, Rae will be here in about two hours anyway. It's not like I'll be alone all day."
"I know. Sorry..."
"See you soon, sweetheart."
Not soon enough. I'd feel a lot better if I was there with her. I'm still waiting for the next shoe to drop, and if the person who rang the door buzzer is who I think it is, that should be right about now.
"I'll get it," Byers says. Fine with me; I'd rather nurse my coffee, anyway.
"Yeah, let him get his hello kiss in private," Frohike mutters.
I can hear Sari's voice, and the voice of a guy that I hope is Sean O'Casey, Boy Wonder. He better be a Boy Wonder, at any rate. We got problems here.
Frohike stands up when they come down the stairs. He tells me you're supposed to stand up when a lady comes in the room. What for? First time I met Deb I was barely conscious. Didn't seem to hurt us any.
I pass by Frohike's workstation as I'm walking over to Byers, Sari and O'Casey. I notice he's got an email from Mel Scarlett. It's only one line: "Mel, are you drunk?" Shit, he must've written her last night before he passed out. I shudder. I know what Frohike's like when he's smashed and lonely. And he better not have said anything to her about what the hell's going on here. Then again, *we* don't know what the hell's going on. Maybe O'Casey can clarify that little mess and get our asses out of the sling.
"Dude, you missed an awesome party last night," O'Casey says when I'm introduced to him.
"I hate parties where I don't know anybody," I mutter, and it's true. Unless it's the post party for a Battlebots competition, forget it. And when's he gonna offer some stash?
"Langly's had a very exhausting week," Sari explains -- as if she needs to. All I'm sorry I missed were the drugs. She gives me the customary hug and peck on the cheek, and asks me how Deborah 's doing.
"She's okay, her sis is coming in a couple of hours. Let's get moving, I wanna get back over to her place," I tell her.
Sari bails -- she's got brunch with her folks. Now, free food I could
handle. Frohike sweeps the place, just to make sure nobody got near our
stuff while we were out last night. We don't get nailed very often, but
we tend to get hurt when we do.
"I think I can solve your problem, dudes. Nothing like the most sensational
menage a trois to get..."
"Y'know, O'Casey, that totally falls under the definition of Way Too Much Information," I snark at him. Seriously, we don't need the details of his sex life, especially when the details of mine are nonexistent right now. I hate being reminded.
"Would you like some coffee?" Byers, Mr. Gracious Host, asks.
"No, no, nothing caffeinated for me. I much prefer something to slow things down"
"You got any weed?" I ask him.
He brightens up. "As a matter of fact, I do. But your friends here seem to object to my toking in their presence, despite the fact that oftentimes, a little high causes things to make so much more sense."
Nothing makes sense right now. I look at my cohorts. "You wanna smoke some weed, okay by me."
He smiles. "Excellent."
He lights up a blunt and passes it around.
Byers passes because he doesn't like to work stoned, but Frohike decides to take a hit. "For medicinal purposes," he says, "I understand it helps with headaches and nausea." Uh-huh. I take a hit when it comes to me, and man, did I need it. It makes the round a couple more times before O'Casey puts it out and stuffs it into a little Altoids tin.
"You ready to do some work now?" Frohike looks at him, not quite as mean as he was before he got a few hits in him.
"I'm ready. The question is," O'Casey smiles at us, "are you?"
Me, I doubt it.
BYERS:
Our physics whiz starts off by getting into a state in which I simply cannot imagine concentrating, much less dealing with serious work. I understand that some people manage it, but I have no idea how. The thought makes me uneasy, as I far prefer being in control of my faculties as much as possible. We have no idea if someone is going to come kicking the door in during the next five minutes. If we were all in O'Casey's condition, how would we cope? I just hope Frohike and Langly have the sense to not smoke too much for this. Whatever it is, I'd hate to try to explain it to them when they come down.
O'Casey pulls the disk out of his pocket and sticks it into a drive. He opens a file and begins.
"Well, dudes," he says, his mood rather more sober than I would have expected, "what you have here is some completely out of this world stuff. I mean that quite literally. I've never seen anything like it before, but from what I can tell... it's a workable theory regarding the operation of a superstring-based interstellar drive."
End part 15