Sine Qua Non
Shaddoth
Sine Qua Non
By Shaddoth
Copyright © 2020 Shaddoth
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.
Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously in a fictious world. Other names, characters, and places are the product of the author’s imagination.
First printing edition 2020.
Chapter 1:
I was in my customary chair with my feet up on the stool, which had been brought over by the management from the library for that specific purpose years ago, since Benny frowned upon me using the table for a foot rest while I read the Times and munched a tray of petit fours. On assuming his position, he had refused to serve me my treats for breakfast for the longest time, or at least until I learned to pronounce them correctly. Petit fours, along with consuming a pot of coffee with a shot of bourbon, had been my daily breakfast routine for the past decade, or two. Or ten.
The other seven gentlemen scattered around the room were also silently reading at their tables. Each old enough to be anyone’s family patriarch, with sufficient funds to back up banks. I wasn’t the only one that still read a printed newspaper in the mornings.
The Club had been around since before the War of Northern Aggression. So had I. Not that I fought in that despicable conflict. Too many of our sons and daughters died on both sides, the members of the Club knew it was going to happen but were powerless to prevent it. Near the end of the war, I liberated a pay chest from one of the rogue elements while on a request to rescue Major Winter’s niece and daughter from being despoiled. They happened to be captured along with others in the train robbery. His reward was offering either of their hands in marriage, but since two years previously I had become the widower of two Cherokee cousins and was not ready to remarry, I declined. After many months of getting to know my character through weekly poker nights, the esteemed gent sponsored me to join The Club. It seemed that the war caused too many deaths of the former members, mostly from heartbreak and Sherman. New blood was needed to keep membership stable.
The Club didn’t have many Rules. The main attractive Rule for me was that women and children were never to enter. The club was never intended to be a meeting place for businessmen. The Club’s true purpose was an escape from the stresses of the outside world for men of breeding and wealth, which at the time equated to just wealth. For most of the 19th century’s esteemed gentlemen, wives had always been the primary stress inducing aspect in their lives. Hence rule one of the Club.
I stopped aging at twenty-four when a damn Indian lodged an arrow in my left eye, stole my horse, musket, and hat. I loved that hat, the horse was loyal too. Had her for a couple of years, one of the Brownys, the second, in a long line of good horseflesh.
Had to cut that damn arrow out myself with a broken piece of flint since that damn Apache stole my knife too. My new, damned, healing-factor kicked in for the first time that day when I suddenly woke hungry and in pain instead of dying, as I thought I should have been doing.
Since that fall day in the 1600s, I hadn’t outwardly aged a day. No gray hair, no flab, and no befuddlement that the passage of the years brought to the rest of the world of men. There were other changes to me besides not dying and healing rapidly, whenever wounded. Not that I planned on discussing Those with anyone, since God was Feared, and Men made damn sure that the Bible was read and followed to their own interpretations. None of which were lenient or friendly. Christianity meant control in those days.
Still does to most folks.
Shockingly, a muffled cellphone rang during my musings as I scanned an article about the upcoming Labor Day celebrations. It had to have been the first time in two years of our mostly silent breakfasts. Poor old George fumbled for his case while the rest of us smirked at the fresh ammo to use against the old boy on this Friday night’s card game.
George Eastinghouse, one of the paper readers, probably hadn’t used his cellphone more than a handful of times in the last calendar year, outside of setting up golf games. He was retired and handed down the chairmanship of his company to his nephew. Only now he had to answer the noise maker before the tenth ring. All of us were paying attention, while seemingly not trying to, even Benny across the bar and Pete, who turned up his left ear. (Hearing aid, for those that don’t have one yet.)
Not that any of us cared about the conversation beyond one-upmanship. Benny in his early sixties was at least a decade younger than Ollie, whose wife celebrated his 65th for him in March. He especially took notice to make sure to get as much ammo as he could. He owed George one.
“Hello? … This is Eastinghouse… who is this?… you want Bach, why call me?… no phone?.. of course, I know that… I’ll tell him.” Click. He made a show of turning off his phone, stowing it in his case. Sipping his coffee while eating another egg that his daughter and doctor forbade him in her newest diet for him plainly revealed that the call was not an emergency. George would tell me when he was good and ready about the phone call that disturbed our morning respite. The building wasn’t on fire and it wasn’t about family. The rest of the world could wait.
Thinking of it, the last call during our secluded breakfasts was for me too. Not that I had a phone with me, didn’t need one inside The Club. I popped another bite sized pink frosted cake into my mouth and began reading about an international group of Heroes trying to refreeze a glacier in the Antarctic. Seemed some environmental group was fearful of it calving.
An hour later, George left me a note that General Abernathy would be waiting with a car. I guessed that I delayed long enough since Ollie, Pete, and Jason had left already. Outside the twelve-foot-high wrought iron gate was a newer dark blue sedan idling against the curb, with a small magnetic sign on the door proclaiming government use only. Even if the rest of the car was unmarked, only a fool would consider it other than a government vehicle. The old adage of military intelligence was hard at work again, I noticed.
A young Lieutenant stood at parade rest, probably had since she arrived in front of our two-century old club, long even before Abernathy placed his call to George. The scowl was a dead giveaway. “Sir, there is a plane waiting for you at Lee.” I kept walking past the girl soldier to my car, which was parked in the underground lot two blocks away. Abernathy should know better than to send me Greenhorns. Even if they were pretty as peaches.
This area had a lack of reasonable parking, mainly because of the obscene property prices. Some fools had even tried to force The Club to sell out. Once. The imbeciles even tried using muscle to get their way. When I threw their hired gun and his truck full of subordinates thru the responsible financial group’s headquarters, the harassment stopped. At least the muscle version of harassment did. When the lawyer tried to serve me papers for a lawsuit over the matter, he ended up dangling from the flagpole of their law offices, above the fifth floor. They too backed away after the fourth attempt when the local police refused to accompany them on their attempts to serve me.
The locals knew which side their bread was buttered on, and the Hero Association ran in the other direction whenever they saw me on the same street.
Winston informed us later on a poker night, after the dust settled, that that fiasco almost ended up going Federal. By custom, I had to ante up for drinks that evening. That was an excellent smooth 53-year-old scotch, I mused. Less than a year later, that financial firm had declared bankruptcy after all its legitimate clients canceled their accounts.
“Sir, it’s an emergency! I was told to tell you that it’s the Kraken.” My steps faltered.
“Where is it?”
“She is southeast of Newark. She has been plotted, Sir.” The fresh-faced Lieutenant corrected me.
To me, anything that big is an ‘it’. The woman who turned into the Kraken had lost her humanity after the Event, almost a hundred years ago, right after WWII.
“Lee?” international airport, I asked.
“Yes Sir. I have a car to take you there if you come with me.”
A car would take forty minutes in traffic even with a siren. Which this one didn’t have. “Hold this, girl.” Handing my briefcase to the young woman, while at the same time ignoring the shiny, freshly tailored uniformed junior officer glaring at me with an aggravated look at being addressed as a ‘girl’, I strode to get my speed up, leaping up and on the Prudice building across the way, building momentum.
The next three jumps, each longer than the previous, brought me within a mile of the Air Force base. The last two were mostly for height, necessary for slowing my forward momentum to a standstill. Landing outside the ‘Authorized Personnel’ gate and scaring the squad guarding the entrance to Lee, while still in my morning suit, was an all too necessary annoyance.
Ruined a good pair of shoes. Again.
I pulled out my wallet and held my ID to the young man with a rifle pointed at me. “I’m expected. Will you summon a ride please, Private?” I requested of the child not old enough to legally drink in this day and age. Another stupid law; allowed to die for his government but not allowed to have a beer off base.
“Sir, have you been drinking?” He looked at his watch, 9:07. Checking my ID, with the other soldiers doing little else. The young man glared at me.
“Yes, I had a bourbon with my coffee, just like every day for the last 200 years.” I admitted proudly. “Now are you going to call the officer of the day or not?”
“Sarge, we have a drunk Super. What do I do with him? He even has a fake ID.”
“What’s he wan… Sorry, sir.” I received the NCO’s salute. “Let me drive you to your transport, sir.” The Sergeant exiting the bunker stopped and saluted. My accuser looked like he made a career ending mistake and had it deeply imprinted by the newly arrived Sergeant’s glare. At the minimum, KP for months was on the young man’s itinerary.
Builds character, I’ve heard.
The silk kites that Ollie’s great-grandkids used at his wife’s last party looked larger than the silvered rocket that they loaded me into. The eight hundred plus miles vanished below us, while I reclined in the Air Force’s newest Supersonic VTOL. We banked over Trenton at a much slower rate than the blistering speed we traveled in the upper atmosphere on the way to the north Jersey coast.
I prepared myself in the rear seat while the Captain communicated with his tower. “Sir, the Kraken is located five miles southeast of Newark.” The pilot relayed to me through my helmet headset.
“How do I get out of this plane and down there, Captain?”
“I can set you down pretty much anywhere, Sir.”
“Then do that. Skedaddle once I am clear.”
‘Skedaddle’ I heard the pilot mumble to himself. “Yes, Sir.”
He took me in fast and steep, pulling up abruptly before we touched down. Watching the wings rotate and feeling the plane shudder at the vector change was impressive. I thanked the Captain for the Hitch and alighted. Always enjoyed messing with the youngster’s heads while on an errand for Uncle Sam.
I didn’t have long to wait. A fifty-foot-tall purple squid with twenty-five tentacles, walking over land and crushing fifty-year old maple trees, was hard to miss. One tentacle more than last time, I noted. Not the cute purple that little girls liked, the Kraken was closer to a deep uneven bruise in color.
Once again, I tried to talk to the poor woman. “Allie. Please. Go back. Being out of the water is bad for you. You will die.” Just like the previous six times, this new form of hers had destroyed all reasoning within my old friend’s wife. She didn’t respond or change her course of action. I never was sure if any part of her memories remained besides her desire, every so often, to see her dead husband. The attacks always seemed to come harder and stronger when she recognized me, once I tossed the helmet aside. She remembered me a little, even if it was just from our previous encounters when she beached herself in the past.
Sidestepping her first attempt to crush me with a five-ton tentacle, I swung my six-foot dual crescent axe, chopping through the thick rubbery appendage. Our battle of chopping legs, getting smashed, and avoiding what I could, lasted less than a half-hour this time. I was getting stronger again, I noticed.
I prayed that I wasn’t in the process of evolving for the third time since my revival.
Dragging her sorry ass back to the bay took three more hours. The moronic protesters cursing me for not killing Allie were arguing against the ones protesting me harming her in the first place.
Allie had once been a friend. No one hurt as much inside, with what I had to do this day or during any of her previous forays out from the depths of the Atlantic, as I did.
Robert and I did what we could in those days, completely unable to slow Allie’s excruciatingly painful change over those dreadful six months. Together they spent the last few months of her sentient life with a few friends in Ocean City, an hour drive south of here. Every dozen years or so, Allison Moore returned to the place where she lived all of her married life. A marine biologist once told me it was a homing instinct for mating. In my heart I believed that not all of Allie was gone. Intellectually, no.
I hoped beyond hope that one day a Super would get the Power to change Allie back to her true form. Even if it was for only one day, so she could die in peace as a human and not a giant monster. Even if it were me who had to put her out of her misery.
I watched, lost in my memories, as she slinked through the waters of the Hudson to the Atlantic. Once she was out of my sight, but forever not out of my mind, I slung my axe over my shoulder and bounded back to where her chopped up tentacles laid scattered. Unsurprisingly, two semis were already there, scavenging her severed legs with a dozen people, a bulldozer and a small crane. When I landed after my last jump, I called out for the person in charge.
An overly stout, scraggly man that had been shouting for his workers to hurry, claimed that ‘honor’ of being in charge.
“Your name?”
“Kagmeyer. What’s it to you?” giving my ink and ichor shredded flight suit a repulsive look, the odious man tried to keep upwind of me. Not that I could blame him. For that.
“Well, Kagmeyer, are you here to transport her legs back to the Atlantic?” I asked in, for me, a soft tone.
“Nah, there is a good market for giant squid.”
“Then let me phrase the question in a different manner. Do you want to join the remnants of the Kraken when I return them to the ocean?” I didn’t exactly hope he would cooperate willingly. I had some aggression to work off.
“Ha, you do-gooders won’t do anything to me. I've got a permit.” He waved his clipboard.
Just then, even before I could see how far I could throw the lard ass, a convoy of dark green trucks arrived. I would have to call another one even with Abernathy.
The army corps of engineers arrived and took over, sending this Kagmeyer and his crew off with no compensation. They even commandeered one of the trailers since it was already loaded with chopped tentacle pieces.
A Captain Smith was in charge of the operation. He brought me good coffee and a change of clothes. My suit that I started that day with was still in a locker back at Lee. The loaned tattered flight suit had been covered in gray slime and soaked in blueish giant squid blood, along with Allie’s black acidic ink. The Captain even brought a potable water truck to wash me and the area down. Thoughtful, but damn cold.
Surprising me, he asked for my autograph and a picture. I wasn’t a Hero and had a long-standing public feud with the Heroes Association, which cared more for sponsorship and image, than for results. Common knowledge with the powers-that-be was that all too many of their tussles were staged. Or at least bought and paid for by one side or the other. That was the least of my gripes against the quasi-vigilante organization.
I did sign the back of a blank requisition form, voided out, to the man’s son, for the courtesy of remembering the coffee. And the man’s politeness.
I moped around Newark for a few days before heading to New York for a week of museums, plays, and a long enjoyable night at Madame Frederika’s fine establishment. Solo, as always, for the play and dinners, before heading home to Central City; I wouldn’t risk any of her talented ladies being associated with me. I wasn’t exactly beloved by the world authorities, nor the Super Community.
Arriving back at Lee, the same young Lieutenant had a car waiting. She even offered me today’s Monitor to read for the drive, along with a thermos of coffee and my briefcase. Maybe she wasn’t all bad.
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
She and our driver silently drove me home.
Home was a seven-bedroom castle-style mansion. I purchased it for a song after the Crash, a hundred and some years ago. Since then, I had spent more on renovations and remodeling than what I originally paid for the estate. Many times more.
Nine treeless acres on the outskirts of Central City. The women who cared for me insisted on mazes and gardens. Since they enjoyed the yard more than I did, I acquiesced under the assumption that happy servants made my home life more serene.
Most of the house was closed off, with sheets covering the furniture and beddings. Lillian and Nancy lived in the coach house over the converted stable. Rebecca lived in the sole quarters on the kitchen side. As much as she resisted, I would have to force her to find a replacement. She had served as my cook for over thirty years since her husband was killed by the so-called vigilante Mutated Dog in a jewelry heist. The three of them alternated as my driver, depending on who was free and if Rebecca wanted to get out of the house. The General before Abernathy persuaded me to cease any attempt behind the wheel for anything besides trips to and from the Club, after my one episode of what he called ‘road rage’.
At some unseen signal, the corporal driving the car pulled to the side before my gates, the young Lieutenant stepped out and opened my door.
“Sir?” she tentatively ventured.
“Just call me Bach, Lieutenant.” I said, folding the paper and stepping out of the car.
“If I may.” Hesitating to go further with her unspoken thought without some sign from me.
At my gesture, “When is the last time you took a vacation, had fun, or met a girl?” She blurted the last in a rush.
“Are you offering, Miss Perkins?” I raised my right eyebrow. Never could do the left.
“I wouldn’t presume, Sir,” she retreated.
“But you would presume giving me advice on my emotional wellbeing?” Not that I disagreed with her. I wasn’t sure if I knew how to socialize anymore, except with the older generation.
“Sorry for overstepping, Mister Bach. It won’t happen again.”
“Answer the question, Lieutenant Perkins.”
Gathering up her courage, “When was the last time you laughed with joy? Not an amused smile. Sir.” The young brunette added the title, almost forgetting her place. Not that I cared about titles.
“Pete had a good story about one of his subordinate’s secretaries, his mistress and his wife…” I chuckled remembering the scene.
“When was that, Sir?”
“Christmas, I believe?” I wasn’t sure which gathering I heard it at.
“Sir, it’s August and that was someone else’s life. When was the last time you enjoyed one of your own?”
“Too long…” I admitted without reservation.
“What’s stopping you?” Pressing her advantage, she asked. I scowled.
“Lieutenant, hand me your phone.” She hesitated before unlocking and handing over the contraption. I dialed one of the hundred and eleven phone numbers I knew off the top of my head. “This is Bach. I am stealing your Lieutenant Perkins for a few months… depends on her perspective… Don’t care… Until next time, Abernathy.”
“Wait. What?” she protested.
“Go to your apartment and retrieve your personal items. Since you volunteered to help me, you will. I expect you here for dinner at six. Rebecca will add a setting and the girls will open a room for you.”
“You can’t do that. I have a job and a career.” she protested again.
“Your General approved it.”
“You can’t do this to me. I’ll be ruined and laughed at.”
“What is wrong with being my teacher of fun?” I asked, pretending to be confused; thinking that she would be perfect since she was young and knowledgeable. She even was the one that suggested it.
“Aargh, they all will think I slept with you.”
“Ah, so being seen as my doxy is bad for a young woman’s career?”
“Doxy went out generations ago. Not even my grandfather uses it.” The young officer gritted her teeth in frustration. “Of course, it’s bad for my career.” I knew both tidbits of course. I wasn’t that unaware. Even though women had been sleeping to get ahead for millennia and would be for millennia more.
“See, you would be perfect. I need a teacher and choose you. Gate code is 1716. Dinner is at 6:00.” The tension crescendoed in her posture, before she internalized it and called out to the driver. No further words were said. At least aloud, I knew she was cursing me under her breath.
***
“Damn him. Just who does he think he is?” Slamming the door to her apartment, the aggravated, freshly graduated army intelligence officer screamed in disgust.
“Did Captain White ask you out again?” Tracey asked, without looking up from her computer.
“Worse. I got reassigned.” Flopping down on the sofa, Julie buried a pillow over her face.
“What? But you just got here. What happened?” asked her roommate from the Point.
“I opened my big mouth again.”
“Spill girl, what about your new posting?” Tracey worried aloud for her best friend.
“The ‘Most Powerful Man in the World’ wants me as his ‘Doxy’,” she bitterly complained.
“You got reassigned to the White House!” breathlessly exclaimed the larger blonde.
“Worse. At least President Forge is discreet.”
“But you said… NO WAY!” realization had sunk into Julie’s friend’s face.
“Way. What am I going to do?” The pillow covering Lieutenant Julie Perkins’ face was snatched away.
“How did you meet Bach?”
“Remember when the Kraken surfaced south of Newark? I was assigned to escort him to Lee.”
“Go on.”
“When he returned to Lee, I was ordered to escort him home and he looked so sad.”
“So, you comforted him and he took you around the world. YOU GO SISTER!”
“Fuck off, Bitch! I only talked to him.”
Sensing the mood, the tall blonde felt that she should stop teasing her bestie. “Tell me everything.” After listening about their brief encounter, “Let me get this straight. For the next few months, you will be living in a huge mansion, with maids and everything.” Silence was Julie’s only response.
“Giving the most powerful man in the world a social makeover, shop for clothes,” ‘grunt,’ “get into the best clubs, best restaurants, best stores, maybe fly to beaches around the world, see plays with the best tickets, do things that no mere poor mortals like us can imagine. AND you are complaining??”
“He’s ancient…” rejoined Julie in a small voice, knowing that Tracey was right.
“On top of that.” The blonde Second Lieutenant was physically turning green with extreme envy. “In order to bring you along, he will have to buy you the proper attire. Dresses, outfits, jewelry, lingerie, stockings, bathing suits, Luis Vuitton bags. OMG. Think of the SHOES!” The brunette tried her hardest to not perk up at the mention of shoes. She really did. And failed.
Knowing her beloved roomie’s weakness, Tracey pressed on, naming brands, styles and the high-end stockings that would be needed for one to properly wear such, all of which were priced out of reach with their current salaries.
“But my career…” Julie lamented.
Thwack. The pillow bounced off the side of the blue-eyed officer’s face. “How can this be bad for your career unless you fuck it up? You will have access to someone that the collective Heroes run away from, the government officially tries its best to pretend he doesn’t exist, the one person that the army uses when the shit hits the fan, and the sole person that all the Villains are polite to. You know that this city has the least number of Supers per capita in the whole US? Do you know why?”
“Yeah, it’s because of HIM,” she admitted.
“Just remember, when you need a wingman, who to call first.” Tracey beamed at the thought.
“Ho.” Julie responded, unsarcastically meek, from her now sitting position on the older worn sofa, hugging a pillow for protection against the world.
“Seriously, Jules, when you need me, just call and I will be there. Just please be careful. He has literally billions of enemies.”
The shorter brunette smirked in remembrance. “You know when they said he didn’t carry a phone?”
“Yeah?”
“He had to borrow mine to call General Abernathy.”
“It’s 2032. How can he live without one? I thought they were joking.”
“I guess I will find out. Won’t we?”
“Well, we are assigned to intelligence; I can’t imagine the report that you will have to submit after your time with him.”
“Come on, help me pack. He is expecting me for dinner.”
***
I was leery about trying to reintegrate into society. I had lost too many friends over the years for me to easily make new friends. Lieutenant Perkins was right, though. A push was needed. Maybe even a shove.
Nancy looked excited when I had her clean out the Emerald suite. The thirty-year old maid bounded off, hollering for her partner to wash up and come help her. I made sure that Rebecca factored our new arrival into the budget, since, besides being my cook, she was also my household accountant. It wasn’t like the four of us ate enough to keep her busy.
The buzzer alerted us that a car entered the compound while I sat in my den, reading over the latest reports. Lillian met the Lieutenant and showed her where to park the two-year-old dark blue Ford. I wagered to myself that they had a designer on staff whose main job was to create the plainest looking vehicles possible for government use. Under orders.
Nancy’s other half helped our guest unload and carry her luggage to the third-floor suite, where the young officer would reside while staying with us.
“Bach, what the Hell is this?” Lieutenant Perkins stood in the door of my den, with Nancy right behind her, aggrieved over something or other.
“My den? Is something not to your liking, Lieutenant?” Might as well find out what the issue was and smooth it over.
“That bed is larger than my bedroom.”
“The mattress should be new though. Is that an issue?”
From the eye rolling and the imaginary steam coming out of both ears, I took it as a yes. “That bedroom is larger than my apartment, or my parents’ house.”
Ah. I thought I understood. “Would you prefer that Nancy empties out a linen closet for your stay?”
Her palm beat against her forehead repeatedly. “This is going to be harder than I thought.” she mumbled. “No, it will be fine. Thank you.” Turning, my new aide returned up the set of stairs, while Nancy, who tried her best not to laugh, followed.
“Nancy, please give her the nickel tour after she unpacks.”
“Yes, boss.” The younger of the two maids called out from around the corner.
In order for her to do her job correctly, she needed to understand more about me. Giving her one of the smaller bedrooms would only hinder that process.
I was interrupted from my evening amusement of the Hero Channel, HBS, by Lillian’s summons for dinner in the main dining room. Just the two of us on a twelve foot, two-hundred-year-old oaken table. Me at the head, and Lieutenant Perkins to my right. I had considered placing her at the foot, but judged that to be a bridge too far for the first evening. Half way through dinner, I did wonder when was the last time my guest had a five-course gourmet meal.
I quizzed Julie Perkins about her studies at the Point while we ate. She spoke glowingly at length about her time there, which kept the atmosphere lively. Lieutenant Perkins refused the crème brulè, while I enjoyed mine.
“Why don’t you carry a phone?” she broached, once I finished my desert and sipped my coffee.
“Never had use for one. I take it that I do now?” Nancy and Lillian carried one in case of emergencies and Rebecca never seemed to be off her blasted device. Otherwise, the home phone was good enough.
“Do you wear anything besides black suits?”
“I have gray and dark blue ones too.” Her facial response informed me of my shortcomings.
“Show me your clothes.” Seeing that I wasn’t going to get peace after dinner, I led my new guide to all things social into my room. She opened and closed the drawers, then looked at the bank of walk-in closets with a scowl.
“How many of the same suits do you own?”
“Two of each, thirty in total,” I replied.
“What about casual wear?”
“That closet.” I pointed to the closed door on the left. My new aide opened it and, even though she faced away from me, I could feel her displeasure.
“Silk smoking jackets, linen long pants, silk long pants, linen shirts. Do you have any exercise clothes?”
“Dresser against the wall at the end.”
Returning to my clothes, “At least these are normal.” Looking around at the inverse of her bedroom, the short brunette squinted while approaching me. “Jacket.” She demanded. I took it off and handed it to her. “Tie and shirt. No funny business, Bach.” Wondering where she was going with this, I followed her orders.
“Thought so. You intentionally cut them large, I know some of my classmates used to do that to look bigger. But none had your tailor.”
True, I liked my suits roomier. Less hassle that way. And for other reasons. “Here, put these on,” She handed me a solid pair of slacks, a white linen shirt and leather black shoes. “No tie, leave the top two unbuttoned, that belt.”
“Why do you have three trees of watches that spin?”
“They are self-winding; the body’s natural daily motions keep them wound. The ‘trees’ replicate that.”
“Some of these are nice.” Meaning some weren’t. I chuckled at her choice of words.
Leaving me to dress in peace, she went to her new room to change into civilian clothes. Snug jeans and a thin long-sleeved button up shirt. Her short, brushed out, even length brown bob fit her. She looked… pretty. Those intelligent pale blue eyes were searching for any imperfections on my clothes. Those same eyes approved even if she didn’t voice it.
“We only have a couple hours until the mall closes. Let’s go.” Leading the way to her government supplied Ford, I stopped her and handed Julie my keys to the three-year-old black Merc. “You drive.” I held the door for the young woman, then sat next to her while she fiddled with the seats and mirrors.
“Where to first, Julie?” I had learned her first name earlier during dinner. After agreeing that using my usual name would be counterproductive, I allowed her to call me Leo. I had stopped using Leopold early in the nineteenth century, except for formal occasions. Since the nineteen twenties, I had only been referred to as Bach by the world at large, my first name mostly forgotten.
“Cell phone first, then we will look around at some clothes. With that body it won’t be hard, but won’t hide anything.” ‘Freaking Paul Bunyan.’ she mumbled to herself silently, not expecting that I could hear.
Summerset was the downtown high-end mall; I had been in it a few times over the years to look around. The pretentious coffee, at their supposed upscale store, tasted burnt, so I didn’t return often.
We made a beeline for the cellular store. For being in the city for such a short time, she obviously knew the layout of the mall well. Julie did all the negotiating and shopping; my job was being a walking mannequin with a credit card. She even chose a black protector for the case of my new mobile tether. I handed over my black Amex, letting my assistant fill out the information form, only having to sign and add my ID number.
“I’d like one of those too.” I pointed to the rectangular device behind the counter.
“You want a tablet?” Questioned my guide to all electronics, sounding shocked. She hadn’t learned yet that I wasn’t as electronically illiterate as she was told.
“Get the largest and most secure one, with a good screen.” The salesman readily agreed to adding to his commission, leading the two of us to the tablet display. I knew little about them, so pretty much wandered around the store while they talked nuts, bolts, bits and usage. My tablet ended up being midnight blue, they didn’t have any in black. I didn’t mind and wasn’t as partial to black as she thought.
I signed on the dotted lines, received a number for the cell. When the salesman went to explain the usage plan for the tablet, I stopped him. “Does she know?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s fine.” Turning to my guide, “Julie, I believe casual attire is next?”
Rolling her eyes, which seemed a habit when dealing with me, “Let’s go, Methuselah.”
I carried my new purchases and followed the young Lieutenant out. “You know,” she began once out the door to Cellular World, “having your phone in the bag does little good.”
“It can wait until we get home. I don’t even know how to use it yet.”
“You need to get used to carrying it at all times,” the blue-eyed pixie suggested. Her forceful cuteness was growing on me. Not that I would mention that to her. I did as she recommended.
“When was the last time you wore jeans?”
“Late nineties, when we were remodeling the carriage house.” I lied to see her reaction. Lieutenant Perkins didn’t disappoint. With the remaining hour that the mall was open, jeans with casual shirts were purchased, but not as many as I thought she would suggest. When I noticed her eyeing a light green jacket for herself, I made her add one to the list. “Get a couple swim outfits too. I do have a pool and a hot tub that the girls enjoy.” She balked at the price but, after I went to a different area of the store, she added a modest single piece to the pile.
Lieutenant Perkins wasn’t pleased that I made her buy a swimsuit but glad later when she was able to use the pool with Nancy and Lillian. Both of my ladies preferred tiny bikinis when I was present, otherwise swam nude or just in bottoms. Julie, in her high hip one-piece, felt out of place, I thought from observing their interactions through the security monitors of the three. Rebecca swam once every blue moon or so and never used the hot tub. She didn’t care for the heat, less so as she aged.
I read both manuals, which I was told later that ‘no one does’. Then I had Julie show me the common usage and finer points that I might be interested in of both my new phone and the tablet, before retiring for the evening.
The following day we shopped for more ‘normal’ type clothes for me while getting to know each other. I even skipped breakfast at the Club again, which was an uncommon occurrence, but not unheard of. The rest missed more days than I did, since they had family along with the few that still worked. Those that knew the history of me and the Kraken expected my absence anyway.
My house guest was from a small town in Pennsylvania. Her parents and little sister still lived there. Father was a Union Electrician and mother was a nurse for the town doctor. Her younger sister, Janice, was a senior in high school and planning to attend Penn State to get an engineering degree in chemistry.
Julie earned her scholarship to the Point via grades, school sports and activities: volleyball, basketball, student council, and volunteering at the local animal shelter. Ambitious girl. She was chosen for Intelligence during her second year at the Point; her grades supported that decision by being in the top five percent academically.
Complaining that her size held her back some on the physical aspects, she was still pleased at graduating within the top ten percent of her class. I wondered what Grant and Lee would think of the little wonder-girl in their alma mater. Abernathy had to approve of her or he wouldn’t have sent her to mind me.
Still, women in the military caused discomforting echoes. People weren’t civilized, they never were and never would be.
“I’d like to see one of the dance clubs your age goes to.”
She laughed at me. “It’s only Wednesday, wait to Friday.” Hmm, missing my poker game…“Is something wrong with Friday?”
“No, I can miss a game now and then.” I remarked offhand.
“Baseball? I didn’t think the Scouts were in town.”
“I was referring to the Club’s poker game.” Correcting her misconception, I went on to explain that the Friday night game was an age-old tradition.
“Is that the place you go in the mornings?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
“It’s against the rules. Members only. No guests.”
“Oh, it’s one of those. Let me guess, Men only. No women ever. And hell would freeze before any of you would consider one.”
“Not even close. I believe Ollie and George would arrange a nuclear detonation on the premises first.” I clarified, not the least bit sarcastic. “Winston would suicide, Pete would be the last man standing with a crate of ammo and a fifty cal. As for the rest, somewhere in the middle.”
“And you, Methuselah?”
“As long as they were quiet and out of sight on Friday nights, I wouldn’t mind.” I replied honestly.
“So, women should be seen and not heard?” Acid dripped from her retort.
“What do you think we do every morning? Remember, the membership are all over sixty and extremely wealthy men.” I stopped near a pillar, away of the passing foot traffic, observing her thought processes.
“Politics, business and world domination?” She replied, only half joking.
“None of us care about politics anymore enough to interfere. Business has mostly been left to the younger generations, and world domination has too much paperwork.” I countered.
“Then what do you do?”
“Do you remember your grandfather?”
“Yes, he died when I was a senior in high school.”
“What would he do every morning with an endless supply of newspapers from around the world, breakfast made to his specifications and a quiet room with other gents of similar age?”
“Sneak bacon, read the sports, drink too much coffee and nap.”
“I prefer petit fours to bacon. Pete butters his toast - his wife forbade it in the house, and Ollie uses a second teaspoon of sugar in his tea. Does that sound like a place you would enjoy?”
“What about the secret meetings on Fridays?”
“Cuban Cigars, poker and beverage of choice.”
“Cigars are illegal.” I shrugged. “That’s the secret? Cigars?”
“Well, there is one more.” She got this cute eager expression; I couldn’t let her down. I leaned close and whispered. “We play with quarters.”
Her confused stunned look made it worth it. “No. Wait. Aren’t they all billionaires?”
“A few of them are, yes.” Five of the twelve current members are or were. Money was passed down generations, skipping as many as possible to keep the tax man at bay.
“And they play poker for quarters like college kids?” At my sincere nod, I could see the huge ‘WHY’ she wanted to shout aloud. I prevented that with a finger on her soft glossy lips. The bare minimum makeup was a bonus in my book. Probably the military stamp.
“If you have a billion dollars, does it matter if you play for a penny, a dollar, fifty dollars or even a thousand?”
“I guess not.” She didn’t understand. Besides, the rule came in effect in 1881 and no one ever cared enough to try and change it.
“We got me ‘club wear’, now is your turn.” Hiding my grin, I wanted to see what she would choose.
“I have an outfit.” she protested.
“Let me guess, it’s an old one.”
“Not that old.” She made it sound as if it were though.
“Tough, I had to get a cell, you get a new outfit. Lead on.”
“I’ll get one with Tracey tonight. Besides, you need shoes.”
“That’s fine too.” She didn’t catch my all too easy capitulation on that issue. I had another surprise in store for the young officer fresh out of the premier military academy.
The shoes at her choice of stores were all junk. I did get a single pair of tennis shoes but insisted that that place I knew had better ones for the real shoes. “Hold on.” I used my new phone. “This is Bach, do you have time for me to stop by now?… On our way.”
I gave Julie directions to Luis’s. Ten minutes later we pulled up in front of a small store, with a single chin high window on the right side of a solid black metal door. Depressing the buzzer, I waited for a man nearing his thirties, in a decent suit yet barefoot, to invite us in. The shock on his face was evident when he saw Julie followed me in, wearing jeans and blouse. Or was the shock from me not wearing a suit, but slacks and a blue collarless linen shirt. I wasn’t sure which event spurred his imagination the most.
“Apparently, I need shoes. Ladies choice, Luis. Luis, this is Julie Perkins, my new aide. Allocate her one pair, please, I will cover it…Julie… Lieutenant are you alright?” I believed that the Shoe Monster stole her brain. “Does that happen often?” I inquired of the proprietor with a knowing smile.
“You have no idea, Mr. Bach,” answered the person who would be most wanted in Central City among women of all ages, if they knew who he was, that was… Regardless of how he looked, he solely held the keys to their desires.
***
“OH MY GOD.” The walls were lined with designer shoes. Not the ones in magazines, but the real ones. Men’s on the right and women’s on the left. Unable to help herself, she drifted towards the Amara open toe heels on display. The fresh leather smell from the natural black leather permeated the surrounding area, capturing her soul. Gingerly, she lifted a size seven, feeling the solid lightness of the object of her desire in her hands, which strengthened her goal to one day own THEM. Firmly replacing the object of her worship, she turned to see two men watching her with near identical amused expressions. Blushing, her indignant, “Men!”, couldn’t be repressed.
***
Of course, both of our smiles enlarged, furthering her embarrassment.
Beet red, my guide walked past Luis and I, heading to the hiking boots. “He will need two pairs of these; one high ankle, one low, preferably the higher one water-proofed. Which do you recommend?”
It looked like Second Lieutenant Perkins regained her composure quickly. In the next thirty minutes, she had Luis fit me into two sets of loafers and two pairs of hiking shoes. During this same hour, the girl tortured herself by staying as far away from the women’s selection as possible. With just the two glances during our stay, she forced herself to leave the store of her dreams.
At checkout, Julie noticed that no prices were mentioned, nor did the register even print out one. “What’s with the prices?”
“It’s part of his charm.” I smiled, remembering when I first asked that same question.
“Bach, prices?”
“Spouses are not allowed to shop here or even enter without their Primaries in attendance or prior approval. Same day approval.”
“Ugh, so not fair. I can see Tracey spending Millions there.” She laughed.
I hid my smile at Julie’s overboard reaction to the black heels and the put down regarding her roommate. Not daring enough to say the same applied to her.
“Tell me about your roommate.” I asked on the way home. She promised to go clothes shopping later with Tracey tonight. The results would be interesting.
Tracey had been her roommate from day one at the Point through graduation. Taller, blonde and more athletic than Julie, but three percent lower in the standing academically. Both were steered towards Intelligence early and tried to stick together. Their dual posting in Central City came as a surprise. Julie was assigned to the Commander’s office at Lee; and Tracey, being the more outgoing, the new Hero Association liaison - in the least demanding city in the country, yet potentially the most difficult.
The last thing she said to me before leaving to pick up her friend was, “Don’t shave tomorrow.” I shrugged. Wouldn’t be a first time, considering I wore a beard for hundreds of years.
That night, I spent time syncing my tablet to my computer, after learning the ins and outs of my new tablet. Downloading and installing the programs that my computer guru told me to on his two-hour online call, took several hours. He had remotely installed the programs that I would need to secure both my tablet and phone for easy use. The rest was on me.
The girls were cavorting in the pool again and Rebecca was reading them the riot act, since we had a guest. Even if Julie wasn’t here at the time. I did instruct Nancy and Lillian to act as usual, “Don’t change on her behalf.” Of course, being over double their age, Rebecca was not as open minded as those two.
I was in the library when my guest returned at half past one. Most likely she didn’t even know I was awake.
During a continental breakfast the next day, Julie suggested: “We are going to Central U today, browse around campus and maybe audit a class if you are up to it.”
The last time I was at our local University was to respond to a Mad Scientist type who had sent his Robot to destroy the physics building, for giving the kid a ‘B’ five years ago.
“Will we need permission to visit classes?”
“Audit. And not if we are quiet in the larger ones; the smaller classrooms might be full, those you need approval for.” A smaller one would be better, but I had promised to let her lead. “I already received permission for the class I have in mind.”
The campus was located on the northern edge of the city. I felt it to be quite large and even then, compared to similarly attended universities around the country, it still was said to be compact.
My guide informed me that fall classes had started two weeks ago. The majority of students dressed no differently than if they were at home, some looked to be still in their pajamas. The reality of their casualness shocked me. Two hours later, we had already wandered through most of the buildings, even stood in line for a water in the main floor of the student center. A large, multi-story building filled with people not studying. The chaotic volume alone would have made concentration difficult.
Both of us dressed in Julie assigned outfits: jeans and tennis shoes. Julie wore a tight black sleeveless T-shirt. I didn’t make her happy with my normal dark green linen one. The rough cotton ones she purchased the other day would have to be washed a few times first before Rebecca would allow me to wear one. My guide preferred silver stud diamond earrings to go with her dog tags and watch. I hadn’t realized how well silver and black went together. I would need to remember that for future considerations. They suited her too.
Not just men, but a high percentage of women had visible tattoos. Some even on the face and neck, which never could be removed or covered up. Piercings on both sexes were less obvious but more numerous. While we sat in Woolworth’s Student Center, drinking our water, Julie remained quiet, mostly watching me watch the passersby.
“How highly is this university rated?” I asked, after observing a particularly slovenly group loudly cavort up the stairs.
“Above average nationally. I’m not sure.”
I didn’t like what I had seen so far and asked, “Do you have a class picked out for auditing?”
“Early US History 201, a sophomore core class.”
“Core meaning the class is specifically for history majors?”
“Yes.” Julie excused herself to visit the restroom, letting me know we would leave when she returned.
Three girls, young ones, and much better dressed than the rest of the gaggle in the student center, approached our table after Julie was out of sight and asked if they could sit with me. The room had filled while we waited and people-watched. I stood and offered my chair, “Please do, I was just about to leave.” I bowed and made my way through the throng in the direction of the lady’s room.
“Oh My God! He is wearing a BlonT!” A tall, curvy girl with curly reddish-brown hair let out a muffled shriek. Reflexively causing me to glance at my left wrist on my way past the trio.
I like a good watch; it is one of my vanities. That, and the Club’s ring on my right index finger, were the only two concessions to jewelry in the last century. While waiting for Julie to finish up, the three girls followed me instead of taking over the table as they had initially desired. The pretty redhead who recognized my timepiece hesitated before approaching.
“Excuse me. Is that a BlonT?”
The same cute teen with large unrimmed glasses and golden eyes that I noticed late, stared in awe at me. “It is. This one is the K2.” I responded with aplomb.
“Can you show it to me, please?” She begged. Looking her over, the golden eyed teen was dressed quite a bit more conservatively than even her friends, who were made up better than the rest of the gaggle in the student center. Before I was able to formulate a reply, Julie exited the restroom with a half scowl.
“I apologize, now is not a good time. I have a class to catch.”
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to bother.” she hastily apologized.
“That wasn’t a problem. Are you always this interested in watches?”
“Grandfather has some. But he hides them, he thinks mom will steal them when he isn’t looking.” Julie was beside me with an indecipherable expression that I caught peripherally.
Withdrawing my phone from its waist case, “I have a few at home. I can show you tomorrow or Sunday if you want.”
“Sunday after church? I can come right over.” Her friend’s expressions were shocked, as if the girl’s actions were out of character. Julie remained passive by my side.
“Do you have your phone? I’ll give you my number. Barring emergencies, I should be at home all day Sunday.”
“Thank you. Oh, I’m Lea.”
“A pleasure to meet you, I am Leo.” I gently offered my hand while she genteelly shook it. I almost gave my real name, not using my last name while introducing myself would be a chore. Julie had been after me on that for the last few days. I tapped Lea’s presented phone with mine, sending her cream-colored device my number. I did notice her Tinley watch, when her sleeve withdrew while she reached out to meet my phone for the information transfer.
“It was nice to meet you, but I have been reminded that class is about to start. Ladies.” I quarter bowed again to her companions, after my guide elbowed my arm.
“What was that about?” My concerned aide asked, after we left the student center and the noise level receded below a dull roar.
“She recognized my watch and wanted a showing.”
“It is odd, I like the way it shows the internals and there is something strange about the setting.” Julie noticed.
That particular watch had a titanium case, each dial etched as part of a mountain scene. Once per day at noon, the gears would align, revealing K2 taken from the south. How they were able to etch the gears and keep them timed perfectly was beyond my understanding.
“Is there something special about that one?” Julie asked after a minute of deliberation.
“I can show you later. You hinted that we were pressed for time.” Agreeing with my reminder, Julie led me through the busy sidewalk paths until we made it to a large building and the smaller than expected classroom. For a school of the size of Central, I expected larger classrooms.
The twenty-seat room had individual chairs and desks lined up in neat rows with the standard whiteboard and podium fronting it. The two of us took the seats in the back away from the door. Julie handed me a notebook and I readied a pen from my pocket, waiting.
According to the outline Julie handed me while in the student center, the class had already covered the earliest colonies and their hardships: The governors tried to control every aspect of the colony, Micromanagement is what they would call that now, and their failures. The poor conditions of the soil for farming was the final straw for father and uncles. That the crops failed the second summer of drought doomed the colony. We all knew it, yet the governor insisted on toughing out the winter in hopes that the resupply ship from England would arrive in time. The area we were in was excellent for hunting and trapping, farming was a mistake. If it weren’t for the local Indian tribe, they would have all died out that second year.
Those of us that fled before the second winter were the only real survivors. Even then, of the twenty, only seven of us lived past the second winter as we migrated south and west….
Unobserved by me during my remembrances, the classroom slowly filled. The noise and chaos remained at a tolerable level, compared to the halls and Student Center. The last person entering was a late twenties woman carrying a battered briefcase and dressed in a sand blazer and pants set. After the room settled, the auburn-haired professor began lecturing on migration of the European settlers west, spreading out to find better pastures and open land, not dominated or controlled by other groups or native tribes. An overlaid map of the east coast appeared on the whiteboard. With different colored markers, she drew and explained the separation of the settlements. Followed by the arrivals of new settlers who also moved on from the initial settlements in groups to undeveloped areas. Leapfrogging and fillers.
From there, the enthusiastic instructor continued on, providing numbers and patterns, spending a whole hour and a half lecturing in a clear even tone. I was fascinated. Never before had I looked in depth at the whole picture of the settler waves. For me, it had always been on a personal level. I tried for the longest time to forget the early hardships that my family faced. The last twenty minutes were spent by the professor answering questions, followed by handing out the weekly quiz.
The quiz brought back memories of the trials and disasters of the first settlements. Writing my thoughts on the subject was harder than expected, as it brought up unpleasant memories tangled with equally harsh emotions. Professor McCallister called time and collected the essays of the students, including Julie’s and mine.
I waited until the rest of students cleared out, “Excuse me, Professor McCallister, would it be possible to audit this class for the rest of the semester?” I requested, after waiting patiently for the obese boy before me to finish his mindless request of the learned woman.
“I haven’t seen you before. Are you a student of this University?”
“No, Ma’am…” I was about to elaborate that I hadn’t been to any schooling in two centuries until my foot was kicked.
“Did you fill out today’s quiz, Mister…?”
“Bach, and yes Professor, I did. I heard a near silent groan from slightly behind me at me revealing my name.
Retrieving my paper from the stack, she scanned it quickly as one who had repeated an action countless of times. “This is good, but the viewpoint is too narrow. I expect full participation this semester, Mr. Bach.”
I agreed that I would be willing.
“I demand my student’s attention while in class, and punctual attendance, will that be an issue?”
“Unless I get called for an emergency, it will not be an issue.” I replied honestly.
The stern Professor reached in her briefcase and pulled out a class outline and syllabus. “You are two weeks behind. Please do your best to catch up. My office hours are here,” she pointed at the outline which gave her Faculty information. Then wrote out a note and handed it to me. “You will need to take this to the registrar and jump through their hoops before Wednesday’s class.”
“Thank you, Professor McCallister.”
“And you, Miss?” The blonde Professor queried my companion.
“I am just helping him out.” Julie replied.
“If nothing else, I will see you Wednesday sharp at 11:45, Mr. Bach. Welcome to my class.” With that the professor packed up and adroitly left the room.
“Come on, the registrar awaits, Mr. Impetuous. I hope you aren’t in a hurry.” Julie’s words were prophetic. I had no transcripts, no previous education on record, no nationalized standard tests recorded. I didn’t even have a driver’s license. Just my Army ID. Strangely, that alone cleared most of the hurdles and would have saved two hours if we had known earlier, most of that waiting in lines. It turned out that a high school diploma or a G.E.D was the absolute minimum requirement for attending this prestigious university.
If all else fails and force is not an option - Bribe.
“Who is the head of registration?” I demanded after that last final roadblock.
“Dean Holloway, you can try to get an appointment. But without a diploma, regulations prohibit new students from enrolling.” Responded the bureaucratic shrew.
“Where is his office, Mrs. White?” Interjected my guide to all things current. After receiving an abstract location, we gathered my partially filled out papers and sought his office out in the next building.
The deans’ office was on the third floor and guarded by a three-man team set in a crescent with a largest man on point. “Excuse me, I have an appointment to see Dean Holloway.” I spoke deliberately to the buff man at the desk.
“Name please.”
“Grant, Ten thousand of them.”
“He is with a student, Sir. If you would have a seat, it shouldn’t be long.”
Julie leaned over once we were away from the dean’s secretary’s desk and asked if I was insane? $500k to audit a class?
“It’s not just one, with this all the doors will open. Just watch.” Sure enough, with the check in hand, the dean of admissions personally entered in my information as new student of Central University, and enrolled into US History 201.
“Don’t you think that was an unreasonable amount of money just for one class?” Julie asked while we drove home after a visit to the school bookstore.
“Red tape has always been cut that way. Besides, if I followed normal procedures, the G.E.D and standardized test would take longer than I was willing to wait. Even if I did, without outside assistance I wasn’t sure if I still could enroll, let alone take that class. My way was better.”