Author's Note: This is part 2. Part one is unfortunately rather different in tempo and dynamic, so I won't blame you too much if you skip it. I'll still be kind of angry.
Read it first here.
Of Livestock. (And Mercenaries)
Read it first here.
Of Livestock. (And Mercenaries)
Part Two of Two
Of Priests and New Horizons.
Father Gregory seemed not fazed in the slightest when three wanted criminals burst in the door (the largest one dressed in nothing but bright red woolen long-underwear) and all three almost crashing into the high ladder upon which he perched, attempting to clean a window.
"Arnold!" said he. "I'm glad to see you again."
Dobs was not surprised that Father Gregory had recognized him after fifteen years of avoiding the place. The man's memory had been legendary. When Bobby Doughy had erased every single e-file of the school's demerits, Father Gregory had accurately reconstructed the entire thing from memory.
The priest shimmied down from the ladder with a dexterity that no slightly round sixty-five year old should be allowed to have, and surveyed his delinquents.
The husky mercenary tried to catch his breath. Man, was he out of shape. He hadn't been chased by a horde of law enforcement officers in years. He drew in a huge breath and was rewarded with a big whiff of unscented ammonia. Father Gregory looked apologetic and closed the cap on his window cleaner bottle as Dobs gagged and coughed.
"Could we borrow your Lower Subway passkey?" Dobs asked in his meekest voice upon recovery.
“Whatever for?” replied the priest innocently.
Gem opened his mouth to tell a great big whopping fib.
Dobs elbowed him in the ribs cheerily.
“We blew something up and need to get out of town.”
“Well. Let's start," Father Gregory said, "by getting you some clothes."
Gem made a strangled noise of
disbelief at the introduction.
Dobs ignored him.Dobs was not surprised that Father Gregory had recognized him after fifteen years of avoiding the place. The man's memory had been legendary. When Bobby Doughy had erased every single e-file of the school's demerits, Father Gregory had accurately reconstructed the entire thing from memory.
The priest shimmied down from the ladder with a dexterity that no slightly round sixty-five year old should be allowed to have, and surveyed his delinquents.
The husky mercenary tried to catch his breath. Man, was he out of shape. He hadn't been chased by a horde of law enforcement officers in years. He drew in a huge breath and was rewarded with a big whiff of unscented ammonia. Father Gregory looked apologetic and closed the cap on his window cleaner bottle as Dobs gagged and coughed.
"Could we borrow your Lower Subway passkey?" Dobs asked in his meekest voice upon recovery.
“Whatever for?” replied the priest innocently.
Gem opened his mouth to tell a great big whopping fib.
Dobs elbowed him in the ribs cheerily.
“We blew something up and need to get out of town.”
“Well. Let's start," Father Gregory said, "by getting you some clothes."
He dabbed at a spot on the window, and disappeared into the back of the church. Dobs wasn't sure they should follow or wait for him to come back.
"Your name is Arnold? I always thought you were a 'Butch' or 'Igor' said Gem unnecessarily and unhelpfully.
"Your name is Arnold? I always thought you were a 'Butch' or 'Igor' said Gem unnecessarily and unhelpfully.
Dobs ignored him again. He seemed to do that a lot nowadays.
The Cathedral was the same as it had always been- he wasn't sure how Father Gregory had managed to keep the many stained glass windows from breaking over the years, or the statues from chipping and the paint wearing away. Somehow the diminutive man had maintained the place as caretaker for probably twenty years.
Dobs was suspicious that Galaxial had only chosen not to shut the place down -along with the rest of the various religious centers in the area- because of the high population of Catholics who would have gotten too riotous. Instead, they'd cut any funding and aid, and made sure that just one guy was assigned to taking care of the place, so it would die on the vine.
It hadn't yet.
Dobs figured as long as Father Gregory lived, it would stay that way, and when he finally worked himself to death, his ghost would keep the place tidy, providing God let him stay around.
Father Gregory resurfaced with a giant Christmas sweater and a pair of jeans. He smiled cheerily.
"Second, we sit down and have a nice cup of tea."
"I'mprettysurethatwedon'thavetimeforthatuhsir," broke in Gem uncomfortably.
"Nonsense! This is the last place that the authorities would think of looking for a couple of depraved lunatic vandals."
He seems to know a lot of the situation. Does he get real time news streamed to his com? thought Dobs.
Dobs again tried to seize the conversation. "They've been trying to find a way to shut this place down for years. This is the first place they would look."
Father Gregory thought for a moment. "Second."
"One and a half?" hazarded Gem.
"Can we just please get going?"
The priest sighed. "Put these on and follow me." He turned to the wall, casually opened a door that Dobs hadn't noticed, and trotted down a flight of suspicious looking stairs. The twins glanced at Dobs.
He started donning the jeans.
Fifteen, twenty, a hundred steps into the semi darkness, intermittently lit with protesting LEDs. Even as they rounded the bend at a hundred and fifty steps, Dobs still caught vague smells of septic, though he was sure that they had gone deeper than even the most embedded sewer.
"One seventy three," murmured Gem as they reached a door. It was as round as a manhole, fabricated from solid platewall, and firmly anchored into the bedrock around it. This was the entrance into the Lower Subway, locked away from the general populace. Galaxial had pulled off the incredible feat of making the doors completely inaccessible to anyone without a passkey, then followed it up with the blunder of giving passkeys to every single government employee.
The only thing even more remarkable was the fact that a single rule had pervaded the Lower Subway: Down there, you never got into any kind of trouble. It was the best way to get in and out of anywhere, provided you knew what you were doing, and no one wanted to lose that privilege. Gem claimed that Galaxial helped by leaking a passivity gas into the ventilation ducts, but Dobs had always dismissed the rumor.
Galaxial let the criminal elements stay around, and the criminals avoided directly messing with important parts of the government.
Or at least the more vengeful parts of Galaxial.
Usually.
Father Gregory casually swiped his passkey through the code locker, and the door slid open silently. On the other side, the lighting was a little bit better, but it smelled badly of motor oil and rust. The trio began to carefully make their way down.
Dobs felt Father Gregory's hand on his shoulder.
"Go on ahead," he said to the twins quietly. "I'll catch up in a minute."
Gem nodded and they vanished around a twist in the tunnel.
"Arnold, why now?" asked Father Gregory.
Dobs stared down the tunnel.
"I've been meaning to come back... for a while. It was my fault, everything was, to be honest. I guess I just didn't want to accept it. Why... why are you even helping?"
Father Gregory turned a laugh into a cough.
"Because I am a Father too, you know. Everyone calls me that, at least."
Something about the wording in that statement made a chill run up Dobs' spine.
"Do you know-"
"Just because you never came back doesn't mean that she never visited."
"So you do know."
"I hear things. I try to help out as I can."
Dobs took off down the tunnel, teeth clenched.
"Thanks," he called back over his shoulder.
Dobs caught up with the other two. They were about halfway down the tunnel, and the hewn rock slowly gave way to modern platewall and lighting fixtures.
They traveled the way down in silence.
Dobs had only been in the Lower Subway twice. He remained as unimpressed as before.
It was shabby, dirty, and unsafe.
The platform was so wide and ancient that Dobs felt crumbling concrete grind beneath his boots, instead of modern plateflooring, and the trains came through and completely random intervals. Galaxial may have appropriated it and restricted personnel at the entrances, but other than that, it still seemed to be one of those few things left over from a time before the Galaxial Union. Gem carefully stepped around a blackened chunk of the floor and over to a waiting bench.
Some kind soul had once placed them there so that the commuters would not have to stand while waiting for a ride out of the city. No kind soul, however, had kept them in good shape, and Gem fell through the rotten wood with an awkward thud.
Dobs ignored his complaints and slowly walked right up to the edge of the waiting platform. Lighting was poor, but good enough that he could make out the dusty words on the board nailed to the wall. After several minutes of trying to decipher the next time a train would come through, Dobs gave up and thwacked the board, which cheerily broke into a thousand pieces. Gem came up behind him, tenderly rubbing his injured behind.
"You broke it."
"So did you."
"Deserved it."
A train slid up silently beside them. The first sign something was wrong. Trains in the lower subway screeched like ninth grade girls at their celebrity crush concerts. Dobs turned and faced several armored men carrying what looked suspiciously like dangerous and illegal weaponry.
The Cathedral was the same as it had always been- he wasn't sure how Father Gregory had managed to keep the many stained glass windows from breaking over the years, or the statues from chipping and the paint wearing away. Somehow the diminutive man had maintained the place as caretaker for probably twenty years.
Dobs was suspicious that Galaxial had only chosen not to shut the place down -along with the rest of the various religious centers in the area- because of the high population of Catholics who would have gotten too riotous. Instead, they'd cut any funding and aid, and made sure that just one guy was assigned to taking care of the place, so it would die on the vine.
It hadn't yet.
Dobs figured as long as Father Gregory lived, it would stay that way, and when he finally worked himself to death, his ghost would keep the place tidy, providing God let him stay around.
Father Gregory resurfaced with a giant Christmas sweater and a pair of jeans. He smiled cheerily.
"Second, we sit down and have a nice cup of tea."
"I'mprettysurethatwedon'thavetimeforthatuhsir," broke in Gem uncomfortably.
"Nonsense! This is the last place that the authorities would think of looking for a couple of depraved lunatic vandals."
He seems to know a lot of the situation. Does he get real time news streamed to his com? thought Dobs.
Dobs again tried to seize the conversation. "They've been trying to find a way to shut this place down for years. This is the first place they would look."
Father Gregory thought for a moment. "Second."
"One and a half?" hazarded Gem.
"Can we just please get going?"
The priest sighed. "Put these on and follow me." He turned to the wall, casually opened a door that Dobs hadn't noticed, and trotted down a flight of suspicious looking stairs. The twins glanced at Dobs.
He started donning the jeans.
Fifteen, twenty, a hundred steps into the semi darkness, intermittently lit with protesting LEDs. Even as they rounded the bend at a hundred and fifty steps, Dobs still caught vague smells of septic, though he was sure that they had gone deeper than even the most embedded sewer.
"One seventy three," murmured Gem as they reached a door. It was as round as a manhole, fabricated from solid platewall, and firmly anchored into the bedrock around it. This was the entrance into the Lower Subway, locked away from the general populace. Galaxial had pulled off the incredible feat of making the doors completely inaccessible to anyone without a passkey, then followed it up with the blunder of giving passkeys to every single government employee.
The only thing even more remarkable was the fact that a single rule had pervaded the Lower Subway: Down there, you never got into any kind of trouble. It was the best way to get in and out of anywhere, provided you knew what you were doing, and no one wanted to lose that privilege. Gem claimed that Galaxial helped by leaking a passivity gas into the ventilation ducts, but Dobs had always dismissed the rumor.
Galaxial let the criminal elements stay around, and the criminals avoided directly messing with important parts of the government.
Or at least the more vengeful parts of Galaxial.
Usually.
Father Gregory casually swiped his passkey through the code locker, and the door slid open silently. On the other side, the lighting was a little bit better, but it smelled badly of motor oil and rust. The trio began to carefully make their way down.
Dobs felt Father Gregory's hand on his shoulder.
"Go on ahead," he said to the twins quietly. "I'll catch up in a minute."
Gem nodded and they vanished around a twist in the tunnel.
"Arnold, why now?" asked Father Gregory.
Dobs stared down the tunnel.
"I've been meaning to come back... for a while. It was my fault, everything was, to be honest. I guess I just didn't want to accept it. Why... why are you even helping?"
Father Gregory turned a laugh into a cough.
"Because I am a Father too, you know. Everyone calls me that, at least."
Something about the wording in that statement made a chill run up Dobs' spine.
"Do you know-"
"Just because you never came back doesn't mean that she never visited."
"So you do know."
"I hear things. I try to help out as I can."
Dobs took off down the tunnel, teeth clenched.
"Thanks," he called back over his shoulder.
Dobs caught up with the other two. They were about halfway down the tunnel, and the hewn rock slowly gave way to modern platewall and lighting fixtures.
They traveled the way down in silence.
Dobs had only been in the Lower Subway twice. He remained as unimpressed as before.
It was shabby, dirty, and unsafe.
The platform was so wide and ancient that Dobs felt crumbling concrete grind beneath his boots, instead of modern plateflooring, and the trains came through and completely random intervals. Galaxial may have appropriated it and restricted personnel at the entrances, but other than that, it still seemed to be one of those few things left over from a time before the Galaxial Union. Gem carefully stepped around a blackened chunk of the floor and over to a waiting bench.
Some kind soul had once placed them there so that the commuters would not have to stand while waiting for a ride out of the city. No kind soul, however, had kept them in good shape, and Gem fell through the rotten wood with an awkward thud.
Dobs ignored his complaints and slowly walked right up to the edge of the waiting platform. Lighting was poor, but good enough that he could make out the dusty words on the board nailed to the wall. After several minutes of trying to decipher the next time a train would come through, Dobs gave up and thwacked the board, which cheerily broke into a thousand pieces. Gem came up behind him, tenderly rubbing his injured behind.
"You broke it."
"So did you."
"Deserved it."
A train slid up silently beside them. The first sign something was wrong. Trains in the lower subway screeched like ninth grade girls at their celebrity crush concerts. Dobs turned and faced several armored men carrying what looked suspiciously like dangerous and illegal weaponry.
"You will come with us," one pleasantly informed them.
Another jerked a finger towards the train. He didn't remove his other hand from the weapon.
As soon as he stepped into the train, Dobs lost consciousness.
They hadn't been separated. That was good. He tried to stand up. He could. He wasn't restrained in any way. That was good. The room was fairly nice. It had a large fireplace in one wall, several comfortable chairs, one of which he had been sitting in, and a large painting of St. Francis with a throng of animals.
Something rankled him about that picture.
Gem started, hopping up out of his chair and orienting himself. Beside him, Gemma began to do the same.
"Well," said Gem. "Kinda thought Galaxial would have waited till we were in the Asteroid Fields before letting us wake up."
That picture. Suddenly half of the puzzle fitted into place.
"They would have." Dobs replied quietly. "Galaxial didn't get us."
A door beside the fireplace slid open and a tall man in a white business suit and a black crew cut entered. Embroidered neatly in red over his shirt pocket were the letters E and S.
"Arnold Dobson, Gemini Petras, and Gemma Petras," he said briskly.
"The Committee of Ethically-minded Sentients will now see you. Do not waste my time."
"What does E.S. want? We satisfied their goals." Dobs said.
In reply, the man merely gestured towards the door.
Oh well. Dobs thought. Why not confront the Committee?
The hallway was long, low, and smelled of wax.
They reached the Committee room.
They entered. Fifteen seats were situated around the outside in a U shape, five on each side. The inhabitants of each chair made no noise, simply staring at the trio. Dobs walked into the middle of the room, and instantly regretted it, since he could face no more than one row at a time. Gem and Gemma followed. Gem tried burning holes into the Committee's souls with his eyes, but unfortunately did not have superpowers.
"Well?" said Dobs. He was tired. It had been a long day, and he was about ready to just let it all out. He was getting tired of the games. That's what they were. Games. Games between Galaxial and the E.S.
The doors closed softly behind them.
A man at the corner of the table directly in front of Dobs coughed nasally. "You left something at the scene. Something incriminating."
The worksuit.
He could have cursed himself for being so clumsy. The glue glove had taken all of his tools, his com, and the suit. There was enough evidence in that to incriminate everyone to his third cousins. And with that realization came another one.
He really did stink. He just wasn't up to this kind of work anymore.
"We, through a few contacts within Galaxial, managed to disable use of the evidence," continued the nasal man.
Probably had been cleverly tossed into an incinerator.
"While your objective was completed, the inefficiency will be counted against your record, not to mention that reptiles were released rather than the projected animals. We do not expect to require your services again for field engagements."
"Is that everything?" asked Gemma quickly, before Gem or Dobs could screw the situation up further.
"Yes. You are dismissed."
And they dismissed themselves. Back down the hallway, and into another room. The crew cut guard informed them that they would be notified shortly about transportation. Sure, why not.
The security guard left and Dobs sank down into his chair with a sigh. E.S. had been annoyed enough to make it clear they wouldn't get any more work in that sector. And with them out of the picture, there wasn't really any group that had massed enough capital and enemies to require his line of work. Plainly put, he was out of a job.
Another jerked a finger towards the train. He didn't remove his other hand from the weapon.
As soon as he stepped into the train, Dobs lost consciousness.
They hadn't been separated. That was good. He tried to stand up. He could. He wasn't restrained in any way. That was good. The room was fairly nice. It had a large fireplace in one wall, several comfortable chairs, one of which he had been sitting in, and a large painting of St. Francis with a throng of animals.
Something rankled him about that picture.
Gem started, hopping up out of his chair and orienting himself. Beside him, Gemma began to do the same.
"Well," said Gem. "Kinda thought Galaxial would have waited till we were in the Asteroid Fields before letting us wake up."
That picture. Suddenly half of the puzzle fitted into place.
"They would have." Dobs replied quietly. "Galaxial didn't get us."
A door beside the fireplace slid open and a tall man in a white business suit and a black crew cut entered. Embroidered neatly in red over his shirt pocket were the letters E and S.
"Arnold Dobson, Gemini Petras, and Gemma Petras," he said briskly.
"The Committee of Ethically-minded Sentients will now see you. Do not waste my time."
"What does E.S. want? We satisfied their goals." Dobs said.
In reply, the man merely gestured towards the door.
Oh well. Dobs thought. Why not confront the Committee?
The hallway was long, low, and smelled of wax.
They reached the Committee room.
They entered. Fifteen seats were situated around the outside in a U shape, five on each side. The inhabitants of each chair made no noise, simply staring at the trio. Dobs walked into the middle of the room, and instantly regretted it, since he could face no more than one row at a time. Gem and Gemma followed. Gem tried burning holes into the Committee's souls with his eyes, but unfortunately did not have superpowers.
"Well?" said Dobs. He was tired. It had been a long day, and he was about ready to just let it all out. He was getting tired of the games. That's what they were. Games. Games between Galaxial and the E.S.
The doors closed softly behind them.
A man at the corner of the table directly in front of Dobs coughed nasally. "You left something at the scene. Something incriminating."
The worksuit.
He could have cursed himself for being so clumsy. The glue glove had taken all of his tools, his com, and the suit. There was enough evidence in that to incriminate everyone to his third cousins. And with that realization came another one.
He really did stink. He just wasn't up to this kind of work anymore.
"We, through a few contacts within Galaxial, managed to disable use of the evidence," continued the nasal man.
Probably had been cleverly tossed into an incinerator.
"While your objective was completed, the inefficiency will be counted against your record, not to mention that reptiles were released rather than the projected animals. We do not expect to require your services again for field engagements."
"Is that everything?" asked Gemma quickly, before Gem or Dobs could screw the situation up further.
"Yes. You are dismissed."
And they dismissed themselves. Back down the hallway, and into another room. The crew cut guard informed them that they would be notified shortly about transportation. Sure, why not.
The security guard left and Dobs sank down into his chair with a sigh. E.S. had been annoyed enough to make it clear they wouldn't get any more work in that sector. And with them out of the picture, there wasn't really any group that had massed enough capital and enemies to require his line of work. Plainly put, he was out of a job.
Gem had clammed up and sulked after the ultimatum, but suddenly started violently.
"Your name is Arnold?"
"It means, 'strong as an eagle.'"
"Arnold."
"Gemini."
Silence.
"Arnold."
That wasn't Gem's voice.
"Father Gregory?" said Dobs with a small amount of incredulity. A few days before, perhaps he would have been shocked, but now he just didn't have the energy to be surprised.
The priest appeared in the entryway and joined them with all the energy of a trebuchet and all the speed of a snail. He dropped one of his smiles. Dobs just sighed. He might have guessed that the E.S. was full of Catholics. The picture on the wall in the other room, their whole social justice claims, how the disagreed with Galaxial on anything and everything. That, and that Father Gregory was openly wearing his cassock.
They were setting themselves up to take down Galaxial, one way or another. E.S. was a front for a religious confrontation with the government.
"What do you want?"
"Your soul. As usual in my line of work."
"Is that this?" asked Dobs sarcastically waving an arm around at the room. "Some kind of chaplain for an activist group that thinks it's a rebellion?"
"I actually am not religiously affiliated with the E.S. I do a little bit of financial work for them on the side. It is nice that they're at the heart a religious institution, though most people pretend to ignore it. In the mission statement and everything."
"Financial work," said Gem in a voice so flat you couldn't see it if it turned sideways.
"Budgeting, waste reduction, that kind of thing. I spent some time in the business world before seminary."
"Is it the financial world or the religious one you want my soul for?"
"A question quite worthy of an answer. I know as well as you do that you need a fresh start."
A fresh start.
After she had died and Galaxial had taken over, something in him had just... left. He was no longer emotionally invested or completely lucid on a job. It was his own lack of enthusiasm and interest that had put him off guard, gotten Gem all nervous, and gotten them caught in the whole stupid business in the first place.
The idea just sort of sauntered in and smacked Dobs upside the head.
He hadn't really thought about it, but it was entirely possible that he was going through a midlife crisis. And after today, he didn't know if he would ever have the energy to go do that kind of thing again.
"Continue," said Dobs quietly, after a pause.
"Every summer since you were seven or eight, you would go out into the country and work on that farm for a month and a half with your cousins, correct?"
"Yes... where are you going with this?"
"A fresh start. The E.S. has a prodigious amount of land out of the urban centers. That is where their power really lies, not in the cities like Galaxial. They have plenty of room to do what they want, and people pay a premium for humanely and organically raised food.
You have plenty of experience working with this kind of thing. The pay would be enough to satisfy your needs, you'd be out of the way from any unpleasant colleagues, and you get to do something that probably won't get you killed or indefinitely incarcerated in the next two years."
Thoughts spun in Dobs' head. What was the cost? What was the catch?
He asked.
"The cost is you stop running and start caring for your family. Room and board on location is included in the job description, and there's enough for both of you."
Dobs opened his mouth and closed it again.
"Yes, your wife has passed, but you have a daughter. You spend all of your time avoiding the present because of painful memories, but you don't have that luxury. What are you doing here? Why aren't you spending time with her? A part of you understands that there's a problem, otherwise you would have never come back to me."
Father Gregory sighed, and then turned to leave. He half looked back over his shoulder with a glance at the twins. "You two," he said, "I can also keep out of trouble. Drop me a line if you want."
He tossed three small plastic business cards into Dobs' lap and left.
"It's past time to grow up, Arnold."
Brian Pearson rubbed his substantial stomach section. Those peppers the night before had definitely been a little bit more... expired than he'd believed at the time. Maybe he'd drink some seltzer water when he had a chance to get away from the front desk.
Real estate was a pain in the foot, ears, and everything in between. But as long as people continued to be willing to rent out those crummy apartments, he'd still be in business.
He finished up some paperwork regarding the eviction of one of his earlier tenants. It'd been a bit of a dicey situation, that one, but it had worked out as well as could be hoped.
The bell on the office door tinkled as the husky tenant at 17 entered. "Pearson," he announced. "I'm having a change in employment, and so must regretfully inform you that I will be vacating at the end of the month."
Pearson sighed and rubbed his stomach again. "Third one this week," he murmured to himself sadly. He'd have to start fixing the air conditioning units maybe. "Where are you headed, if I may ask?" he said to the man. (What was his name again?)
"Out west. I'm going to be working with livestock. Seems like a pretty good gig."
"Your name is Arnold?"
"It means, 'strong as an eagle.'"
"Arnold."
"Gemini."
Silence.
"Arnold."
That wasn't Gem's voice.
"Father Gregory?" said Dobs with a small amount of incredulity. A few days before, perhaps he would have been shocked, but now he just didn't have the energy to be surprised.
The priest appeared in the entryway and joined them with all the energy of a trebuchet and all the speed of a snail. He dropped one of his smiles. Dobs just sighed. He might have guessed that the E.S. was full of Catholics. The picture on the wall in the other room, their whole social justice claims, how the disagreed with Galaxial on anything and everything. That, and that Father Gregory was openly wearing his cassock.
They were setting themselves up to take down Galaxial, one way or another. E.S. was a front for a religious confrontation with the government.
"What do you want?"
"Your soul. As usual in my line of work."
"Is that this?" asked Dobs sarcastically waving an arm around at the room. "Some kind of chaplain for an activist group that thinks it's a rebellion?"
"I actually am not religiously affiliated with the E.S. I do a little bit of financial work for them on the side. It is nice that they're at the heart a religious institution, though most people pretend to ignore it. In the mission statement and everything."
"Financial work," said Gem in a voice so flat you couldn't see it if it turned sideways.
"Budgeting, waste reduction, that kind of thing. I spent some time in the business world before seminary."
"Is it the financial world or the religious one you want my soul for?"
"A question quite worthy of an answer. I know as well as you do that you need a fresh start."
A fresh start.
After she had died and Galaxial had taken over, something in him had just... left. He was no longer emotionally invested or completely lucid on a job. It was his own lack of enthusiasm and interest that had put him off guard, gotten Gem all nervous, and gotten them caught in the whole stupid business in the first place.
The idea just sort of sauntered in and smacked Dobs upside the head.
He hadn't really thought about it, but it was entirely possible that he was going through a midlife crisis. And after today, he didn't know if he would ever have the energy to go do that kind of thing again.
"Continue," said Dobs quietly, after a pause.
"Every summer since you were seven or eight, you would go out into the country and work on that farm for a month and a half with your cousins, correct?"
"Yes... where are you going with this?"
"A fresh start. The E.S. has a prodigious amount of land out of the urban centers. That is where their power really lies, not in the cities like Galaxial. They have plenty of room to do what they want, and people pay a premium for humanely and organically raised food.
You have plenty of experience working with this kind of thing. The pay would be enough to satisfy your needs, you'd be out of the way from any unpleasant colleagues, and you get to do something that probably won't get you killed or indefinitely incarcerated in the next two years."
Thoughts spun in Dobs' head. What was the cost? What was the catch?
He asked.
"The cost is you stop running and start caring for your family. Room and board on location is included in the job description, and there's enough for both of you."
Dobs opened his mouth and closed it again.
"Yes, your wife has passed, but you have a daughter. You spend all of your time avoiding the present because of painful memories, but you don't have that luxury. What are you doing here? Why aren't you spending time with her? A part of you understands that there's a problem, otherwise you would have never come back to me."
Father Gregory sighed, and then turned to leave. He half looked back over his shoulder with a glance at the twins. "You two," he said, "I can also keep out of trouble. Drop me a line if you want."
He tossed three small plastic business cards into Dobs' lap and left.
"It's past time to grow up, Arnold."
Brian Pearson rubbed his substantial stomach section. Those peppers the night before had definitely been a little bit more... expired than he'd believed at the time. Maybe he'd drink some seltzer water when he had a chance to get away from the front desk.
Real estate was a pain in the foot, ears, and everything in between. But as long as people continued to be willing to rent out those crummy apartments, he'd still be in business.
He finished up some paperwork regarding the eviction of one of his earlier tenants. It'd been a bit of a dicey situation, that one, but it had worked out as well as could be hoped.
The bell on the office door tinkled as the husky tenant at 17 entered. "Pearson," he announced. "I'm having a change in employment, and so must regretfully inform you that I will be vacating at the end of the month."
Pearson sighed and rubbed his stomach again. "Third one this week," he murmured to himself sadly. He'd have to start fixing the air conditioning units maybe. "Where are you headed, if I may ask?" he said to the man. (What was his name again?)
"Out west. I'm going to be working with livestock. Seems like a pretty good gig."
No comments:
Post a Comment