R ‘n’ T Break

There’s an alert in my folder worth checking out. Fifteen-year-old male, five foot four, one-hundred-ninety-seven-point-three pounds. Indications of strength beyond human capabilities. I pull up the nearest drone and transfer its controls to my terminal. I drop another Tic Tac into my mouth as I drift the fly-like robot towards the kid. Stuff like this, it needs to be done. For their own safety. I suppose fly like is the wrong bug. It’s more like a miniature bee. Stinger and all. Hovering the drone behind his leg, I extend the stinger and prick his leg. Just enough to get a little blood inside the bug, then I scurry away before the kid even notices. Over the last year, I’ve gotten pretty dang good at this. I press the button labeled ‘Return’ and stand up. It’s snack time. The Drone Recall process takes five minutes, and the genetic testing adds an additional seventy-three. Meaning I’ve got over an hour to kill. Working the scanner all day works up an appetite. I look around the Richmond Outreach Center. My coworkers are all hard at work doing much the same thing. It’s half our jobs to figure stuff out. The other half was handled by the weirdos in Acquisitions. I, personally, don’t screw with them. I’m just a data-miner. “I’m on a Recall and Testing break, anyone want to grab a bite?” I ask my coworkers. Tim replies first. He’s barely paying attention to his work, as per usual. “Nah, I’m fittina just order some pizzas.” “We had pizza yesterday,” argues Paola, “What about takeout?” She’s also the one generally charged with double checking Tim’s work. They argue. A lot. “Well, screw a bunch of that,” Lizzie states as she stands up, “I never took a lunch and I ain’t eating takeout. I’ll grab a bite with you, Ric.” Predictably, once Lizzie stands up, so does Nathan. “I’m in,” he says, “Give me a sec, I’m doing a retrieval, then I’ll be on R ‘n’ T, too.” And, with Nathan now in, Yolanda joins us too. “I’ve only got an hour or so, but I’m in,” she says. Sometimes, working in this office is just like a soap opera. The love triangles, like that one, could be unbearable. I lean over to Mike. “Please, join us. I don’t want to be a fourth wheel to that, well, whatever the hell that is,” I whisper to my desk-neighbor. “You think I do?” he replies, giving me a look that says hells-to-the-no. I remember that he wants to take a romantic weekend with the missus sometime soon. “I’ll cover your shifts for your romantic weekend?” I offer. He knows I’d probably do it anyway, but he doesn’t risk that. “Alright, fine. Yo, Will, can you keep an eye on my program. Text me if something starts blinking red.” “I got you,” Will says from the back. He’s one of those aforementioned Acquisitions weirdos, but he seems a cool enough dude from what interactions I’ve had. We went drinking once. It was fun enough, I suppose, though not enough to do it more often. “You good, Nathan?” I ask as I pull on my jacket. Nathan stands up, throwing his jacket over his shoulder. “Yep.” “Alright. Roll out,” I say with a smile and a twirling of my finger. Yolanda shakes her head as we walk to the door. “I don’t know,” she jokes. The same bad reference as always. I could legit say it in time with her, if I want to. “I always preferred the look of the Decepticons.” And, just like always, Nathan chuckles at it. The whole reason she does it is because Nathan thinks it’s funny. Even though it isn’t. I sigh as I lead us out. We head across the street to the Brewpub. It isn’t great food. Or service. But it’s close and good enough to grab a bite within an hour. A nod to the host, and we were seated at a table by the exit. Our normal table, as it got the fastest service and we almost always had to leave right around dessert. Sitting down, I ask everyone, “Split or Hat?” Simultaneously, the love triangle answers. “Hat,” Nathan answers, by instinct. Meanwhile both Yolanda and Lizzie say, “Split.” Then, in an instantaneous reaction, Yolanda says, “I mean, Hat,” while Lizzie adds, “But Hat’s good, too.” Mike looks over at me and sighs. “This’ll be fun.” He takes off his hat and puts his credit card into it. “Mmhm,” I reply without saying a word, as I put my card into his hat as well. I look expectantly at the triangle. Nathan pulls out his and slides it in, and Yolanda and Lizzie, somewhat reluctantly, do the same. Shaking up the cards, then letting me shake them a bit, we wait for our server to approach. It took a full minute, as they are a little busy. “Hello, I’m Alex, I’ll be your–” Nathan cut him off. “We’ll all have glasses of your house stout, and could you pick a card out of our hat?” “What?” The waiter seems slightly shocked. It happens sometimes, with the new guys here. “Sorry,” I add, “We’re on a bit of a time crunch.” I hold up the hat. Alex shakes his head at us, but he is a good sport about it, writing down Nathan’s order and pulling out a card from the hat. “Um, it’s Michael Thompson’s?” he asks more than says. “Screw you, Nathan,” Mike states, though he doesn’t argue with it. “What, we voted,” Nathan replies, pretending that he doesn’t count as three votes in this party. Alex nods, “Well, I’ll be right back with your beers, think about your appetizers and entrees while you wait.” He walks away from us, heading back towards the bar. Mike leans into the table. “Any of you a-holes order an appetizer, I’ll make you wish you were dead.” He’s joking. Probably. Mike seems like the kinda guy who’s got a past, but we don’t really talk about that. And there’s no way the company would hire a super dangerous criminal. Probably. “Okay,” I say, “So I’m just planning on having the Great Steve Burger. What’re y’all thinking?” “Just a BLT here,” Yolanda states. “Speak for yourselves, Mama’s getting herself a steak,” Lizzie says, then gives Mike a look that says, ‘I’ll pay you back.’ She’s a good person, for the most part. “I like where your head’s at, Lizzie,” Nathan says, “But I’m feeling fish. The swordfish sounds to die for.” Unlike Lizzie, there’s no look. Nathan is not a good person at heart. Like, he’s helping these poor souls with the company, but we're all pretty sure he’s just doing it for the paycheck. “Seems like we’re all ready to order,” Mike says. We all look around for Alex, but he’s nowhere to be seen. It’s another five minutes before he gets back to us. “Sorry about the wait,” he lies. He hands around the beers, and asks, “So, have you figured out your orders?” Mike starts us off, “I’ll be having a lobster roll with your spicy fries.” After he writes it down, I add, “Just a GSB here. Also, spicy fries.” Then it’s Lizzie’s turn. And so on. In no time, everyone finishes ordering, and once again Alex the waiter wanders away. “So...” I say, trailing off. Nathan laughs. “You feeling good about your R ‘n’ T?” he asks me. We try to keep it vague in public. “I think we’re gonna have to keep an eye on it,” I say. I don’t feel good or bad about R ‘n’ Ts. On the one hand, flags mean that we can help them through whatever they’re going through. But flags are still flags, and there are a lot of problems with getting marked. You become a target for the enemy, and since we don’t have the resources, some fall through the cracks, and without our help, become hunted or worse. Unlike Nathan, I actually care, especially when it’s a kid, like today. “Alright, Ric,” he says with a grin. Mike, on the other hand, understands and pats me on the back. To Nathan, it probably seems like an ‘attaboy’, or a ‘good on ya’, but I know it’s meant to be a comfort. Those of us who aren’t Lizzie or Nathan get our sandwiches quickly, and because we’re on a time crunch, start chowing down. Nathan begins to grow impatient. It doesn’t help when Lizzie’s steak is brought out first. By the time his swordfish is out here, I am almost finished with my burger. Mike’s phone buzzes. Glancing down at it, he looks at me and says, “Make sure these fools don’t run off with my credit card.” “No,” I whisper, “Don’t leave me with them.” He laughs. “Sorry, that was Will. Says my computer’s flashing red.” “You’ve got work to do, then,” I say, “Luck.” “Don’t need it,” he replies with a smile as he leaves his card at his place, puts on his hat, grabs his lobster roll in one hand and fries in the other, and walks out of the Brewpub. I sigh and do my best to ignore my remaining coworkers as they awkwardly flirt. Sara, one of the three bartenders who works here, notices my predicament, and unlike Alex, knows what it means. With a smile, she sends over an old-fashioned. Just for me. While he hands me my cocktail, Alex looks at the three people on one side of the table with the lone man opposite them and is quite confused. “Where’d your fourth go?” “Mike had a work emergency. Had to run.” Yolanda gives me a look, wondering if we, who do not have any food left, can have dessert. I give just the slightest headshake no. Mike’s paying, it’d be rude. I notice Alex isn’t next to me. Leaning back in my chair, I raise two fingers to draw his attention. It takes a moment, but soon enough he walks over. “What’s up?” he asks me. “Could we have our check, please,” I say quietly enough that the three hungry people across the way, the three who might want dessert, don’t hear. “Certainly. I’ll be right back,” he replies and away he walks. As he comes back with the check and I give him the card, the triangle takes notice. “What about dessert?” Nathan asks. “It’s coming up on an hour, so Yolanda really needs to get back, and I’m not feeling dessert, so that’s the majority. Sorry.” With that, Yolanda checks her watch and curses to herself. Chugging what remains of her beer, she rushes back across the street to the office. “You two can leave, too,” I say calmly. “Let me finish my food,” Nathan remarks. Lizzie, who no longer has anything on her plate, adds, “And I still need to finish my beer.” The check comes back, and tipping our waiter 25%, I tell Alex, “Either of them get any more food or booze, they’re paying themselves, got it?” “Of course,” Alex replies, and taking Mike’s card, I walk back across to the office. Yolanda is hard at work, interpreting her fun gene sequence. I slide Mike’s credit card onto his desk where he’ll notice once he’s not focused on piloting a drone. Then, I sit down and look at the sequencing in progress. 73 percent done. I’m hungry for sweets. Popping in another Tic Tac, I swivel around to face Paola. “Can you get me in on that order? I’m feeling fortune cookies.” Paola looks up, and nodding, says, “Sure, but you’re paying me back for your cookies.” “No duh. I’ll have four.” Swiveling back around, I start going through the aspects of the kid’s sequence that are there. “Crap,” I murmur to myself, as I see five indications of prodigy status in the first gene. Likely, that meant the impossible strength was just the first manifestation, not the ultimate marker. As it beeps the test’s completion notification, I examine the rest of the genome. It has indications throughout, though none as frequently as on the first gene. Twenty in all. I flag the kid with Prodigy status and note the likelihood that there will be further development of his abilities dependent on stressors. I hope that the company can help him out. From all indications, he seems like a good kid. Tabbing back to my data alert folder, I return to sifting through the weird news and tabloids for the next story of true extraordinary circumstances for me to test.