Feeding the Mind [Randel]

Mike would find that not many things had changed about Randel. His face might have aged some, but it was still much the same. His hair was cropped. He wore drab clothing, which may or may not have been one or two sizes too big; they tended to droop off his body. There was no deviation, either, from the way he expressed pleasure: it was always with a certain sort of humility that he did so, as if he were embarrassed to be seen like that. Randel would tilt his head downwards to hide the smile, and his eyes would affix towards his feet. As if on cue, he would reach up to adjust his glasses, which was little more than an effort to disguise the whole procedure.

“You too, Batista.” Randel held out a hand for a casual shake.

Of course, part of his embarrassment came from shame. Randel had to admit that he hadn’t put in much of an effort in keeping up with the people he’d known. He liked to blame it on work, that he didn’t have time, or whatever, but a part of him always knew that there were ways of keeping in touch. Some of it, too, was in his inherent nature. Randel avoided conversation unless it was necessary conversation…that was not to say he wasn’t willing to make exceptions.

And when he did look up, it was with genuine happiness. His dark eyes wrinkled, cheeks pushed up some by a wide smile.

“How’s the old place treating you?”

Randel nodded, as if in sympathy. “Can’t imagine working with the kids.”

He thought he’d grow into the idea of children; so many people had. But Randel had not gotten over his natural aversion to them – they were too loud, too high maintenance, too frightening in their potential…he was not brave enough to raise them, and he was not brave enough to teach them. It was a shame that the trainers of Hammel and the professors of schools worldwide received such little praise. Randel had learned their value over time. Mike had been one of his first beneficial experiences.

Randel didn’t get a bourbon this time; he stuck with iced tea. “Well, sir, I’m in deep with the police force. Have been for many years. They give me a case, I crack it wide open…at least, that’s what I’m paid to do. The old pre-cog helps,” he went on, with a smile. “I was working out in Kentucky for a while, but they sent me out here.”

He couldn’t trust anyone with details, not even if they were old friends. It was against protocol, and if Randel respected anything, it was just that. “It’s nice to be back, but I’m not really keen on working with a city again…some of the things we deal with…well.”

Randel shrugged. “Part of the job.”

“Kentucky’s got quite a snowfall too. When I retire, I’m going to California. Or Florida. I’ll never have to drive in the stuff again.”

When the waitress came by, Randel decided to give the vegetarian place a try. Honest Abe’s hadn’t been established while he was here, and he’d never felt the urge to turn vegetarian, but Mike had insisted that the food was good. He deferred to his old mentor’s superior taste. (If Randel had his way, he’d be eating frozen dinners every night with a glass of spirits to chase it down.)

He left the waitress with his order – casserole, as Mike suggested – then turned to address the matter of the twins. “Really?” as much as Mike was inclined towards fostering the young folks, Randel still seemed surprised that he’d actually taken up a foster. His eyebrows raised. “So you’ve got kids? Two of them? Gestalts…that’s the, ah,” Randel gestured, “the synchronized twins thing. Must be a handful.”

He lifted both his hands in a sort of shrug. “I’d love to stay, but the government’s paying for the place I have now. It’s a good deal, honestly. But…I’d still really like to meet them, if I could. That’s a real good thing you’re doing, Batista.” He smiled. “What’s their names?”

Randel scratched the side of his face, considering what it’d be like to be in two bodies at once. He hadn’t met many Gestalt Twins. Actually, having graduated from Hammel, he’d been isolated from the meta community for a long while. Getting familiar with it again was nostalgic and a tad comforting…his coworkers were accepting of his ability and even in awe of it, but they had not the capacity to understand it.

“I can’t imagine. Feeling the same thing, thinking the same thoughts…hell, I can’t even watch a video and type at the same time. They must be masters at multi-tasking.” Orion and Naomi…Randel considered their names. Odd, made him think Greek or Roman, or something like that. “Well, I’ll be sure to call you when I’m free. Should be soon; this isn’t exactly a priority case.”

He laughed. “I hear you. I don’t know what it is, but the minute a student finds out his teacher doesn’t live at the school, he starts to think it’s all some big sham.” Then he shrugged. “We get over it.”

Randel took a sip of his tea, pausing to frame his answer. He supposed he’d been pretty well off. Randel didn’t look it, and he certainly didn’t act like it – being a creature of habit – but his career definitely hadn’t been mundane. He’d lived the life CSI: Miami wished it could. He could write a book about it…though, he supposed, most if it would be him sitting at a desk and looking over three-hundred sheets of paper, reports, and evidence synopses.

“You know, I can’t complain,” he said. “A decade’s passed and I’ve barely noticed, so I’m busy, at least. I’ve got a decent salary and the government pays for the rest. I have a roof over my head, I’ve got the American standard of living down, and I have a little Yorkshire Terrier named Chloe. So,” he shrugged, “all in all, it’s been better than I expected.”

He paused. “I still feel a bit guilty saying that. I know someone’s got to do it, but sometimes I feel like I’m making a living off tragedy.”

Randel nodded. “Right,” he said, though he still couldn’t quite understand the intricacies of a Gestalt pair. Ah well, he thought, as he took another sip of his iced tea. There were a lot of things he didn’t know about powers in general. He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to meld into another human being’s mind, like iron fusing with iron under a heated forge. He wondered what it was like, too, to address someone in two different bodies. Did they take one name? If they were separate genders, would they be a miss or a mister?...

Mike’s laughter startled him out of his train of thought. His smile was automatic and complementary, but became genuine after a second, once he realized what his old mentor was saying. “I get that a lot,” he replied. “I didn’t think I’d take her, either, but a friend was giving her away for free. And I needed the company for the move.”

She was a sprightly little thing, black and tan, with a temper indicative of small dog breeds. Had quite a windpipe on her, too – she could bark down a brick house.

“That’s what I tell myself. But I’m telling you, Batista, it’s a thankless job…and it doesn’t end, that’s the other thing. There’s always something worse waiting for you. They didn’t teach me about that in college – they just taught me to stay in business. Never said a word how it wears you down.” He hated to be that guy, the disillusioned barely-middle-aged cop, but he could feel himself settling into the role as the years went by. He wondered if that made him a caricature.
“And there’s…” Randel paused. “I don’t like to harp about my job much, but the sheriff, he’s something else. The guy’s got it in for metas. Says we shouldn’t be in politics and we shouldn’t be in the police force, either, and if he had his way I’d be outta a job.”

The arrival of their orders interrupted him, and he took the opportunity to sigh and shake his head. He supposed he ought to stop talking about it; it’d just get him worked up. “Nah. After I’ve cleaned up here, I guess I’m off to Kentucky, or wherever else they need me.”

He was somewhat in demand; not all detectives had visions of the future.

Randel smiled, though he waved his hand dismissively, and shook his head. He supposed it was second nature for Mike to want to find a solution to any problems he brought up – a vestige left over from his time as a student. “Nah. Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’m all grown up now and I’ll find a way to deal with it…honestly, I don’t even know if I’m old enough to complain about it yet. I just like to do it.” He took a sip of his tea. “I definitely can’t take a vacation.”

Randel was a complainer. He’d always been. Before he’d gotten a job as a detective he’d grunt and growl about college work, and before that it was high school homework, and before that the way his parents never let him do the things he wanted to do. He seemed to find distinct pleasure in it. Very rarely did he seem happy to undertake a task – though his actions suggested otherwise; Randel often threw himself into his work with little attention spared for anything else. His coworkers found him burning away his leisure time for a few extra hours at the office. Yet when asked about it, he would complain, and the cycle would start anew.

“Oh no. He’s here. And I see him every day, too.” At the very least, the constant tension between he and the sheriff made a dull day interesting. “He’s part of an interesting new movement, and they don’t like us much.”

Randel knew the acronym was PUSE and he knew the first two stood for ‘People United’, but he forgot what exactly they were united for.

“It’s not too far. Just a few blocks from here is all. I’ll be around town, and maybe around the school, too.” Randel was quite certain he’d show up there; the Institute was a central feature of Pilot Ridge and a lot of things tended to happen around it. “You can come see the place if you want, but it’s not impressive. And I haven’t unpacked some things yet.”

“P-U-S-E.” He spelled it out, letter by letter; saying it as a word sounded odd to him (and he’d only heard it that way besides). “It’s a…political thing, from what I can understand, and it’s not too inclusive. Apparently they don’t like a meta-human holding office.” Randel scooped up some casserole and shoved it in his mouth. “I’m sure he thinks a detective is close enough of a threat, but he’s got no grounds to fire me on. Not yet, anyway. God forbid.”

Even if he did, Randel had a steady foundation of service in the force, and an unnecessary discharge could really get him some benefits from the court. Still, he wasn’t ready to give up his job just yet. He wouldn’t know what to do with himself. In a lot of ways, it gave him his identity and his purpose.

“Kind of surprising, right? This place’s got the most of us and yet we get the most resistance here, too.” Randel shrugged. “Can’t say we make up a lot of criminals, but…well, that’s to be expected; there’s not too many of us in the first place. But you wouldn’t believe the things people say. We’ve got different brains, we’re actually a super-secret terrorist organization, hell, we’re not even human, we’re aliens…and then there’s PUSE who claims we’re too privileged.”

Randel was getting through his casserole. Only a bit remained on the edge of his plate, and his iced tea was more ice than liquid now. “Privileged? Maybe. But I don’t know about you, I wasn’t beamed down on a spaceship.”

At that last part, Randel laughed. "My place looks more like a college kid moved in. But you're invited; Chloe likes visitors."