Naljubuites, Aeria Gloris [Dalton]

[Emiko Nakajima]

*outfit

Working at Hammel was proving to be harder and harder daily.

She wasn’t aware of all the paperwork that normally came with the job. When she worked in Japan, her job was mainly to walk the perimeter and make sure students stayed in and outsiders stayed, well, out. It was a job that involved, if anything, a lot of night time prowling on her part. This reminded her more of her job in the police force than anything else. The problem was that her written English was not the best, so it took her longer to write out reports and the like.

The Japanese woman sighed and looked up at the clock. It was four twenty-two exactly, too late to claim classroom patrol and too early for cafeteria patrol for dinner. She was stuck filling out reports and watching cameras scan hallways and the outdoors. She wished in vain to see someone attempting to climb over the fence so she could run out and leave the paperwork to someone else. But no, the day was quiet. She returned to her work and began filling out another property damage report. Whoever this ‘Vincent Verax’ was, she was going to find him and make him pay for the hand cramps she was getting because of him.

Which reminded her, Vincent, her boss, had somehow taken leave of Hammel. She wondered why he had disappeared, and where to. He seemed like a man with many issues needing resolving. She hoped that, wherever was, he was okay and that he was chasing his demons. This was a problem for her, though, because really, she had no idea what she was supposed to do. Generally she just tried to do the work handed to her. She was almost considering leaving.

Turning to her computer, she looked over the template for the ID card she was supposed to be running off for one of the new faculty. She had filled it out to the best of her ability, but she needed a few things still, like his date of birth, and she needed a picture of him to put on the card. She knew how to do the picture thing- she had been shown how by another member of the staff, it was a webcam sort of tool that was easy enough to work. She made a call to the front office, which she knew went through when Nychole’s voice rang out over the PA system in a dull monotone that had an air of annoyance to it, as always.

“Jacob Dalton, please report to the security office, Jacob Dalton to security. Thank you. That is all.”

The Japanese woman leaned back in her chair and sighed, staring at the ceiling as she waited. When she got off work, she needed to run to the grocery store- she would have enough money to buy some meat for whatever dinner she had planned. She might just make some rice. American food was not sitting well with her at the moment, not that she had tried enough of it to know.

clicking of keyboards
spinning of overhead fans
punctuates my work

[/size]

[Jacob Dalton]

(My sincerest apologies for the delay getting back to you. Holiday issues proved more time consuming than I ever expected. Hope yours are going well.)

Dalton’s first official day of work had proven challenging, inspiring, thought provoking, and both exhausting and exhilarating at once. So much would be the same as his previous teaching duties, yet the few differences could prove monumental. And in his mind, so might the rewards. So many of these students had faced hardships that against any normal child would have been properly labeled outrageous: yet because of their meta status, society turned a blind eye and a deaf ear to these injustices.

He was resolved wherever possible to treat these students just as he would treat any other: neither coddling nor overdemanding, but balancing challenges and praise as he always had. If only he could assure them truthfully that the rest of the world would be equally fair.

But that was not to be. Over the years since Columbine, Dalton had seen security at even standard schools increase exponentially: the students suspended for simply drawing a doodle of a firearm, for having a Boy Scout knife tucked inside packing gear in the trunk of their car in the parking lot. Worse yet he had seen many a troubled teen, already painfully isolated from the social mileu of their peers, branded unfairly by authority as potential threats: “antisocial loner, signs of depression: maintain surveillance for signs of suppressed violence, drug use, etc.” And so just at the point in their lives when these pupils most needed support and encouragement from the authority figures in their lives, they instead found themselves subject to watchful eyes and distrust.

Dalton’s heart raged against this: raged against all manner of unjust accusation. Only in post-divorce counseling had he come to realize that this was a suppressed transference based on his personal experiences with Delia. But that which does not kill us shapes us into the person we will become. Dalton had examined that aspect of himself clinically, and determined that no matter what the deeper motivations might be behind his feelings, these were tenets which he could avow honestly and morally.

Of course, balanced against these feeling was the clear fact that discipline is a requirement of society, and that students with such talents as these had the potential to cause vastly greater harms to themselves and others should issues get out of hand. To live in fear was never a good thing: but too much freedom would be an abrogation of duty. As always, the fine line of balance must be drawn.

And so he had greatly mixed feelings about the security issues he was likely to face. Would to God this necessary evil were not so necessary: and yet it was. He would not be a loose link in the chain to allow chaos: but if from time to time he might provide a buffer where he safely might, he would gladly do so.

<<“Jacob Dalton, please report to the security office, Jacob Dalton to security. Thank you. That is all.” >>

The tone of voice was forbidding: again unfortunate, but understandably so. Security was not there to be best chums with their charges. They had to maintain an aloof distance in order to perform their duties. Dalton must need cooperate, but felt himself most fortunate that this was not a major portion of his duties.

Still, a portion of them it was, and learn and abide by them he must. This would be an interesting meeting.

He traced his path back down the corridors, arriving at the offices shortly after the call, and entered. A Japanese lady he recalled seeing earlier in the day was seated at her computer, typing away at moderate pace.

“Good afternoon: Jacob Dalton, at your service. How may I be of assistance?”

[Emiko Nakajima]

It was not like Emiko didn’t understand the wrongdoings of security officers within schools. When she was a student in Eisai she was one of the students labeled ‘potential threats’ and was all but a pariah inside the ranks of the students along with the staff. Whenever she was in a room with an officer, you could bet she was going to be the one they watched. A threatening move on her part, even in a joking manner, was met with a comment of ‘Calm yourself, Nakajima’ or ‘Do I need to call back up, Miss Emiko?’, both of which were often laced with sarcastic and loathing tones.

And yet, thanks to the nature of her power, she had seen no other option but to go into that career field- why not make use of the monster known as her power? It had crippled almost all of her career paths in Japan already. (It was required that all meta-humans supply paperwork explaining their powers in Japan, and even though a few lawmakers were fighting for it to be repealed, claiming it was a private matter, they were out-numbered drastically.) She admitted the police force had been a bit too extreme for her tastes, especially when it came to the fears of the sick minded keeping her up at night. School security was still a challenge, but she could stay sane.

Turning back to her typing with seething frustration, she clicked at the keys until red lines and green lines popped up under her words, then went back to correct her speech again. She felt her aggravation at the written English language rising by the second and was about to mount an aggressive attack on her keyboard when she heard the door latch click and turned her chair to see the man whom she presumed to be Jacob Dalton step into the office. She smiled a little and gestured for him to sit. “Hello, Mr. Dalton. My name is Emiko Nakajima, and I need some information from you in order to finish your security profile and to make your ID card. Please, sit.”

As she looked at him, Emiko could already feel his fears, some of which were just under the surface and others were deeper. It was much like a placid, clear lake full of fish; the smaller fears swam close to the surface, deterring her from the larger fears that lay in the darkness below. Regardless, she picked them up and discovered many of them had already been fulfilled. Again, like fish, some displayed the markings of capture, hooks embedded in them that stayed. These were the more detailed and fleshed out fears that could not be described in a word, but in many. She stared at him for a moment and she couldn’t help it, she felt sorry for him. If she wanted to hurt him, she’d all but have to bring up his dead and waterlogged daughter sitting in front of him, hurling accusations of her death being his fault. Another depressing part of her power was accidentally dredging up memories. Fears linked to the past made her uncomfortable in more ways than one.

She turned from him with the help of her chair and pushed all his fears away, her mind returning to its unclouded state of being. Zen. All she needed was Zen. All he would’ve noticed about her glimpse into his fears was her moment of total stillness that ended with a snap. “I need your date of birth, meta ability, social security number, education level, and any emergency contacts.” She looked up and smiled at him, feeling the need to apologize. “Sorry about being so impersonal. Just trying to finish up this infernal typing.”

cannot bear to look
your sadness pain and sorrow
all roses have thorns...

[/i]

[Jacob Dalton]

<< “Hello, Mr. Dalton. My name is Emiko Nakajima, and I need some information from you in order to finish your security profile and to make your ID card. Please, sit.” >>

Dalton nodded. “Certainly, Miss Nakajima: I anticipated some such requests on my first day, and came prepared.”

He had brought a small binder with him and laid it open, making available his Social Security card, birth certificate, passport, certification of permanent residency, proof of meta registration and completion of the approved schooling for same, etc. “Whatever documentation you require, I am sure I have it available here.”

<< “I need your date of birth, meta ability, social security number, education level, and any emergency contacts.” >>

He passed her each of the documents which verified the data she requested, then paused at the request for emergency contacts. “At this time, Miss Nakajima, let us say that I am essentially own my own recognizance. There is no one closer than England who could respond for me.”

He made the statement calmly, though his heart ached at the reminder of its implications.

“If what you need is the address for my father in the event of my demise, I do have that.” He flipped the binder to an address list and indicated one of the very few not struck out by neat, single penstrokes. At some point he should probably transcribe the remaining ones to a single fresh page, he considered: but not today.

It seemed to him that she waited somewhat blankly until he had produced the documents. Perhaps the momentarily vacant gaze was her attempt at polite silence to allow him time to produce the records. Or perhaps she was simply looking him over, sizing him up.

What would her thoughts be in regards to him, he wondered? She certainly had information on his abilities: would she be eyeing his posture and movement for indications of aggression or combat training? Would she be memorizing details of his appearance, in the event she was ever called to identify him at the morgue? Or more likely, he concluded, she was as human as anyone here at Hammel, and she was simply eying her new coworker with curiosity as to what kind of person he might prove to be. Most people were people first, their job second: mundane issues such as “Is he cute? Does his breath smell? Will we share the same interests in sports, movies, food?” all took precedent over professional concerns.

A slight smile perked at his lips as it occurred to him that perhaps she was gauging his own degree of paranoia under her silent gaze. After all if he were some form of interloper, his internal fears would make even such a neutral look seem accusing and threatening. But it could also be she was merely bored and waiting for him, and her stare held no agenda whatsoever. To assume an agenda without cause would be profoundly foolish: therefore, he chose to assume she had none and merely waited for her to make such copies and transcriptions from his documents as she needed, and proceed with whatever her next step might be.

On the other hand, what were his own impressions of her? It seemed strange, he reflected, that his first concern was her thoughts and not his own. Had he been so conditioned by Delia to place himself second that he was still doing so even now? For that matter, he still was not used to looking openly at a woman without some sense of guilt. Delia had had a hair trigger jealousy, accusing him at the drop of a hat of lecherous intent towards any woman on whom he set his gaze. In consequence he had shut down any trace of such feelings entirely.

Before him now sat a young lady, obviously Oriental, of fine and pale complexion. There was no question in his mind that she was quite attractive: beautiful, even. But somehow that recognition could not move past the intellectual awareness to affect him on any deeper level. He felt a trace of sadness: was he forever scarred? Would it ever be possible for him to find a normal, healthy relationship again? Or would he forever be alone, haunted by the ghost of a harridan? He did not know.

<< She looked up and smiled at him, feeling the need to apologize. “Sorry about being so impersonal. Just trying to finish up this infernal typing.” >>

He smiled and shook his head. “Quite alright: I fully understand. Every job involves some elements we find distasteful. I suppose if they did not, we would consider them entertainment and no one would be willing to pay us to do them.”

He realized that quite unconsciously he had just brought himself about full circle in his thoughts. So, she needed his personal information. In turn, there was information he needed. He cleared his throat.

“If I may: I was also wondering what specifics you might have regarding staff duties related to security. I presume I shall be receiving keys, such as for my office and whatnot, and need to keep them under control. Are there other strict procedures: areas to be maintained under lock and key at certain times, that sort of thing?

[Emiko Nakajima]

If Dalton had known what Emiko was really thinking when she looked at him, his reaction would have been on the extreme opposite end of the scale. He probably would’ve been horrified. As it was, she was content to not be judged based on her power, at least not yet. She knew that eventually someone would tell him of her power, and he would avoid her if he could. She had seen it enough in Japan- a new teacher would come in and chat with her, but one day they would give her a strange look and become very formal with her. Some of them attempted to be close with her, but it was just awkward for a while, so, in time, she drifted from them.

After she got his fear out of the way, she did evaluate Dalton, but less noticeably. She noted his hands first as he passed her the documents to her. He had no wedding ring on his hands, which meant that his fears of romantic relationships were likely well warranted. Perhaps changing into his ex-wife would scare him the most, considering that her face, even in Emiko’s trained mind, made her a bit uneasy. She noted he wasn’t bad on the eyes, but he was a bit old for her, as far as she could tell. She was awful at guessing ages, especially in Caucasian people.

She took the documents and looked them over, turning in her chair to input information as quick as she could- she’d worry about spelling and grammatical errors later. When he spoke about England, she looked up and smiled, nodding in understanding. If anything happened to her, she wasn’t sure what would happen. Her Mother was listed as her emergency contact, but the Japanese woman was more than a little uncomfortable with her single parent coming out with the nature of her being in America in the first place, especially since the reasoning of her being there was the same thing that got her Father killed.

“Yes, your Father’s address will be suitable.” She said, taking the notebook and looking it over. So many crossed out names; had all of them been that connected with his ex-wife? Or was there something more? She didn’t dwell on it, for it was none of her business. She made a mental note of it and continued. “Here you go.” She handed the documents back as she was done with them, making sure they were authentic as best as she could. When she was done, she pulled up the ID card and set his information onto it through quick copying and pasting. She was about to ask him to hold still for a photo but he interrupted her.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. That’s next on the agenda, but here, I have your keys for you.” She stood and picked up her purse, digging out a keychain with enough keys to run, well, a school. She brushed off her dress before leaving her desk a moment, heels clicking on the floor as she crossed the threshold. She flicked through the keys with quick precision and unlocked a cabinet on the wall. Inside were hooks, all of which held over ten keys each, and it was a very big cabinet. She ran her finger over them and pursed her lips, looking at the labels above each hook before finding the right one. She took three keys off it and held them up to check the numbers and letters on the head of the key. She looked to a list on the inside of the cabinet door to confirm, then, satisfied, locked the cabinet back up.

“Here.” She put two keys in his hand as she sat back down, keeping the third key for the moment. “The silver one unlocks the office you share with the rest of the English department, the brass, your classroom. I recommend putting the keys on the same chain as you keep your car and house keys, so you’re less likely to lose them. Lock your classroom whenever you are leaving it for a long period of time, such as lunch period or when you go home. If you need to go to the bathroom or are standing in the halls to watch students, that’s an exception.”

She held up a third key, smaller than the others, colored gold. “This is the key to your filing cabinets, if you wish to use them. You lock your cabinets at all times until you use them, then you get what you need and lock them again. You may leave this key in your desk if you wish, but do not leave it in plain sight. In the back of a drawer, or under a pile of papers in your desk, would be fine. If you wish to put it somewhere else in the classroom, that is perfectly fine. But don’t leave it in a spot where anyone other than you would find it, even me. We have copies, so if anyone on security asks for your hiding spot, tell them it’s none of their business. Even me. Do not, under any circumstances, take this key out of the building.”

This led her into an explanation that all the new teachers were supposed to be given, and she had spent some time articulating it during her time here in Hammel. She crossed her legs under her desk and leaned forward slightly, her fingers pressing again each other as she looked him dead in the eye and held his gaze. She wanted his full attention. “This brings me to your briefing. As you can very well hear and see, I am not from Hammel, nor America. I am no more American then you are.” She smiled. Foreigners unite. “I was recently relocated here due to an incident that happened at the beginning of term. One of Hammel’s officials was attacked, by another meta-human. This Meta took over the man’s mind and forced him to give them documents relating to the recruiting of students, meaning he has access to information that could lead him to potentially kidnapping students from across North and even South America. Hammel has reason to believe this was to work of a group of individuals advocating meta-human supremacy over what they call ‘normal’ humans.”

She leaned back in her chair, elbow resting on the armrest. Her hand stayed in the air, half open, half closed. “The school I was working with, Eisai Gakkou, in Hokkaido, was contacted because we are Hammel’s sister school in Japan. I was part of security there, and I had… experience… working with these kids of groups.” Let him interpret that however he wished. “With that in mind, we take security very seriously.” She began to tick things off on her fingers. “You are to keep all documents under lock and key. You will be provided with a password protected computer, and when you are done taking attendance or updating grades on it, you will lock it back down. You are not authorized to use a flash drive to take anything off this computer. While you are here, keep on the alert for strange individuals, or anyone you know acting strangely. Keep vigilant in town around strangers. Report anyone who tries to get you to tell them any private information regarding the school, however small it may seem. We cannot afford another breech, however tiny. If there is a crack in our wall, it will grow.” Emiko stopped suddenly and her face softened, as she realized her tone, as the speech wore on, became colder and colder. She was too good at her job.

“We just don’t want anyone else being hurt. It’s an awful thing, this. Mind control is a hard thing to gauge, because once it’s happened it’s panic and paranoia everywhere. Who can you trust? Who can’t you? If this does happen to you, report to security right away, so we can gauge whether you are okay and whether the individual doing this took anything. You should be relatively safe though, you aren’t holding any very important information. I very much doubt they absolutely need to have student’s English grades in order to function.” She smiled a bit, trying to lighten up with a joke.

“Any questions?”

shadows of evil
i stand on the side of good
the path less travelled

[/size][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Jacob Dalton]

<< “The silver one unlocks the office you share with the rest of the English department, the brass, your classroom… >>

Dalton nodded as he added the larger keys to his keyring: all her instructions in those regards seemed quite standard. He was perplexed at the requirement to leave the filing key on site: finding a truly safe location other than his keyring might prove problematic, and the hassle of having to daily conceal the key and retrieve it was irritating. But he had no doubt they had some good reason for all of this. It immediately occurred to him that a patch of sealing wax applied judiciously inside a desk drawer might allow him to conceal the key effectively: perhaps he could get a separate drawer key that he would be allowed to take with him so he might lock the desk drawer in which the file key was concealed? Or perhaps the teachers had private lockers in their lounge?

Such were his mundane thoughts when she suddenly launched into her “briefing.” Dalton found himself mesmerized in disbelief. Mind control? Mass kidnapping plots? Meta-human supremacy? The implication that such groups were also active in Japan, possibly throughout the world? Surely this was not the kind of thing one discussed with typical teachers, even at a school such as this?

He had the sense that he had suddenly fallen down the rabbit hole and found himself in looking-glass land, where ordinary instructors were briefed like Bond and assigned password protected computers. What next: attache’ cases equipped with assault weapons? The implications were leaving him slightly stunned.

<< … You should be relatively safe though, you aren’t holding any very important information. I very much doubt they absolutely need to have student’s English grades in order to function.” She smiled a bit, trying to lighten up with a joke. >>


“I should think not,” he muttered, still taking in the situation in a half daze. “In fact, I should not think there would be much if any information a teacher could supply, or even have need to access, which would be helpful to such a person. After all, what difference would it make to me if their home address was in Thailand or Timbuctu?

“I understand security precautions being taken on personal information a kidnapper might be able to use: but why give me or any other teacher access to such information at all in the first place? Certainly none of us need the entirety of any student’s file. Perhaps you might make things safer by releasing only data pertinent to educators on our computers, and maintain more confidential records only on paper, or a single secured system? Place that under dual control: security personnel have key one and password one, appropriate admin have key and password number two, with all four being required for access. Then if one person is taken over, the other provides your safety.”

Dual control was a simple enough approach: Dalton had seen it numerous times at banks where he had held safety deposit boxes. He leaned back in the chair, his mind still reeling from the implications and protesting the possibilities.

“If the main concern is a meta-human supremacy group kidnapping students, it would seem likely they would first target those whose talents are most adaptable to combat. It should be easy to determine which students fit such a profile, and remain extra vigilant on their behalf. But if this group practices mind control, they must find it frightfully simple just to claim the mind of any student they desire and have them walk off campus, apparently of their own free will. What precautions could we possibly take against such an event?”

Both of these struck Dalton as issues of simple logic: but now that his mind was on such a track, he found himself on a roll. “I suppose issuing some form of tracking device to each and every student is out of the question. Even though you might be able to conceal it in a student ID card or something else they would have cause to carry with them at all times, it would most likely be among the first things their kidnappers would take from them…

Dalton’s jaw nearly dropped as he considered. “Then again, perhaps not a bad idea…” he murmured.

He turned back towards Emiko, the light bulb flashing over his own head this time. “Supposing instead of standard keys, each staff member and student were issued some form of electronic key card? No one may leave or enter the premises without it, and those pertaining to staff would be programmed with higher level access to the facilities they need. Electronics are already built into such a device: including a concealed tracker should be fairly simple. If these cards were standard issue for all persons at Hammel, you can be sure it would become a top priority of this group to acquire one and attempt to counterfeit it. In response, track every card that leaves these premises: any location one is taken to which does not pertain to a common business downtown or other appropriate destination becomes suspect, and you can investigate at your leisure.”

It occurred to him belatedly that perhaps installing the card reader to support such a system could be fabulously expensive, take months to bring online, would probably have a variety of software and hardware bugs they would have to overcome before implementing and pose numerous other difficulties, but the basic theory still sounded good. Even if this particular proposal were unmanageable, might the suggestion spark something simpler but similar for the security officer? Dalton could only hope.

[Emiko Nakajima]

As Dalton started in, Emiko leaned forward slightly, expecting his outburst to be short. But as it went on, she came to the quick realization that it wasn’t short at all, and she leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, listening to every word. Her eyes fixed on him and she held him in her stare, watching him carefully. She wasn’t certain, because his tone was calm, but she had a feeling he was panicking. She should’ve put the subject more delicately instead of flinging it all out in the open. He did, however, have viable points which she tucked away, like a double password lock on the computers. She knew some staff at Eisai who could handle such a task; she’d call them tonight to get the operation underway.

She paused and opened her mouth, starting to attempt to clear things up, but he plunged on, and she sat back again, looking slightly exasperated, but still listening. Perhaps he would give her more ideas; he seemed to be full of them. She half-wondered if he had once been in law enforcement, and the other half was contemplating whether he had some anxiety disorder. She listened as he continued, nodding at the appropriate intervals, and, at the end, waiting for a few moments before leaning back forward. Again, her eyes locked on his, black-brown staring intently into hazel with brilliant intensity. She smiled halfway, a gesture some would take as condescending, but others would see that it was genuine.

“You have good ideas, sir.” She started, tilting her head slightly. “However, you misunderstand- your computer is password protected because it’s standard in many schools, as is the locking of your filing cabinet. It is more for the safety and privacy of student grades and also for the security of test scores- if, say, you had left your room and a student had gotten onto your computer system, it would be too easy for anyone of their generation to jump in and change a failing grade to an A. Even Hammel has it a bit harder, we have students with technokinesis. So no, you do not have access to student files.” She put one hand on her chin. “Your suggestion of a dual pass system is a good plan though, I’ll talk to my superiors and my technologically superior co-workers in Japan about installing such a system if needed.”

“However, the ID card plan would not work.” She shook her head in retaliation to the idea. “First of all, the group has not targeted kidnapping students already within the school system, just those who have yet to be recruited, so they would lack the ID cards. Second, if they did take the ID, they’d just more than likely toss it down somewhere and, if we depended on the technology, we’d waste precious time looking for the card, and not the student.” Emiko shook her head and looked very distant for a moment, remembering times in her work with the police that they’d look for a tracker, only to find the purse or wallet it had been put in tossed into a dumpster. It took away precious time, having to retrace all those steps. “You put much too much faith in the boundaries of technology. Many government agencies, even in techno-based Japan, still operate with less than that. You don’t need to worry, honestly.”

She smiled and reached out, patting his hand that was resting on the desk very lightly before withdrawing. It was a gesture she was not used to, but she had seen it done before to help calm or console a person. “You needn’t worry, Mr. Dalton. We’ll take care of this. I’m just ordered to brief you so if your mind is overtaken, you won’t panic and be left in the dark. Imagine how angry you would be if it did happen, even if it was not to you, and you weren’t informed of such a thing.” She turned in her chair and wiggled her mouse, then finished up typing, noticing she was missing a blank.

“Oh, I also need your current address. Where are you residing at the moment?”

[Jacob Dalton]

<< “You have good ideas, sir.” She started, tilting her head slightly. “However, you misunderstand-- >>

Her words brought him back from his intense reverie, and he blushed. How long had he gone on, dithering about issues totally beyond his experience? The situation she had described bordered on the surreal: something for a detective series on the telly. Somewhere in the course of her disturbing revelations his mind had kicked into denial: shifted from acceptance into temporary suspension of disbelief. It was the state of mind in which he watched film, and the logic which followed in his head was more akin to how he would have revised a script than to anything related to the real world.

He listened intently as she discussed each idea he had tossed about, usually pointing out ways in which he had overlooked important aspects, but doing so quite calmly and logically, never in an insulting or demeaning way. She was not demeaning him: just letting him know that while she would give sensible ideas due consideration, he had gone well beyond the sensible. In fact she was doing so quite compassionately and diplomatically. She was offering him more respect than he deserved by discussing these silly notions with him as if he were being rational. He sighed, and nodded ruefully.

“My apologies, Miss Nakajima. Of course, you are quite capable and have this fully under control. Forgive me if you would: perhaps I read too many mystery novels. Your revelations struck me as somewhat of a shock. I suppose brainstorming is one of my natural reactions…”

<< “You needn’t worry, Mr. Dalton. We’ll take care of this… >>

He nodded again, accepting her assurances. “Understood. If I find myself doing something not of my own volition, I shall be sure to make it known to you at the earliest opportunity, and in the greatest detail.”

<< “Oh, I also need your current address. Where are you residing at the moment?” >>

Dalton pulled the card out: “Roadman’s Lodge, 413 Parker Drive, apartment 217. For the time being, at least. I do hope to find a more comfortable residence when possible, but plan to be quite selective. Obviously there was hardly time for me to do much househunting before I was located in the area…

“Do forgive me. I appear to be rambling again…”

[Emiko Nakajima]

Emiko wasn’t entirely sure whether he was fully calmed down or not, but she wasn’t going to ask and possibly get him started on another rant again. Instead, she nodded when he confirmed her would alert her, and remembered something new to tell him. “Also, I realize this is a strange request, but... Don’t mention me to anyone. It’s best if my presence here is kept under wraps for the time being. I’m... an ace in the hole? Is that how you say it? Either way, My being here is a secret matter to those outside of Hammel. So, you never saw me, hmm?” A sly smile was etched onto her face for a brief moment, another attempt to lighten the mood.

She went back to her typing, inputting his address and checking to make sure all was spelled correctly before she was convinced it was all correct and filled out. She looked away from her screen in time to here his complaints about house hunting, something she could actually have input on. “I switched apartments when I first came. They had me in this huge place, and I didn’t like it. If you would like, I could point it out to you sometime. It’s in the same building and the owner is all but desperate to rent.”

She looked at the clock and realized that she had extra time. So she turned from her work and decided to strike up a conversation with Mr. Dalton. Socializing was not something she was good at, so she would put in some practice where she could. “So tell me, Mr. Dalton, where were you before you were so kind as to grace Vermont? Surely you didn’t come here all the way from England. What state did you live in before?” Perhaps the questions would open him up a bit, and then he’d ask her some, and then they’d have a conversation like friends would and she’d be socializing correctly.

[Jacob Dalton]

<< …I realize this is a strange request, but... Don’t mention me to anyone… >>

Dalton grinned a bit at the subterfuge: the almost classic dramatic request. He raised an eyebrow in mock innocence.

“‘Mention what to whom?’ My lips are sealed.”

It was comforting to know that not all his stereotypes of the espionage game were quite invalid.

<< “I switched apartments when I first came… …If you would like, I could point it out to you sometime… >>

Dalton smiled, then shook his head. “I have funds in escrow, from my divorce settlement. I shall need a residential home in which to invest, or lose a substantial portion thereof. Fortunately, I still have almost a year before the deadline. So I shall be house hunting rather than apartment searching, but I do thank you for the thought. On the other hand, if you have made contact with a reliable realtor I would be most interested.”

Even as he said it, his mind went back again to the circle drive in the woods. Such a peaceful place: perhaps there was some property there he might look into? But that would most definitely be a question for the realtor.

<< “So tell me, Mr. Dalton, where were you before you were so kind as to grace Vermont? >>

He smiled at the pleasantry. Clearly she was not quite comfortable with it, but was trying. Somehow the social awkwardness made her seem far more sympathetic: when our shields of confidence and invulnerability fall, we appear more human.

“For the last several years I have resided in Willow Creek, a suburb of Sacramento. There I was tenured at Westridge High: another private center of education. Over the years I taught English literature, composition, journalism, the dramatic arts, choir, orchestra, dance, fencing, even horseback riding: private education has its perks."

Yes, he had enjoyed his work. Perhaps too much? Had he hidden in it, when life at home was so disappointing? It no longer mattered: the chance to continue had been stolen from him…

He shook his head. “Amazing how little things can create so much trouble. A simple dance in the moonlight, nothing more. Out on a lake, granted, with a “partner” more resembling a water nymph, but still nothing but a dance. No indecent exposure, no liberties taken, no public demonstrations on behalf of meta-kind. Just a dance…”

His mind drifted back momentarily to those nights of lonely reminiscences, a time of rediscovering control over his powers, of pouring the ache in his heart into movement and song. At first it had been merely to classics, compositions he had taught to students for years. But in time the haunting lyrics of a song by Garth Brooks had captured his heart’s sentiments so exactly he had dwelled on it night after night.

“All that happened was a couple out for a moonlight stroll, and a snapshot on a cell phone. Since when do telephones have cameras, anyhow? But that’s all it took. My tenure, my job, my few remaining friends: and so here I am.”

He shook his head. Damned if he hadn’t fallen into the pity party mode again. He had tried so hard to avoid it, but something told him she already knew the details of his background, and that she would at least appreciate his candor and a chance to hear his side of the situation. Or perhaps not.

“My apologies again. You ask a simple question, I go off on tangents. And how about yourself? Surely your experiences in Japan are a far more pleasant subject for conversation?”

He focused his attention on the girl, but somewhere in the back of his mind the slow dance continued:

And now, I'm glad I didn't know
The way it all would end;
The way it all would go

Our lives are better left to chance;
I could have missed the pain
But I'd have had to miss

The Dance

[Emiko Nakajima]

“I see.” Emiko wasn’t familiar with American divorce settlements (or any kind of divorce settlement at all, really, she never married and her parents were still together) but he had explained it well enough that she understood the requirements. “I actually met a realtor that owns some property- some of it is undeveloped, but he sells some very admirable houses. He toured me on one in the west side of town that was very nice, but out of my budget range. It had a Queen Anne Style of architecture on the outside, but the inside had vaulted ceilings.” Some would think she knew a lot about architecture, but honestly she was only repeating what she was told. She liked the style and told herself she would look for similar houses in the future if she decided to stay in the U.S. “Neutral color tones were found throughout, and the master bedroom was a very striking green and silver combination. I was quite impressed, really. The asking price was quite low for something that fine, but the previous tenants said they had problems with heating. Here, I can give you his card.” She slid open her desk drawer and dug through it before finding the card under a stack of papers. “There we go. I have no use for it.”

She listened to Mr. Dalton’s tale and nodded at the appropriate times along with shaking her head a lot around the end. It was a shame that someone with so much skill had been turned out because of anti-meta sentiment that was so abound. She was not a stranger to such practices, it was even worse in Japan. Many places of employment had signs that often read ‘metas need not apply’, if they were polite. There were more than a few times when she had to stop shopping somewhere because the owner of an establishment would not serve her. The elders of the Japanese community were very critical of metas. They called them demons, among other things, and she knew many meta alumni from her school that, even though their qualifications in their field of study were significant, were turned away from jobs that would have accepted them with open arms had they been powerless. It was enough to make a person take ill.

When asked about her experiences in Japan, she sat up a little straighter and shook her head with a laugh. “Oh, no, sir.” She remembered her try for socializing, however, and decided she might as well give him a little information. “I worked at Eisai Gakkou in Japan before I came here, I was one of the co-vice presidents of security.” She paused to put a stray hair behind her ear. “When Hammel called to inform us of what happened, we sent all our recruiters out to gather our potential students en-masse, and once we were certain that everything was taken care of, I was selected to come help our sister school.” She did not inform Mr. Dalton on the reasons why she was chosen, because she found it to be somewhat of a personal matter. “I attended Eisai Gakkou, so I feel a strong attachment to it and those affiliated with us. I do as they tell me.” She smiled at the thought of a fond memory. “Some students would call the alumni of my generations ‘dogs of the school’. An endearing term, really. We take pride in whatever service we can provide.”

you are a dancer
With a past and a future
I am just a dog

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