| Asymmetry | Role-Playing | Villains & Vigilantes | The Revolution | Story So Far | Aside |





Scott had been having little luck in his attempt to follow the ten-year-old trail of Whoever It Was via the components needed to repair the zombie tubes; what had been futuristic technology fifty years ago was now easily acquired, if not actually available at the local hardware shop. That left him with the improbable Mr. O. R. Bouros. He was doing some preliminary checks on that name when Stephanie arrived, looking downcast.
    "Thanks for letting me come in late." She heaved a sigh. "Does anyone else want some coffee?"
    "Sure," Felix replied, giving her a curious look. "So how did the press conference go?"
    "Fine. I understand it went... fine," she replied listlessly.
    Scott wasn't even human and he could pick up on that. He looked at Felix, who said, "You did pick up the baseball tickets you said you were going to pick up?"
    "Needle said she thought that would be a good idea?"
    "And...?" he invited.
    "And then a supermodel with 36-D tits came in and crawled all over him." Her lips tightened.
    "Never mind, never mind. Just go back to work." She went into the bathroom.
    "I don't think she's happy," Scott observed.
    "No," Felix agreed.
    "Should you talk to her?" He was guessing that this had to do with pheromones, or something.
    "Yes, I will. I should." He got up as the door bell rang with a Federal Express delivery. "I'll sign for it." He opened the envelope as he walked back towards his desk; its contents caused him to go very still, a shocked expression quickly replaced by one of concern. "I have to go out of town for a few days," he announced flatly.
    "Everything'll be fine. Larry should be back tomorrow." He looked stunned. "I must go." The door closed behind him before Scott could marshall any questions.
    Stephanie came out. "Sorry, I'm feeling better. Where'd Felix go?"
    "He got a package from Federal Express and ran out the door." He'd dropped the envelope, Scott noted, which was uncharacteristically careless. No return name, just an address from a tiny town in southern Greece, near Athens. He took a look at what his recently-departed employee had been working on; two projects, one a recent bills-paying commission and one an inventory of the items from the Indian Ocean dig, with notes written after them in Greek letters. Probably in code on top of that, knowing the Sphinx.

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© 2001 Rebecca J. Stevenson