"Excuse me..."
A young woman was pushing her way through the crowd to where the Agents were standing. Three 'terrorists' were being led out to police cars in handcuffs, with the forbidding-looking Agents standing watch over them. Eight Agents for three terrorists, and enough cops to put a Dunkin Donuts store out of business. It seemed almost like overkill. Then again, these terrorists had supposedly been responsible for the helicopter that had crashed into an office building a month ago, killing several people, not to mention an assault on a government facility which had resulted in the deaths of scores of police officers. They tended to take that sort of thing personally, the young woman noted.
Standing a little distance apart from them stood another man in a suit, another Agent. Keeping an eye on things, or he seemed to be. The young woman approached her target.
"Excuse me... might I trouble you for an interview?"
The Agent looked at her, startled, and then his expression changed to the sort of contempt he might evidence if she were something particularly disgusting a bird had dropped onto his shoe. "This is a restricted area," he said slowly, enunciating each word just to make sure she got the point. His voice, while low and rather pleasant, was menacing.
"I realize this, sir, which is why I don't want to take up any more of your time, but surely the public has a right to know about the terrorists you have apprehended today." The Agent looked around, almost as though waiting for orders. None were forthcoming. "It doesn't have to be now... say, tomorrow, two o'clock, at the Fleur de Lis?"
He looked down at her. Suddenly she felt very small, and very, very young. "An interview?"
The urge to be a smartass and give him a Webster's definition of the term surged, passed. "Yes."
He looked around again and then back down at her. "Two o'clock ... is acceptable." The Agent turned away from her as though she no longer existed. Probably to him, she didn't.
"Thank you..." she murmured to thin air. Clutching her notebook to her chest, she swirled away in a cloud of skirt and hair and feathers. The Agents who had been minding the terrorists got into the cars behind her and drove away, not noticing as she disappeared into a phone booth. Her smile, enigmatical and secretive, lingered in the air like a photographic afterimage long after she had vanished.
The Agent she had spoken to remained for a few minutes, watching the cars drive away. Then he, too, faded.
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"So, were they the terrorists?"
"What?" The Agent blinked. He hadn't entirely been paying attention to her, she could tell. He probably wasn't actually taking her very seriously. It was okay, she could accept that. The Establishment rarely took the dissidents seriously, which was usually the cause of revolution. In this case, though, she hoped it would be more of a revolution of thoughts. Legs crossed and tucked up under her pale and flowing skirt, she made notes on a pad in some sort of cross between shorthand and Chinese.
"The suspects you apprehended the other day. Were they the terrorists?"
He looked directly at her from behind the mirror shades. "Yes."
"Are you so certain?"
"Yes."
She made what looked like a note. "The trial should go quickly then."
He blinked. She almost expected him to say 'Trial? What trial?' "Yes."
"How did you apprehend them?"
He blinked again. "We applied standard police methods. Our agency is very meticulous."
"I bet."
His eyes narrowed. Again, she almost expected him to ask, 'what's that supposed to mean?' Again, he disappointed her. "I...see."
She closed her notepad. Time to move in. "What do you see?"
Pause. "I beg your pardon?"
"What do you see? You said 'I see,' so you must see something."
"I see a young woman who asks too many questions." It would have been threatening if she hadn't known better.
"If you don't ask questions, you never learn anything new."
"It has been my experience that most," Barely discernible pause. "People who ask questions are not willing to accept the answers."
"That's their problem.":
"Really?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
"I never ask a question to which I am not prepared to accept the answer."
"What if you do not have all the information?"
"Then I may receive an answer that I cannot accept, yes."
"So you are just as flawed as the rest." He seemed almost triumphant.
"I make the effort not to be."
"And what difference does that make?"
"Being aware of one's weaknesses often enables one to mend or counter them."
"Does it?"
"Yes."
Pause.
"Don't you have any weaknesses?" she asked finally, curious.
"No."
Slight smile. "How sad."
He blinked. "Why?"
"Because if you have no weaknesses, then you are perfect. And if you are perfect, then you have nowhere to go, nothing to strive for, no purpose. And if you have no purpose, then your life is boring."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, and struggled for an answer that he would accept. They had come far afield from the original purpose of her interview. At least, the original purpose that she had stated. This conversation was much more to her liking, and much more productive towards her long-term goals. "Because change and growth are what make life interesting and dynamic?"
"And this is a good thing?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
He opened his mouth to retort and then closed it again. He thought about it for a second. "Change is not always an improvement."
"No," she allowed. "But sometimes it is. And is not the risk of devolving worth the improvement?"
"No."
"Never?"
Again the almost-retort, and again the pause. "Statistical probability is close enough to never as to be able to apply..."
She waved all that he had been going to assert into insignificance. "Statistics. I'm not talking about statistics. Well, not really."
He frowned. "Then what?"
"Life."
"Excuse me?"
"Chaos."
Blink. "Excuse me?"
"Chaos theory? Quantum mechanics? Tiny variations in complex systems..."
"I am familiar with the theory, thank you." Pause. "Aren't we a little far afield from your interview?" He sounded annoyed, inasmuch as any emotion penetrated his unflappable veneer.
She shifted her legs under the skirt but gave no other sign of discomfort or unease. "I like this better. Besides, isn't the conversation fun?"
"Fun?" He made the word sound like something from another language.
"Stimulating, if you prefer."
Pause. "In a manner of speaking."
"There. So, don't you enjoy it too?"
A little annoyance. "What makes you think I enjoy it?"
"Would you still be here if you didn't?"
"What makes you think I won't get up and leave?"
"Why do you always answer a question with a question?"
Definite annoyance. "Why do you?"
She smiled, all joy and sparkling happiness, almost perky but for the center of calm and passivity. "I asked you first."
He made a face that looked almost like he was going to snarl at her, and then it disappeared. "It generates a more... interesting response."
"A more thoughtful response, you mean."
Pause. "In your case, yes."
Pause. "I'm afraid I just do it to be annoying. I don't really have a reason other than to keep you talking. I find that I enjoy your company."
He blinked. Apparently the thought that someone could genuinely enjoy his company was alien to him. "Oh."
She looked down shyly, fiddling with her pen and notepad, tapping one against the other. "Actually, it's one of the techniques they teach you in journalism school... how to draw information out of people. How to ask questions that aren't leading, all that kind of thing." She grinned. "I think they teach the same thing in police interrogation courses and law school."
"Do they?"
"I think so..."
The Agent stared down at his hands as though he were seeing them for the first time. "They ... teach something similar to us."
She stared It was the first time he'd said anything about himself, and it was earlier than she had ever expected it to be. It threw her off balance, and she didn't know what to do or say.
"Is it hard?"
She blinked, shook her head. "Is what hard?"
"Interrogating people."
"I don't..." she paused. "I try not to interrogate people."
"Why?"
"People tend to give less information when they feel threatened. Or at least, less reliable information."
The import of the assertion seemed to strike them both at the same time, although they clearly drew conclusions as different as chalk to cheese. She looked at her clear yellow plastic watch and bolted up from her chair like a shot. The sudden movement caused a slight twitch in the Agent, the hair trigger reaction she had expected and prepared for. "Crap... I'm late. I have to go... report to the boss. Um..." she ran her fingers through her hair, eyes down at the table and reluctant but pleased. "I really enjoyed talking with you. Are you free tomorrow?"
He blinked. Again, she had managed to catch him off guard.
"Never mind. Tell you what, I'll stop by the park around noon and wait fifteen or twenty minutes. If the weather's nice, and if you're here, we can go and play chess or something in the park, okay?"
She didn't wait for an answer, but instead bounded off the chair and down the street, mainly dodging cars that screeched and honked afterwards. The Agent stared after her for a second and then turned and walked away. After a few meters she looked back. He had disappeared.
A young woman was pushing her way through the crowd to where the Agents were standing. Three 'terrorists' were being led out to police cars in handcuffs, with the forbidding-looking Agents standing watch over them. Eight Agents for three terrorists, and enough cops to put a Dunkin Donuts store out of business. It seemed almost like overkill. Then again, these terrorists had supposedly been responsible for the helicopter that had crashed into an office building a month ago, killing several people, not to mention an assault on a government facility which had resulted in the deaths of scores of police officers. They tended to take that sort of thing personally, the young woman noted.
Standing a little distance apart from them stood another man in a suit, another Agent. Keeping an eye on things, or he seemed to be. The young woman approached her target.
"Excuse me... might I trouble you for an interview?"
The Agent looked at her, startled, and then his expression changed to the sort of contempt he might evidence if she were something particularly disgusting a bird had dropped onto his shoe. "This is a restricted area," he said slowly, enunciating each word just to make sure she got the point. His voice, while low and rather pleasant, was menacing.
"I realize this, sir, which is why I don't want to take up any more of your time, but surely the public has a right to know about the terrorists you have apprehended today." The Agent looked around, almost as though waiting for orders. None were forthcoming. "It doesn't have to be now... say, tomorrow, two o'clock, at the Fleur de Lis?"
He looked down at her. Suddenly she felt very small, and very, very young. "An interview?"
The urge to be a smartass and give him a Webster's definition of the term surged, passed. "Yes."
He looked around again and then back down at her. "Two o'clock ... is acceptable." The Agent turned away from her as though she no longer existed. Probably to him, she didn't.
"Thank you..." she murmured to thin air. Clutching her notebook to her chest, she swirled away in a cloud of skirt and hair and feathers. The Agents who had been minding the terrorists got into the cars behind her and drove away, not noticing as she disappeared into a phone booth. Her smile, enigmatical and secretive, lingered in the air like a photographic afterimage long after she had vanished.
The Agent she had spoken to remained for a few minutes, watching the cars drive away. Then he, too, faded.
-
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-
"So, were they the terrorists?"
"What?" The Agent blinked. He hadn't entirely been paying attention to her, she could tell. He probably wasn't actually taking her very seriously. It was okay, she could accept that. The Establishment rarely took the dissidents seriously, which was usually the cause of revolution. In this case, though, she hoped it would be more of a revolution of thoughts. Legs crossed and tucked up under her pale and flowing skirt, she made notes on a pad in some sort of cross between shorthand and Chinese.
"The suspects you apprehended the other day. Were they the terrorists?"
He looked directly at her from behind the mirror shades. "Yes."
"Are you so certain?"
"Yes."
She made what looked like a note. "The trial should go quickly then."
He blinked. She almost expected him to say 'Trial? What trial?' "Yes."
"How did you apprehend them?"
He blinked again. "We applied standard police methods. Our agency is very meticulous."
"I bet."
His eyes narrowed. Again, she almost expected him to ask, 'what's that supposed to mean?' Again, he disappointed her. "I...see."
She closed her notepad. Time to move in. "What do you see?"
Pause. "I beg your pardon?"
"What do you see? You said 'I see,' so you must see something."
"I see a young woman who asks too many questions." It would have been threatening if she hadn't known better.
"If you don't ask questions, you never learn anything new."
"It has been my experience that most," Barely discernible pause. "People who ask questions are not willing to accept the answers."
"That's their problem.":
"Really?"
"Yes."
"And you?"
"I never ask a question to which I am not prepared to accept the answer."
"What if you do not have all the information?"
"Then I may receive an answer that I cannot accept, yes."
"So you are just as flawed as the rest." He seemed almost triumphant.
"I make the effort not to be."
"And what difference does that make?"
"Being aware of one's weaknesses often enables one to mend or counter them."
"Does it?"
"Yes."
Pause.
"Don't you have any weaknesses?" she asked finally, curious.
"No."
Slight smile. "How sad."
He blinked. "Why?"
"Because if you have no weaknesses, then you are perfect. And if you are perfect, then you have nowhere to go, nothing to strive for, no purpose. And if you have no purpose, then your life is boring."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
She opened her mouth, closed it, and struggled for an answer that he would accept. They had come far afield from the original purpose of her interview. At least, the original purpose that she had stated. This conversation was much more to her liking, and much more productive towards her long-term goals. "Because change and growth are what make life interesting and dynamic?"
"And this is a good thing?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why not?"
He opened his mouth to retort and then closed it again. He thought about it for a second. "Change is not always an improvement."
"No," she allowed. "But sometimes it is. And is not the risk of devolving worth the improvement?"
"No."
"Never?"
Again the almost-retort, and again the pause. "Statistical probability is close enough to never as to be able to apply..."
She waved all that he had been going to assert into insignificance. "Statistics. I'm not talking about statistics. Well, not really."
He frowned. "Then what?"
"Life."
"Excuse me?"
"Chaos."
Blink. "Excuse me?"
"Chaos theory? Quantum mechanics? Tiny variations in complex systems..."
"I am familiar with the theory, thank you." Pause. "Aren't we a little far afield from your interview?" He sounded annoyed, inasmuch as any emotion penetrated his unflappable veneer.
She shifted her legs under the skirt but gave no other sign of discomfort or unease. "I like this better. Besides, isn't the conversation fun?"
"Fun?" He made the word sound like something from another language.
"Stimulating, if you prefer."
Pause. "In a manner of speaking."
"There. So, don't you enjoy it too?"
A little annoyance. "What makes you think I enjoy it?"
"Would you still be here if you didn't?"
"What makes you think I won't get up and leave?"
"Why do you always answer a question with a question?"
Definite annoyance. "Why do you?"
She smiled, all joy and sparkling happiness, almost perky but for the center of calm and passivity. "I asked you first."
He made a face that looked almost like he was going to snarl at her, and then it disappeared. "It generates a more... interesting response."
"A more thoughtful response, you mean."
Pause. "In your case, yes."
Pause. "I'm afraid I just do it to be annoying. I don't really have a reason other than to keep you talking. I find that I enjoy your company."
He blinked. Apparently the thought that someone could genuinely enjoy his company was alien to him. "Oh."
She looked down shyly, fiddling with her pen and notepad, tapping one against the other. "Actually, it's one of the techniques they teach you in journalism school... how to draw information out of people. How to ask questions that aren't leading, all that kind of thing." She grinned. "I think they teach the same thing in police interrogation courses and law school."
"Do they?"
"I think so..."
The Agent stared down at his hands as though he were seeing them for the first time. "They ... teach something similar to us."
She stared It was the first time he'd said anything about himself, and it was earlier than she had ever expected it to be. It threw her off balance, and she didn't know what to do or say.
"Is it hard?"
She blinked, shook her head. "Is what hard?"
"Interrogating people."
"I don't..." she paused. "I try not to interrogate people."
"Why?"
"People tend to give less information when they feel threatened. Or at least, less reliable information."
The import of the assertion seemed to strike them both at the same time, although they clearly drew conclusions as different as chalk to cheese. She looked at her clear yellow plastic watch and bolted up from her chair like a shot. The sudden movement caused a slight twitch in the Agent, the hair trigger reaction she had expected and prepared for. "Crap... I'm late. I have to go... report to the boss. Um..." she ran her fingers through her hair, eyes down at the table and reluctant but pleased. "I really enjoyed talking with you. Are you free tomorrow?"
He blinked. Again, she had managed to catch him off guard.
"Never mind. Tell you what, I'll stop by the park around noon and wait fifteen or twenty minutes. If the weather's nice, and if you're here, we can go and play chess or something in the park, okay?"
She didn't wait for an answer, but instead bounded off the chair and down the street, mainly dodging cars that screeched and honked afterwards. The Agent stared after her for a second and then turned and walked away. After a few meters she looked back. He had disappeared.