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xxxxxxxxx Chapter 3: If you ain't cheating, you ain't trying.
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"Pass the entrance exam to Eden Academy and make friends with certain children, particularly Damien Desmond. Work to become a member of the elite Imperial Scholars group, which requires me to be awarded eight 'stellas' or stars. My primary goal is to be on such good terms with the families, again, particularly the Desmond family, that we are invited to their estates for social events."
"That is correct," he agreed. "These families are the most elite, most powerful, and most reclusive in Ostania. The only way to arrange meetings with them is to become part of their social group, and the most practical way of doing that is to have a child become part of the same school group as their children."
"I understand, Father," I said solemnly. "I will become one of the top students at Eden Academy."
"To accomplish this, our first goal is for you to pass the entrance exam. I have some materials coming that will assist us in this goal."
"Materials?" I asked.
"Study guides, textbooks…"
I smiled in anticipation.
"…and a copy of the exam and the answers to the questions." 'Will she be concerned about cheating?'
"Wonderful, Father. Any methods may be used to complete our goal, yes?"
He nodded again in approval.
I gave him a grin. "And as the old saying goes, 'If you're not cheating, you're not trying.'" I grew serious again. "Although I'm confident in my ability to pass most tests, especially any for a normal girl my age, I do have a few weak areas in my knowledge. None of the orphanages I stayed at had any history books, and I only read a few while staying with families. Also, while I can fake it a little, my manners are not those of the upper crust. I will require training in how to act properly. I may also require help with proper pronunciation if I am to fit in."
"Those are all very good points, Anya. I'll see about getting appropriate study material." He made a hmm sound. "I will be able to teach you most of it, but I might have to bring in some experts."
"I can speak, understand, read, and write in albionese about as well as I speak germanian. However, I only know a few words in russcovia and francian. My accent is also terrible." I paused as another thought hit me. "Oh, and my handwriting is bad. I haven't had much time to practice."
Loid smiled happily. "All of those are valid concerns, but you won't be expected to be perfect at the beginning. So long as you pass the exam, we should have time to bring you up to acceptable levels of proficiency. And with a child as intelligent and composed as you are, I shouldn't have many worries."
"Just remember. You don't throw me away at the end of this, and I'll do whatever you need," I reminded.
We shook on it once more.
After that, we went shopping. At first, he didn't want to take me, which is understandable. From personal experience I can tell you that shopping with children is worse than going clothes shopping with a girlfriend. But I pointed out that there were things I needed he probably wouldn't guess, and most of all, I needed some books.
As a bit of a bibliophile, not having ready access to reading material in this life had suuuuucked. I read once in a Heinlein book that reading withdrawal was as bad as coming off cocaine, though not as bad as heroin.
Shopping went pretty smooth, though. Got some soap and shampoo suitable for a girl. Some new underwear, a couple of simple dresses, some food, toiletries, and some writing and art supplies. Tablets, pencils, pens and such. Books were fast and easy to get. Went to a book store, asked the clerk what books were considered essential in various genres, and ended up with a starter stack of six children's literature books. The only really extra things I got were fruits and some albionish breakfast teas. Rather than cooking that night, we got some food to go. The Turkish worker invasion of the germanys had been a thing here as well, so we had what was basically doner kebabs.
Once we got back, Father said he needed to go take care of some business. He didn't think it directly, but I'm pretty sure he was reporting success to his handler, and maybe handling paperwork stuff. As much as I'd like to pick his handler's brain, I didn't argue. We had already made a short list of important events. My 'birthday', which we were putting as July 12, 1978, to make me just turned six. Grandparents dead, former home was in Rostoak, no aunts or uncles.
With him gone, and honestly since I we feeling pretty tired, I got a bath and went to bed. The bath was lovely. You never really get to be clean and scent free in a run-down orphanage full of snot nosed little brats.
For the first time in a long time, I fell asleep in a clean bed feeling comfortable and safe. For that alone, I'd do my best for the spy who adopted me.
The next day, I got woken up for breakfast.
"You're a good cook, Papa," I informed him, tucking in to freshly warmed bread with honey and jam, and sausage with boiled eggs. "Sorry I don't like the yolk, but I do like the white part of the eggs," I added.
"Is there anything you would prefer?" He asked, mentally glad he had gone to the nearby bakery first thing.
"I like eggs scrambled and over easy, too," I replied. "And muesli with fruit, or sometimes pastries… I'm not very picky, I think." I paused. "Except for solid egg yolk. I don't like it fried or boiled. It's good when its warm and runny in over easy eggs, though."
He nodded, eating his own meal and occasionally glancing at a newspaper. 'I guess any child can be a little picky,' he mused.
"I can eat it, if I have to, though," I added, a little irked at being thought as picky. It was just one thing I didn't like, come on. "I can eat anything and pretend to like it. But if I don't have to, I'd rather not."
He paid my mild protests no mind.
After breakfast, he had an announcement. "Originally, I was going to go meet him myself, but I suppose there's no harm in having him come here. A friend of mine is coming here with those supplies I asked for. While we're waiting, let's get started on test preparation."
"Reporting for duty, Sir!" I snapped, standing at attention.
First thing we did was some writing practice. My own script style was a horrifying amalgamation of loopy french ronde style and plain print. Ostanian normalschrift has some pretty noticeable differences. Also, my spelling wasn't great. I didn't have a lifetime of germanic spelling embedded in my head, just a couple years of semifrequent reading.
Hilariously, in complete counterpoint to how learning usually goes, my fundamentals were lacking, but I was great at the advanced stuff. Except history, again.
I was going to have to do a lot of writing drills. It was going to suck.
Ah, well. At least I wasn't going to be stuck trying to do everything in blackletter. Thank Being X for small mercies.
Father's friend, Frankie, showed up mid-morning with a sack full of books, the application for Eden Academy, and a copy of the test and answers.
Frankie was a kind of nerdy looking guy with bushy black hair and thick black glasses. He had kind of a squareish sort of face and jaw that, on a handsomer man would look manly, but really just made him look lumpy and unfinished. I think he was a bit shorter than Loid but the almost afro hair he had going on made him just a bit taller.
"Hi uncle Frankie! Haven't seen you since before we moved to Berlint!" I said brightly, giving him the hug of an old friend. "Papa said you were going to help me study for the test."
"Uncle Frankie?" he murmured, giving me a strange look. "We've never met before."
Really?
"Really?" I asked, turning to give Loid a look that wordlessly asked, 'this guy can't even play along?'
"Of course, Frankie. You're an old friend of the family, right?" Loid prompted with a tiny smile.
"Silly Uncle Frankie. Of course we've met before. And we'll meet more often now we're living in Berlint, right?" I prompted as well.
He coughed, catching on. "Oh! Oh, yes. Right. Yes, Uncle Frankie is here to help you study." He awkwardly patted me on the head.
I rolled my eyes a little and moved to escape the touch. Headpat privileges are for people who can improvise.
"Like I said, Anya has the potential to be a little professional," Loid explained. "The mission will be considerably easier to accomplish with her active assistance."
"Does she-" Frankie cut himself off, then gave a silent plea with his eyes at Father. 'Does she know you're really a spy?'
"I know what I need to know. I don't ask questions that don't directly involve the mission," I answered for him. "What I don't know, I can't give away."
Frankie looked genuinely astonished. 'Loid wasn't kidding! This child is unreal!'
"I said she was intelligent," Loid added. "And surprisingly discrete. Let's set her up here at the table. We can talk in another room."
"I want to try taking the test without any cheats, first. I'm sure I can pass it, but I know I don't know everything."
It's important to know what you don't know.
At my request, I was allowed to do a practice run on the test, but without any refresher or peeking at the answers. Papa and Uncle Frankie went to Papa's bedroom to talk without being overheard. I very deliberately stayed at the dining table and worked on the test.
It's easy to pretend to respect other people's privacy when you hear everything they think. Oh, and speaking out loud? Uses the same language centers that speaking mentally does. I can hear everything they say.
Which is mostly boring. Some cheerful words of hope about this mission being practically in the bag, some estimates of time frames for the mission, and the things they could do to keep me on top of the academic standings.
Frankie was a spy as well, of course, but he was more sigint, signal intelligence, than Loid's humanint, social sort of spying. This was the mid-80s so computers were rare and expensive, and analog radio and telephone were very much kings of transmission. Fortunately for us, Eden Academy was both stupendously well-funded and on the cutting edge. They had a mainframe and terminal system set up, and while it had required physical access to the hardware on site, he'd managed to get the information.
Apparently, however, the test itself was available in various social circles. The rich and powerful, whose children were obviously going to be accepted, received the test well in advance and had plenty of time to prepare their children to pass. The truly slow or stupid could and would be failed out, but even an unexceptional child could be coached to pass given enough time.
I also gleaned a few details about Father's spy moniker 'Twilight'. Frankie was proud of it, and really considered it to apply to the both of them, as they were partners, though he deferred to Father in terms of leadership and ability. Father didn't think much about the title, other than the useful fact that rumors of 'Twilight' activity in a place usually sent the local authorities into a frenzy.
I couldn't afford to just listen to them all day, though, so I tuned them out and focused on the test.
Whew, man, let me tell you. They're not fucking around with this entrance exam. If you weren't one of the elite, carefully coached to pass, you'd have to be the kind of young genius the powerful like to groom into useful servants. This was a test for six year olds. First graders, in american terms. It presumed functional literacy and mathematics, and went right past 'See Spot run. Spot is the name of the _?' and straight to 'The superlative form of the word 'bad' is _."
Damn, son. I mean, obviously I know the answer, it's not hard. But I'm an adult. I should be expected to know the answer. And if this is just the entrance exam stuff, how god damned hard is this stuff going to be? I'm smart, and I have a great memory. I am not, however, actually a genius with a photographic memory. I'm just cheating my ass off with decades of extra experience.
Six year olds? More like sixth graders. This was going to be a lot more work than I thought.
I had a headache by the time I was through with the test and handed it over to the adults. Father got Frankie to grade it, using the answer sheet he'd stolen.
While he did that, I got tea and some fruit from Father and collapsed on the couch. My butt was a little sore, too. Working at the dining room table had involved a stack of books and a cushion to elevate my tiny loli ass high enough to reach the top. Being small sucked.
"I'm going to need my own desk and chair for studying," I pointed out. "We probably should personalize the house a bit more, too. Some pictures on the walls, some posters or something."
Father agreed.
Waiting for the test to be graded, I also had cause to wonder how my memory worked. I had the brain of a six year old, right? Well, actually, probably more like a four or five year old, and I was psychic, but still. How did my past life memories, possibly written in my soul, get accessed by my physical thinkmeats? I don't even have a hypothesis.
In the end, Frankie deemed that I had passed with a correct percentage of 92%, which I was a bit offended by. I mean, yes, the test was hard for a six year old, but I am an adult. Even allowing for several history questions I knew I had guessed at, it should have been better than a 92.
I felt stupid after I reviewed the ones I missed with the correct answers, though. Little details half remembered tripped me up. Also, my spelling tended to be interpretive rather than correct.
Ah, well. Can't remember everything. Both Frankie and Father were convinced that I'd have no trouble getting into the academy with a 92. And after some review and practice over the next few days? I'd ace that test.
Of course, when, days later, I found myself in a large auditorium full of fidgeting, complaining, mentally screaming children, it was a bit of a different story. It's hard to concentrate in that kind of noise, even if it was just brain noise for the most part. Headache central. Like, migraine. Terrible.
I passed, of course.
With a 99%. I was not happy. All that and I still missed one?
Talk about a blow to the old adult ego.
Neither Father nor Frankie were upset, though. 99% on a test as exacting as the Eden Academy entrance exam was pretty much a guarantee for acceptance. I was rewarded with a bit of a shopping spree to fill out my room.
Things were looking great. I was feeling healthier and more energetic with good nutrition, I had new, clean clothes, I got a haircut, I had books to read, snacks, everything I'd missed except for the collective entertainment resource of several decade old internet.
Then the letter came from Eden Academy, inviting us to the secondary exam.
A three person interview.
No exceptions would be made, not even for death or illness. Only children from proper families were allowed to attend Eden Academy, no matter what they scored.
We had a child.
We had a Pa.
There is no Ma.
Chapter 4: The spy who pretended to love me.
Several days passed. The first, and most obvious thing for my father, the secret Westalian agent 'Twilight' to do, was to simply contact his handler and request the addition of a female spy to the team.
A fellow spy could be read into the mission, would be practiced in deception, and could easily be ordered into the role.
Perhaps that's why we couldn't get one. It would be too easy.
Does this world run on narrative structures? I mean, I'm already pretty convinced that there is literally a higher power arranging things. I don't have any proof, I mean, I suppose it's statistically possible that somewhere in the infinite infinities of the omniverse I, an otherwise fairly ordinary person, could be reborn as a loli telepath and adopted by a cold war spy. Infinity means infinite possibilities, after all.
But as much as I try to be a logical being, I am only human, and I can't help but anthropomorphize. This is just so similar to stories I've read and dreamed up that calling the mysterious forces that put me in this situation 'Being X' is compulsive.
I'm not even mad, like Tanya. I genuinely appreciate this second chance. This place is pretty neat. I like living again. There's a world of possibilities here, I mean, it's similar to my original world, and I'm far enough back in time that with some hard work, I could be the next Steve Jobs, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk, Larry Page, Sergey Brin, Pierre Omidyar, all rolled into one.
I could fucking RULE this place.
AND I have psychic powers?!
If Being X wants me to, I'll build a billion dollar cathedral and found a brand new church dedicated to whatever it wants.
I mean, yes. As an intelligent, logical person, I see the inequalities of this stupidly elite school for the children of the rich and powerful. It may educate, but it's primary mission is to keep the power in the hands of the powerful and out of the hands of the plebeians. Wealth disparity and the problems of late stage capitalism are known to me.
Oh, and I keep forgetting, but this is the cold war, and the looming threat of a potential nuclear exchange is a very real issue that I sort of gloss over because most of my life experience is in a world where WW3 is a distant and unlikely event while brushfire wars and terrorism are more immediate threats.
All that sucks. It's unfair. Okay, I valued free will enough that I wouldn't blame God for the evils perpetuated by man. The freedom to be awesome is valuable enough to be worth putting up with the shitheads being free to suck, but still, I had a hard time giving the Abrahamic God any real credit. God, to me, if it existed, was probably more of a 'wind up the universe and let it go to see what happens' sort of deity than one that would actually poke around with miracles and want worship.
A God that would poke around with miracles, but still leaves the vast majority of the world in such a state? That wasn't the kind of God I would worship. I had Opinions.
So then, why would I enthusiastically worship this 'Being X' god or God if it desired?
Because everyone has a price, and a new, much more interesting and pleasant life was more than enough to pay for me. The potential of this world was far above and beyond my dreams, you just don't know. Even if I failed, and died penniless and obscure and in pain in some sort of eastern european shithole whorehouse, I would have no beef with this God.
Because if that happened, I could see it as my own failure. Maybe, if Loid hadn't shown up and adopted me, I might have been a little more bitter. Starting off as an orphan in fucking bizzaro East Germany is hard mode, after all. But I've got advantages now. I've got all the potential in the world, and some actual help from some people I could respect.
If I fuck up and squander this the way I did my last life, well.
That's on me.
But as determined as I am, I'm also nervous. This is SUPER IMPORTANT and I DO NOT want to FUCK this up.
So when father came home with bad news, telling me, both through inadvertent mental comments and actual words, that the recent past had seen too many Westalian female operatives killed or exposed, and there were none that fit the requirements for our mission available, I got a little upset.
Not screaming or crying or anything, but after a little bit of sitting around, both of us wondering what we were going to do next, I did have some stomach upset and had to go to the bathroom.
I had to calm myself down. I could not afford to freak out every time some little problem cropped up. Was I not secretly an adult? Was I not capable of mastering my emotions, buckling down, and overcoming obstacles? I had a goddamn job to do! Straighten up and don't be a pussy, me!
"Why are your cheeks so red?" Father asked me when I returned to the living room.
'Because I was slapping sense into someone,' I didn't say. Instead, I ignored the question.
"So what's our next step?" I asked.
"I put in a request for outside assistance. It may not be granted, so we keep looking. I'm actually thinking I will see if Frankie can fill the role."
I gave him a dubious look. "Uncle Frankie? Uncle 'I've never seen this child before in my life,' Frankie? Big square head, built like a fireplug?"
Loid winced a little. "While it's true he has no talent for people, he can act if he's properly prepared. And true love transcends shallow appearances?"
A day, and a lot of latex mask and makeup work later, we stared from our positions on the couch as Frankie did the catwalk pose in front of us.
Okay. In fairness, you shouldn't judge people based on their appearance. Frankie did look like a woman. Better, even, than many drag queens or trans women I've seen. Father was truly skilled, and worked with his features instead of just trying to cover them up. Unfortunately, that meant that Frankie ended up looking about sixty years old, or maybe an eastern european forty, chubby, moderately wealthy, and slightly vain. Too much rouge on the cheeks, far too elaborate earrings, winged eyeglasses, and a perm.
In a bingo parlor, or church, Frankie wouldn't get a second look.
But here…
Whoof, damn she ugly.
"It's no good, I suppose," Loid said regretfully. "Looks like it's impossible for you to play the mother, Frankie."
"We need a Ma, not a Grandma," I agreed sadly.
"With your skills, why couldn't you have done better?" he asked, rather annoyed.
"There are limits," Loid countered. "Masks add to your features, they can't take them away. You've got a large head, Frankie."
Frankie fumed and staggered off in his high heels to change back.
Loid plotted.
Me? I worried.
This was seriously a deal breaker. If I was going to get into this school, I needed a mother. If I couldn't get into the school, the mission was a failure. Loid's handlers weren't going to put up the money or effort I needed to have an acceptable living situation until I was an adult, not for a failed mission. Most likely, the best I could get would be a nicer orphanage and the occasional checkup.
And I liked Loid. I mean, it took work, and constant mental reinforcement, to see him as a father, but the fact is, I liked his brain. He had a very smooth, orderly mental voice with minimal static. It was soothing. And his job as a spy was fascinating.
Maybe I should just admit I was a psychic? The thought had crossed my head a few times. Surely he wouldn't dump a telepath, a frighteningly useful tool in his line of work, back into the orphanage system.
But… He'd probably tell his handlers. He seemed like a loyal sort, a genuine believer in doing what was good for his country rather than a sociopathic womanizing thrill seeker the way James Bond often seemed to be. Loid's handlers might find me useful enough to preserve as an asset… Or they might cut me apart to see what makes me tick and try to make more of me.
Either way, the more people who knew my secret, the more likely it was I'd be targeted by someone who DID want to cut me open to see what makes me tick.
I did low key plan to tell Loid eventually, but I wanted us to have more of a connection first. I needed him to feel protective, indebted, or, ideally, love for me first. I wouldn't mind being his secret asset. His handler and supporting organization, even if they were mostly good people, would be hard pressed to keep me a secret even if they wanted to. Something always happens, be it now or in the future. Even if I was lucky enough to stay a secret until I was a trillionaire, some Edward Snowden motherfucker would out me eventually.
Would I risk telling him I was a telepath if this mission failed?
I don't know.
There was little I could do to help the situation. Frankie stole employee records and census data. Loid hit bars and browsed the singles ads in the newspapers.
"The problem is, you need a woman who's okay with a previous child, is elegant enough to seem upper-class, and is willing to legally marry you on sight. She also has to be either smart enough to play along, or stupid enough to not notice how irregular all this is," Frankie stated, dropping a huge stack of bios on the table. "If a goddess like that existed, I'd love to meet her."
"Thanks, Frankie."
"Meeting women is hard. I'm not even picky, and I still can't find a date around here," he complained.
"Have you tried just being yourself?" I asked curiously.
"Of course! That's what all the dating guides say!" he griped, throwing his arms up.
I squinted at him. "Maybe… Don't do that? Try being someone nicer." I paused. "Handsomer. You know how to play a role, right?"
He glared at me, then over at Father. "Now even the kid is making fun of me. How is this fair?"
Loid ignored his whining. "Actually, things are tough all over. With the loss of so many female agents, and agents in general, they're sending even more missions my way. Short, simple missions, but it's still cutting into my prep time for this."
He had been disappearing pretty often, at all times of the night and day. I focused on my studies, but had plenty of time for reading, and I had even watched a little bit of TV. The news was interesting from a propaganda perspective, but what passed for entertainment was fun only in the 'wow this is so bad' sort of way.
"It seems that there's been a rash of betrayal and double agents," Frankie admitted.
"It might be good that we didn't get a mother assigned to us if that's the case," I mused as I made some tea. I had to climb up a stool to reach things, but I could do it. "If you had another agent for a wife and she betrayed us, we could all end up shot. I know it's a problem, but I'd like to avoid the risk of a traitor."
Hmm, but I can read minds. Would I be able to catch her before she betrayed us? People don't think about everything they're doing all of the time. In fact, whenever we're pretending to be father and daughter, even Loid's thoughts wouldn't necessarily give him away. He doesn't think things like, 'Oh, here I am with my pretend daughter.' He sinks himself into the mindset.
Really, the only unusual thing about his mental voices, compared to those around him, is how alert he is, always watching and mentally cataloging things like whether or not someone is likely to be armed, or if details don't match appearances.
Frankie took a cup of tea from me, then didn't quite do a spit take.
Huh? Did I say something?
"How do you know about agents?" he blurted.
I blinked. Oh. OH! Oh shit. I looked guiltily over at Loid. "Sorry, Father! We've been so casual while we worked on this problem, I let it slip." I scrunched my nose up, thinking hard and fast. "A-and and and… I just have an active imagination!" I exclaimed, finally getting something I could work with. "I don't know anything, I just have an active imagination, and I like that Spy Wars show on TV." I grinned, fake guilelessly, at the two of them. "Papa and Uncle Frankie are great for playing along, but I know the difference between TV and real life!"
We all kind of looked at each other awkwardly, while I kept the fake, determined smile on my face.
"She knows?" Frankie demanded, once again, not playing along with my improvisation.
Damn it, Frankie, you are such a shitty spy.
"She's obviously guessed. She is intelligent, you know," Loid replied, going back to reading bios.
"I promise to be more careful," I said, cringing a bit. "I'd never slip up like that around people not in the know."
"It's fine. I knew you'd figure it out eventually." Father didn't seem concerned.
"And we're okay with this?" Frankie asked, taking umbrage to the lack of concern.
"What do you want?" Father asked, turning the page he was reading. "Like you said, we either needed someone smart enough to play the role, or naive enough to not notice the irregularities. We got intelligence. It is what it is."
Huh. Father was surprisingly cool about this. I guess I'd kind of expected him to be all Batman type super paranoid if any of his secrets were found out. But then again, he's supposed to be a master of dealing with people. I guess knowing when to trust was just as important as knowing how to deceive.
I sat down with a cup of tea and gazed at him in genuine admiration. Dude had skills.
Patting Frankie on the arm, I said, "It was going to get stupidly obvious when I was asked to plant devices in the homes of my classmates. Realistically, you needed someone like me."
Frankie shrugged and bobbled his head in acknowledgement.
One of our clocks chimed two P.M, and I glanced at it. "Papa, don't forget our appointment at the tailor."
He nodded, glancing at the time, then getting up and stretching. "Mother or not, you'll still need nice clothing for the interview. An off the shelf dress won't do."
I nodded.
"See if you can find any likely candidates in these files, Frankie. We should be back within the hour."
"Alright. Take care, Boss."
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So we went to a tailor. Well, an änderungsatelier, because german. A high class place, like where Father would get his suits, except this one clearly catered more to women and girls, judging by all the dresses hanging on mannequins. And this place was just french enough in appearance they probably called them mannequins, instead of like, some horrifying german frankenword, like schaufensterpuppe or something.
I've been doing a lot of vocabulary review, sue me.
Anyway, I'd been switching back and forth between three different off the shelf dresses since the early shopping I'd done with Father. Now we were going for a whole new wardrobe of the sort that would see me fit in with the children of the wealthy. Thank god Father had an impeccable eye for fashion, even women's fashion.
None of my prior life experiences had prepared me for this kind of experience. I mean, there's getting a tuxedo fitted or something, and then there's tailoring.
Now, I don't much like standing on a wooden stool in just a pair of panties while some woman measures every part of me, but I can deal.
The thing is, I had to keep standing there while more and more dresses were thrown on, eyed critically, then either replaced or put in the keep pile. Not just dresses, but also tights, hose, jackets, coats, hats, scarves, mittens, gloves, and socks.
We'd have to go elsewhere for shoes.
The tailor lady was brusque but professional. She posed me like a doll, I stayed there. Everything was impersonal, her thoughts completely focused on her job, with no time for judgement.
Father sat in the waiting room, musing about the various women. Apparently, the seamstress was married, and that was about all the time I had to listen to his thoughts. However, when the measurements were finished and the modest, yet enormously expensive, pile of clothes were being bundled for the final alterations, I went back to the waiting area to find Father talking with a woman.
I found out after a bit that her name was Yor, and she was a beauty. Tall for a woman, though nowhere near Loid's height, lithe and slender with bundled black hair under a head scarf and bangs down to her modest but noticeable chest. What really stood out to me, even as sexless as I am in this underage female body, were her legs. Long, in black tights, and muscled like a ballerina. She wore short, high heeled ankle boots to go with it.
She seemed nice, and her thoughts were of asking Father to a dinner tonight!
Nice!
Father's thoughts were that she seemed too sharp and intelligent, and would be too risky to ask.
No! Not nice!
"Who's this, Papa? Did you meet someone nice?" I asked, putting extra zing into my steps as I went over.
'Oh no, I almost asked out someone married with a child!' she thought guiltily.
Before THAT thought got any traction, I stepped all over it with the grace of a lumbering water buffalo, which I could do because I was a child.
"You've been sad since Mama died. You need more friends!" I chided.
I almost said he needed to find me a new Mama, but that might be pushing her too hard.
Yor's thoughts went from guilty and ashamed back to hopeful.
Hell, yeah, Father. You suave devil, you. Get you some.
"You're… a single father?" she asked.
He gave her a sadly rueful grin. "Yes, my wife passed two years ago. So I'm raising her on my own, without a woman's touch." 'It would be really convenient if she would pretend to be my wife,' he admitted to himself. 'She's intelligent, but just like Anya, if she plays along, the mission will be that much easier.'
'So, there's no problem with asking him to pretend to be my lover!' she thought jubilantly.
…huh? She what now?
She then asked him that.
Straight out loud, no beating around the bush. Even Father was kind of surprised.
"You want me to pretend to be your lover?" Father asked, once we were outside and just sort of loitering.
"I'm 27, and I've never been married or had a boyfriend," she admitted, ashamed. "And the women at the office are getting nosey. Also, when I was on the phone with my brother, I sort of lied and said I had someone I was going to a party with. So I really need a date. If it's not a bother, do you think you could be my date to the party?"
"Oh. Uh-" Loid began, but she continued.
"I don't have any ulterior motives, and I promise to pay you back," she lied hurriedly, but then trailed off quietly. 'If I don't get a boyfriend soon, even a pretend one, people are going to start guessing my secret! I don't want to get dragged away by the secret police!'
"Understood," Father said, "I'll accept. But on one condition."
"Really?! That's wonderful! Name it."
And then he spun this tale he had come up with and I contributed to. Of a lovely, but dead wife who valued education, and wanted only the best for me. And how he had promised to get me into Eden Academy so I would have the absolute best education and chance at a good life. But how the requirements at Eden were strict and unforgiving, and required all children to be in a normal family of a married man and woman. And the deadline for an interview was coming up, and he needed someone to pretend to be his wife, for the sake of me, the daughter.
Yor was indeed pretty sharp, I gathered from reading her thoughts. That, or she was extremely practiced at dealing with liars. Perhaps both. The whole time, she was looking for tells. Nervous glances, twitches, not meeting her eyes, all sort of things.
The thing is, Loid is literally a professional liar. He's very, very good at it.
So there were no tells, which resulted in her believing him completely, trusting in her ability to detect lies, where a more foolish woman might harbor doubts, knowing that she could be deceived.
Wow. I mean, hahah, she got fooled specifically because she was smart. Papa's a hell of a spy. He'd make a frightening con artist.
Though, I suppose some spy jobs might also be considered patriotic cons.
Yor was moved by Father's tale of love lost and promises to be kept. She thought he was a nice man.
Father, of course, was inwardly planning on how to do this favor for her now, then more, and finally convince her to play along with the marriage.
And you know? From listening to her, I think she would be a pretty good pick. She's either a lesbian, or possibly asexual, because she did not seem physically attracted to him in any of her thoughts, and was more focused on keeping some 'secret'. Unmarried at her age was starting to make her look suspicious in the heavily 'normalized' environment of her office work at one of the government buildings.
This could result in cover for both of them. Loid wouldn't care if she was a lesbian, so long as she kept it discrete, and it'd be even easier for an ace. He wasn't actually looking for a lover, just someone to pretend. And since she was looking for the same thing…
I'm sorry for doubting you, Being X. Though this is another tick on the 'active higher being manipulating events and or narrative contrivances' possibility.
I mean, what are the odds we're going to run into a beautiful lesbian that needs a beard right when we need a mommy?
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"So you've got a date Saturday evening with a girl who wants a cover as badly as you do. That's kinda impressive, Father."
He nodded. "It's an unlikely event but it might be our salvation." He frowned slightly. 'It might be too convenient. The odds of someone learning of my mission and putting her in to be a double agent is low, but so is a woman, who's that beautiful, being desperate for a date,' he mused to himself.
Hmm. Her thoughts definitely didn't indicate she was a double agent. I'll keep an psychic eye on her, of course, but I think she's legit. I better try to keep Loid from talking himself out of a deal with her.
Heh, the man is rightfully paranoid, but I think the real problem here is that he's savvy and intelligent enough that narrative convenience slash literal deus ex makes him suspicious.
"So she's definitely beautiful, and I got the impression she's fairly smart. Being unmarried I could see, but she's never had a boyfriend? What do you think, Father? Strict religious upbringing or just not attracted to men?"
"Ah, that's a good question, Anya," he replied. "I was thinking it was suspicious, but you're right, there are a number of perfectly legitimate reasons for her to be in this position. Nasty rumors about her might even explain why she's so desperate for a date."
I nodded, putting the conversation on pause until we got back inside the apartment. Loid carried the big bags of clothes for us. I carried what I could when I could, but I couldn't contribute much. We still needed to pick up shoes, and it was also getting about time for a grocery run.
Once we got inside, we found Frankie at the dining table, still sorting through various census data, building a pool of unmarried women between the ages of eighteen and forty.
"Good news, Uncle Frankie. Father got himself a date for Saturday," I announced cheerfully. "It's almost as if women would throw themselves at him."
Frankie rolled his eyes, but did look at Loid, who nodded.
"I need everything you can get on Yor Briar. She actually did approach me, claiming to need a date to an event. She's black haired, late twenties, red-brown eyes, and built like a ballerina. She claims she's never so much as had a boyfriend, and was starting to stand out as strange."
"That is suspiciously convenient," he admitted. "Lesbian or strictly religious?"
"Or just not attracted to anyone at all," I added, mildly concerned that Frankie had drawn the same conclusions. "Or it could be even stranger circumstances."
"I'll talk to Frankie about it. Go put up what clothes you can right now, we'll be leaving again shortly."
I nodded, and laboriously dragged the bags of clothing one by one to my room. I felt a little chastised. I'd gotten a little too familiar there. Being seen as a co-conspirator could be a good thing, but equally they probably didn't need my inane amateur comments.
They didn't say anything about it, not even in their minds, but that kind of unvoiced irritation doesn't come through psychic telepathy at all.
So anyway. Most of the stuff we'd bought was custom tailored, made right there in the store. None of it was starched stiff, so it could go right in my closet and drawers. The closet worried me a bit, but it had a second, lower pole I could actually reach. I made quick enough work of it that I was actually made it back in the living room before Loid called for me.
"So you'll babysit Anya Saturday evening. I doubt you have any trouble. We'll grab some snacks while we're out," Loid finished.
"What about when the both of us need to do something?" he asked.
"We'll hire a sitter. Anything suspicious is well hidden and Anya will tell us if something happens." He glanced over at me. "All done?"
I nodded.
Together, the two of us went shopping.
Shoes didn't take long. Two pair of standard, if high end, girl's shoes, a pair of exercise trainers, and a pair of boots for bad weather. We'd need winter gear eventually but we were fine for now.
Afterward, we hit a grocery store. I never went to Germany in my first life, but I had heard they didn't go for the mega market type stores. Most of the stores we went to seemed more like some sort of bodega type place. Although not the dismal hellscape of 1984 East Germany, Ostania definitely lacked the variety I was used to seeing in the twenty first century.
Lots of fresh stuff, a lot of dried bulk foods, but relatively low in the kind of processed foods and frozen 'heat and eat' stuff I was used to seeing.
I had a particular love of fruit and fruit juices, but here it was pretty much a choice between apple or orange. Snack pastries and cookies were things you got from a bakery, not a grocery store, though sometimes the store was a combo. So for common, extended shelf life snack foods, nuts and hard candies were the main option.
Ostania, like Germany, has a love of hazelnuts. They're decent. Chestnuts are more my thing, and are also common. My favorite nut is the pecan, which wasn't available. Walnuts are good in things but too bitter and woody for me to eat them straight. I personally don't care for peanuts much, but I do like peanut butter. We got both, because I'm not the only one in the house.
Candy is okay. I particularly like anything sour lemon flavored. They had a few options. Again, most people go to an actual candy shop if they want candy.
The main reason I bring this up is because of what happened at the cash register. The old guy manning it rang everything up, told Loid he had a dime in change, and then made a frog croaking sound in his throat. Almost like he was choking.
Except I was listening to his thoughts. He didn't add up shit, he just took Loids money and gave him a dime back. Then congratulated himself for the 'natural sounding ribbit' and making contact with the agent.
I realized I had missed whatever code phrase Loid had given him. Dammit. To sooth my ego a bit, I asked for the receipt and pretended to go over it as we left the store.
"You gave him two twenties," I noted, still looking at the purchase list.
"Hmm?" Loid asked.
"He owed you four fifty-five." I gave him my best effort at a piercing look. "You know he overcharged you. If it was just a matter of keeping the change, he wouldn't have given you a dime back. And he ribbitted." I deliberately raised one eyebrow.
He shook his head a little. "Keeping everything a secret from you was never going to be possible, was it?"
Heh, with my telepathy? No, no it wasn't.
I just smiled and shook my head.
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The dime was hollow and had microcode in it! Holy shit actual spy bullshit. Loid used a jeweler's loupe to read it.
Unfortunately, it turned out to be an emergency mission requiring both him and Frankie, during the Saturday daytime.
So I got to meet my new babysitter. A fiftyish woman with grown kids and too much time on her hands, one Franziska Blucher.
Deranged neighing?
But no. Just a lonely old widow.
Now, I only somewhat resent that I had to have an adult present. Frankly, I even argued that it was a security risk, and I should be trusted alone, but Loid pointed out that the blowback from him being found out to leave his daughter at home alone was a far more likely risk than any snooping busybody.
So I spent the day reading. Knocked out all the children's lit entertainment, and also got some vocabulary work done.
Writing drills suck.
Having an old woman around didn't help. While she praised my diligence, she also wanted to 'talk' and 'play'. Absolutely would not leave me along for more than fifteen minutes before interrupting again. I think she was bored. There was nothing untoward in her thoughts, but this was definitely not how she saw the day going.
I know I should really work on her, get details and suchlike, but I had so much stuff to do and also I'm not good with small talk. Ultimately, we worked out a deal where 'as a reward' after each book I blitzed through, we'd play a card game and chat, and by chat I mean she'd ramble about her kids before they'd grown up and flew the coop.
Eventually, I got tired. My official bedtime was nine, and I sacked out.
I woke up when Loid got home, his thoughts buzzing. It didn't take long for Frau Blucher to hurry off into the night, and when I crept outside my bedroom, I found Loid holding ice wrapped in a washcloth to the side of his head.
"She hit you?!" I exclaimed.
"No, no. This is from the mission earlier. It had some complications, spilled over into our 'date'. I actually messed up and ended up claiming we'd been married for a year," he explained loudly as I hurried into the bathroom and grabbed a suspiciously well stocked medical kit.
He didn't trust me to treat him, but admittedly even reaching his head was difficult, so I sat down in another chair and watched him tend to his wounds.
"Honestly, other than being a little naïve and credulous, she genuinely seems like a nice woman. Apparently the reason she never dated was that she worked as an escort after her parents died and she had to provide for both her and her younger brother, at least until they were old enough to have real jobs."
"Oh, dang, she worked as a whore? That could definitely put you off relationships," I admitted.
"Does that bother you?" he asked. "I'm not going to ask where you learned about prostitution."
"No, no. She did what she had to do, for her family. That's pretty impressive. I'm more surprised you're okay with it. Most men seem to hold prostitutes in contempt even if they go to them themselves." I paused, as he was staring at me with one raised eyebrow. "Hey, you know what most young orphan girls end up having to do for food and shelter. Obviously I wanted to know what was likely to happen to me."
He winced and nodded. "I'm glad we're on the same page. It really speaks well of her, to have that kind of strength and willingness to sacrifice."
I nodded.
"So, some stuff happened," he said, clearly glossing over having actually been wounded. "We actually got attacked by some of my enemies after the party. She seemed to buy my hasty explanation of violent psychiatric patients, which probably means she's a bit dim witted, but she also knocked one out that charged us before I could even react, which was surprising."
"I saw her muscles, and the way she stands," I admitted.
"Yeah, I hate to think how many of her clients, or otherwise, must have attacked her for her to put that much effort into learning self-defense. She's a strange mix of incredibly competent and strong of will, but also kind of credulous. I'm not sure how much I'd want to be around her otherwise, but for our mission, she does seem ideal. She's going to move in tomorrow."
"That's amazing," I said quietly. "I genuinely think you must be the best spy in the world."
"Thanks," he said kind of awkwardly. Inwardly, he disagreed. 'The best spies are completely unknown, though. Even the rumor of Twilight being somewhere gets people stirred up. But I suppose I have had a long streak of good luck. Let's hope it stays that way.'
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AN: There's more written, available on that patronage site.
You can also read my works on space battles and sufficient velocity. And for those of you wondering where the lewds went, they're on questionable questing, but you need an account to be able to see it.
Comments welcome!