Star Trek: “Lessons Learned”– Chapter 1 (continued)

At the remaining sensor station was a female cadet with short, shoulder-length hair in Engineering gold who behaved as though she belonged there.

Where am I supposed to be then? Sarah wondered with growing panic.

She spied Lt. Commander O’Harran looking in her direction. Swallowing hard, she tried to avoid eye contact. She did not like the Exec much, although most of her classmates seemed to tolerate him all right. O”Harran was definitely, in Sarah’s opinion, a member of the “old school” type of Starfleet officer. He seemed to lack any sense of humor in regards in how he dealt with the cadets. One of her classmates had once told her it was because it was his job as Exec to drive discipline in the ranks. Sarah supposed that might be so, although she had always that was the Captain’s job.

The position of Executive or First Officer had always seemed to be a lame one to her. Since the Captain had all of the authority on the ship, the Exec was little more than glorified administrator with rank. Heaven knows she had seen enough of those at the Academy and throughout Starfleet.

The Engineering cadet stepped away from the Science station, heading toward Sarah. As she came near, Sarah could see the telltale tracery of spots beneath the woman’s chestnut hair that ran down her neck and continued below the collar of her uniform. She was a Trill, but appeared to lack to confident self-assuredness of one joined with a symbiont.

“All yours, Cadet,” she said with a nervous smile. “The sensor interface should be properly calibrated now.”

It took Sarah a moment to get over the woman’s method of addressing her. While she was older than Sarah (she guessed maybe in her mid- to late-thirties), Sarah noted that the woman was wearing, other than for the section color, the same uniform as she was, down to the lack of officer rank pips.

“Thanks . . .” was all that Sarah managed to get out before the woman nodded and headed for the turbolift.

Sarah watched her leave, wrestling back her confusion. As the lift doors closed, Sarah turned back and, with considerable relief, assumed her place at her duty station.

Justice Blue: Dinner Plans (continued)

Allison rather enjoyed the surprised expression on Adrianne’s face. She smiled to herself and sipped at her wine, giving her friend an opportunity to recover.

“What . . .” Adrianne stammered. “. . . what did you tell him?”

“I told him ‘No’.”

Adrianne’s eyes widened. “What?” she whispered loudly. “Are you nuts?”

Allison stared back in disbelief. “I barely know the guy.”

“Well,” Adrianne persisted. “Who is he then?”

“Max . . . something,” Allison replied, growing mildly flustered that she could not recall his last name. It was on his business card, she knew, but that was back in her apartment. “He owns an import business of some kind.”

Adrianne’s expression grew a troubled frown. Allison understood why. “Import business” was often used as a euphemism for many of the Family’s front companies used to finance their operations or launder money from them.

“No,” Allison said, shaking her head. “He’s legit.”

“Oh.” Adrianne appeared to be mildly disappointed by the admission.

Allison fought the urge to roll her eyes at her friend’s reaction. She did, however, chuckle quietly. There was something to said, she knew, for a certain element of danger and mystery in a relationship—the whole “bad boy” syndrome—but experience had taught her just how treacherous that could be.

“And you said ‘No’.”

Allison nodded.

Adrianne shook her head slowly and took a long sip from her wine glass.

Justice Blue: Dinner Plans

“Allison?”

It took a second time before she realized she was being spoken to.

“Allison?”

Allison turned her eyes to the woman across the table and forced herself to focus on her. “Hmm?”

The woman shook her head and laughed quietly. “Allison,” she whispered, slightly louder than was probably necessary. “It’s like you’ve been somewhere else most of the evening.”

“Sorry, Adrianne,” Allison said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. “Work’s been . . .” Her hand moved in a vague wave.

“Uh huh.” Her friend studied her for a moment. A slow, knowing smile formed on her lips. “Who is he?”

“Who?”

Adrianne stared back with clear skepticism. “The one you can’t stop thinking about.”

“It’s . . . business.”

“Uh huh.” Adrianne’s smile grew. “Whose business?”

“He offered me a position--“

Allison trailed off as she saw Adrianne’s eyebrows begin to rise. It took her a moment to realize her choice of words. Even as she felt warmth return to her face, her eyes narrowed as she glared at Adrianne. Adrianne just smiled and laughed quietly.

“A job,” Allison hissed with annoyance. She glanced around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. It appeared that no one had, as everyone else at the table seemed involved in other conversations. “A job,” she repeated, trying now to suppress a smile as she allowed her amusement to win out.

“I’ll bet,” Adrianne chuckled. She raised her glass and took a sip of her wine. Her expression grew more serious. “Tell me about it . . . about him.”

“He wanted me to go to Rome with him.”

Star Trek: “Lessons Learned”– Chapter 1 (continued)

She and Anthi managed to squeeze into the third car, edging ahead of a Vulcan in Science blue who Sarah suspected would have looked annoyed had he been willing to allow his emotional to control to lapse for a moment. Instead, he permitted himself a small rise of his left eyebrow, causing Anthi to emit a short burst of giggles as the turbolift doors closed.

A few moments of barely perceptible motion later, the doors parted, revealing the interior of the bridge. Sarah had seen it before during a tour of the ship, but they had passed through it quickly, not giving her or the other cadets much time to take a closer look. She tried to pause, to gather her bearings, but was pushed forward by the momentum of the others trying to exit the lift. Nearly stumbling forward, she stopped a few steps inside the bridge and looked around.

The bridge on this Centaur-class starship seemed larger than she remembered. It had probably been reconfigured for training missions to allow more cadets to be assigned bridge stations during the various exercises, she considered. The problem was that she could not remember to which of the Science stations she had been assigned. She was certain that she had been assigned to the bridge. However, both the main Science station and the auxiliary one were both occupied.

At the main one, situated almost directly behind the command chair, was someone in Medical teal that Sarah did not recognize. Busily working at the auxiliary station was a violet-skinned Saurian in Sciences blue that she recalled seeing around the Academy grounds on occasion. Where was she supposed to be then?

Star Trek: “Lessons Learned”– Chapter 1

- 1 -

Cadet Sarah Harding stood at attention with her classmates. She blinked in bleary-eyed attentiveness. Oh-seven-hundred was far too early to be up, dressed, and ready for inspection. For probably the twentieth time, she fought back a yawn. She had known that the day would start early, but that had not helped her sleep. A combination of anxiety and excitement had prevented her from falling into a deep enough sleep to be restful, fearfully concerned that the she would somehow manage to oversleep.

The cadets were assembled in neat rows in the main shuttlebay of the U.S.S. Yokohama. It was not the most decorated or comfortable place for them to gather, but it was the only area of the small starship, outside of the main cargo bay, that could hold them all. Captain D’harta stood on a raised platform, looking both commanding and pleased.

“Cadets,” she began, her voice amplified by the ship’s internal communications systems. “For many of you, this will be the first voyage of many into great unknown.”

She smiled like a proud parent down at all of them, her dark eyes sweeping over the collection of final-year cadets.

“You’ve all earned it,” she said. “And here’s your chance to show me everything you’ve learned.”

Sarah exchanged a quick glance with the cadet next to her, trying to suppress a broad smile. Anthi had been your roommate during all of her years at Starfleet Academy. She felt like the blue-skinned Andorian was more like a sister than a friend. Sarah noted that Anthi’s long braids looked almost brushed smooth. It looked that she was doing her best imitation of a stoic Vulcan, but Sarah could tell that her friends as just as nervous and excited as she was.

D’harta stared out at them once more, her cinnamon-colored skin shining from the overhead lights. “We depart at zero eight hundred,” she announced. “Report to your stations. Dismissed.”

The ranks of cadets slowly shifted from neat rows to scattered groups headings for the shuttlebay’s various exits. Sarah kept pace with Anthi, both of them hanging back slightly to avoid the crush at the main hatchways. Anthi seems almost to skip with every step; Sarah wondered how she had slept.

They were both headed for the bridge. Sarah has been assigned to one of the Science stations, while Anthi would be manning the secondary Tactical post. It had been due to hard work, and a dash of good luck, that they had both been assigned bridge duty. Sarah had tried never hard not to look overly proud when she had received the news; Anthi had demonstrated no such restraint.

There was short line waiting at the turbolift. Sarah noticed some of cadets, mostly those who were assigned to Engineering duties, heading for one of the many Jeffries tubes in the area. That was fine for them, she decided, but like hell was she going to walk onto the bridge by any other way than through the main lift doors.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

“That is him,” she responded patiently, not really caring if she sounded a little huffy. “I mean the man I saw last night at the D,” she explained. “Not in my bed.” Realizing how that sounded, she quickly amended it with, “Which was no one.”

Thad’s look told her that he doubted that part of her explanation. There was something about his eyes that refused to tell her whether or not he was just toying with her.

“Do you know him?” she asked, hoping the question would cut off any further snide remarks, however playful.

Thad read the screen more closely and then shook his head. “I know a few guys named ‘Max’,” he said. “But he’s not one of them.”

Allison heard footsteps behind her and Thad turned his head slightly.

“Hey, bro,” he called out. “Do you know this guy?”

Scott stepped in her peripheral vision and looked at the screen. After a moment, he shook his head. “I might have read about him,” he said. “But I’ve never into him personally as far as I know.”

“Yeah,” Thad responded with that tone that Allison heard him chiefly reserve for playfully needling his brother. “He doesn’t look like the type to hang out at sci-fi conventions.”

As usual, Scott gave the remark only the barest hint of a reaction.

Thad’s expression became serious. “Is he someone we should have checked out?”

Allison stared at the image on the screen for several moments before answering. “No,” she finally said. “He’s just some guy who was at the bar.” She gave a slight shrug. “I’ll probably never see him again anyway.”

Not and have him know it, she added silently.

“Your call,” Thad shrugged, finishing the donut. He brushed the crumbs off his fingers, letting them fall onto the carpet. “Scott and I have some things to do,” he said. “I don’t know if we’ll be back before five.”

Allison nodded, reading between his words that she would be alone and should plan to lock up.

“Have . . . fun?” she offered tentatively, half-jokingly.

The two brothers exchanged a quick glance before Thad grimaced slightly. “Eh,” he grunted softly.

They left a moment later. Allison noticed that neither of them was carrying a briefcase, notepad, or any papers. Wherever they were off to, it was probably not directly related to this business. Thad’s attitude, though, told her that was not entirely for pleasure either. She quickly dismissed the matter from her mind.

After taking a moment to place security system on “Active” mode for the rest of the office, she returned to her investigation of the mysterious man named Max.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

A few hours later, Allison was studying his image on the screen. According to the press releases and biographies that she had located, he was exactly who he had claimed to be. Some of the reports hinted at his connections, or at least unsubstantiated involvement, with several known organized crime figures. These proved to be little more than what appeared to be innuendo intended to elicit either a response or official investigation, neither of which ever came.

Thad wandered past as she was reading one of the more florid articles. It had been authored by someone who claimed to be a former employee. Allison had noted his name and planned to run a separate search on him later to establish his level of credibility.

“That the guy who made it between your sheets last night?” he asked, biting down on a chunk of donut.

Allison felt herself flush. Part of it came from embarrassment, and part from her irritation with Thad. It was times like this that she wanted to scream at him for behaving like a sexist pig. He did it in such a disarming, light-hearted way, though, that she found it difficult to work up enough anger to actually cut loose on him.

She did, however, briefly considered blanking the screen. Doing that, though, would seem almost more incriminating than what she was really doing—which was actually nothing more serious than using the computer to conduct personal business on company time.

“No,” she answered, hoping the slight edge in her tone would convince him to drop the subject.

“Oh?” he said, coming around to get a better look at the display. “It was someone else?”

Before she could retort, he went on.

“Too bad,” he said, taking a closer look. “He’s good looking,” he offered, taking another bite of the donut. “I’d do him.”

She found it difficult for her to know, when he made comments like that, just how serious he was. She had heard vague, off-hand remarks that could be interpreted that he was comfortable entertaining either gender in his bed, but she had never witnessed anything herself to prove those stories true or not. The best thing, she decided, was to just let the remark pass.

Grimaulkin: “Facets” (continued)

“Who the hell are you?” Grimaulkin growled.

His ferocity did not have the desired effect. It did not echo back from the distant, unseen walls of this place to express his anger.

“And where the hell is am I?” His snappish tone sounded plaintive and weak even to his own ears.

“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” the voice continued, seeming to ignore Grimaulkin’s demands, “how individuals have such interesting depths to their personalities. Like layers of an onion . . . or the facets of a gem.”

Grimaulkin’s head turned to survey the space around him again, seeking the source of the voice.

“If you say so,” he snarled, his voice once again falling flat.

“What do you say we explore yours?” the voice asked. There was something both faintly mocking and yet inviting in its tone.

“Screw you.”

“Shall we begin?”

There was subtle shift in . . . the something that surrounded him. Grimauklin’s eyes darted around, but he found no new sources of light, no changes in the blank emptiness. There came a faint tingling from somewhere inside his body, but could not locate either the exact location or its source.

He felt as though an insect were trapped within him, darting from place to place almost instantaneously: an elbow, a toe, an eyelid . . . He wanted to thrash about, to evict the thing from his body. It was like a vague itch that did not persist long enough for its source to be scratched.

“Our pasts make us so much of what we are,” the voice seemed to muse aloud. “Don’t you agree?”

Soft light, filled with many floating and shifting hues, enveloped Grimaulkin. It covered and flowed through him, filling his vision as the empty darkness had before. This time, there was a definite sensation of motion, although he was not certain that he could have found words to describe it if asked.

The light faded from him. Grimaulkin blinked. He was somewhere else.

Grimaulkin: “Facets”

This is for a friend of mine. Grim is her character, but she asked for help on a new storyline for him.

---

Grimaulkin became aware in darkness. It was not exactly an awakening, for he had no memory of having fallen asleep. It was more that he knew that he was now somewhere other than where he had been. Where that had been, he could not remember.

There was no sensation, but he did not feel as though he was floating. Something kept him in place, a light pressure that tickled at the edges of his perceptions. Experimentally, he moved his arms, articulating them up and down as if making a snow angel in the lightless void that held him. He felt no restraints, but neither did he feel but the faintest of something like air resistance, but wasn’t.

He tested his legs as well. They functioned as they normally would, bending at the hips and knees as he expected. He experimented with walking, but there lacked any sense of movement other than for the motions of his own muscles. Whether he made any progress through the featureless space that surrounded him he could not tell. Only darkness lay beneath his feet.

Pausing, he turned and slowly looked off in all directions. He saw nothing. No faint glimmer of light, no vague halos of distant illumination. Nothing.

“Welcome, Grimaulkin.”

He froze for a moment, startled by the sudden intrusion of the voice. For the first time, he looked upward. Again, he saw nothing but dark void.

Heroic Measures (continued)

The image on the screen shifted. It was a glossy scene from a magazine, most likely retouched for publication, Walter thought. It showed the Sharpshooter dragging a limp Carrion by his collar through a dirty alleyway toward the county jail. Both were bloodied and covered with grime. Had Walter not known which of the two had been the hero, it would been almost impossible to tell from the photograph. As he well knew, the good guys did not always win.

There had also been reports, never proven, that Sharpshooter had performed assassinations for the government in exchange for amnesty from possible prosecution. Even the hint of such activities had caused the highest heroes to shy away from him. He had not been seen, even in his civilian identity, for several months. Among the most prevalent rumors were that he had retired, committed suicide, and left to establish himself as a hero somewhere else with a new name. Wilder stories also circulated, such as that he had dropped from sight because he was now a covert government agent, or was now hiring himself in South America to the highest bidder. The truth was, Walter realized somewhat guiltily, that no one cared enough to find out for certain.

The sounds of people shifting uncomfortably in their seats shifted Walter from his reverie. There was also the occasional cough, or clearing of a throat, as Collins peered around at his audience. He never quite made eye contact, Walter noticed, just allowing his gaze to sweep over those present.

“Where we do we draw the line?” he asked. His accent had diminished now as he posed the question in a calm, almost Socratic tone.

The projected image dimmed and then brightened again to a new view.

Even Walter had to look away for a moment. Not because of the scene itself, which showed only the picture of a man in fierce close-up, but because of his memories of when that particular photograph had been taken. For more than a decade, Alpha had been regarded as among the best of the heroes. He had been a mentor and leader, an example for the heroes and public alike. And then had come his rapid descent into madness. No one really understood why, but everyone did know that his last rampage had cost twenty-two innocent civilians their lives and left two heroes permanently crippled.

Heroic Measures (continued)

Undated Archive Recording . . .

“This isn’t a philosophical argument,” he said, raising his voice for dramatic emphasis. “Seventeen innocent members of the public were killed, dozens were injured, and the authorities are still calculating the costs from the damage.”

The hero could say nothing at first. To hear the events of that evening recounted so directly only served to reopen the inner wounds that had barely begun to heal.

“Couldn’t it be argued, though,” Collins continued, “that many of these so-called ‘super-villains’ would not exist were it not for the existence of their brethren from the opposite side of the law, the heroes?”

“Some,” the hero answered flatly.

‘Some,” Collins repeated, making it sound like an accusation.

Walter wanted to stand and walk away, but knew that doing so would draw unwanted attention. He had heard the familiar swift in Collins’ tone. His Southern accent would become stronger now as he tried to emphasize his points while appealing to the “down home” sensibilities of his audience.

“You’ll note, ladies and gentlemen,” he went on, now addressing those gathered. “That I said ‘opposite side of the law’.” He paused, turning to look at the hero, but not staring directly at him. “I did not say that they were ‘lawful’.”

There was a rising murmur from the assembled crowd. Collins allowed it to subside before he continued.

“Where is the line between good and evil?” he asked those gathered, sounding to Walter every bit like a Baptist preacher. “What is it that makes this man good?” he said, pointing toward the hero. “And this one evil?” He gestured toward the projection of Naja.

A series of renewed murmurs came from the audience. Walter waited. The comparison in this case was quite clear-cut. There was little doubt of the horrors that Naja had inflicted on the city, the destruction he had left in his wake before this hero and the others had finally managed to defeat him. Whether or not Naja would have performed such heinous acts, were it not for existence of the heroes, was debatable, not there seemed to be little doubt in most minds that his deeds far outweighed such considerations.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

It was his turn to nod as a smile slowly formed on his face.

“He must have been pretty good then,” he said, trying to look lascivious, and overdoing it just a bit. “I know he’s no me, but still . . .” He shrugged and attacked the donut again.

No, he wasn’t, she agreed, and then immediately scolded herself. It was all too easy to imagine allowing herself to be seduced by this attractive man-child. From what she had both seen and heard, a lot of women had that same problem, but without her rigid self-control to resist giving into it. What she had told . . . Max the night before had been true. She made it a point never to sleep with the boss. At least, not while he still was one in her immediate organization.

“He was . . . no one,” she finally managed to say, immediately regretting how that sounded.

Thad grinned.

“You didn’t even get his name?” He nodded approvingly. “You have learned well, my apprentice.”

She wanted to scowl at him, but his non-mocking laughter was infectious and she found herself trying not to grin instead.

“Max,” she said, still fighting back a smile. “His name was Max.”

“Sure it was,” Thad agreed.

He stared at her for a moment. His expression gave her no idea what he might be thinking. His eyes, for a change, seemed focused somewhere other than on some particularly female portion of her anatomy. After a moment, he rose, taking a last thoughtful bite of the donut.

“A package is supposed to be delivered this morning,” he announced, suddenly all business. “Let me or Scott know when it gets here, okay?”

“Of course,” she nodded, studying his face for a moment. She knew better than to ask what it might be; they would tell her if she needed to know.

Thad then gave her a coy wink and headed back into the short corridor that led to the lab.

Turning back to her computer, Allison then considered that she really did not know anything about “Max”. She tried to remember if he had given her a business card, but if he had—and she had actually managed to hang onto it—it was probably back in her apartment. Even the card would not be proof of anything. It would contain his company’s name and the name he conducted his business under. There was no reason to believe that it was any more his real name than that belonging to a movie star might be.

As tempted as she was to begin a search on him right then, she forced herself to turn her attention to the task of sorting through the queue of what was now 102 messages. The mystery of who “Max” really was would have to wait a bit.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

The office door was unlocked, but the small foyer and reception area were empty. Only a handful of lights were turned on, which always gave the interior and strange, almost eerie glow. She tapped the panel and brought up the rest of the front lights; she could get to the others once she was past the interior.

Allison smiled when she saw the cup of coffee waiting for her. It might be nearly cold, as late as she was, but she had to give Thad credit. For all of his male chauvinistic posturing (and she knew that it was just that—a front he put forth in order to protect himself—from what?), he was almost varyingly thoughtful. Scott was too, but in entirely different ways.

She noticed that the message light was blinking. That did not surprise her. The mornings when it was not already flashing when she arrived were the exceptions. She was continually amazed by the number of people who seemed incapable of calculating time zone differences and then left semi-irate messages when their calls were not answered promptly at what was actually six o’clock AM in this time zone. It was very likely, she had decided long ago, that there was a direct correlation between the two acts. She also knew that the boys were available by cell phone to anyone that they really wanted to talk to.

After tucking her purse into the lower desk drawer, she tapped the keyboard and then entered her password as the computer display brightened to life. The counter in the lower right corner of the screen stopped at 88 new messages. It was hardly a new record, but it would probably mean a good hour of her time to sort through them all to determine which of them were important, which could be dealt with later, and which were pointless and could go unanswered. This last category, however, often also held the most interesting ones—interesting covering the range from intriguing to laughingly outrageous.

Thad strolled into the room, munching on what seemed to be some kind of a large donut. At first, Allison’s mouth watered at the sight, and then her stomach sent a warning of how it might respond to her sending such a delicacy its way. She glanced away quickly, hoping that Thad had not noticed her momentary flush of green.

“You’re late,” he offered matter-of-factly, perching on the edge of her work surface.

She nodded, unable to take her eyes off the motions of his mouth as he chewed the donut.

“I . . . overslept.”

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

The young man smiled at her again and then looked thoughtful. He studied her for a moment before turning his head to shout over his shoulder.

“Hey, bro? Did you call for someone about helping us out here?”

There was a new set of footsteps and another young man stepped into view. He was dressed in a more professional manner, but it still was not a suit. His expression was much more reserved than his colleague. There was something serious and sad in his eyes. No, she corrected herself, not sad—vaguely haunted? She could not take her own eyes off them for several moments.

“Yeah,” he answered, seeming slightly puzzled. “But I just called them this morning. They said they’d probably need a day or two . . .” He paused as he got a close look at Allison.

Somewhere behind those eyes she knew that he was appraising her, although in a much more subtle and restrained way than his partner was. She usually did not mind, but it seemed very unprofessional and not at all the behavior she would expect from a firm that needed to protect its reputation. Scott actually did nothing more than just look at her, but the eyes of the other one were definitely following her curves.

“Tough job market, I guess,” that one said, shrugging. He perched himself on the edge of the work surface. His eyes returned to Allison’s face. “You have your résumé?”

She removed a copy from her portfolio and passed it over to him. While he read it, she tried to parse the bits of their conversation in her mind. Called them? A day or two? The interview had been arranged more than two weeks ago, and then rescheduled twice to accommodate the schedules of everyone who needed to talk to her.

“You look extremely well qualified,” the young man said, passing the resume over to his partner. He smiled, offering her his hand. “I’m Thad Raynes.” His grip was firm, but friendly. He nodded over his shoulder. “This is my brother Scott.”

Scott looked up from the résumé. “Ms. St. John,” he asked with a strange calm. “Exactly what position were you applying for?”

The question caught Allison surprise, but the fact that he had asked it, and how he had asked it, further told her that something was not right here.

“Product Marketing,” she stated with more confidence than she felt. “I know it’s only a junior position right now, but . . .”

Thad turned toward his brother. “You know, bro, we could use one of those.”

Scott frowned, glanced over at Allison, and then looked over the resume again.

“Yes, we could,” he agreed seriously after a moment. Something faintly resembling a smile played across his lips. “Before I ask when you can start, though,” he said. “I’d like to ask you one question.”

Allison felt herself tense. As if this whole interview (if that is what it could be called) was not oddball enough, she was about to be tossed something to throw her even further off-balance.

“Sure,” She responded, nodding carefully.

“Which company were you really supposed to be interviewing at today?”

Allison found herself swallowing hard. “Hardison, Dunning & Foster,” she answered far more tentatively than she intended to.

Thad burst into laughter. Scott glared at him.

“Wrong floor,” Thad gasped out. “They’re one floor down.”

Allison felt the color drain from her face. Not only had she just made a fool of herself in front of two complete strangers, but she had probably blown her chance at the real position she had come for. Part of her wanted to scream at Thad for laughing at her; another part just wanted to scream that she had been so stupid not to double-check the office numbers.

With as much grace and composure as she could muster, she retrieved her résumé from Scott and tucked it back into her portfolio.

“If you’ll excuse me . . .”

She turned and headed out the door. As she left, she heard Thad remark, “She’ll be back.” Scott replied with something she could not make out, but she did not care. She needed to find the elevator again—and quickly.

In the end, she did not get the job she had wanted so badly. She never knew if it was because she was late or for some other reason. What she did know was that a little more than a week later she was back at the “wrong” office, asking the two brothers if they still needed someone to manage their office. Somehow, she doubted that she would look forward so eagerly to going to work nearly every morning had she gotten the other position.

Justice Blue: Back to Work (continued)

They never start on time, she told herself, really wanting to believe it. The first fifteen minutes was nearly always spent filling out paperwork that, for some reason, asked for information that was already included on her résumé. Much of the time, she suspected that it was a stalling tactic so she in the applicant would not realize that the company was running behind schedule.

She found the correct office number, gave the words on the name plate a cursory glance without really reading them, and stepped inside.

Her first reaction was one of mild disappointment. The décor was modern and tastefully done; there just was not much of it. She had expected an office of such a large, multi-national corporation (even if it was one of their regional offices, and probably inherited as part of an acquisition) to have more . . . stuff in it: artwork, paintings, a display case or two of products or awards, or at least a desk.

In what seemed to serve as the reception area contained little more than a pair of what looked like second-hand loveseats that did not even match. There was a reception counter with the window partly ajar, and Allison thought she heard movement beyond it.

Maybe they’re redecorating?

She walked over to the counter, noting that while the carpet underneath her shoes looked new, it did not look as if it had been cleaned in a while.

Redecorating would explain it, she concluded.

Peering through the narrow opening, she discovered that there was no one seated there.

On break?

Other than for a small number of ballpoint pens, two notepads, and a handful of other scattered objects, it did not look as though anyone had ever been stationed there.

Okay, Allison thought. This is truly weird. She was certain that she had heard voices coming from inside earlier. Construction workers?

She pulled out her phone and confirmed the date and time of the appointment. It was today, at this time, in this building. Then where was everyone?

Taking a chance, she peered through the reception window again, listening hard for any signs of movement or conversation.

“Hello?” she called out, trying to sound polite. When there was no response, she tried again, raising her voice slightly, hoping that she did not sound too annoyed. “Hello? Is there anyone here?”

There came the definite sound of footsteps coming from the back area. A moment later, a young man came into view. While he was definitely not dressed like a construction worker, he was also not wearing the beautifully tailored suit that she would have expected for someone working at this company. His clothes looked clean, fairly new, and definitely stylish, but it was definitely not a suit.

His smile, though, took her completely by surprise. There was something about it that made her kind of melt inside. The term “bedroom eyes” was invented with him in mind, she decided, trying to banish the thought from her mind before it showed in her face.

“I, um,” she started to stammer and then regathered her composure. More confidently, she straightened and announced, “I’m here about the job.”

Justice Blue: Back to Work

Allison made her way to the kitchen. Nothing sounded good. Nothing. Even the barest thought of food made her stomach consider renewing its rebellion. She knew that she would need coffee soon, but even the memory of its aroma brought a brief wash of nausea.

Thank god it’s . . . her mental train stalled on its tracks. Oh my god, it is Friday, she realized. She glanced at the display on the microwave. It read 2:38. That can’t be right, she told herself, making a mental note to finally fix its clock. She glanced toward the stove: 7:46. It was not much of an improvement, but probably much more accurate. Not that it mattered; there was no way she was going to make it into work by eight. Not that the boys would really care, she knew. They might each tease her about it: Thad in his mostly harmless flirtatious way, and Scott in some kind of dry and ironic sort of way. Would it go beyond that? Probably not, but she still hated being late.

Although they were both about her own age, she kept mentally referring to them as “the boys”. She suspected that a lot of that had to do with Thad’s outwardly adolescent behavior and Scott’s not-so-secret fascination with science fiction and comic books. For two guys who ran what was quickly becoming a multi-million-dollar company, they sure did not act like it sometimes. Still, Allison had read (and heard more than a handful of rumors) about some of the young entrepreneurs who had started some of the most successful companies out in Silicon Valley. Clearly, a grown-up attitude was not necessarily a prerequisite to a launching a successful business. Keeping one going, maybe—but apparently not starting one.

More than once, Allison had wondered how they had managed before she had come along. Well, stumbled along had been more like. As she turned on the shower, seeking distractions from her undecided stomach, she replayed her memories of her first meeting with the two in her mind.

She had gotten off on the wrong floor without realizing it, and then somehow transposed the suite number in her head as she roamed the too-white, artificially-lit corridors looking for the office where was going to now be only two minutes late for her interview. Bad form, she knew, but she had not anticipated the stalled car in the underground parking lot that ate up more than ten minutes before someone took the charitable initiative to help the driver move it out of the way. Any other day, she might have volunteered, but not today when she was dressed for success and in heels.

There was another interminable wait at the elevators. That one she had kind of expected—and it had probably seemed much longer than it was because she was already running late. Still, it all added up to her now being late for what was probably the most important job interview in her life. She had spent months looking for a position like this, cajoling close friends and passing acquaintances alike in an effort to make the necessary contacts. And now, here she was, already on her way to making a bad first impression.