Finding 3101 Cathedral Avenue wasn’t as easy as if I still had a working smartphone with gps and google maps, but with the help of a purchased old-school map of DC and some people pointing the way, I eventually got there. When I arrived I slowed down a bit – but not enough (I hoped) to attract attention – and paid close attention to the building as I walked past. It was a 40′ by 60′ three-story brick building on a corner lot, nestled in between a handful of trees, with a brick stair and walkway leading up to its porch. I continued on by, trying to seem unremarkable. When I was far enough away, I turned into an alley and astralled back to my rented room. Wearing my full set of gear I teleported back to the building for some astral snooping.
The first thing I noticed inside the front door was the surprising lack of any guards or security, although the receptionist looked more than formidable. Instead what I found were cubicles and offices, the whole place a hive of activity. I could hear various conversations, printers, phones ringing and people answering – all the normal sounds of a busy office.
I walked (floated) around, eavesdropping on conversations, looking over people’s shoulders, trying to get a sense of the place. One nearby cubicle had an unkempt heavy-set man in his fifties in a rumpled shirt and tie, picking up a ringing phone. “Mayfair zero,” he said, “Validation code?”
He paused, listening, and tapped a few keys on his keyboard to bring up a spreadsheet of what seemed to me to be random words, letters, and numbers. Placing his finger on the screen on the left side of the row, he traced rightward and read the contents of one of the cells over the phone, “Foxtrot nine seven Echo Zulu Mike India three four Delta.” He hung up the phone.
It seemed that everyone was answering their phones, “Mayfair zero”. I wondered if Mayfair was the name of the building – or the organization?
I continued to pass invisibly among them, unable to make heads or tails of the coded conversations I was hearing. Most of the computer screens had sheets of these codes up; a few had maps of places I didn’t recognize. I floated up through the ceiling to the second floor and continued poking around until I came across a screen with a map I did recognize: my home county in New Hampshire. I froze.
The man at this desk was foreign looking to me, and he spoke into the phone in a language I did not understand. After watching him make and receive a few phone calls all in the same language, I decided not to wait any longer. I leapt into rapid action.
I grabbed his soul, teleported us to the first hideaway place that came to mind (the bathroom stall near the Washington Monument), re-embodied him to remove his body from Mayfair, and yanked him right back out of his body so no one could eavesdrop on our astral conversation.
The man was stunned speechless, jaw slack. He looked at his body, now sprawled at the bottom of the stall, and then at his hands, front and back. He looked up, and was shocked to see me. He remained silent, stunned again.
“Do you speak any English?” I asked.
He shook his head and spoke to me, somewhat dreamily, “No, I do not – though I do speak several languages: Russian, German, French, and of course Farsi.”
“Wait, what?” I was confused.
“I said I don’t speak English.” he replied, starting to really look at me and take me in. His body language spoke of great caution.
“But you’re speaking English to me now.” I pointed out.
Now he looked confused. “No I’m not.” he said, “I’m speaking Farsi, of course, my native language.”
What??
I held up my hand to him, palm outward, in the universal signal for “stop”. I took a deep astral breath.
“And you don’t even know English?” I asked. He shook his head.
“What language am I speaking then?” I asked. “Farsi.” he replied.
A few more moments of silence passed as I considered what the hell was happening – I most certainly did not speak Farsi!
I thought about it. Maybe something about being in astral form enables people to hear other languages as if spoken in their native tongue? Or – wait a minute! What if we weren’t speaking either Farsi or English? Maybe it was our souls speaking to each other, in some sort of soulspeak language?
That sounded about right to me. Cool. I took another breath and un-tensed.
“What’s your name?” I asked him.
“What’s yours?” he replied in a moderately challenging tone.
I smiled at him, though he could not see that under the astral version of my facemask. “The Arbiter.” I answered.
His fists clenched, in obvious fear, not anger. His eyes were wide and he looked like he expected to die at any moment. I could almost see him mentally offering a prayer to the god of his choice.
“Would you rather know an upsetting truth, or be left to believe a comfortable falsehood?” I asked offhandedly.
He visibly steeled himself and answered, “The truth.”
“OK, well here it is, if you believe in an afterlife, you’re gong to be disappointed. When souls leave bodies – and I don’t sustain them with my ability – they don’t vanish or fly off, they fall apart right in front of your eyes. This life is all we have. Sorry.”
That shook him. I could see a denial leap to his lips but be discarded before it could be spoken – he could tell I was being honest with him. Apparently when he said he preferred the unpleasant truth over all else, he himself had been speaking true.
“OK, let’s get down to business.” I said after giving him a few moments to think. “What is Mayfair?”
Defeated, he answered, “A clandestine government-supported independent and off-books organization formed to deal with threats that require such a response. Since Stonefall we’ve been greatly expanded and tasked to deal with the threat of Quantums.”
“Did you know that Mayfair has been killing Quantums, even those with no history of violence or other misdeeds?”
He glumly nodded.
“Why would you support that?” I asked.
This time it was he that took the deep breath as he replied, “If Quantums continue to exist it will disrupt the very fabric of all societies on the planet, leaving us with a completely uncertain future. We have to put the genie back in the bottle before it’s too late.”
I scoffed, “Well, I’m here to tell you that it’s already too late, for at least two reasons. First, because I have found and will publicly expose Mayfair, and second, because no one can kill or stop me, so at least one Quantum is going to be around for a very long time.”
He nodded again. “Will you make my death painful, in revenge? Or will it be quick?”
“Have you killed any Quantums yourself?” I asked. He shook his head. “Then I am going to give you a second chance. Here’s the deal: as of now, you no longer work for or report to Mayfair. If I find out differently I will kill you, and there is no hiding from that, as the Miami mob discovered. Try to be a good man and live a good life, with no more killing innocent people, no matter if they’re Quantums or not. Can you do that?”
He nodded.
“Then go.” I said, and popped him back into his body, making his old one vanish as per usual.
He looked startled, and looked around – but of course he could no longer see me. Gathering his wits, he spoke into the air – but this time I couldn’t understand him. Interesting. His words didn’t sound hostile, though.
I followed him a bit just to make sure he didn’t return to work or call them, but he just took mass transit back to his apartment, packed quickly, and boarded a bus leaving DC.
Now it was time to confront his boss. Bring on Archangel!