Chapter 2 - Part 1?

Well...this is really really lame (in my opinion), so sorry for that much, Sara. At least your character came out alright, considering the shitty chapter she had to work with :o

Anyways, this is the first half and possibly end of Chapter 2, simply because I'm tired of trying to think of something to write for this part. Beginnings are oh so dull...

Just in case it isn't very clear, Jacky does in fact work for the government, but is also a fairly well-known political activist. It's not explained in detail here, but there's a war going on in China at the moment, which is why Australia has closed its borders to everyone and is working to deport everyone it can, and this is what Jacky is fighting against at the moment and what they're discussing in this scene. Just to clarify a little :)

I'm going to attempt to finish the whole thing, but don't count on it. Maybe I'll just move on and write a second part later if I think I still need to :) But, onward the reading for you, friends. Hopefully thine eyes shan't burn afterwards :P

WORD COUNT: 2610
TOTAL: 8707
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CHAPTER II
ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER

He sat in his red leather chair, surrounded by the false and polished paneled wood adorned with at least a dozen matching glass-imprisoned off-white certificates, each aligned perfectly with the rest in their matching chestnut-colored frames. White wisps of ghostly hair lay caring plastered to a pale scalp, which was beginning to sprout miniscule dark spots from the sun and, of course, from age. Upon his nose--which hung with an unsightly favor of the left side of his face--sat a pair of authentic glass spectacles, perfect clear circles embedded in glistening wire that bent the world in strange old ways. The pale eyes that hide behind the lenses gazed down at the file he held in his hands, thick gray brows knitted in focus. Across from him, in an identical red leather seat, sat an infinitely younger woman, thin and sprightly even in her temporary seated prison. Her leg jittered noticeably as she sat, silent and restrained, but only barely, and her vibrant aqua eyes danced around the room at will, leaving nothing untouched by their gaze.

This must be the biggest waste of time I’ve ever had t’spend, she thought bitterly, her irritability manifesting in the involuntary gnawing of her bottom lip. Finally her gaze stopped and held on the man before her. Must be at least a hundred. Slow as a buggy in ‘Cember, for sure.

As if the look could slowly burn, the man looked up from the file and instead peered at her, as a scientist might peer into the lense of a microscope: closely but without much interest. He spoke. “Miss Thomas,” he began, pulling the glasses off his nose and folding them in a slow and practiced motion before setting them carefully on the desk in front of him. “I won’t waste time in telling you exactly why you’re here. I’m certain you already know that much. What concerns me though, and concerns us all, really, is your constant disregard and disrespect for the basic principles of our branch.”

“And what, if I dare ask, might those be?” the woman answered, swinging the leg to the floor that had been jittering impatiently on the other. She leaned her palms on both knees, leering now. “Unquestioning acceptance and deafness to any opinion but daddy-king’s? If that’s what this gov’ment stands for, then with all respect, Sir…I see no reason t’pologize.”

“And we’re not asking you to,” he responded in the reassuring manner that constantly followed in his voice and annoyed Jacky endlessly. “We like to see our people out in the real world, doing good for the rest. It’s simply your manner, Miss Thomas. You can’t be an open and proud contributor of this government while you’re out telling illegals to run us down. It’s…not good for business, so to speak.”

“Selling politics, eh? Thought politics acted to protect the people, not t’shun ‘em.”

“They are not our people,” the old man responded emphatically, rapping his knuckles against the desk. “They don’t belong here, Jacqueline. They haven’t for a very, very long time and it isn’t going to change anytime soon. No one wants that to change. They like the way it is now. If we take the same route America did centuries ago, letting everyone in the floodgates for free, the Aussie Republic will be nothing but a cesspool filled with loons and criminals and God knows.”

“Doesn’t change the fact it’s wrong. Discrimination pure n’ simple, that is. You’re destroying human rights because a few men in some room away from reality thinks the Chinksees aren’t worth a damn and have no use in this country, so I guess that means everyone bail out, eh?.”

“There’s a war, for Chrissakes. The people are worried. We don’t need the bombin’s and hackin’s that the rest of Britain’s seen. Don’t want our enemies crawlin’ in under the sheets with us.” He paused when Jacqueline didn’t seem to respond right away, and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose where the glasses normally sat. “Look. I like you, Jacky, really. I like to think I’m on you’re side. But I’m not the one in charge of this. There are people higher up than I that are talking of getting’ rid of you altogether--no compensation, no standing, nothing. They want to sweep this under the rug and deny that you have anything to do with us. I want to help you. I think you can do some good from the inside. The people are looking for someone young and fresh and vigorous as you to trust. But I need you to cooperate. You can’t do the old ralls and the public speeches anymore. Just…let it go for a tad, hmm?”

“So ya expect me to simply go and ignore ‘em from now on, eh? Just go along with all this shonky bizzo? Act like it’s a perfect thing to strip innocents of their rights?”

“Don’t be dramatic. Sit down. Come.”

Jacky glared, the heat in her veins surging through her, but she obeyed.

The old man leered back through his lightly steepled fingers where they were suspended above the desk. He sighed once more, letting his wrinkled hands fall back onto the folder he had been holding earlier. He didn’t move it, barely touched it even, fingertips just grazing the manila cover. “Jacky…I have a feeling that this will not be last you’ll hear of this little problem, and I can almost guarantee that this will be the last conversation on the matter that will go smoothly for you. So…I have a proposition for you--an offer--before you lose your job and end up on the streets.”

Jacky breathed deeply, staring into him. It was a game, really, seeing how much strain the other could take simply by the connection of a gaze, and it was a game that Jacky often played and often won. This time, though, she simply didn’t have the care to try. She bent her head downwards briefly, as if summing herself up, building herself, then focused once more. “Fine. I’ll hear it.”

A smile, genuine if light. “Good. Very good.” Now his surprisingly deft hands picked up the folder and flipped through several papers and official documents before finding one he apparently needed. “About a week ago, a few men came to see me about hiring an interpreter, someone who knew the languages well and knew many, but also knew their limits. I sent them back, then. You’d been doing so well of late, I didn’t have the heart to simply ship you off someplace.”

“What someplace?” she asked, growing more impatient. So far this offer didn’t sound too promising.

“The men were from the United States. From ISAS, actually, so really the where doesn’t matter entirely.” Here he paused, watching the disinterest in Jacqueline’s features fade into a momentary confusion which gave way to the just slightly raised brows and relaxation that showed the faintest interest.

“ISAS?” Jacky repeated, a disbelieving smirk bending her lips. “As in, the ISAS? The space program? Why in bloody God’s name would they want me? I don’t know a damn thing about astronomy or…physics, or what-all they do. Sure they can find someone better at the Confederate Nations or…something.”

“They were looking for a very good interpreter, a linguistic expert, who could speak a language soon as learn it. They were looking for the best, dear lass, and I think they wanted you in particular.”

“Oh, come off it.” She seemed angry now, livid even as she lunged forward in her chair, much as she tried to conceal it. It dawned on the man that she thought he was lying, bulling his way into getting her leave early, leave less paperwork for him to fill out in the end. “You really think they wanted me? Political activist who has a job as a translator on some forgetful little tourism tinny and just happens t’work for the Auss’gov? What is this, eh? Are you that desperate t’get me off y’back?”

“Sit down!”

She promptly sat.

There was another slow silence, filled with the tension that silences often accompanied. Another slow sigh followed and broke it.

Outside, a black vehidrone pulled to the gray slab curb, its engines drawling lazily amidst the noise of a thousand other speeding droners, cutting the air like sharks in invisible hazy waters. Their shadows moved as cloudy dark bullets on the smooth street, casting a fluid pattern on the solid black titanium of the vehicle below. Two men exited. Their faces held nothing in them, and the full black sunglasses they wore showed nothing but the reflections before them. It seemed a veil shrouded them both as they made their deliberate way into the large federal building, sparing no glances for the rippling Ionian columns that extended far on either side of the entrance. They passed without notice from anyone but the retinal scanner as they entered, and the vehidrone was gone in moments.

An old balding man and a sprightly young woman sat within a sad and heavy silence in a wood paneled office twelve stories above.

“Jacky--”

“Mr. Bronson.”

A level stare.

“Jacky, listen. I don’t know what they want you for, and I don’t pretend to. But you can’t stay here. Either way you choose you can’t stay here. Do you understand?” Something in his voice made her listen, and slowly she began to realize she had just lost a job that many would kill for. Strangely, though, she didn’t regret the decisions that had led to it. So much had happened since she’d left her home in a dying Cairns to find her own way, a way that passed through countries she had scarcely dared to dream of and that had led her all the way to Sydney, fighting for friend and countryman. At the same time, she knew this might have been the best--maybe the only--means of making a real impact. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t the only one.

She barely noticed the holoscreen light up behind her. A blonde woman in a tight blue suit, older than Jacky but only just, bulged from the screen. Her eyes were blue and empty.

“Mr. Bronson, two agents are here to speak with you. Should I send them?”

“Yes, thank you. I’ll see them now.”

“Yes, sir.”

The holoscreen faded out into blank silence and again lay in dormant blackness.

“Is that them?” Jacky asked needlessly. If what Bronson had said was true, of course it was. Agents were only sent on matters of strict business, generally of the federal government sort and often on the darker side of that.

“Its just a short trip to the United States. A day or two at the most. I’ve already arranged everything for you. Transport leaves in a few hours.”

“Just like that? Guess you really do want rid o’ me, eh?” Jacky hoped the sarcasm and wry smirk covered the hurt that clouded her heart then.

Three quick and even knocks rapped gently against the wood panel door that blended seamlessly into the corner of the room.

“Come.”

The door slid open. Two men in identical stiff black suits entered, their identical true-black sunglasses tucked safely into identical breast pockets. They regarded Jacky momentarily, almost simultaneously, then focused on Bronson once more. Both stood with their hands clasped behind their backs, like scientists inspecting a prospective new breakthrough in a long-unrevealing testing trial. Jacky stood tall and strong, but felt suddenly smaller within, as if everything inside was shrinking beneath a solid outer shell.

“We are here regarding the message that was sent forward on the collection of a Miss Jacqueline Loraine Thomas to be traveling to Seattle, Washington by Intercontinental Air Transportation Services later this evening.”

“Won‘t even give me the option t‘think on it?” Again the two agents turned to her, summing her up. Not what they had expected perhaps. Jacky didn’t bother to notice if their young faces twitched with electrical surprise. She never put much stock in the emotions of clockwork vessels. “Sorry, good sahs, but I’ve other plans this aft. Things t’do and the like. Places t‘go.” She grinned at the two agents as she stood and made her way past them. They watched her go in silence, and as soon as she was out the door she headed quickly to the ports at the end of the glass-and-concrete hall, steely resolve concealing the smoldering anger that gnawed and slashed within her.

The two agents started to follow, but the commanding voice of the old man turned them. “Give her time. There’s no rush if the transport shuttle isn’t leavin’ for hours. You’ll find her later…surely so.” He stood slowly, ignoring his creaking joints as he pushed upwards on the arms of his leather chair. “You’re dismissed,” he commanded simply, and with a curt nod the agents left. The door slid closed once more and an old man was left in silence, alone.

Outside, pale gray-violet clouds could barely be seen gathering in the skies far above the speeding transport drones and towering buildings that land-locked each other for miles in every direction. The black droner had returned, idling by the entrance from which a steady stream of workers poured into and out of. Among them, two agents walked with equal strides, side by side. They left without consequence and faded into the rest of the world.

Bronson sighed, stroking the bridge of his nose in slow long lengths. Up, down. Up…

He pressed a ridged palm against the cool thin glass of the pane before him. He could remember the first time Jacqueline approached their huge building, looking up into the windows as if about to enter a monstrous creature, a thing to be truly reckoned with. Unlike many of the others they had sought after, she hadn’t look afraid, peering upwards into the glittering blue glass squares that lined level after level of the massive building. She’d stood before him as resolute as she had mere moments ago, a fighter always. The type of woman they didn’t see so often anymore in the “business,” as it was often so lovingly termed. That conversation hadn’t been much different than this one. If she could, she would fight tooth and nail to get her way, a way that Bronson had often agreed with in actuality. She was radical--that much couldn’t be hidden, not by any means--but it was something that the stuffy old business hadn’t seen in decades. Sadly, he guessed, it wasn’t something they wanted to see more of. Changing too many things, too fast, too radically and with too much spirit: that was for the low-life visionaries tripping on neuroin and rallying the old fashioned way in the streets of downtown, guns blazing in every way that mattered. Jacqueline was different. A new breed of liberal fresh out of the watery metropolis of a collapsing north Cairns. It was exactly the blood that a slowly decaying Sydney needed to revive it from the thinly veiled and half-dug grave it drowsed within. Exactly what it needed, but nowhere near exactly what prime ministers and “daddy-kings,” as she called them, wanted to see sitting in one of their highest and most precarious chairs in the midst of war. A radical and outspoken political activist as head translator in Foreign Communications, no matter her enormous qualifications, wasn‘t quite their intention.

Bronson watched idly as pod after pod and droner after droner sped away into the distance, carrying their precious human cargo. One of them, he knew, was carrying Jacqueline, and the light fluttering in his stomach he had felt when he had first heard of her “necessary departure” now returned as a rampant hawk, beating against him from the inside. Somehow, even in that solitary moment between a quiet morning and a noon cup of tea in good company, Bronson knew he would never see her face again.