amaranthh (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
greenling) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
rainbowfic2013-07-19 03:34 am
greenling) wrote in rainbowfic2013-07-19 03:34 am
Entry tags:
Harvest Gold #11
Name: Greenling
Story: Currently untitled.
Colors: Harvest Gold #11 (new sweater)
Supplies and Styles: Stain ("As an adolescent I aspired to lasting fame, I craved factual certainty, and I thirsted for a meaningful vision of human life - so I became a scientist. This is like becoming an archbishop so you can meet girls." M. Cartmill)
Word Count: 898
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: Playing workplace politics can be very dangerous in certain fields. An introduction to the other major protagonist of this story.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
The room was deliberately and intimidatingly meticulous. The simple metal desk, the library-fire-sale shelves, the single centered window, even the papers on the desk were all neat, perfect, and monochrome. That would be fine, but there was a subtle pattern to it; Alex's head hurt when he glanced too quickly between the perfectly-aligned books and the houndstooth curtains, as if there was some optical illusion, some trick of space he wasn't getting.
She was toying with him. That much was clear.
"I have news," she finally said, smiling. "They're sending you into the field."
A grimace had been plastered on his face since he'd entered the room, despite his best efforts. "Er..." He hesitated, but nothing intelligent came to mind. "I'm going into the field?"
"Yes."
She was enjoying this. There was a twinkle in her good eye, and she had her hands folded in front of her face in a convincing imitation of an internet meme. The worst part was that he couldn't blame her; if he was in her shoes, this would probably be hilarious. Besides, Diana was his envoy, not strictly his superior, so it would be like shooting the messenger.
"I'm... not cleared for any kind of field work. I was hired as a network security analyst," he attempted. "That is, I'm aware that I need to be flexible, but I have no qualifications..."
She picked up where he trailed off. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're analytical, you're adaptable, and from what the higher-ups say, your interpersonal skills are uniquely suited to translating alien forms of thought."
"Alien...?" That gave him pause. "What, am I investigating SETI?"
Her laugh was even more unsettling- actually unsettling. Alex's stomach twisted with a growing sense of foreboding that went past getting in some moderate amount of trouble at work.
"You're going to Los Angeles. Hollywood, mostly, though we're not sure how far this could spread. We don't normally get to keep direct tabs on these guys, they take care of their own, so the fact that we're seeing something is worth investigation in itself." She opened a cabinet in her desk and dragged out two manila folders, one quite thick. "We suspect Outsider involvement. Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon."
All of a sudden, he felt cold. He licked his lips nervously. "Are you going to tell me what I'm looking for?"
"That's in the folders. I think it might be less traumatic to you to see it rather than hear it."
"Is this dangerous?" he nearly snapped.
"Of course it's dangerous. It's field work." Every warning bell in his head went off as her smile left her face. This wasn't what he thought it was; in fact, she knew he thought they were trying to get him out of the office to keep him out of trouble, and that was what had amused her. She reminded him of an adult trying to explain something to a child, which was hardly called for- he couldn't have missed something as big as all that? Adrenaline lit up the holes in his understanding like they were ringed with neon.
"Don't think of this as a punishment," she continued, an odd tone to her voice. "Think of it as an opportunity."
"So I'm going," he took a breath, "to Los Angeles. Tomorrow. To deal with a possible Outsider. Not by myself?"
She shook her head. "You'll need to make contacts on the ground. The situation is delicate- if things go completely pear-shaped, we'll be watching."
"Why does that not make me feel better?"
"Because you're a smart boy." The smile crept back into the corners of her mouth, and he realized it had never been sincere. "And that's why you're here."
--
It wasn't until a few hours later that Alex worked up the nerve to start looking through those files. He'd had to use his lunch break to pick up a package and make some phone calls, so rather than eating with his coworkers like he usually did he was sitting out in the parking lot with a bag of fast food. His eyes kept drifting to the corner sticking out from under the box his parents had sent him. (He'd already broken open the tin of peppermint bark, which this year was hidden under a nice sweater and some woolen socks, which in turn was stuffed under a conspicuous recipe book of low-sugar dessert options and a selection of oatmeal bread mixes from his mother's bakery.)
They lay there, their unlabelled manila taunting him. Most of the Society's files were black or white and had little colored plastic tabs sticking out, a design choice likely put in place by the same person who decided to put a major office in Detroit. He wondered idly if perhaps the folders had come from the actual FBI.
He wasn't the kind of person to seek out danger, exactly, but he'd known what kind of people were interested in cryptology when he'd gone into the field. When he left college, he'd really expected that being recruited by a shadowy organization within and/or pretending to be the government would involve less gently talking people through software updates- though he supposed someone had to do it. Was it so wrong that he was bored, that he'd started looking? He hadn't done anything against the rules yet. Was this supposed to be a warning, or just make him paranoid?
He finished up his sandwich, grabbed a napkin to wipe his face, and steeled himself; he had to look sometime.
Story: Currently untitled.
Colors: Harvest Gold #11 (new sweater)
Supplies and Styles: Stain ("As an adolescent I aspired to lasting fame, I craved factual certainty, and I thirsted for a meaningful vision of human life - so I became a scientist. This is like becoming an archbishop so you can meet girls." M. Cartmill)
Word Count: 898
Rating: G
Warnings: None.
Summary: Playing workplace politics can be very dangerous in certain fields. An introduction to the other major protagonist of this story.
Comments, criticism, and questions are all appreciated.
The room was deliberately and intimidatingly meticulous. The simple metal desk, the library-fire-sale shelves, the single centered window, even the papers on the desk were all neat, perfect, and monochrome. That would be fine, but there was a subtle pattern to it; Alex's head hurt when he glanced too quickly between the perfectly-aligned books and the houndstooth curtains, as if there was some optical illusion, some trick of space he wasn't getting.
She was toying with him. That much was clear.
"I have news," she finally said, smiling. "They're sending you into the field."
A grimace had been plastered on his face since he'd entered the room, despite his best efforts. "Er..." He hesitated, but nothing intelligent came to mind. "I'm going into the field?"
"Yes."
She was enjoying this. There was a twinkle in her good eye, and she had her hands folded in front of her face in a convincing imitation of an internet meme. The worst part was that he couldn't blame her; if he was in her shoes, this would probably be hilarious. Besides, Diana was his envoy, not strictly his superior, so it would be like shooting the messenger.
"I'm... not cleared for any kind of field work. I was hired as a network security analyst," he attempted. "That is, I'm aware that I need to be flexible, but I have no qualifications..."
She picked up where he trailed off. "Don't be so hard on yourself. You're analytical, you're adaptable, and from what the higher-ups say, your interpersonal skills are uniquely suited to translating alien forms of thought."
"Alien...?" That gave him pause. "What, am I investigating SETI?"
Her laugh was even more unsettling- actually unsettling. Alex's stomach twisted with a growing sense of foreboding that went past getting in some moderate amount of trouble at work.
"You're going to Los Angeles. Hollywood, mostly, though we're not sure how far this could spread. We don't normally get to keep direct tabs on these guys, they take care of their own, so the fact that we're seeing something is worth investigation in itself." She opened a cabinet in her desk and dragged out two manila folders, one quite thick. "We suspect Outsider involvement. Your flight leaves tomorrow afternoon."
All of a sudden, he felt cold. He licked his lips nervously. "Are you going to tell me what I'm looking for?"
"That's in the folders. I think it might be less traumatic to you to see it rather than hear it."
"Is this dangerous?" he nearly snapped.
"Of course it's dangerous. It's field work." Every warning bell in his head went off as her smile left her face. This wasn't what he thought it was; in fact, she knew he thought they were trying to get him out of the office to keep him out of trouble, and that was what had amused her. She reminded him of an adult trying to explain something to a child, which was hardly called for- he couldn't have missed something as big as all that? Adrenaline lit up the holes in his understanding like they were ringed with neon.
"Don't think of this as a punishment," she continued, an odd tone to her voice. "Think of it as an opportunity."
"So I'm going," he took a breath, "to Los Angeles. Tomorrow. To deal with a possible Outsider. Not by myself?"
She shook her head. "You'll need to make contacts on the ground. The situation is delicate- if things go completely pear-shaped, we'll be watching."
"Why does that not make me feel better?"
"Because you're a smart boy." The smile crept back into the corners of her mouth, and he realized it had never been sincere. "And that's why you're here."
--
It wasn't until a few hours later that Alex worked up the nerve to start looking through those files. He'd had to use his lunch break to pick up a package and make some phone calls, so rather than eating with his coworkers like he usually did he was sitting out in the parking lot with a bag of fast food. His eyes kept drifting to the corner sticking out from under the box his parents had sent him. (He'd already broken open the tin of peppermint bark, which this year was hidden under a nice sweater and some woolen socks, which in turn was stuffed under a conspicuous recipe book of low-sugar dessert options and a selection of oatmeal bread mixes from his mother's bakery.)
They lay there, their unlabelled manila taunting him. Most of the Society's files were black or white and had little colored plastic tabs sticking out, a design choice likely put in place by the same person who decided to put a major office in Detroit. He wondered idly if perhaps the folders had come from the actual FBI.
He wasn't the kind of person to seek out danger, exactly, but he'd known what kind of people were interested in cryptology when he'd gone into the field. When he left college, he'd really expected that being recruited by a shadowy organization within and/or pretending to be the government would involve less gently talking people through software updates- though he supposed someone had to do it. Was it so wrong that he was bored, that he'd started looking? He hadn't done anything against the rules yet. Was this supposed to be a warning, or just make him paranoid?
He finished up his sandwich, grabbed a napkin to wipe his face, and steeled himself; he had to look sometime.