Eugenie’s Genetics: Chapters 25-27 (unfinished)

Chapter 25 was unfinished when I ended NaNoWriMo in 2008.  I tried to get back to it, and then for close to a year I ended up doing little to nothing with it.

Then I got a tad bit more industrious: finishing where I left off and then adding another small chapter; only to stop partially into another chapter (since I had to switch my attention to NaNo ’09).

I’ll try to update the original post I made before – the large pasting of the novel (with some cleaned up spelling and dupe words) which would basically be chapters 1-24.

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[ still having trouble getting the chapter numbers to show up – my apologies ]

Keeping a steady and slow pace, Jack does a little cruising in the vehicle.  For the moment he wonders in his own mind if it’s too much or not enough melatonin which causes someone to need more sleep.  Jack might thrive and strive from stress and adversity, but Geenie isn’t used to any of this.  Once again, she lightly dozes in and out as they travel in the vehicle.  There is a place Jack finds from working his way through the navigation system.  The parking lot is very empty; save for a few cars.  The destination is a place named The Medium Baudied Internet Café –   somewhere in the vicinity.  Jack wasn’t known for choosing a place merely based on a name the owner thought was clever or cute.  This time it was a coincidence since it just happened to be one of the nearest places on a short list; generated from the navigation system’s satellite-linked database of various locations.

He gently touches Geenie, who gives her best effort but seems very sleepy in her muttering of nonsense words. “I need to go in here, Geenie.  I need to use their computer to look something up.  Do you want to stay here or go inside?”

She made a groaning sound.  “Leave me alove.  I’m sleepy.”

“Alove?”  He asked.

“No Jack.  Night.”

“I’m going inside.  If you wake up, walk in there.  Night night, Geenie.”  He opens up the back and takes the blanket and pillow out, then leans back in the front seat to gently put it around her.

She takes the blanket into her hand and Jack scoots back out of the vehicle.  Before he leaves, he opens the storage drawer under the driver’s seat.  He takes all of the papers out from the area and puts them into a part of the carrying case he usually keeps his device in.  He locks the drawer again and closes the door to the range rover gently – barely making a sound when it seals shut.

The Medium Baudied Internet Café wasn’t much to desire for inside.  It had decent computers, but the rest of the place seemed to be in disrepair.  Jack takes his wallet out and flips through sections inside.

A man at the counter greets Jack with no more than an expression at first.  It was a neutral look.  He seemed a tad bit shorter than Jack.  Maybe even a decent guy in another situation, but his posture seemed to prove he was dealing with flack from patrons all night – and perhaps even longer. He is wears a pair of greyish-black cargo pants and a baseball cap backwards; somewhat covering the long black hair he deceptively held in a ponytail. The round and lager-tinted sunglasses in the already dark place made it especially difficult to decipher this person’s attitude beyond his somewhat good posture.  The most noticeable part of his outfit was his black shirt: sporting a yellow colored rounded polygon of a traffic sign; such as depicting a school nearby.  This one has a black outline of a comic type shape in a hat which reads ‘Wii Break For Mario’ – split between the top and bottom.

“Hello,” Jack tried to sound out in the most neutral of ways.

“Hey.  What can I do for you today.”

“How are you?”

“I am fantastic today.  What can I get you?”

“Can I just use a computer near the front?”

“Sorry.  Doesn’t work that way.  Customers have to buy something to use a terminal.”

“How about I settle up with something before I leave?”  Jack ends the sentence by setting a hundred dollar bill on the counter.”

“Nice.  That works, buddy.  Sit wherever you want.”

“Thanks.”  I’ll take the front,” Jack reemphasizes while the employee tugs on the currency with both hands; in an almost exaggerated fashion.

“Sure thing, pal.”

Jack sits as close as he can to the front window by the entrance – which keeps him in plain view of the range rover.  The tint and night are dark enough to keep anyone casually passing by from seeing Geenie inside. Jack plugs his device into the computer and starts things up.  He plugs through a list of pages and clicks them open. The low wattage atmosphere causes Jack to yawn, and he ends up closing a few of the pages as soon as he opens them; almost uninterested.  He turns to his bag and opens it up again.  The aroma of charred papers still give off a powerful aroma.

His mood kicks back in a moment, and he quickly comes to life with his hands in motion.  He grabs his rectangular device and rapidly pushes keys; bringing up the message board area he accessed from the Found Dutchman motel room almost a day earlier.  One of the posts says with large bold faced letters: WHERE ARE YOU???

Jack hits some buttons and types something by tapping onto a portion of the device with a pen he pulled from a pocket.  The words more or less explained he was dealing with some unwanted attention but he is fine now – and apologies for taking so long to respond.

He goes on to explain he has a batch of information he’ll be more than happy to send to be processed momentarily – the ‘ss’ being some of the shorthand to what he has been dealing with; though most of what he writes seems to be in some haphazard shorthand which must be mutually understood.  More to follow with an attached file in the very near future.  The closing of it deals with a possible departure to a state he will name when he gets there and a passenger will continue to be accompanying him.  All being safe but no positive identifications yet.  Signs point to yes, of course, however nothing firmly established. Finally asking if any more proof has been secured to validate any of the claims besides a good guess.  The phrase ‘hen’s tooth’ becoming a strange turn of a phrase – describing some sort of an item.

Most of what Jack Robinson plopped down in that communiqué was disjointed and more than a bit secretive.  All of the shorthand and weird fragments of sentences looked nothing of what his usual speech or train of thought seems to have ever been.  Perhaps it was to cover any tracks, or maybe his employers really were the type that didn’t want to have anyone know anything by anyone else.  It obviously wasn’t anything military due to no real jargon to pinpoint the other end.  All of the secrecy would seem to go against whatever favor Jack may have already gained along the way.  Hopefully he is noble in his actions, since a casual observer might see it as shifty at best – if not just downright sketch or hinky.

Jack moved from the computer, and opened up his case once more.  He also removed his tiny note pad and a pen to go along with it.  Using his personal device as a plastic hunk of a paperweight, Jack put all of the papers underneath.  One by one he looked them over in a casual way – only reading something twice which seemed to jump out to his mind.

He took note of a few addresses; copying them into his top spiraled note pad.  Looking at dates he would enumerate, and also renumber, each of the addresses he had.  Jack also took down some names and other things which might prove to be of future interest.  Upon each of the papers, notes, or letters read; he would place them in a section of his bag carefully. In some areas he picked off the crispy edges or charcoaled margins near the ends of the sheets.  A little pile of blackness here and there stacked up. It seemed to be more of a nervous habit than anything – one of those dawdling gestures rather than anything foreseeable to preserve these writings.

Once each and every paper was back in the case Jack has been lugging around, he turned his attention back to the computer terminal his machine was plugged into.  The icon from his device was on its desktop, just as when he did it with Geenie’s laptop: the shaded in rectangular icon with ‘Secret About Box’ text underneath.  He opened the box icon and created a new folder which he used ‘web captures’ to title it with; then gathered the files which were on Geenie’s laptop ‘Alas’ program and tossed them into the new folder before right clicking and selecting compress information.

Jack had to continually rub his eyes due to the boredom and sleep deprivation kicking in, but kept plugging along anyway.  He went back to his hand-held machine and went into the boards area once again.  With more button pushing, he got the file sent to whoever was supposed to receive the information – a promise kept on Jack’s part.  He saw another message which he chose to glance over.  With an unimpressed face, he closes it once again, and fiddles with another series of keys on his device.

After rubbing his forehead profusely, Jack checks some information from a web page on the computer terminal.  It seems to be all the airports in the state Jack’s in.  He finds a blank page in his note book and writes down names and phone numbers.

Before ending his internet session, he makes sure to cover his tracks as best he can in his almost sleeping state. He erases all cookies and cache in the web browser then opens his ‘Box’ icon once more.  Scrolling down, he finds an icon of a black office type analog clock with an orange radiation symbol inside its face.  Underneath is the phrase Time Reg.  He opens the device and options similar to setting an alarm clock pop on the screen inside a window.  Jack sets it for one hour, and a light ticking sound goes off – between four to eight of them.  A new window opens in black, and a series of green text – bold and regular font – bombard this new window.  The only actual words on the screen were a ‘scanning’ and ‘found’ for various sectors.  Once done, a new window appeared, which Jack chose to make sleep.  Fans roar louder within the box of the computer terminal and then system audio clicks its sound off to show the computer to be in sleep mode.  Jack unhooks his device and walks away from the terminal station; making sure to clean up and reset any connections which may have signaled and intrusions he made with his device.

Heading back to the front counter, the person still manning the ‘Baud’y shop eventually turns back around and sees Jack from the other end of the counter.

“Hey bud.  Did you decide what you want yet?”

“Sure.  However…  You are good at making some recommendations I hope.”

“I can sure try.  What were you thinking about?”

“For myself…  can you try to make something potent and hot?  Or at least warm if possible.”

“Like staying awake caffeine potent?”

“That would be great, yeah.”

“Sure.  Is that it?”

“Also.  Maybe you can try making up something females usually like to order here.”

“Hold on a second…”  The person in charge goes towards a whole group of machines and turns something on.  Steam billows out and he presses another button which makes the sound of coffee beans grind away.

“What was the other thing you wanted?”  The person’s voice is louder but not shouting.

“I can wait, if you don’t mind.”

“Sure,” he says before turning back to the machines.  He mixes some things together and the grinding comes to a stop.  “I’ll let that perk up a little bit.  So what else?”

“I-  Come to think of it, I think she hates coffee.  Do you have something else to suggest?”

“Sure.  We’ve got like…  Boba teas and some other normal tea stuff.  And-”

“What are those,” Jack has to ask.

Obviously the mix master picks up on the question.  “Oh it’s like jelly tea.  There’s tapioca balls or gelatin things, you can really take your pick.  Like a halo halo if you ever tasted one of those.”

“I’m the risk taker.  Can’t really vouch the same for her.  So how about something more benign?”

“Well..?  How about just a shake.”

“Ice cream?”

“Yeah.  It can be.”  Thinking on his feet, “Vanilla and maybe I still have some strawberry stuff I can mix in.  Really light.  Simple.”

“Sounds fantastic to me,” Jack tries to say to the worker moving back and forth from another room.

“Just give me a few.  She will totally be into it, trust me.”

“Sure.  Take your time I guess.”

“Do you have somewhere to be right now?”  He asks over the machinery from the back in an enthusiastically bellowing tone – making sure he can be heard over the whirring equipment.

“Not especially.”  Jack’s voice is more honest than complacent.

“Good then.”  As he mixes up more, “Oh yeah, what size man.”

“As big as you want I guess.”

“Are you sure?  It can be really big.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

“You can afford it right.”  He makes a partial laugh which Jack picks up on as pure humor.

“Certainly.”

“Look, I’m going to make this and she’ll love it.  A lot of people are really elitist around here and in other places like this also.  But I am here to make whatever people want.  It’s the biggest challenge, you know?”

“Thank you.  I’m sure she’ll love it as long as there isn’t any coffee or mocha or whatever other bean flavors you have – or any other java-esque derivatives.”

“Dude, vanilla bean.  But not coffee.  I have your back.”

The man behind the counter gets back to work and furiously works in silence to complete what feels like his greatest invention. Jack basks in the silence and checks out the room and various ingredients while waiting most patiently for his beverages.

“Check it out…  They are both done at almost exactly the same time.”  Adding, “I think you’ll both be pleased.  Just let the second one settle a bit.”

“Sure.  I appreciate it much, really.”  Jack seems amused with it all.  What he thought would be routine seemed to put him in a much better mood – seeing an individual passionate about a craft and not letting ego muscle in on talent and dedication.  “Is this place yours?”

“No.  Just a worker who enjoys the hours.  I get more creative at night, you know?”

“Night owl?”

“Nope,” he says while still mussing with one of the machines.  “People are just bigger idiots during the day.  Am I right.”

“Lately I haven’t noticed a difference.”

“Well I have.  At least here.  It’s nice to make up things and all, but there is less appreciation during the day time I guess.  Maybe it’s just tougher to make people happy during the day.”

“It’s all around when you run into a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs.  Running back around, “Since you are being so cool, can you wait a little bit longer?  I just thought of something.”

“Take all the time you want,” Jack says while trying to look out the front window. “Looks like everything is very quiet out there anyway.”

“Your car?  This place is pretty safe.  Nobody breaks into cars or anything.  I wouldn’t be working in a place like this if it wasn’t a little bit safe.  I mean, look at it.  A lot of electronics all around, and gamer stuff in the back area.  LAN networks, whole nine yards.  Ten and a half if you ask me…”  Adding, We have a secured Wi-~Fi network, but that’s not as much crime related as just plain playing it safe.”

The industrious worker comes back around behind the counter and lifts up something by the register; beside the register.  “Tip jar.”  Setting the small thing down and explaining, “I don’t really care about any of this stuff much.  But I care about myself, and coming home to my girlfriend.  I wouldn’t work in a place not safe.”

“It’s nice to see people such as yourself with such sense.”

“Why is that?  You know a lot of people without enough sense to care about theirself?”

“Oneself?  I do actually, Jack answers by skimming the surface of the grammatical error.  “A few.  Including myself in a way.”

“Dude, there is a lot of crazy stuff going around.  You have to be careful out there, bud.”  Literally letting off some steam from one of the appliances in the background.  “Unless that’s some sort of line of work occupational hazard you meant.”

“Well, it is right now in fact.”

“Oh really?  What kind of work.”

“For now you could say…  More along the lines of guarding.  Protection”

“Like a bodyguard?”

“Yep.  That’s the situation.”

“Oh,” he says while nodding to himself.  “I get it.  Is this supposed to be for her?”

“That certainly is.”

“Yeah.  I get that.  Very cool.  Has it been dangerous?”

“No need to lie.  Actually it has been.  Pretty life threatening stuff.  Though it comes and goes.”

“But you knew that going into the job, right.”

“Yes and no.  Sometimes people are just paranoid.  But of course some have reason to be, am I right?”

“Sure,” he says while rushing to the machine and finishing up his concoctions.  Changing the subject, “Just a sec and you can try yours out.  The other one is still chilling a little, alright?”

“Fine.  Splendid.”

“Heh, thanks.”  He looks back over his shoulder a bit.  “See?  Like I said, it’s better at night.  At least that’s what I think.  Maybe it’s not the same for you.”

“Half and half,” Jack says while following the man in the Mario-silhouetted shirt back to the counter.

Obviously proud of his work; tastefully boasting, “I won’t tell you everything that’s in this thing.  If I did then you might not come back here and try to make it yourself.”  He sets it down while telling the tale of the beverage.  “I figured you wouldn’t have wanted both of these anyway.  And since you didn’t know what you wanted the other one to be, it must be since you don’t seem to be into sweet stuff.  So this is kind of an espresso mocha thing. I made sure to crush the beans extra fine and I even ran it through a percolation twice.  Gave me the extra power. And there’s a mocha but also some of a macchiato-inspired thing in it, but it’s really light.  And some other stuff.”

“Thanks.  I really appreciate the extra effort.”

“Not a problem for you.  Just be careful in case it’s too hot.”

“I’ll try.”  Jack takes a gingerly taste by slowly tipping the huge container; clad in its corrugated cardboard life jacket – immediately replying, “That’s fantastic.”  Setting it back down, “It’s been a long night and this will certainly be a pick me up.”

“Just wait.”  The brewmeister hurries to the back and retrieves the second concoction.  “Pretty awesome, huh?”  He sets it down and actually does impress Jack.  Its sports three distinct layers of beverage.  “That’s vanilla, and the French vanilla with that more yellowish color.” Pointing to the center color; with a light to medium hue of green, His speaking patter increases as if giving a lecture on an interesting subject.  “In between separating it is a layer of winter melon.  It’s usually a more bitter taste, well…like bitter melon, for a lack of a better example.  But I blended it with rock sugar that I make myself on my down time here.  You just cook it by- well, it’s a lot more of a honeydew kind of flavor the way I do it if you ask me.”  Topping-off the sermon rather literally.  “And lastly…  On top is whipped cream I blended with fresh strawberry.  That’s why it has that pinkish kind of tint to it,” which he swishes his finger; highlighting the area.  “And on top I added just a little bit of cocoa shaved and a little bit of cinnamon.” He tops it with a rounded plastic bubble style lid while gloating, “I know you can’t top or recreate that one.  So I decided to tell you all of it. Some of the machines back there let you create pure art if you ask me.  I couldn’t afford technology like that on my own.”  The mixing perfectionist hands over a few napkins and a few straws so brightly-colored, they almost glow through their translucent paper wrappers.  “It’s all yours.”

“Mind if I settle up with my change?”

“Oh.”  Going towards the register, he cracks half a smile from his normally deadpan face.  “I almost forgot about that actually.”  Slightly laughing out a “Sorry.”  – More from nervousness than anything devious.  “How about…  Twelve bucks.  Before tax.”  Explaining, “You did sort of tell me to go all out.  And those are massive sizes, as you can easily see.”

“Sounds more than fair to me.”  Jack didn’t seem to mind a bit.

“Sure thing.  Here is your receipt and change.”  He waits then carefully puts it into Jack’s open hand.

“Do you have a card or anything?”  He ponders to the employee.

“You mean like a card for here?  Sure…”  He moves around in the cash register’s drawer.  “There you go,” as he slides it into the awaiting hand with the money still in it.  “Never know when you need an ally.  Right?”

“Yeah,” he laughs.  “Sure.”  Jack pockets the business card.  “Here you are by the way,” giving a twenty dollar bill to the man.  “Hope that expresses enough of my gratitude.”

“Nice.  It sure does, thanks.”

“Oh – almost forgot.”  Jack drops his coins from the change into the plastic tip jar.  “Thanks again.  See you around.”

“Wait,” the person at the register says after Jack has both drink in hand.  “The person you’re guarding’s out there right now.  Right?”

“Yes.  She is.”

“Is she important?”

“Very, so it seems.  At first I wasn’t sure but…  Let’s say somehow she has attracted a lot of attention lately.”

“Is it…”  The beverage combiner  decides to choose his words extra carefully.  “I guess you can’t tell me anything about the person.  Her, right?”

“That’s about best right now – for the both of us,” Jack verbally tags with an air of comfort.

“Is she famous or something.”

“Not in the least.  Not except for the people who seem to be interested in finding her.”

“Granted,” the employee agrees. “She…  Is there a way I can see her at least?.  Especially if I won’t even know who she is.”

Thinking a moment…  “Come on,” which he says while using his back to open the door to the Medium Baudied business.  The worker feels no option but follow if he wanted any part of his curiosity satisfied.

When the worker in the Mario sign shirt walks outside the establishment, he halts – not much more than a few inches from Jack.  The employee has no choice but listen to Robinson, who dropped his tone significantly.

“You know…  Ordinarily I wouldn’t cater to or indulge a whim, but this hasn’t been an ordinary day for me by any means. So I’ll tell you what.”

After a long pause, the worker has to ask the obvious.  “What’s that?”

“Well…”  Still holding the beverages, “Most likely, it’s a safe assumption she’s still asleep.  I wouldn’t want to think she’s akin to circus folk or being viewed from outside an aquarium.” Hoping, “You get my drift.”

“Totally.  I do.  Just go look and give me a signal one way or the other.  I’ll come open the door for you even if it’s good.  But if not I’ll just go back inside and mind my own business.  I got it.”

“Good.”  Jack walks carefully towards his vehicle and rounds past the hood – crossing the windshield while trying to catch a view between the glare of the parking lot’s lights.  Moving to the driver’s side, he looks in the window.  Jack makes a twist in his neck and pivots his body, gesticulating a wave with his whole body since his hands are still full.

The worker looks towards his workplace to ensure nobody was sneaking in, then walks at a very poised and steady pace.  He makes it to the lot, and sweeps past the grill of the vehicle.  He makes sure to use a quiet and even tone when speaking to Jack, not wanting to cause any issues to break the deal.

“Grab my keys for me,” Jack quietly insists – which are dangling off one of his fingers.

“Yeah yeah,” the employee quickly agrees, quietly and eagerly.”  Push, click, thump-ump…disabling the locks.

“See?”

“I-”  moving his head side to side while peering through the window of the driver’s side.  “The glare won’t let me.”

Jack sets the beverages on the car’s hood and takes the keys from the mixologist.  Then quietly says, “Nothing funny.”  The statement is taken rhetorically.  Jack opens the door, and the pinkish-amber color from the parking lot’s lighting reflects off the range rover.  The door finally opens, and the both peek inside.

Geenie is at rest and at peace.  Never a thought to cross his mind before, Jack looks at her in a vulnerable way.  She is defenseless, diminutive in spirit, and without defense.  It’s almost a feeling of awe for being removed from the situation.  All these times of fight and flight have been with her as a side-by-side compatriot; more a contemporary.  He went at that moment from being inside the situation to being an observer from the outside – the way most journalists really are.  At least the way Jack prefers to actually report – a third person literary vantage, even if the action is front row.  This is one of the times Jack really was a part of the action; more than some sort of anecdote about a misstep on one of his numerous assignments.  A voice only reaching the immediate area, “Show’s over.”  And with that, Jack climbs inside the driver’s seat.

Robinson pulls the seatbelt across his chest and makes as little sound as possible when is clacks into place.  He Twists his wrist and holds a hand outstretched.  The employee takes the cue and hands thebeverageshecreated.

“So uh-”

“Thanks again,” Jack slips in.

“You know, if-”

“Sure thing.  I will.”  Jack knew.  Not that Robinson was looking for an ally…but one never knows.  The door closes, and the range rover takes off as smoothly and quietly as possible.

“Hmmmm?”

Jack looks over.  It appears Geenie finally stirs, breaking the spell of being unconscious.  “Hey.  You awake yet?”

No real reaction.  She’s  going to rouse anyway…So he goes for broke.

“Come on, Geenie.  Time for school.”

“Huh?”  Her vocals barely being understood.  She looks over to see a grinning Jack.  It’s neither armor nor shining, but it’ll do for now.

“There you are.  Feel any better yet?”  His hand reaches over to help adjust what passes as a collar on her outfit.

“Are we still in the car?”  Her sense of time still isn’t up to par- but the extended cafe stay didn’t help with forward progress.

“Thirsty?”

“Huh?”  Her lips involuntarily move at the possibility.

“I Stopped off.  Got you something to drink.”  No response makes Jack a rambling boy.  “This little place.  It’s like if anime was a beverage.”

Her face scrunches up, either from the nonsense she hears from Jack or trying to wake up.  “When did you stop?”

“Trust me.  It’s a one of a kind.  Just for you.”  He reaches towards the floor and pulls up her liquid concoction; about as fresh as it was when he first laid eyes on it.  “See?”

Taking it from Jack, she holds it up to the windshield – examining it with the available light coming from outside.

The dome light clicks on, and her drink suddenly comes with a narration.  “That really is a three layered liquid.  Two vanillas I think, and a honeydew or something.  Whipped berry cream suchnots and…there you have it.”

“You left me alone in the car?”

“It wasn’t long.  I could see the vehicle the whole time.  Don’t you want to see what it tastes like?  I bet it’s good.  Mine is.”  Pulling his beverage from a nearby holder and shaking it playfully.  “Don’t worry, it’s not a coffee thing.  Not yours.”

She reluctantly uses the straw.  Piercing the layers of a consistency between ice cream and tapioca, she has a taste.

“Better.  Right?”

“It’s- Pretty delightful.  Against all odds I suppose.”

Darting his physical attention between the road and her, “Why’s that?”

“Well,” as she observes the straw she tinkers with – watching the three layers at play.  “I am not really a desert girl. Or a late night drinker.  Alcohol or otherwise.

“There is this song about that.  ‘I’m drinking my life away, even though it’s only Kool-Aid'”.

She joins his chuckle.  “So come on.  When did you stop.”

“Little while back,” as his eyes stay forward.

“Just looking out for my thirst’s well-being?”  She takes another sip and waits.

“Not entirely.  Partly though, yes.”

“What else then?”

“I needed to check on some things.”

“Don’t you have you’re- You know, that little laptop thing?”

“I did,” he says while looking back her direction – splitting attention like watching a tennis match.  “But my little device can’t make beverages.”  Smiling again, “Not yet anyway.”

She laughs at him.  When he wants his way, he seems to have a charm which can’t be easily described.  “Fair enough.”  She slowly swivels the drink container in her hand.  “So what was the other part?”

“Oh.  Getting a flight.”

“A plane?”

“Yep.  The place had internet.  I used my little navputer here to find that drink stop.”

“One with the internet.”

“Yep.  One that was wired, and open late.”

“Where are we going?”

“Oregon.”

Geenie isn’t ordinarily so tired.  But she isn’t ordinarily tested to the nth degree as far as mental resolve, strength, endurance, or any other quality oft associated with knights of the round table; days of your stuff.  None of this Jack Robinson minded in the least.  He wasn’t thrilled with this exact situation; battling for his life and protecting the lives of others.  On the other hand, it is rare he had a traveling companion for any of the random adventures Jack involved himself in for the sake of journalism.  Jack has appreciated having a foil, though deep down he still felt bad about the circumstances.  But until this thing has run its course, he must keep a brave face for Geenie…if not for himself as well.

“Mwuh…”

Jack is more than used to the discombobulated and staccato syllables who seems to be the ritual to which Geenie arises. “You there?  Calling the lovely Ms G…”  It’s just past earshot in the smaller than expected space.  Noise and all.

“What’s going on?”  Her approaching-charming way of having momentary amnesia each time she awakes.  It’s either a constant trait or a residual effect her brain has to deal with stress or trauma – which is common for a large number of people: depending on the ‘flight’ers versus the ‘fight’ers.

“Same as it’s been Geenie.  Still on a plane in the air.”

“Yeah,” she reverberates.  She could have said she already knew it now, but it would feel redundant.

The droning of the engines and atmosphere sounds produced a decent amount of white noise.  Enough to keep lulling Geenie to sleep.  The ambiance wasn’t the best way to have an intimate conversation.  Then again, the wall of noise was able to keep most words from reaching the pilot; almost an aural version of the pane which separates a chauffeur from the passengers when riding in a limousine.

“You ok,” asks Jack while lines on his forehead become more discernable.

“I- Yeah.”

Jack moves himself forward and booms over the noise in the most polite way possible, addressing the pilot.  “Everything going ok up there?”

“Yeah,

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