George Martin - Busted flush

There were more e-mails from her, but you get the idea. And there was also one from Niobe. To: TheAmazingBubbles@committeepost.net From: Genetrix@BICC.gov Dear Michelle, It was wonderful to finally meet you in person. I wish we'd had more time together, but I was so happy for the time you spared. And I wanted to especially thank you for meeting the children. It meant the world to them. Xerxes thought you were funny and Jenny thought you were "very cool about the whole unswallowing thing." (Her words, not mine.) I hope we will stay in touch. Your friendship means a lot to me. Yours, Niobe

At least Niobe's e-mail made me feel better. I missed Ink, but not as much as I thought I should. And it made me feel like a lousy girlfriend. But I was feeling disconnected from a lot of things these days.

My cell phone began to buzz. I picked it up and saw a text message from John Fortune asking me to come to his office at the UN. Crap. I really didn't want to go down there. I left the rest of my e-mails and turned off the computer.

"Look, you know I hate to ask this," I said.

Fortune sighed and put his head in his hands. Oh, great, I thought. The guilt trip. Passengers boarding now for the nonstop… stop that! "I just need a rest," I said. "It's been over a year and I've done too many missions."

"But that's why we need you," he said, lifting his head from his hands. "You've done mission lead. You were in Egypt. You were at Behatu Camp. How many people can say they stopped genocide in the Balkans?"

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. When I opened them again, Fortune was staring off into space. I knew that Sekhmet was talking to him. And, boy, did that give me the willies. I mean, who would want a massive scarab living under the flesh of your forehead, attached to your skull, and communicating with you via God-only-knows-what? Ew. I didn't know how he did it-living with someone else constantly in his body, always listening in on every conversation. Not to mention the giant scarab forehead zit-not a look I'd recommend.

"I know you need a break, but the way things are going, I just don't know if I can spare you." He gave me his "I'm a sensitive guy" smile. I was pretty sure that last bit was Sekhmet's doing. "Here's the thing," he continued. "Jayewardene wants a team to investigate charges of genocide in the Niger River Delta. The People's Paradise of Africa is making the accusations, and it's turning into a massive political shitstorm."

"Another genocide?" I said. My stomach clenched and I thought I might be sick. "I don't think I can do another genocide."

And then he gave me that "do it for the world" look. Honestly, I liked him better when he was just a PA on American Hero.

That John Fortune had been a nice guy. This John Fortune was so absorbed with whatever it was that was driving him so hard that he didn't care about much else. Except maybe Curveball.

"I've done plenty for the Committee, so don't try to act as if I haven't," I said. "I need a break. You could send Gardener or Brave Hawk. They've only been around for a few months. They'll be fresher."

"But you would be the best choice if we have to do an African mission," he replied. "If it really is genocide, a woman as lead would be better PR. You could do that whole teary-eyed/angry thing you do."

"Gardener is a woman," I said. I glared at him, but I didn't say anything else. He frowned and then stared off into space again. Sekhmet was talking some sense into him-I hoped.

"I'll think about it," he said at last.

"I'm going to see Ink in D.C.," I told him.

"Fine," he replied, "take your cell phone." But I could tell he wasn't paying attention to me anymore. He was planning his next big thing.

When I got to Washington the next day, I had to walk from my train stop to Ink's apartment. There weren't even any joker cabs here, and the subway looked crammed.

I had a key and let myself in. There were clothes strewn everywhere and newspapers and magazines piled up on every available surface. I dropped my duffel and started tidying up. It would annoy her to no end. She said she could only find things where she left them.

I'd been at it for a while when my cell started buzzing. I looked at the screen. It was Ink.

"Hey, baby," I said, answering.

"You made good time," she said. "You're not cleaning up the apartment, are you?"

I looked around. The newspapers and magazines were in neat piles and the clothes had been put in the laundry or folded and put away. The bed was made with clean sheets, and I'd put the dishes away.

"No-of course not-I know how you feel about that."

"Liar. You are such a liar."

"It's true. I am a filthy liar," I replied. "Unlike you, who's just incredibly messy."

"I've got to work late," Ink said. "How about you meet me here and we can get some dinner?"

I rolled my eyes. More walking.

"Sure, honey. Whatever you say."

The SCARE offices reminded me of BICC. Cold, impersonal, and indifferent to human needs.

They held me at the front desk until Ink came down to escort me upstairs. It was annoying. Just because I worked for Jayewardene and the UN and not for the U.S. government, I was being treated like I might be a security threat. Honestly, if I had wanted to I could have blasted the front desk area to smithereens.

The elevator opened and Ink stepped out. It was still a surprise to see her now. The short, spiky hair was gone; in its place was a sleek bob. She didn't have her tats on all the time, either. And instead of her ubiquitous Converse high-tops, she was wearing pumps. Her business suit was tasteful and modest in a sober gray. It made me want to weep.

We were in the elevator when Ink got up on her tiptoes and kissed me.

"What was that for?" I asked.

"I missed you," she said. "Good grief, I can't even kiss you without you thinking something weird is going on. You haven't been having those nightmares again, have you?"

I didn't answer.

"You have," she said. "And you've been having those flashbacks, too."

"John asked me to lead a group to Nigeria," I said, hoping to change the topic.

"I hope you turned him down. You don't need any more stress."

Annoyance ripped through me. My mother had once said that it wasn't the big stuff that screwed up relationships. It was the little things-the everyday stuff that went on and on, annoying the hell out of you. I hated that Ink's concern and attention were so grating. And I really hated the fact that she was right. "Yeah, I turned him down, but I told him I was available if he needed me for anything else."

Luckily, the elevator doors opened and she didn't have a chance to reply. As we walked through Cubicle City, I noticed that a lot of the employees were giving Ink sympathetic looks. She nodded to a couple of them.

"What's going on?" I whispered.

"In a minute."

We stopped in front of a large door. Ink slipped a key on her wrist coil into the lock. When the door opened, we were in a beautiful waiting room. There was a desk at one end next to a second door. Ink went to the desk and sat down behind it. "Grab a chair," she said.

I got a chair and dragged it next to her desk, then plopped down in it. The phone rang and she answered it.

"Yes, this is the office of the director," Ink said. "No… I'm sorry… He's out for the rest of the day."

There was a pause.

"Of course, I would be happy to answer any questions."

She stuck out her arm and I could see words scrolling across it: There's nothing more I would rather do this afternoon than talk to you. And your inane questions will ensure that I'll never get this half hour of my life back.

"Yes, the new director is wonderful to work for."

As long as you don't mind a self-absorbed, narcissistic jackass with penis-size issues.