SOCK DUTY - PART IV

“Nononononononononono…” Meganie protests all the way down the hall. 

“I can’t! I won’t! Nevernevernever…” like a toddler fighting against bath time. 

“P-please don’t make me?!.” and when resistance is futile, she turns to pleading. 

I look right into her big moist eyes, magnified by her jam jar thick glasses, and pat her on the head reassuringly. 

“OK…” Still blubbering, she eases a little at my first word, but she really shouldn’t have, “…I’ll be right behind you.” 

I push my ex-supervisor – turned trainee – into the teleporter. Her cry cut off as she blinks out of existence. No working from home and clocking in virtually anymore for Meganie. It’s all back in the office, or out in the field more specifically, from today. 

As I materialize on the other end, she is hunkered down on the floor in the stationary closet, propped between stacks of printer paper and the wall. Still sniffling. 

We have a few ways to transport ourselves between worlds. Whatever is most fitting to not be noticeable to the people of that time and place. If it’s a world of magic, we use science, because they’ll not develop the technology to understand the incident until long after the energy has dissipated. Thus, no risk, as it's no longer investigable.

The reverse is also true. Magic messes with science because it often breaks the laws of nature, and there’s maybe just a lack of harness-able magic in that dimension, so any observation of the event passes into the unexplained.

Janus uses doorways, the Returns Agency has rooms of magic portals and harnessed wormholes, but today I chose teleportation. Just so she can't sprint back through last second. 

The only problem is… 

“Oh-ho! Look at the love birds!” 

…the office for Missing Persons erupts in wolf whistles and cat calls as soon as we step out of the closet. 

It’s not the unexpected exit from the stationary room; Returners use any old doorway for getting back to the Agency every day. It’s the fact that because of the burst of energy in a confined space from the teleporter, you can come out a bit sweaty.

All the moisture in the air evaporates, turns to plasma as part of the spark that rips an object through time and space, then instantly condenses again as all the heat is sucked from the area around the singularity. Think naked muscle robot man gleaming under street lights minus the hole in the ground… and the naked.

I help Meganie stand, pull her close to me, flash everyone in the department a cocky grin and a V-sign, then walk us back to Sock Duty. She’s basically unconscious and has to be dragged. 

Rumours last roughly a week. 

I also get called into HR. 

Figures.

* * * 

“Clever…”
Chris, gotta love him, finds the whole stunt pretty funny. 

“…but, err, you manage to sand her nail marks off the door-frames yet?” 

“Nah, I left some as a reminder, so she feels embarrassed about trying again.” He nearly spit takes on some cucumber water at my comment, but the jolt of his barely contained laughter still squirts some out of his nose.

“She’s getting better at actually taking the different transporters. Doorways and portals are easy, you just step through, but it also means she can run away.” That’s been the biggest hurdle, her trying to escape. The risk to life and limb is nerve racking for me as her impromptu tutor.

However, as long as they stay open for a little, while she finds her feet on the other side, Meganie has gotten better at calming down, rather than throwing herself through at the final moment.

“That said, we have had several near misses where she panics and dives back to base as the event horizon is shrinking. Nearly lost a big toe the other day.” We did, in fact, lose the steel toe cap of one of her boots, but I don't think reporting that will do us any good.

The Head of HR gives me sounds of acknowledgement as he mops up his desk and dabs at his crumpled suit with paper towels.

“I’d say she’s ready for actual field work.” Still only kiddy stuff, though.

At that, Chris suspends his drying endeavours and gets as serious as he’s able, “So progress is looking… good?” disbelief tinting his tone.

Apparently they’ve tried retraining, shadowing, and other disciplinary procedures with Meganie over the years, decades, centuries, however long she’s been in purgatory here. They’ve just never had anything stick.

“Yeah! As good as can be expected, at least.” It’s slow progress. She’s still not fond of teleporters because she doesn’t have that anchor point to watch disappear – all too instantaneous, I guess – but her general confidence has definitely improved. “Not much we can achieve just taking shortcuts around headquarters, or day trips to safehouses.” 

He nods, approving with healthy scepticism, not wanting to count his chickens before they've hatched. 

“Suppose she just needed someone she could connect with.” Not to toot my own horn.

The head of Human Resources raises his eyebrows and a more convinced smile pricks up the side of his mouth. I can hear his inner monologue about plans coming together as a little light catches his reading glasses. 

Did he put us together on purpose? Sly old dog!

I’d suggested some peer mentoring a while ago, something I’d picked up working a variety of private sector roles. It’s not that common, but it’s basically a trainee buddy system, whereby a couple of newbies work together as one functional employee.

For best results, always have someone who knows the industry, but not the specific systems at that company. While the other has a little more experience with that firm’s processes, but is otherwise a greenhorn in the field. 

I can handle lost and found, litter picking, remote working, item processing, library cataloguing, etc… all the bitty bits of the job, but I have limited knowledge of the Returns Agency, its expectations, or procedures.

Meganie knows science, the Agency, and that’s it.

Together, we balance out. I do all the fieldwork, but nothing else. She does everything behind the scenes, so long as someone else actually goes out and picks up the offending object for her. We make a great pair, but we need to be a great team. Equal individuals. Not codependents.

We’ll get there. 

“Approved.” 

That was easy...

Chris signs off Meganie for active duty in her employee record on his Frames ’95 PC, and we spend some time looking through options to identify a safe enough case for returning her to the field.

…how we were wrong.

* * *

“W-why w-would you send me to the flesh w-world?!.”

Meganie breaks down sobbing as soon as she plops out of the inter-dimensional sphincter. 

I feel bad saying ‘because she sent me there, and I wanted to get a little revenge’, so I pretend it’s all part of the training programme.

She thought it important enough to include in mine, and it was such a good learning experience for me – for instance, pure bleach chemical-burns the skin, but a diluted mixer is the only thing that gets the farty rotten stink out – that I knew my mentee would need it too.

For getting back in the field, of course. Not that I’m being petty or anything. 

I brandish a hose and sponge, and a grin at her, but Meganie slithers off to the changing rooms to do her best at cleaning up alone. A despondent cry of “Why won’t it come off?!.” emanates periodically from the showers. Steam spilling out into the lab. 

After a day of sulking and cleaning, several doses of nasal spray, and a lot of ‘character building’ – or trauma, depends whether you grow from it or not – my mousy little ward glumly trumps out of the living quarters. “I had to burn my clothes and bedding.” 

“Yeah… same…” I nod with a greater sense of camaraderie having put her through the horrors she bestowed unto me, “anyway, today we’re off somewhere together!”

I try to sound chipper about it, but honestly it sounds like baby’s first case.

Hang on! Am I pining for something a bit more dangerous? Sod that! I’m in Sock Duty to stay safe, not get into thrill seeking… maybe I’m bored? Maybe a little more complexity to a case isn’t bad? Difficulty doesn’t equate danger, right?

While I rattle off various lines of cope, trying not to grip my head in despair, my trainee extraordinaire reviews the dossier I put together for today. 

“High-school?” Meganie tilts her head in mild confusion.

“I was a high-schooler just a couple of years ago, and you look the part to me, so…” with a flourish I click open a cabinet, it dispenses our infiltration gear, crafted perfectly by our scouting system, “...how about the uniforms to match?”

OK, yes. This is also a bit of wish fulfilment for myself. But, it is necessary that we dress the part to fit into the setting where an object we’re after has ended up. Getting to see my cute colleague in a sailor uniform is a bonus anyone with a pulse would be unwilling to pass up.

She stares in disbelief at my presentation, but without any coaxing, Meganie stands, shuffles forward, and collects her costume, “N-no one else is going to see us, right?” A valid concern. 

I nudge her conspiratorially with my elbow as a blush fills her cheeks, “No one but me.” I grin wider and hold the high collared jacket in front of me. She part chuckles, part sighs, and elbows me back before disappearing into the changing rooms. 

She’s evolving!

* * *
We look ridiculous…

I had not realised just how much I’ve grown since high-school. Hitting your early twenties really does a number on you. Being in the uniform just emphasizes how adult I now look compared to how baby faced I was even at 18 in my final year. 

Meganie on the other hand… the less said the better. I can hear that famous bass line in my head and the baritone ‘Oh, Yeah!’ drawn out as she first meekly, then resignedly, shows off the glorious outfit. 

She could fit into the student body of my dreams, but it’s maybe a bit too lewd in those sizes for the mission. 

“C-can I change?” Her words wound my heart, but she’s right. 

“Give me a second,” I punch up a new version of the sailor uniform for her in more fitting proportions, while burning her glorious visage into my mind forever, “That should fit you better.” 

My colleague eyes me dubiously at first, sees the baggier sizing, and cracks a slightly comforted smile, “What about you?” 

She gazes up at me questioningly while I ponder, the glint of her glasses reminding me of the perfect alternative, “All I’ll need is a lab coat!” 

All I would need would not – in fact – be a lab coat, but hindsight is a always 20:20.