Airplane! - Ellen (30)

I'm not a big fan of air travel. I find it kind of boring. It's not so bad if I have a book, which I always do anyway, but even then I get antsy after a while. I start fidgeting around and messing with the seat and thinking, which is not a good thing to do on a plane. This is because what you tend to think about is that you are on a plane. I start thinking about how we're all breathing recycled air in a pressurized tube, and how only a few inches of metal and glass and stuff away is a lot of empty air and a very long drop, and how does the thing stay in the air anyway? I know there's a scientific explanation, but it will never stick in my head. This is true of any normal plane; it is even more true of your average "plane." There are probably a few people on Earth who know how planes work. There are only a handful of people-- maybe-- who have any clue about the "plane." It's an Agency thing.
It's a lot like a plane, hence the name. What can I say? When "planes" came along, the Agency was in its infancy, and didn't yet have the Creative Naming and Coding Department. Although, in all honesty, this is probably the kind of code name they'd think of. So, it's a lot like a plane, but bigger. Way bigger. And somewhat faster. And stealth.
Yes, I know. The grammarian in me shouts out that it should be "stealthy." But the Agency insists on "stealth," the official reason being "because it sounds cooler, Ellen," as far as I can gather. The Agency, despite what they may tell you, is all about being cool. That took me a little while to figure out. But, come on-- the all-black thing? You really think that helps you blend in? In a mall? No, it's because black looks cool. I'm convinced. And, hey, I'm down with that. You think they would have ever recruited me if they weren't cool?
Bugging people. That's another thing I do after a long time on a plane. As we were, Ian was talking to Scarlett, Gillian was alternately reading a magazine and gazing out the window, and Virgil seemed to be asleep. Of course, you never knew with Virgil. Greg was sitting across the aisle from me, and he was listening to music via headphones. The ideal candidate for bugging. I wondered what kind of music Greg listened to. It was kind of weird, really, that Greg and I had known each other for so long and yet knew so little about one another. We knew a few things. You can't be on a mission together and not learn a little. But things change in seven years. Trust me. I used to like the Spice Girls. (Okay, okay, but I only listen to them occasionally now!) And we knew water-cooler-type things from working together after the mission. I knew a few other interesting tidbits because I had his file with my recruiter data. But Greg sort of prided himself on being an enigma. I decided that I was going to bust through that tough exterior. Or at least bug the hell out of him trying.
I got up, moved across the aisle, and plopped myself down next to Greg, who looked at me incredulously.
"Hi, Greg!" I smiled.
"Hi," he said, removing the headphones. "What's up?"
"What do you think is the least sexy food?"
"What?"
"What do you think is the least sexy food?" I repeated.
"Is this some sort of test?"
"No. Just a question."
"Kind of a stupid question to be worrying about at a time like this."
"Would you rather have me worry about unsexy foods or whether the 'plane' will crash into a fiery ball of doom?"
"Are those my only two options? I was gonna go for 'Where are Chip and his recruit and what the hell kind of game is Virgil playing?'"
"Sorry, I've named your only two options."
"Do you know where Chip and his recruit are?" Greg challenged.
"Two. Options," I said firmly, in a very clear I-don't-want-to-talk-about-it voice. "Sexy food, flaming death."
He sighed. "All right. Liver."
"Ah," I nodded thoughtfully. "Good one."
"Is that all?"
"Why are you coming along on this mission?" Bam! I was hoping to catch him off guard.
It didn't work. He just raised an eyebrow.
"Why do you think?"
I had no idea. There were a million plausible answers.
"Why do you answer my question with a question?"
"It's reminiscent of Chinese philosophy."
"Is it really?"
"I think so."
"Oh." There was a pause. I stared at the floor. Someone had dropped a gum wrapper. Greg put his headphones back on, and I started to get fidgety again. "You know what word I like, Greg?"
He took the headphones off. "No. What?"
"Continuum."
"It's a good word."
I looked back up at him. "This mission feels weird, Greg. Nothing's turning out like they told me it was supposed to."
"You're just nervous."
"No. Mark my words. Things are going to happen." It sounded downright ominous. But Greg just gave a half-smile.
"Oh. Good," he said. "I like things."
The pilot came on the intercom and announced that we would soon be landing. I dug my phone out of my purse and hit the button to contact the Agency.
"Home One," the voice on the other end said."
"What falls in the shadows?"
"Society's pants." I could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "God, that's an odd one, Ellen."
"I know. The Elves are in Bermuda."
"Gotcha."
I only mention all this because otherwise you might wonder how we got where we were going. It's not that important, really, and there won't be a quiz later. I just sort of enjoyed that "plane" ride.

The Airport - Greg - (29)

Well, as could be expected the car ride went from bad to worse, but eventually we did get to the airport. Of course, I'd known it wasn't the normal airport, but I'd expected Ian to ask about it. Especially after Marcus drove through the parking garage to lose that guy. He seemed to be past the asking now, just nodding along and taking things in stride. I'd be impressed, except that 90% of the time the ones who take it well at first have a breakdown later on. Still, you could never quite predict recruits. Nonconformity was one of the criteria. We all got out inside our airport entrance except Marcus, who went to park the cars. You're gonna ask, just like Scarlett did, how Marcus can park both cars. It doesn't involve cloning. He's just a very good driver, and one of the features of the facade is that it can be driven by remote simultaneously to another vehicle. They're actually pretty autonomous. So Marcus just had to drive Ellen's less conspicuous vehicle, and the Facade followed behind. He wasn't really parking them anyway, if you must know. He was loading them onto the plane.
Well the rest of us were all on our way into the airport. I guess I should go ahead and describe our entrance. It was pretty much like a standard airport entrance, except without traditional security or metal detectors or desks to buy tickets. And very sparsely staffed, with only the occassional recruiter, dressed in traditional garb. ANd there weren't shops like a regular airport, or terminals exactly. So actually, it was nothing like the standard entrance, or the standard airport. It was just a convenient way to get access to runways to launch our "planes."
We got out of the cars in an area called the tunnel, which contained a road the cars drove through and a tunnel for people, as well as 2 -3 recruiters. Between us and the walking tunnel was a clear pane and a sliding door."How was your ride?" asked Ellen sweetly as she got out of the car.I glanced at the recruits. Virgil was talking to them about the airport. Well, it was stuff they's have to learn sooner or later. I leaned in close to Ellen. "First of all, how the heck does HE know about my being a re-recruit?" "How does he know anything, Greg? I don't know! He was always did have a way with observing," she reminded me. "Spying you mean. He's also figured out where we're going. He called it Bermuda." "We've only been using that codename for a week!" "And second of all, I'm 75% sure we were being followed. By someone in a taxi." "Anything extraworldly?" she asked. "Not that he showed." "Thanks, I'll keep an eye out." She returned her attention to the group. "Ok, kids, let's go," she said, "Hold your breath and look straight ahead as we go through this door. From now on until we're on our way, follow my instructions to the letter, and don't listen to anything Virgil says until further notice. He is NOT a formal recruit of this party and he will likely not be going further than our first stop." "Oh Ellen," Virgil replied sarcastically, "I didn't know you cared."

Useless Information -- Gillian (28)

There was something Ellen wan't telling us. I could tell. I stared out the window at the passing trees. Zen-thingy. Yeah, sure.

"Iowa!" Scarlett shouted loudly, nearly making me jump out of my skin. I turned in my seat, and saw her staring intently out the window at passing cars.

"She's playing the license plate game," Ellen told me quietly. I turned to look at her, "I told her to play a car game."

"Nebraska!" I heard from the backseat.

I looked over at Ellen and we both fought not to laugh. Tension gone.

"So..." I said, desperately trying not to let the conversation lapse back into silence. I pulled out my purse, which was sitting at my feet. I reached in and retrieved my security pass. I cringed at the picture that was on it. My brown hair was in the worst haircut I've ever had. Made my face look terrible. The colour job sucked too. I sighed and put it back inside.

"Oklahoma!" Scarlett let out.

Right underneath was my pack of jam. Raspberry this time. The last one had been blueberry. I laughed out loud, remembering how that one had exploded inside my handbag. As I laughed, Ellen looked over at saw the jam in my hand.

"What's the jam for? " she asked and was answered with a "North Carolina!" from the backseat.

"Oh, it' nothing," I said, blushing, "My mom just always told me that i shouldn't ever leave home without a pack of jam. God knows why. But I keep one with me anyway. I like to keep a part of her with me all the time."

"What kind of jam?" she asked.

"New York!"

"Raspberry," I said.

"I never went for the Raspberry myself," Ellen told me, "I wasalways more of a strawberry girl."

"Me too!" I said laughing, "It was the only kind at the conference I was at, and my last one had exploded, so I didn't have much of a choice."

I felt great. Like I was back with my high school friends, gossiping about who Dan McMichael was breaking up with this week. Before I had been rudely thrown into the real world.

Scarlett interrupted my thoughts again. "Look guys!" she told us, "There's one from Ontario! In Canada!"

I laughed. I was in a frame of mind where even Scarlett couldn't annoy me. "Did you know that in Canada, in one of the provinces, they have polar bear shaped license plates?" I asked her.

"Really?" Scarlett asked.

"Yeah."

"Wow..." she said, as she turned back to the window.

"Is that true?" Ellen asked me, intruiged.

"Yeah, no joke. I'm a well of useless information." I said jokingly.

"Depends on what you consider useless," Ellen replied, "Sometimes it's the smallest things that end up being very important. Hold onto all that 'useless info' you have," she told me, turning her head to face me,"You're gonna need it."

She turned her head back to the road, and I saw we were approaching the turn-off for the airport. Then we were passing it.

"Wasn't that our turnoff back there?" I asked Ellen.

"No;" she told me, "That was the turn-off for the airport that most people use. We use this one," She said as she pointed to a narrow road that turned off the highway. I couldn't see where it led to, but it headed in the direction of the airport.

We turned down the road and followed it for a couple hundred metres. It made a sharp turn and suddenly we were in a remote corner of the tarmac, heading for a small outbuilding not visible through the windows in the terminal. We pulled inside it as a door oppenned up, admiting Ellen's car. As we pulled to a stop, Ellen turned so she was facing me and Scarlett at the same time, her face serious.

"Last stop," she said, "Everybody out."