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.