Chapter 20 - Episode: A Meeting, Both Official and Off-the-Record.

Eric had always liked working with his hands. Growing up on a farm, it's what you did to pull your weight. It didn't matter if you were more the thinking sort, if you liked working on your own, or if you were a bit sly in how you did things. You did a job. You got your hands dirty. Ten minutes was all it took to find that the problem with the decoder was as simple as the vents pulling in loose hair through the ventilation and it getting caught up in the mechanical 'guts' of the machine. It took twice as long cleaning the machine. The Agent still hadn't shown up yet.

He closed the panel on the machine, powered it on, and let Linda run another document through. It decoded smooth, and accurately, and a few of the officers and detectives watching started exchanging small bills as bets paid out. Eric cleaned his hands off with a rag as he stood up. One of the detectives, a Strider Framed synth named Crow, handed him a small stack of cash. 

"What's this?"

"Your cut." The mechanical man said and held the money a little closer. Eric laughed then looked at the money with a grin. "What?"

"You taking bets on when 'Agent' Tarquin is going to show up?" Eric asked, and the long legged mechanical flatfoot grinned. That's a yes. He smiled back.

"I've got odds; 'before the end of the day' is two:three," he started to list off. "Her showing up 'before lunch' is two:five," 

"Why not three:five?" Eric asked, and Strider held up a finger.

"Boiler's got 'At Lunch' for Three:Five, cause, and I quote," And here, Sergeant Boiler's voice actually came out of the mechanical detective's mouth. 

"She comes 'during lunch', she can have the meeting off the record and save face," Crow shrugged and Eric laughed hard, nodding. That was good thinking, Boiler must have some experience with Agents, still. Eric grinned. 

"What's your bet?" Crow asked, still holding Eric's cut.

"Inside of two hours." He said, looking at his watch. "That gives 80 minutes from now, if it started when I hung up the phone. I think that's right." He added. Crow cocked his head to the side, and one of his optics rotated in its socket.

"81 minutes 14 seconds," He said, and closed his hand over the money. "Crap, what's got you so sure?"

"Need to know for the odds?"

"It'd be nice," Crow shrugged.

"Last year, in the Center Districts, there was a bad slime incident. No fatalities, but a lot of construction workers needed augments afterwards." He starts, Crow leans back on his heels and both optics rotate as he's processing. "CCS didn't respond promptly, Army gave local police supervision to engage with force." Jackson from the Front Bats was assigned to that Mop Job, Eric recalled, but didn't share. He had called me up for a drink, after the gag order was lifted. 

"It got nasty," Eric continued. "but it was resolved. Afterwards, Oversight Investigators found out that CCS had several reports about the slimes growing in population beyond what the crews' Cleaners could handle, they needed a Qualified Technician. CCS put them off, and that's how the situation exploded."

"So now CCS higher ups probably don't want the Army getting credit for their jobs, and all their Agents will be pressured to respond to that kind of threat."

"Yup." Eric smiles and shrugs. "If its a shady bet, I'll just take my cash and put a 'Told you So' on the bet."

"Nah," Crow sighs. "If she shows up you get the pot, minus the bookie's cut." He added. Eric nodded, More than a fair cut. I like these cops, he decided as he cleaned his hands some more. Then, he walked back toward Cornelia's station. 

"Hey," She said as she looked up from her terminal. "Have fun?" She asked, looking back at the screen when a message popped up, then back to Eric.

"It passed the time."  He said as he sat down in the seat. "Anything exciting?" He asked.

"Parking tickets, noise complaints, and a whole lot of people who aren't parents complaining about 'trouble makers' staying out at arcade hotels overnight." She sighed as she looks at her screen.

"Sounds like some old fart is cranky that the young people keep beating his high score." Eric smiled. "Really, arcade 'hotels', I heard about those but I didn't think they'd catch on."

"It worked for bars, gambling dens, other late night entertainment, so I guess they figured it would work with arcades."

"Still, plenty of stuff you can just play at home." Eric pulled out his phone and started to search the local businesses for arcades offering overnight stays.

"Maybe, but being able to blast the music, slam on full metal dance pads, play shooters on screens the size of a theater?"

"Sounds like a fast trip to ear implants, sore legs and laser eye surgery." Eric gave a spoilsport answer even as he found a shop in question. There were listings for general overnight stays, as well as booking certain floors for certain tastes. Then he saw the age wall link, a line of text that would have been invisible if his net-ID didn't register him as an adult.

"What's this?" He said aloud and clicked the link. "Oh my..." He put the phone down. The first image was of a digital copy of an Entertainment Guild Operation License. The second was cut off by the border of the screen, but what he did see involved a handsome looking guy in a VR rig, and three synth women acting as the 'peripherals' for some kind of situation in the Player's game. "I think I know what they're really complaining about." He held up the screen and Cornelia leaned in to look.

"Oh my." She drawled. "But that," She pulled out her own phone and scanned the QR code on the first image. "*Is* a legit permit, so they can fuck all they want, so long as it's not minors." She yawned. "Still, is that sort of thing your speed?" She asked with a sly grin.

"My reality is fantastic enough as it is." Eric smiled and Cornelia blushed bright. He paged back and clicked on a 'Help wanted' icon. "They do have a posting for a Mechanic though, basic stuff, might look into that."

"Don't you get paid enough working at the apartment?"

"I do," He nodded, "But, I also like getting out of the building once in a while, and this would do me good."

"So would getting a hobby." Cornelia snarked at him.

"I think I already have a hobby," He said under his breath. Hello foot, "But pissing off ancient machines is probably too risky to call a hobby anyway," And he saves it!

"Hm," Cornelia nods, Or not. Shit. "Well, if you're getting your hands dirty, the snack machine on the second floor is on the fritz, why not take a look at that?" 

Eric held up his hands and shook his head. "Nope. That's Food Guild Tech. I am not getting a write up from them laying my greasy paws on that." He said, and Cornelia laughed brightly and Eric felt himself forget some of those problems that brought him here today.

Ten minutes later, Sergeant Boiler paged Officer Woolrick's desk phone.

"Officer Woolrick? I've got an Agent Tarquin here." He said aloud, and there was an audible groan that passed through the floor, as Crow began to count up the money from the bet, and shot Eric a satisfied look. "Apparently she's here on something 'urgent'," Boiler continued, sounding a little miffed, "But I just don't see anything in my schedule about any CCS appointments." He said with a bit of drama in his voice.

"Let her through, Sergeant." Officer Woolrick said, after Crow handed Eric a thicker stack of bills. Lunch? She mouthed, smiling.

My Treat, Eric mouthed back, realizing who really won the betting pool. Eric pocketed the cash and turned in his seat to see a stern looking woman with her blond hair up in a bun, and her pant suit pressed sharp. Her hard heels clack-clack-clacked as she swiftly walked past the chuckling clerks and the whispering officers. 

Eric rose from his seat, dusted off his shoulder a little, and smiled as the Agent came to a stop at Officer Woolrick's desk.

"Agent Tarquin?" He asked, rhetorically. She nodded.

"Mister Wyre." She says with a curt tone. "I apologize for not responding to your report more promptly." Eric's eyes widened as she spoke.

"You realize you said that in front of more than a dozen cops, right?" Eric asked, a smile at the edges of his lips. "That's pretty surely 'on the record'." He added and she nodded again, slowly. "Okay, then. Apology accepted," He nodded back. Spoken like a gentleman. "Shall we get to work?" He offered. 

"If I may?" Officer Woolrick was on her feet and stepped beside the two of them. "I believe the Captain would like to be a part of this conversation." She said, as she held up her phone. Captain was in bold at the top of a chat window. Eric nodded and he could feel Agent Tarquin cringe at the prospect, even as she nodded anyway.

"If you'd both follow me?" Officer Woolrick requested as she stepped past them. Eric lifted a hand to offer Tarquin the lead, and she turned on her heel to follow Woolrick. She had a slender frame, Eric would have almost called her skinny, but she had some curves to her. Still, she looked tired. 

He wondered what kind of ear chewing she'd gotten after his call had been processed. Surely, he'd said enough buzz words for it to have been flagged for review. 'Quality Control' had probably passed the word up the chain. There was a good chance that there'd been an emergency memo sent out, because of his threats of Military Involvement. 

They returned to Captain Rachel's office, and it smelled exactly as it had when he'd first entered it, and there wasn't any indication of heated interaction between the Captain and Eric. There was, however, a third chair lined up in front of the Captain's desk. Eric sat down in the chair he'd occupied while buck naked, to Captain Rachel's right. Cornelia sat down on the opposite chair, and left the middle chair for Agent Tarquin.

Introductions were swift and polite, and Tarquin got to her point. "Essentially, I'm here to interview Mister Wyre to confirm his report, for the record. At the moment CCS is currently occupied with a... special request."

"A special request that takes up the entire city's task force?" Cornelia cocked her head to the side.

"We're not some monumental 'legion'." Tarquin scoffed. "There are maybe a thousand of us for all the Central districts. We go where we're needed and are given a budget to employ professionals depending on the nature of the situation." She explained.

"That way you have a budget that can roll forward, if doesn't get used," Rachel leaned forward, her elbows were on her desk as she crossed her arms. "A cost cutting method, rather than paying to have said professionals employed doing paperwork most of the time?"

"Precisely," Tarquin nodded. "We do have specialists on retainer, for emergencies, but they're currently tasked..."

"With what?" Eric asked.

"That's... off the record." Tarquin said. Off the record? OH.

"Um, don't you mean 'classified'?" Woolrick asked, but Eric shook his head. "Eric?"

"If it was 'classified', it'd be reported as such in a record. Correct, Captain?" He looked to Rachel and she nodded. "That gets flagged to Oversight and they knock it up the chain until someone has the rank to declassify it." He continued and turned to look at Tarquin, "But if there's no actual official mission, then there's nothing on the books, and that brings in a whole different kind of investigation."

"I can say, for the record, that you are correct in the process by which Oversight pursues the illegal use of the designation 'classified', Mister Wyre." She was looking away from Eric, pointedly, when she'd said that. "Captain, I apologize but CCS has no available assets at this time to address this regulator matter. I have spoken to my superiors, and they're adamant that the 'request' we've received takes top priority."

"Off the record, Agent Tarquin?" Rachel asked.

"Abigail, and go ahead. Off the record." Abigail Tarquin nodded.

"What can't you tell us about this request?" She phrased, carefully. Eric saw a glint in Abigail's eye as she nodded, slightly.

"Well, I can't tell you if the CCS has been sweeping the sewer systems, lately. I also can't tell you if they've issued a moratorium on the terminations of captured 'unregistered' constructs, and I can't tell you they've got someone visiting every containment center. I certainly can't confirm that this person isn't one of the professionals we keep on retainer, or anyone I've ever seen working with the CCS before." She stated clearly, and Eric leaned back.

A search for unregistered constructs? His eyes lit up, then he turned to look at Cornelia, who had pieced part of things together, and looked deeply concerned at the conclusion she'd come to.

They were hunting Drip!

Once More; Editing shout outs to Skiratas and Aeronator 