Action Figures - Issue Three: Pasts Imperfect by Michael Bailey Read Free Book Online Page B

goes right.
    All right, Edison, I’m ready
to go. Let’s see what you have for me.
         My good mood gets dialed down a notch when I lie to
Matt about my after-school plans. No, sorry, not up for Coffee E today, falling
asleep on my feet, need to go home and grab a nap, see you at Missy’s tonight.
    I take a school bus over to
Bose Industries. It drops me off at the road leading to the compound, a
quarter-mile of gently winding asphalt that ends at a security checkpoint. The
guard post, I’d like to note for the record, is the length of an RV and looks
like it could take a punch from Stuart without denting. One of the three guards
on duty steps out of the station as I enter, a large handgun strapped to his
leg. No, not intimidating at all.
    The guard’s friendliness
takes the edge off; he’s all smiles and civility when he asks my name, my
business at Bose, and offers to call down a courtesy car to bring me up to the
main building. I expect a golf cart or something similar, but the courtesy car
is an actual car — a long, black sedan, in fact. Not quite a limo, but close
enough. The driver opens the back door for me and, en route, informs me that
the car I’m riding in is completely solar-powered and generates no emissions.
The paint is infused with something called quantum dots, which make the entire
body a solar panel. It sounds like a scripted spiel, but it’s impressive
nevertheless.
    Why am I having reservations
about working here? This place is awesome .
    The car drops me off at the
administration building. I’m two steps inside when a woman working the security
desk greets me by name, hands me a badge that says VISITOR on it in bright
green letters, and tells me to take the elevator to the top floor.
    I swear I never feel the
thing move at all .
    A woman in a crisp gray suit
welcomes me as soon as I step out of the elevator. She introduces herself as
Trina, Edison’s administrative assistant.
    “If you’ll follow me?” she
says, leading me to Edison’s office.
    Edison politely rises from
his desk when I enter. “Thanks, Trina,” he says. “If you could hold my calls
until we’re done here?”
    “Sure thing, Edison,” Trina
says. She slips out and closes the door.
    Edison’s office is a lot
smaller than I’d expected. I’d imagined walking into some football stadium of a
thing, with high ceilings and expensive art on the walls and carpet so thick
and lush it could swallow small children, but what I find is quite modest and
restrained. One wall is all bookshelves, and at a glance it looks like nothing
but personal reading: I see several science fiction novels ranging from
classics by Jules Verne and H.G. Wells to more recent works by Harlan Ellison,
William Gibson, and John Scalzi; a sweet leather-bound collection of the Lord
of the Rings trilogy; and, of all things, everything ever written by
Stephen King.
    “Have a seat,” Edison says,
motioning toward a set of four shiny leather chairs, which ring a small
semi-circular coffee table. I sit. He circles around the desk and sits next to
me. “Thank you for coming in.”
    “Sure.”
    “Let’s keep this short,
sweet, and simple, hm? The internship would have you working directly for me.
You’d come in three days a week after school, follow me as I make my rounds,
take notes, act as an intra-facility courier, and perform other small tasks for
me as necessary. It’s a paid position, and I can set you up with health and
dental if you need them. What do you say?”
    Working on half a functional
brain as I am, it takes me a minute to process everything Edison just threw at
me. It sounds like a great gig. Did I say great? It sounds amazing.
    Instead of jumping to accept
like a sane, reasonable girl would, I say, “That’s it?” Edison furrows his brow
at me. “No interview? No probing questions? You’re just handing me the job?”
    “I can do that,” Edison
says. “It’s my company.”
    “But why me?”
    “Because I think