The Fair & Foul (Project Gene Assist Book 1) (22 page)

“Are you getting philosophical on me?”

“Perhaps, but I’ve had a lot of time to think recently, without you or Betty around to interrupt me in the lab.”

“Why don’t you install a mirror in there? Then you’d have the assistant you’ve always wanted."

Alan threw his head back as he laughed. “Oh how I've missed our talks. Don’t think I haven’t already considered that option.”

Juliane snorted. “Fine.” She would go to the game if for no other reason than to learn more about the true severity of Stevie’s condition. She could always call Betty afterwards. Then, after everything with the factory was resolved, she might even offer to watch Stevie even if it is under the guise of mentoring so that Betty might take a night off. It was a perfect plan. “You can report back to Damien, like a good little errand boy, that I’ll go with you to the game. I imagine there are team colors or the like that I should find to wear.”

“I’ve already taken care of that for you. I have a whole outfit here for you made up of licensed apparel. Damien is a part owner of the team, after all. It wouldn’t do for you to be seen wearing anything else.”

Juliane shook her head. “You were never really giving me a choice, were you?”

“You always have a choice; I was just tasked with helping you to make the right one.”

“Send the bag over. Stuart will ensure that it gets to me in time.”

“It’s already here, Juliane.”

Juliane glanced about. There was nothing on the field remotely resembling a bag of clothing, and she was puzzled how he intended to transfer the bag from the virtual world to the physical world.

“Juliane," he sighed. "That’s exactly my point. The bag is here in your office because I am here in your office. I’ve been standing just a few feet from you this entire time. We’ve practically been touching.”

Juliane blinked, and the field was instantly replaced by her solid office walls. Just as he said, Alan stood on the other side of the room, a plastic bag with the Sharks' emblem on its side resting next to his foot. She had seen about as little of Alan in the flesh as she had seen Betty over the years. Unlike Betty, Alan didn’t appear to have aged more than a day. In fact, he almost looked younger than he had when they first began working together. Obviously, he hadn’t been losing the same amount of sleep over his son’s condition as his wife had.

Unless he was a monster of a parent, Alan could only be that confident if he whole-heartedly believed that his son's condition was treatable. She felt the last of her guilt from turning Betty away melt off her shoulders.

“What is that expression on your face, Juliane? If a person didn’t know you better, it would almost look like you were happy to see me.”

Immediately, she forced the grin from her lips. “We can’t have that sort of rumor start, now can we? I'm just shocked to see how great you look, that’s all.”

“You say that as if you expected anything else.” Alan swiped his hair back as he struck a pose normally found on a fashion runway.

“Betty just looked so . . . um . . .” Juliane bit her tongue, hoping Alan would not hear her unspoken words.

“She looks drained. I’m well aware of it. If you listen to her, you might think that being a mother and spouse is sucking the life right out of her body.”

“Err . . . I didn’t mean to suggest . . .”

Alan interrupted her by holding up his hand. “No need to apologize for speaking the truth. It is hard on me, seeing her like that, but she’s fully embraced the idea of being a martyr. She’s much like you in that regard. Once she has decided on a course of action, there is little that anyone can do to change her mind.”

He bent down at the waist, blocking his face from her view. He paused with his hand on the bag's plastic handle, and Juliane saw the rise of his back as he took a deep breath before returning upright.

A message scrolled across her vision. “We briefly lost visual on Dr. Dronigh, but the visitor’s log confirmed that she did make it to the hospital without incident. Our associate is heading back to the office now.”

Juliane blinked the message away. Alan locked his eyes onto hers while handing over the bag. His gaze was so intent that she briefly wondered if he could somehow see the text over her vision, but then she shook her head. It wasn’t as if there was a lens over her eye physically displaying the information.

“You, though, haven’t changed a bit over the years either. Frankly, I prefer the real you. Your avatar doesn't do you justice." Gesturing to the bag, he added, "I took a chance on your size and am confident I got it right." Alan started to turn to the door. "Before I forget, Damien mentioned that while he wasn’t going to be able to stay through the entire game, he and a few others might stop by. I trust that won't scare you off. It will be nice to have a chance to swap some war stories, don’t you think?”

The football stadium and surrounding parking lot was already packed by the time they arrived. By the sounds blaring from inside, it was close to kick-off time. Juliane was thankful they had a professional driver as the car maneuvered around stumbling fans on their way to the gates. “That one over there sure has started early. I wonder if he will remember any of the game," observed Juliane as she watched one man regain his footing. The man would have been flattened by the passing traffic had he not been pulled to safety by his more sober companions at the last second.

Alan glanced in the direction Juliane gestured and shrugged. “Sometimes the tailgating experience is the best part of the game. The Sharks aren’t the division favorite at the moment.” Alan looked just as ridiculous in the oversized team jersey as she felt; however, he didn’t seem to be nearly as aware of his appearance as she was. It was probably the first article of clothing that she had worn in years that wasn’t tailored for her.

“No? Well, I can’t imagine Damien is happy with that.”

Alan chuckled before answering. “You don’t know the half of it. Why do you think he has to force the likes of you and me to fill the seats? He keeps saying that his team is on the brink of greatness, but just like any other fan would say, it is always next year.”

“How many seasons has it been?”

“The team isn’t all that old. It was one of the more recent expansion teams, but they’ve not exactly exceeded expectations since the day he signed the check. You should bring it up sometime. I am sure he’d love to go over his team’s record with you. Maybe you could help him draft more winners.” Alan eased himself back into the comfort of the leather interior.

“Well, if it's that sore of a subject with him, what is he doing about it?”

“What he has to, I'm sure.”

The car finally pulled up to a VIP entrance tunnel. Alan sprang out of his side without waiting for the driver to open the door.

“It doesn't look like you were forced to be here.”

“When Damien first offered the tickets, I was just as hesitant to accept as you were. I know this might shock you, but I was never really the athletic type growing up and frankly didn’t exactly see what the big deal was, but then I started studying up on the subject." Alan beamed. "When the game starts, don’t bother watching the individual plays. Instead, try to see if you can decipher the strategy behind the coach’s game plan. It’s almost like watching generals test out battle plans but without the ammunition. Absolutely fascinating.”

Juliane raised one manicured eyebrow.

“Doubt me if you want to, but it’s good to develop an appreciation of well-executed tactics whenever you see them. You never know when you might need to apply them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind the next time I find myself deep in enemy territory trying to execute a counter run play.”

Alan roared with laughter. “And here I thought you were coming along only to humor me. Admit it. You did your homework too!”

“Fine. You win. You found me out.” Juliane attempted to twist her lips into a scowl, but Alan's laughter was contagious.

They arrived at a set of elevator doors guarded by a pair of men in ill-fitting ticket handler’s smocks who examined their credentials without speaking a word. The movement from one floor to the next was seamless. Juliane had just begun wondering if the elevator was broken, as she could feel no movement when the doors opened on the mid-level deck.

There were several other people mingling in the lobby, but Juliane could tell by the way they held themselves that these individuals were an entirely different sort of fan than the ones they had passed on their way into the parking lot.

A pale light in the corner of her vision caught her attention. When she turned, the light seemed to encapsulate a nearby woman like the glow from an aura. Within a second, the glow faded out, and Juliane was left wondering if there really had been anything there in the first place.

“Everything okay, Juliane?” Alan touched her arm. “Supposedly someone will come by once we are in the box to take our order, but we can grab something now if you’d like.”

Juliane shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she spotted an additional glow from other people in the room, but those faded out just as quickly.
It must be the way the lighting of the room is designed
, thought Juliane. Audibly she said, “No, sorry, just taking it all in. It's not quite what I imagined. I guess I expected a little more . . ." Juliane frowned. What had she expected?

“A little more grunge, a little less sophistication?" Alan suggested.

"Perhaps."

"I am sure we'll see more than enough of the less desirable before the day is through."

"Our seats are this way?” She pointed and walked with purpose toward one of the doorways. She needed to get out of the room before the effect gave her a headache.

Their box was just one of several nestled within the end zone of the stadium. While the majority of each unit was walled off, providing occupants with a degree of privacy, the outside wall and the adjacent quarter of each side was a sheet of glass, including a portion of the floor. Juliane was rather glad that she had chosen not to wear a skirt as she toured the room from end to end.

“You don’t have to worry. It's one-way glass.”

Juliane looked at Alan in curiosity.

“Admit it. You were worried that someone might be sneaking a peek at you just then.”

“I was just pitying the people below us who must feel like a crowd of people are going to come crashing down on their heads if this so much as cracks.”

“If that glass cracks, then they have larger issues to worry about.”

"Speaking of worries. How is your son today? Have they made any progress?"

"He is still under observation. How is your factory's investigation coming along?"

Juliane sucked in her breath.

"Listen, I know you mean well, but I'd rather not discuss it. The last few days haven't been easy for anyone. Can we at least pretend to have a carefree life, if only for a few hours?"

At a loss for a response, Juliane looked out toward the sea of humanity below her, placing her hand on the glass. She was surprised to feel it vibrate. “Is it supposed to buzz like that?”

“Well, it’s slightly more advanced than your standard window. I am given to understand there is a control panel around here.” Alan scanned the back of the room. “It’s more force field than glass. Supposedly, by just adjusting a few settings, we can make it so that the fresh air and noise from outside can pass through, or keep it in its current privacy mode.”

Locating the control panel, Alan adjusted a dial, and Juliane was surrounded by the roar of the crowd and the metallic smell of smoke from used fireworks as the players took the field.

Juliane was struck by how enormous the players were. Even knowing that some of their bulk was made up of pads and other protective gear, they appeared unnatural in proportion. One could almost describe them as ogres. The opposing team looked like fragile dolls in comparison.

Without taking her eyes off the advancing players, Juliane asked, “And you say the Sharks aren’t winning this season?”

“Damien pushed for some organizational changes. They must have gone along with his suggestions. I heard the news that they are heavily favored to win this one.”

“I would think so. The other team doesn’t even look like it is in the same league.”

“Well, that might have something to do with their ownership philosophy.”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say that some teams are blinder than others to their players’ efforts to improve their competitive edge through the wonders of modern science.”

“Damien lets the Sharks cheat?”

“Damien doesn't have time to be involved in every detail managing the team. That's why he hires other people. Besides, the Sharks are hardly the only ones looking for an edge. It’s a violent sport; muscles tear and bones break. A person who depends on their physical performance for their livelihood can hardly be blamed for wanting to go under the knife if the surgery minimizes the potential for career-ending injuries. They found out that artificial muscle made up of spider silk was over fifty times stronger than natural muscle. It was only a matter of time before athletes found a way to trade up. Heck, even I am considering that one.”

The monitor showed a close-up of a player attaching his helmet before running from the sideline to the field. His nose was broad but flattened, and as he ran, his nostrils flared, making him appear goat-like.

“Now that is a face only a mother could love.”

“The man makes several million dollars per season. I know for a fact he’s not suffering in that department. He’s dated five supermodels in the last year alone. Rumors have it that he intentionally altered his nose so that he has increased air flow. Supposedly, it makes him faster and able to make quicker decisions on the field.”

Juliane grimaced. “What some people will do to get ahead.”

Alan raised his eyebrows with a quick laugh. “Indeed.”

The snap of the football sent the crowd into a frenzy, preventing further conversation through the first half. Alan had been right when he suggested that she focus on the coaches’ strategies rather than the individual plays. Even though the Sharks had a significant size advantage, the other team was nimble and their trick plays proved remarkably successful. When the clock ran out, the Sharks were down by fourteen, and the majority of the crowd had been silenced.